VOL XIV
SPRING 2022 ISSUE International Development Studies Students’ Association
copyright This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-No Derivatives 4.0 International License.
To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/legalcode Chrysalis is annually published by the International Development Studies Students’ Association (IDSSA) of McGill University in Montreal, Canada. Chrysalis est publié chaque année par l’IDSSA de Université McGill à Montréal, Canada. To view electronic copies of the journal, visit www. catalystmcgill.com/chrysalis. Pour voir une copie électronique de ce journal, visitez www. catalystmcgill.com/chrysalis. ISSN(Print): 1198-6123 ISSN(Web): 23698624x
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land acknowledgement english McGill University is located on land which has long served as a stie of meeting and exchange amongst Indigenous peoples. Currently, we reside in Tihotia:ke (Montreal), which is located on the larger Turtel Island (North America). We exist on unceded traditional territory, where by the Haudenosaunee and Anishinabeg nations, specifically the Kanien’keha:ka peoples, also known as the Keepers of the Easter Door, are the traditional stewards of these lands and waters. It is important that we move forward keeping this constantly in our minds, so that we can actively resist neocolonialism in all of its shapes, forms, and manifestations.
french L’Université McGill est située sur un territoire qui a longtemps servi de lieu de rencontre et d’échange entre les peuples autochtones. Actuellement, nous résidons à Tihotia:ke (Montréal), qui est située sur la plus grande île Turtel (Amérique du Nord). Nous existons sur un territoire traditionnel non cédé, où les nations Haudenosaunee et Anishinabeg, en particulier les peuples Kanien’keha:ka, également connus sous le nom de Gardiens de la porte de Pâques, sont les gardiens traditionnels de ces terres et de ces eaux. Il est important que nous avancions en gardant cela constamment à l’esprit, afin que nous puissions résister activement au néocolonialisme sous toutes ses formes et manifestations.
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table of contents iv | Our Team | Notre Équipe v | President ’s Note | Notes du Président | by Sarah Azzi vii | Foreword | Avant-Propos | by Kai Scott ix | About the Authors | À Propos des Auteurs 2 | Closing the Metabolic Rift : Shifting Consumer Behavior Towards the Local | by Emma Wiseman 8....Sex Work is Work: The Discursive Influence of the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective | by Anjali Mehindiratta 16....Social Capital Connections: The Role of Civil Society in Fostering Successful Refugee Integration in the Global North | by Matthias Hoenisch 24....Cheerleading vs. Responsive Propaganda: Evidence From Women 2 Drive Arrests in Saudi Arabia | by Celia Benhocine 40....IPDCC Policy Brief: Chronic Respiratory Diseases and Household Air Pollution in Rural Zambia | by Isabella Frymoyer, Siobhan Mehrotra, Marianna Gutierrez Hererra 44....From Grassroots Activism to Anti-Globalization Movement : The Role of World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises in the Water War of Chochabamba | by Saruul Khishigjargal 56....Western Spin on the Human Rights Revolution: How the Global Hegemony Manipulated Change for Demands after World War II | by Leo Clarke 62....Photography as a Pivotal Tool for Early Human Rights Movements | by Kaavya Mohan 68....Driving Unsustainable and Dualistic Growth: Impacts of Foreign Investment Inflows into Mongolia Between 1991-2016 | by Enkhuun Byambadorj
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our team Editor-in-Chief | Rédacteur-en-chef Kai Scott
Editors | Rédacteurs Zach Beresin Zoë Johnson Robyn Matthews Conrad von Moltke Maya Nee Tamanna Patel Elijah Remis Isabella Tortone Peer Review Board | Comité de Révision Adila Aoudia Kendall Fennelly Matthias Hoenisch Maria Radu Wilson Symons
Peer Review Mentors | Réviseurs Mentors Diana Allan Manuel Balán Megan Bradley Yann le Polain de Waroux Kazue Takamura
Translation | Traduction Laurence Breton Naya Moser
Layout Editor | Editrices de Mise en Page Mia Advensky
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president ’s note by: sarah azzi Dear readers, The McGill Community is no stranger to student journalism: beyond providing a platform to practice writing and research skills, it allows for student voices to be amplified and heard. When a university boasts one of the most multicultural student bodies in the world, there’s so much to be said! That is exactly why Chrysalis exists within the International Development Studies Students’ Association. As an inspiring forum for student engagement and self-expression, the publication has existed at the heart of the Association since 2009, compiling the truly interdisciplinary views and interests of our constituents. As the publication continues to grow in size and reach year after year, it is empowering to know that members of the IDSSA continue to value student journalism. The events of the past two years proved that anything is possible. The field of international development will benefit from cohorts of students who feel emboldened to do their own research and put into the world pieces like the ones in this issue of Chrysalis. I would like to congratulate everyone involved in the process of putting it together: our brilliant Editor-in-Chief and IDSSA VP Publications, as well as our diligent team of peer-reviewers and peer-review mentors, the Chrysalis Editorial Board, our wonderful layout designer, and of course all of our writers! Your commitment to accessibility and strong journalism, combined with Chrysalis’ longstanding mission to cover a wide range of topics and geographical areas, makes this issue a source of pride to the IDS community at McGill. I can’t wait to dig in. Sincerely, Sarah Azzi IDSSA President 2021-2022
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notes du président par: sarah azzi Chers lecteurs, La communauté de McGill est loin d’être novice au sujet du journalisme étudiant : en plus de fournir une plateforme pour exercer ses compétences en rédaction et en recherche, cela permet aux voix des étudiants d’être amplifiées et entendues. Lorsqu’une université compte l’un des corps étudiants les plus multiculturels au monde, il y a tant à dire! C’est exactement pour cette raison que Chrysalis existe au sein de l’Association des Étudiant.e.s en Études du Développement International. La publication est organisée au cœur de l’Association depuis 2009 en tant que forum inspirant l’engagement et l’expression de soi des étudiants, et compile les points de vue et les intérêts véritablement interdisciplinaires de nos constituants. Comme Chrysalis continue de croître en taille et en engagement chaque année, il est réconfortant de savoir que les membres de l’AÉÉDI continuent de valoriser le journalisme étudiant. Les événements des deux dernières années prouvent que tout est possible. Le domaine du développement international bénéficiera de cohortes d’étudiants qui se sentent capables de faire leurs propres recherches et de mettre au monde des pièces comme celles de ce numéro de Chrysalis. Je tiens à féliciter tous ceux qui ont participé à son élaboration : notre brillant rédacteur en chef et le vice-président des publications de l’AÉÉDI, ainsi que notre équipe diligente d’évaluateurs et de leurs mentors, le comité de rédaction de Chrysalis, notre formidable maquettiste, et bien sûr tous nos rédacteurs! Votre engagement envers l’accessibilité et envers le journalisme solide, ainsi qu’à la mission de Chrysalis de couvrir un large éventail de sujets et de zones géographiques, font de ce numéro une source de fierté pour la communauté en IDS à McGill. J’ai hâte de m’y plonger. Sincèrement, Sarah Azzi Présidente de l’AÉÉDI, 2021-2022
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foreword by: kai scott It is tempting to start off this foreword with some stilted reference to the difficulties that we have all been presented with throughout the COVID-19 pandemic and the great fortitude with which all of us involved in Chrysalis have called forth in order to publish this collection of student work. However, that would be slightly disingenuous and, I believe, largely unfair to the quality of work contained within these pages. Pandemic or not, over the past year, our Chrysalis team has worked incredibly hard to put together this journal. The result—the next 80 or so pages of writing—should be acknowledged as an achievement without caveat: a success in virtue of the contents contained within (and not the total and utter chaos that seems to define our worlds as students today). In this light, I am extremely proud to present the 2022 edition of Chrysalis. What follows stands as our Editorial Board’s best effort at presenting readership with a set of works that capture the diversity and talent of McGill’s incredibly wide-ranging International Development Studies program. We have aimed both to celebrate several unique, creative, timely, well-researched, and carefully thought out efforts at long-form academic writing from undergraduate students while also capturing the variety of topics that IDS students at McGill have been studying and working on over the past year. The journal is designed not simply to act as a demonstration of rigorous academic work, but also as one that can be seen as attractive, accessible and readable to a more general audience as well. Our hope is that IDS students in particular might be able to see some of their own experiences and interests reflected in these works while also being inspired to engage more deeply with the manifold rich ideas and questions that the authors in the pages to follow put forward. From Celia Benhocine’s work on propagandistic social media use in Saudi Arabia to Leo Clarke’s unabashed critique of the historical development of contemporary human rights discourse, this journal is full of really engaging and thought-provoking work that I am very humbled to have been able to help select and watch develop throughout the publishing process. For me, putting together Chrysalis has been a testament to the great things possible when students are motivated to do sit down and do work together. Between the peer reviewers, editors, authors, and peer review mentors, I have had nothing but positive experiences collaborating with and learning from our team. I hope that the end result can serve as a testament to the work that we put into this journal but, more deeply, the ideas, encouragement, and advice shared amongst ourselves throughout this process. I’d like to thank all of the efforts put in by our editorial board not only for the long hours they all spent deliberating over submissions to this journal but also for their tireless work in bringing out the best in the writing that follows. As painful as they were at the time, I am comfortable saying that those seemingly never-ending meetings have ultimately paid off. I’d also like to thank the peer reviewers and peer review mentors for taking time out of their busy schedules to provide much-needed feedback. Lastly, I’d like to single out Mia Advensky in particular for her work designing this year’s journal. Given the quality of this year’s design, it might be hard to imagine that everything in this journal from cover to cover has been designed by one person. It has. Mia’s hours of hard work have brought to life the writing in this journal in ways that I hope all readers can appreciate as they flip through the pages that follow. On that note, I invite anybody still reading to… keep on going! The work that has gone into the pages ahead will make it worth it.
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avant-propos par: kai scott Il est tentant de commencer cet avant-propos avec une référence guindée aux difficultés auxquelles nous avons tous
été confrontés tout au long de la pandémie de la COVID-19 et à la grande force avec laquelle nous tous impliqués au sein de Chrysalis avons fait appel pour publier cette collection de travail étudiant. Cependant, ce serait légèrement malhonnête et, je crois, largement injuste, considérant la qualité du travail contenu dans ces pages. Pandémie ou pas, au cours de la dernière année, notre équipe Chrysalis a travaillé incroyablement fort pour mettre sur pied ce journal. Le résultat - les quelques 80 prochaines pages d’écriture - devrait être reconnu sans réserve comme une réussite : un succès en vertu du contenu qu’il contient (et non du chaos total et absolu qui semble définir notre monde en tant qu’étudiant.e.s d’aujourd’hui). Dans cette optique, je suis extrêmement fier de présenter l’édition 2022 de Chrysalis. Ce qui suit représente le meilleur effort de notre comité de rédaction pour présenter au lectorat un ensemble d’œuvres qui reflètent la diversité et le talent de l’incroyablement vaste programme d’études en développement international de McGill. Nous avons visé à la fois à célébrer plusieurs efforts uniques, créatifs, opportuns, bien documentés et soigneusement pensés en matière d’écriture académique d’étudiant.e.s de premier cycle, tout en capturant la variété de sujets que les étudiant.e.s en développement international de McGill ont étudiés et travaillés pendant la dernière année. Le journal est conçu pour servir de démonstration d’un travail académique rigoureux, mais peut également être considéré comme attrayant, accessible et lisible par un public plus large. Notre espoir est que les étudiant.e.s en développement international en particulier puissent voir certains de leurs propres expériences et intérêts reflétés dans ces travaux tout en étant inspiré.e.s à s’engager plus profondément dans les multiples idées et questions riches que les auteur.e.s proposent dans les pages à suivre. Du travail de Celia Benhocine sur l’utilisation propagandiste des médias sociaux en Arabie saoudite à la critique éhontée de Leo Clarke du développement historique du discours contemporain sur les droits de l’homme, ce journal regorge de travaux vraiment engageants et stimulants que je suis très honoré d’avoir pu aider à sélectionner et dont j’ai pu suivre le développement tout au long du processus de publication. Pour moi, assembler le journal Chrysalis a été un témoignage des grandes choses qui deviennent possibles lorsque des étudiant.e.s sont motivé.e.s à s’asseoir et à travailler ensemble. Entre les pairs évaluateurs, les éditeur.rice.s, les auteur.e.s et les mentor.e.s de l’évaluation par les pairs, je n’ai eu que des expériences positives en collaborant avec notre équipe et en apprenant de celle-ci. J’espère que le résultat final pourra servir de témoignage du travail que nous avons mis dans ce journal, mais, plus profondément, des idées, des encouragements et des conseils partagés entre nous tout au long de ce processus. Je tiens à remercier tous les efforts déployés par notre comité de rédaction, non seulement pour les longues heures qu’ils ont tous passées à délibérer sur les soumissions à ce journal, mais aussi pour leur travail inlassable afin de faire ressortir le meilleur des textes qui suivent. Aussi douloureuses qu’elles aient été à l’époque, je suis à l’aise de dire que ces réunions de plusieurs heures ont finalement porté leurs fruits. J’aimerais également remercier les pairs évaluateurs et les mentor.e.s de l’évaluation par les pairs pour avoir pris le temps, malgré leur emploi du temps chargé, de fournir leurs commentaires indispensables. Enfin, je voudrais souligner en particulier la contribution de Mia Advensky pour son travail de conception du journal de cette année. Compte tenu de la qualité du design de cette année, il peut être difficile d’imaginer que tout dans ce journal, d’une couverture à l’autre, a été conçu par une seule personne. C’est bel et bien le cas. Les heures de travail acharné de Mia ont donné vie aux textes de ce journal d’une manière que, je l’espère, tous les lecteur.trice.s pourront apprécier en parcourant les pages qui suivent. Sur cette note, j’invite tous ceux.celles qui lisent encore à… continuer ! Le travail qui a été consacré aux pages à venir en justifie amplement la lecture.
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about the authors Emma Wiseman Emma is a U3 student majoring in International Development Studies with a minor in English Literature. Her research interests include Canadian policy, sustainable development, and food sovereignty. Outside of her studies at McGill, she works as Co-President for McGill Students for Amnesty International, as well as an editor at the Imagist Literary Magazine. In addition to her interest in research, she loves writing creatively and is often reading too many books at once.
Anjali Mehindiratta Anjali Mehindiratta is in her third year at McGill, studying Political Science, International Development, and History. Her research interests revolve around political economy, international cooperation, and gender issues. She is intrigued by how domestic interest groups articulate their goals, preferences, and agendas to their governments. Aside from her academic work, she is involved in student government as the current VP Academic for the McGill Political Science Students’ Association. This article will be her first academic publication.
Matthias Hoenisch Matthias Hoenisch is in the fourth and final year of his Bachelor of Arts degree at McGill, where he is majoring in Political Science and International Development Studies. His research interests are broad, but lately he has been focusing on Canadian social policy and electoral reform. Matthias was born and raised in Whitehorse, Yukon, and will happily reference the Yukon at every opportunity. Outside of school, Matthias likes to spend his time playing soccer, tennis, and basketball. He is also an aspiring foodie, and loves to experiment with cooking new recipes.
Celia Benhocine Celia Benhocine is a fourth year honours student in International Development Studies and Economics at McGill University. Her research interests include social media use in politics, as well as urban political economies, with a current emphasis on the impacts of urban university expansion. Her participation in the POLI 522 seminar forms the basis of the present article and second contribution to Chrysalis. Celia’s most recent work, upcoming in the online publication of PULSE McGill, examines the governance structure of new cities in tandem with democratic participation. Beyond academics, Celia nurtures a passion for music and its community-building affect. She is an active member of McGill’s a cappella community and dabbles in DJing.
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Saruul Khishigjargal Saruul Khishigjargal is a recent graduate from the International Development Honours program with a minor in Social Entrepreneurship. Her areas of interest include grassroots development, corporate social responsibility, and big-small state relations. She is particularly interested in minority rights, ESG analytics, and innovative socio-technical solutions to sustainability. Her most recent work centers around Indigenous women’s rights in Canada and South Africa, the water war in Bolivia, food security in Ethiopia, and the legal protection of internally displaced peoples. She enjoys practicing yoga, making art, and listening to podcasts in her spare time. You can connect with her on LinkedIn at www.linkedin.com/in/saruul-khishigjargal.
Leo Clarke Leo Clarke is a fourth-year student at McGill, majoring in International Development Studies, and minoring in Geography: Urban Studies. His primary area of interest is the study of cities and the advancement of lived environments through infrastructure projects. Here at McGill, he also resides as Partnerships Coordinator for Student Energy McGill, as well as Finance Commissioner for the Arts Undergraduate Society. This year, he and three colleagues are finalists in the (currently ongoing) Dobson Cup, a university-wide entrepreneurial competition, where participants compete for grants. Leo grew up in Washington DC, and hopes to one day return there to join the International Finance Corporation.
Kaavya Mohan Kaavya Mohan is a 4th-year student at McGill University pursing a degree in Honours International Development student with a minor in Social Entrepreneurship. She is set to graduate in May 2022. Kaavya has worked for various NGO’s including Save the Children Canada with a specific research focus on foreign affairs, global education issues, women’s empowerment, gender equality, and sustainable development.
Enkhuun Byambadorj Enkhuun Byambadorj is a third-year undergraduate student pursuing Joint Honours in International Development and Environment. She is interested in the issues of environmental health, healthcare access equity, rights of undocumented migrant populations, and the intersection between the social determinants of health and human rights. Enkhuun hopes to pursue future studies and a career in public health. Enkhuun is the co-founder of the non-profit Breathe Mongolia – Clean Air Coalition, which works to end the air pollution crisis in Mongolia through education, collaboration, and equitable policymaking. She is also the Communications Coordinator at the Consortium on Analytics for Data-Driven Decision-Making (CAnD3).
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Closing the Metabolic Rift : Shifting Consumer Behavior Towards the Local By: Emma Wiseman
abstract The widening gap between consumers and their food sources has led to a loss of environmental knowledge and consciousness that has detrimental effects on the environment. Working with Karl Marx’s theory of the metabolic rift, which laid the theoretical groundwork for studies concerning consumer-producer networks and their connections to environmental sustainability, this paper seeks to understand how the consumer trend of “shopping local” has impacted the relationship between consumers and the environment on which their livelihoods depend. This question is explored using several case studies that examine the definition of “local food”, the consumer motivations that sustain the trend, and the impacts that shopping locally has on individual consumers in a variety of dimensions. The study finds that although the motivations behind shopping locally often correlate with concerns for the environment, the limitations placed on consumers operating within the capitalist system means that individual needs and conceptualizations of the “local” are too varied to have a direct correlation to increased environmental sustainability. It concludes that institutional and market-wide changes are required to close the metabolic rift, and provides an example of how this can begin to occur through the case of the La Vıa Campesina movement in Brazil. L’écart grandissant entre les consommateurs et leurs sources de nourriture a entraîné une perte de connaissances et de conscience environnementales qui a des effets néfastes sur l’environnement. Travaillant avec la théorie de la faille métabolique de Karl Marx, qui a jeté les bases théoriques des études sur les réseaux consommateurs-producteurs et leurs liens avec la durabilité environnementale, cet article cherche à comprendre comment la tendance de consommation de « l’achat local » a eu un impact sur la relation entre les consommateurs et l’environnement dont dépendent leurs moyens de subsistance. Cette question est explorée à l’aide de plusieurs études de cas qui examinent la définition de « l’alimentation locale », les motivations des consommateurs qui soutiennent la tendance et les impacts que les achats locaux ont sur les consommateurs individuels dans une variété de dimensions. L’étude révèle que bien que les motivations derrière les achats locaux soient souvent en corrélation avec des préoccupations environnementales, les limites imposées aux consommateurs opérant au sein du système capitaliste signifient que les besoins individuels et les conceptualisations du « local » sont trop variés pour avoir une corrélation directe avec une durabilité environnementale accrue. L’étude conclut que des changements institutionnels et à l’échelle du marché sont nécessaires pour combler la faille métabolique, et donne un exemple de la façon dont cela peut commencer à se produire avec le cas du mouvement La Vıa Campesina au Brésil.
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he development of a global agri-foodsystem has resulted in a growing disconnect between consumers and producers. Urban citizens may live their whole lives without encountering the farms that they depend on, and rural citizens are becoming more
disconnected from the food market as large-scale farm corporations replace small farms. This divide between consumers and production systems is an essential part of Marx’s “metabolic rift”; a socio-ecological theory which states that the relationship between humans and nature is integral to protecting the environment, and capitalist modes of production
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create rifts in this relationship to the detriment of environmental sustainability.1 This paper will begin by exploring the modern theoretical groundwork for the metabolic rift, followed by an analysis of case studies that evaluate the impacts of the “shopping local” trend on closing the metabolic rift. The results of this analysis will show that while shopping locally may suggest an opportunity for consumers to close the rift, they are unable to do so due to several constraints. However, movements happening on the producer-level such as La Vıa Campesina suggest more success.
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The Theoretical Basis of the Modern Metabolic Rift Theory The basis of the metabolic rift theory as it applies to this paper is that the overexploitation of land due to a market-oriented system creates a variety of environmental issues such as soil depletion, nutrient loss, pollution and land scarcity.2 Additionally, the spatial and temporal separation between farms and consumers prevents individuals from recognizing the consequences of their consumption and creates a loss of local environ-
mental knowledge that could be used to prevent harm to or restore the land.3 Axinn, Barber and Biddlecom also argue that the transition from direct consumption (i.e. hunting and gathering) to indirect consumption (i.e. purchasing food from a store) has resulted in a loss of local resource management skills and an increase in resource consumption.4 This aligns with Marx’s theory that a lack of knowledge about local environments due to a consumer-producer rift would consequent-
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ly lead to environmental degradation. The following section will analyze several case studies about local food consumption in order to investigate the impact that the “shopping local” trend has had on consumer environmental knowledge and sustainability, and to discern if change in consumer behavior is an effective strategy for closing the Marxian metabolic rift.
. . .
Shopping Local: An Ineffective Method for Closing the Gap
“...consumers make purchases based on internal needs, such as safe food, and external factors, such as price and norms.”
There is an emerging literature that attempts to reconcile the large-scale mechanisms of the metabolic rift with the shifting norms in consumer behavior that are oriented towards localized consumption. Some theorists have asserted that a greater connection to local forms of production would help prevent large-scale resource exploitation and restore damaged farmlands.5 In the case of the management of common-pool resources, Ostrom found empirical evidence to support the fact
that a greater understanding of local and regional micro-environments is an important tool for sustainable resource management.6 Ostrom’s study demonstrated cases in which overexploitation and mismanagement of resources have been circumvented through local and regional self-organization and the use of local knowledge rather than macro-regimes of resource use. 7 The central question posed by this paper is whether the local environmental knowledge described by theorists like Ostrum can be regained by consumers through the “shopping local” trend, in which consumers consciously choose to purchase locally-sourced food, and whether this trend manages to help close the rift between consumers and systems of production. Consumer decision-making is often influenced by individual motivations and external social norms.8 This is especially true in the case of the “shopping local” trend, as consumers make purchases based on internal needs, like food safety, and external factors, such as prices and norms. In order to analyze whether consumers are able to close the metabolic rift by building relationships with local food production, the authors outlined below investigated what consumers meant by “local”, why they chose to shop locally, and what they gained from the experience. Overall, these cases demonstrate that although alternative food systems are growing, consumers are largely motivated by factors other than environmental sustainability. In this sense, one’s ability to close the metabolic rift through localized consumption trends is, in fact, relatively weak given that individuals lack the power to make largescale changes within the broader capitalist system. The main goals of connecting consumers to local systems of food production are the acquisition of local ecological knowledge, increased reliance on local ecosystems, and a more sensitive reaction to local environmental damage.9 Åsa and Carlsson-Kanyama investigated whether shopping locally at farmers’ markets increased consumers’ ecological awareness, and found that any knowledge that they gained about their local environment was indirect, such as a greater awareness of food seasonality.10 As “local food” is mainly promoted as a means to access better quality food, the opportunity to learn about local environments is not presented as an avenue for consumers, even if they are buying food that has been produced closer to home.11 Thus, shopping locally at farmers’ markets is not inherently connected to any significant increase in ecological knowledge, which is an integral aspect of closing the metabolic rift.
In addition to this lack of ecological learning, social norms are largely subjective, and establishing systemic change through consumer behavior is fairly ineffective when there is no cohesive concept of “local food”. This is explored by Blake, Mellor and Crane, who found that generally, people associate “local” food with food that is of higher quality, and that this notion has given supermarket chains the ability to commodify the “local” through special labeling without actually sourcing from local farms.12 In addition, they found that “local food” may also be associated with local stores rather than local production. Therefore, as local production is not always required in order for food to be considered part of the “shop local” trend, consumer understandings of “the local” do not always align with truly local food, which is an obstacle when attempting to reconstruct the relationship between consumers and producers.13 Consumers have also been found to rarely describe environmental sustainability as a primary motivation for shopping locally, and their wide array of motivations makes it difficult to correlate environmentally beneficial behavior with environmentally motivated decisions. This is explored by Åsa and Carlsson-Kanyama, who found that consumers mostly attended farmers’ markets out of concern for food quality rather than a concern with “localness”.14 In another study conducted about consumers buying “organic” or “green” food, Lockie et al. found that while most consumers have environmental concerns and value sustainable goods, they placed other concerns, such as price and safety, above them.15 These studies show that due to the diversity of consumer behavior and motivations, placing the responsibility on consumers to make environmentally-conscious choices is an ineffective way of supporting localized production. The case studies explored above demonstrate that changes in consumer behavior towards local food consumption fail to increase local environmental knowledge and close the gap between consumers and producers on a scale that would have an overall positive effect on environmental sustainability. The ability for the consumers described in the case studies to make environmentally conscious decisions was hindered by their individual needs and the fluctuating meanings of “local” as they are constructed by capitalist systems of production. Additionally, when they did succeed in making local purchases, there was an overall lack of environmental knowledge passed onto them, failing to increase their understanding of their local environ-
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ments. These combined effects point to an overall lack of effectiveness that shopping locally has on allowing consumers to gain an awareness about their local environments in order for the metabolic rift to be closed. It therefore may be more effective to enact changes from the production side, regulated by institutions, in order to encourage sustainable, local food networks to become the norm within which consumers operate, rather than rely on individual consumers to make these behavioral changes on their own.16
. . .
Food Sovereignty and La Via Campesina: A Potential Solution A socio-ecological movement that takes on the efforts of closing the divide between food production and consumers and enhances environmental knowledge is La Vıa Campesina (LVC), an international organization that promotes local and sustainable agriculture, and places responsibility on institutions and producers to make these changes rather than the consumers themselves.17 La Vıa Campesina joins together organizations from across the world to create a space where local knowledge can be shared, and helps small-scale farms prosper using sustainable technologies.18 For example, they support the exchange of diverse regional seed stock as an alternative to the seeds used by agribusinesses, which in turn restructures “local ecological systems” towards a more sovereign form of seed use and agricultural production.19
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What makes La Vıa Campesina important to this paper is that it uses the globalized world system to its advantage in order to reduce the internationally monopolized nature of agriculture, thus acknowledging the issue of scale when it comes to making changes to production systems. La Vıa Campesina allows organizations from over sixty countries to exchange agro-ecological knowledge that might have been lost to neoliberal constructions of agriculture, and supports collective action towards rebuilding local relationships with the land.20 For example, the organization facilitated visits to the Zero Budget Natural Farming movement in Southern India, which developed agro-ecological practices that relied on local farm resources rather than costly and environmentally harmful Green-revolution style production.21 These exchanges of knowledge ultimately resulted in an “international peasant agroecology training school” in South Asia based on the shared information, which in turn promoted local farming methodology.22 Supporting the emergence of resilient local food regimes, specifically by nurturing local environmental knowledge, in the face of the immense land degradation resulting from industrial farming is a step towards creating a food system where consumers do not have to necessarily choose to shop locally in order to promote changes in the production system, since the relationship between humans and the environment starts to mend at the production level itself.23
Conclusion This paper sought to understand how consumer behavior and the trend of “shopping local” may relate to closing the metabolic rift, which Marx theorized as the growing gap between consumers and systems of production within capitalism, and the resulting loss of environmental knowledge and ability to recognize one’s environmental impacts. A series of case studies investigating what it means for consumers to “shop local” found that the extent to which shopping local closes the metabolic rift is extremely limited. Not only are consumers constrained by individual interests such as their concerns with food quality and price over environmental impact, but consumer trends can also be co-opted by the very system they are trying to offset, as seen in the tendency for supermarkets to market quality food through the idea of “localness” rather than marketing actual locally-produced food.24 Additionally, when consumers do succeed in purchasing local food, the consumer-producer gap is maintained thanks to the lack of ecological knowledge they gain through their interactions with local producers.25 The minimal impact of the “shopping local” trend can thus suggest that changes to systems of exchange that necessarily depend on consumer behavior are ultimately ineffective. What may therefore be more valuable to the endeavor of closing the metabolic rift is nurturing local production systems and knowledge in order for the producer-side of agriculture to be able to competitively change for consumers, rather than the other way around. An example of how this may be done is La Vıa Campesina, an international movement that joins together organizations who aim to facilitate and expand local ecological knowledge and support the growth of local food systems. This movement demonstrates that norms that we might assume exist on the consumer level such as concern for local food consumption and environmental sustainability can exist within the sphere of production and thus closer to producing meaningful systemic change. If systems of production can genuinely bring the “local” to consumers and create circumstances in which building local environmental knowledge is prioritized, then the limitations of the “shopping local” trend may be circumvented. Consumers would not have to sacrifice their personal interests in food safety and quality when purchasing local food while also gaining a closer relationship with their environment in the process. Movements like La Vıa Campesina, which
aims to change systems of production in these ways, prove that this is not an impossibility for the future.
endnotes 1. Foster, John, “Marx’s Theory of Metabolic Rift: Classical Foundations for Environmental Sociology.” American Journal of Sociology 105, no. 2 (1999): 366-405. doi:10.1086/210315 2. Gunderson, Ryan, “The Metabolic Rifts of Livestock Agribusiness.” Organization & Environment 24, no. 4 (2011):408-414; Wittman, Hannah, “Reworking the metabolic rift: La Via Campesina, agrarian citizenship, and food sovereignty.” Journal of Peasant Studies 36, no. 4 (2010):806-808. doi:10.1080/0306615090335399. 3. Åsa, Svenfelt, Rebecka Milestad, and AnnMari Jansson, “On the Importance of Tightening Feedback Loops for Sustainable Development of Food Systems.” Food Policy 30, no. 2 (2005):224–39. 4. Axinn, William G., Jennifer S. Barber, Ann E. Biddlecom. “Social organization and the transition from direct to indirect consumption.” Social Science Research 39, no. 3 (2010): 358. https://doi-org. proxy3.library.mcgill.ca/10.1016/j.ssresearch.2010.01.001 5. Ibid., 357–368; Gunderson, Ryan, “The Metabolic Rifts of Livestock Agribusiness.” 806-808. 6. Ostrom, Elinor, Joanna Burger, Christopher B. Field, Richard B. Norgaard, and David Policansky, “Revisiting the Commons: Local Lessons, Global Challenges.” Science 284 (1999):278-282. 7. Ibid., 298. 8. Lockie, Stewart, Kristen Lyons, Geoffrey Lawrence, Kerry Mummery, “Eating ‘Green’: Motivations behind organic food consumption in Australia.” Sociologia Ruralis 42, no. 1 (2002): 37. https:// doi-org.proxy3.library.mcgill.ca/10.1111/1467-9523.00200 9. Åsa, Svenfelt, Rebecka Milestad, and AnnMari Jansson, 224-239. 10. Åsa, Svenfelt and Annika Carlsson-Kanyama, “Farmers’ Markets - Linking Food Consumption and the Ecology of Food Production?” Local Environment 15, no. 5 (2010):461. 11. Ibid., 463. 12. Blake, Megan, Jody Mellor, Lucy Crane, “Buying Local Food: Shopping Practices, Place, and Consumption Networks in Defining Food as ‘Local.’” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 100, no. 2 (2010): 418-422. https://doi-org.proxy3.library. mcgill.ca/10.1080/00045601003595545 13. Ibid., 422. 14. Åsa, Svenfelt and Annika Carlsson-Kanyama, 456. 15. Lockie, Stewart, Kristen Lyons, Geoffrey Lawrence, Kerry Mummery, 33. 16. Åsa, Svenfelt, Rebecka Milestad, and AnnMari Jansson, 233-235. 17. Wittman, Hannah, 805-826. 18. Martínez-Torres María Elena, and Peter M Rosset. “Diálogo De Saberes in La Vía Campesina: Food Sovereignty and Agroecology.” The Journal of Peasant Studies 41, no. 6 (2014): 979-997. https://doi. org/10.1080/03066150.2013.872632. 19. Wittman, Hannah, 817. 20. Martínez-Torres María Elena and Peter M Rosset, 994. 21. Ibid., 991. 22. Ibid., 992. 23. Ibid., 993. 24. Blake, Megan, Jody Mellor, Lucy Crane, 418-419. 25. Åsa, Svenfelt and Annika Carlsson-Kanyama, 461.
6
Sex Work is Work:
The Discursive Influence of the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective By: Anjali Mehindiratta
abstract The legality of sex work remains a space of acute contestation, even in Western liberal democracies. However, in 2003, New Zealand passed the Prostitution Reform Act and became the first country in the world to fully decriminalize sex work. This paper examines the role played by the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective (NZPC) in contributing to this remarkable policy shift. It elaborates on how civil society organizations such as the NZPC appear to play a significant role in prompting legislative change, especially around contentious topics such as sex work. The NZPC is first evaluated as a ‘norm entrepreneur’, an actor that seeks to shift public attitudes and norms. In her book ‘Diplomacy of Conscience’, Purdue professor of political science Ann Marie Clark describes a four-stage theory of norm emergence. The NZPC’s contributions at each of stage of this process are examined in the second half of the paper. La légalité du travail du sexe reste un domaine de vive contestation, même dans les démocraties libérales occidentales. Mais en 2003, la Nouvelle-Zélande a adopté la Prostitution Reform Act et est devenue le premier pays au monde à décriminaliser complètement le travail du sexe. Cet article examine le rôle joué par le New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective (NZPC) dans la contribution à ce remarquable changement de politique. Il explique comment les organisations de la société civile telles que le NZPC semblent jouer un rôle important pour encourager des changements législatifs, en particulier autour de sujets controversés tels que le travail du sexe. Le NZPC est d’abord évalué comme un « entrepreneur de normes », un acteur qui cherche à modifier les attitudes et les normes du public. Dans son livre Diplomacy of Conscience, la professeure de sciences politiques de Purdue, Ann Marie Clark, décrit une théorie de l’émergence des normes en quatre étapes. Les contributions du NZPC à chacune des étapes de ce processus sont examinées dans la seconde moitié de l’article.
I
n 2003, with the passage of the ProstitutionReform Act (PRA), New Zealand (NZ) became the first country in the world to decriminalize sex work.1 Many scholars have identified the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective (NZPC) as a major civil society actor in achieving this transformative outcome. This essay will first assert that the NZPC can be considered a robust norm entrepreneur, and secondly that its discursive abilities strongly influenced the passage of the PRA. To establish the NZPC’s status as an effective norm entrepreneur, the Collective will be evaluated for four key attributes of entrepreneurial success: internal coherence, perseverance, expertise, and international or formal recognition. Richard Price’s review article “Transnational Civil Society and Advocacy in World Politics” and Ann Marie Clark’s book “Diplo-
macy of Conscience” identify these attributes as being key characteristics of norm entrepreneurs. To assert the NZPC’s discursive influence on the legal and social norms surrounding sex work in New Zealand, the organization will be analyzed through the lens of Clark’s four-phase theory of norm emergence to ascertain how the Collective contributed during each phase. Civil society organizations have the unique power to shift public opinion and social norms dramatically on issues that are deeply controversial. The NZPC’s long fight for decriminalization provides a salient case study for how other civil society actors might achieve victory in their own contentious endeavours.
. . .
8
Background on Sex Work as a Development Issue Before being able to discuss the role of the NZPC in the passing of the PRA, it is first necessary to understand the decriminalization of sex work in the development context. Sex work - and its legalization - is a deeply contentious issue worldwide. Anti-prostitution scholars and “neo abolitionist” activists argue that sex work is inherently coercive and exploitative of women.2 Sex work and human trafficking are often conflated by anti-prostitution advocates who believe that women have been victimized by sex work and must be “rescued” from it.3 However, in reality it is the criminalization of sex work which perpetuates the most harm against individuals in the industry. Legislation criminalizing sex work marginalizes sex workers and their clients which pushes the industry underground. Consequently, sex workers are more susceptible to violence, less able to exercise power over their labor, and often unable to pursue health and justice services.4 Through decriminalization, sex workers are afforded safer working conditions and the same employment rights as members of any other service industry.5 Empirical evidence has demonstrated that decriminalization of sex work improves human rights and reduces harm associated with violence and exploitation.6 It is important to recognize that sex worker abuse is not a development issue that is exclusive to the Global South; the problem can also occur in advanced industrial democracies.7 New Zealand was one such democracy, wherein prior to the passing of the Prostitution Reform Act, all activities related to sex work (soliciting, brothel operation, etc.) were criminalized.8 Lacking legal rights, sex workers had no protection against labour and employment abuses.9 The NZPC was thus formed to address the problems that arose from sex work criminalization, as well as to remedy the fact that sex workers’ voices were rarely amplified in discussions about their profession.10
. . .
NZPC as a Norm Entrepreneur Internal coherence is a key characteristic of a successful norm entrepreneur, and the NZPC possesses this attribute in spades. The NZPC is an organization that was founded and is driven by its principled and immutable commitment to the cause of sex workers’ rights.11,12 Its motivations and aims are derived from
9
its founding members’ experiences of discrimination and marginalization, which accords it with a strong belief in labour justice for its constituency.13 What enhances its internal coherence is the fact that the organization was established as a grassroots, participatory movement. At the time of its founding, the NZPC did not even have formal membership list, owing to the fact that many sex workers did not dare risk identifying themselves. The organization believed these kinds of formalities would bar many from participating in creating change, and so these structures were eliminated to ensure equal access to the cause.14 Moreover, the Collective has consistently emphasized the involvement of sex workers in policy consultation and design.15 One of the NZPC’s primary missions is uplifting the voices of sex workers, that they might be empowered to inform the legislation that affects them.16 The NZPC’s dedication to thoroughly incorporating its constituency has enhanced the organization’s clarity on its key commitments and principles.17 Established in 1987, the NZPC has embod-
“The NZPC was crucial in advocating for and supporting the rights of sex workers.” ied a characteristic that is key to norm entrepreneurs: perseverance. By engaging in a long-term struggle for decriminalization, the NZPC has proven its resolve and commitment.18 Nearly two decades elapsed between the organization’s founding and the passing of the PRA in 2003. During this period, the Collective was crucial in advocating for and supporting the rights of sex workers.19 This advocacy was heavily characterized by adversity, as many sex worker rights organizations (SWROs) around the globe often confront barriers to making their voices heard in government due to legitimacy issues surrounding the industry itself.20 Despite this, the NZPC persisted in its fight for decriminalization, and was gradually able to earn its place as a legitimate stakeholder in government discussions on the sex work industry.21 In the debate on sex work reform in the country, the NZPC established itself as having the foremost expertise and knowledge on the issue, strengthening its leverage on the construction of norms around the industry. It did so by ensuring its membership comprised of
sex workers, thus lending the organization legitimacy in its claim as the actor with the most knowledge of the situation ‘on the ground’.22 Clark explains that fact interpretation is also an important asset of NGOs in their quest for norm construction.23 Indeed, the Collective was well aware of the influence it marshalled, and its spokesperson Catherine Healy “quickly built a reputation as an informed media expert, a reliable and accessible source on the sex industry”.24 The NZPC took care in framing their cause and making it legible, understanding that decriminalization represented a highly contested issue. The organization made strategic links with public health researchers to ensure that their arguments in favour of decriminalization “were always evidence based”.25 This careful work allowed the NZPC to become an authority in the sex work debate in New Zealand. Finally, the NZPC’s international reputation and formal incorporation in government processes supports the organization as being a norm entrepreneur. The advocacy being advanced by the Collective enjoyed global recognition, and aforementioned spokesperson Catherine Healy was even invited by the World Health Organization to Vietnam to disseminate education on HIV/AIDS prevention in the context of sex work.26 Moreover, since its founding, the NZPC has maintained ties with the NZ Ministry of Health, which became its primary funder in 1988 with the aim of depressing the spread of HIV/AIDs in the sex work industry.27 The autonomy of the organization has often been called into question over this fact, but the group has asserted that government
funding has not deradicalized its political goals.28,29 Indeed, the organization’s early partnership with NZ’s Health Department has lent the Collective a level of credibility and legitimacy in the “public arena” and has serviced the SWRO’s aims in swaying public and political opinion in favour of decriminalization.30 The NZPC can indeed be considered a robust norm entrepreneur in the context of New Zealand’s sex work industry. Having established this, we may now turn to examine how the organization has exerted a discursive influence that culminated in the passage of the PRA. Clark espouses a fourstage framework to norm emergence. The phases are as follows: I) fact finding, ii) consensus building, iii) principled norm construction, iv) norm application.31 Examination of the NZPC at each phase of sex worker norm construction in New Zealand reveals that the SWRO was an incredibly important and influential actor at each point in the process.
. . .
Phase One: Fact Finding Clark asserts that the process of enshrining normative concepts in legal code must begin by initiating discussion on “questions of right and wrong”.32 The centrality of NGOs (like the NZPC) at this stage cannot be overstated. At this point of norm emergence, NGOs are charged with illuminating “information about specific human rights violations”.33 NGOs also promote “critical reflection” on the current “common standard” of normative behaviour, and through
10
interpretation of facts, raise questions on whether or not the standard should be permitted to persist.34 The NZPC was very successful at drawing attention to the human rights violations of sex workers and how criminalization in the industry promoted harm.35 Though the organization did embrace the task of educating sex workers about safe sex, it also took on the broader mission of educating the public on the hazards endured by sex workers as a consequence of criminalization.36 Members of the Collective took pains to substantiate their claims with well-researched evidence and they drew upon empirical analyses to counter the academics and politicians who opposed their cause.37 The NZPC acknowledged that the public was rife with negative misperceptions of the sex work industry, and thus set about demystifying the industry in order to better relay how decriminalization could prevent the very human rights abuses that were occurring within it.38 Of note is how NZPC’s involvement with the NZ Health Ministry in tackling HIV/AIDs supported the organization’s credibility as a reputable source. Clark discusses how NGOS’ “established history of accuracy” will determine the success of their publicization efforts. While ensuring it was not “being controlled by a government agency”, the Collective leveraged its governmental endowment to disseminate information on sex work issues.39 The NZPC did not shy away from any media attention garnered by its involvement in the fight against HIV/AIDs.40 Though sex workers were being painted by the media as “scapegoats” for transmission of the disease in NZ, the NZPC countered with research showing how sex workers actually “had lower exposure to HIV” than individuals who were not in the industry.41 Furthermore, the
11
Collective used these media opportunities to increase awareness of sex workers’ rights, and to inform the public on the reality of the sex work industry.42 The NZPC capitalized on its initial, authoritative platform as a public health organization to explain the importance of decriminalization to the NZ public.43
. . .
Phase Two: Consensus Building In the second phase of norm emergence, principled NGOs lobby for broader recognition of the need for legal protections against human rights abuses.44 NGOs use their expertise to frame facts in a specific way in order to galvanize “support and pressure for change” from the general public.45 The second phase can be summed up as a stage of ‘problematization’, wherein the norm entrepreneur rallies its allies and the public to demand “normative remedies” to respond to problems.46 NGOs play a critical role in creating narratives and framing issues in a way that “resonates with broader political understandings”.47 Where the first stage makes their cause legible to the public, the second stage involves convincing the public that the cause is urgent and worthy of remediation. Again, the NZPC’s importance in this process cannot be overstated. In interviews conducted with various allies of the decriminalization movement, many respondents reported that it was only through encountering the NZPC that they became “motivated to engage with the sex industry” and to push for sex work reform.48 Prior to contact with the SWRO, very few of the interviewees had a thorough understanding of the need for decriminalization. It is anecdotes like these which make the educational and influential attributes of the
Collective irrefutable. The NZPC’s ability to change opinions and construct a narrative around the need for decriminalization were central to achieving reform.49 The NZPC was also fundamental in gathering allies, creating networks, and establishing partnerships in the fight for decriminalization.50 The SWRO used a variety of methods to court allies, including hosting weekly open house drinking nights at its office to foster intermingling between academics, businesspeople, and advocates.51 Many organizations, such as the Young Women’s Christian Association, believed that decriminalization would be equated to “an endorsement for sex work”.52 However, the NZPC remedied these concerns by emphasizing decriminalization as being central to harm reduction. Sex work is an industry that is difficult for women to fully exit, but decriminalization would facilitate such an exit.53 Through a shared commitment to harm reduction and human rights, the NZPC was able to change the opinions of organizations and persuade them to join the campaign.54 Finally, the NZPC was critical in handling criticisms levied against its cause by opponents. With any process of norm construction, contestation is bound to emerge from actors with differing incentives and beliefs.55 This is especially true of an issue as controversial as sex work, but the Collective governed the negative discourse masterfully. They did this by refusing to engage in argumentation that relied on moral grounds, which could lead to bad faith debates. Instead, they exclusively used public health and human rights arguments to frame the issues at hand.
. . .
Phase Three: Principled Norm Construction Principled norm construction is the process of norm emergence that aims to establish formal legal standards.56 The NGO’s role during this stage is to wield its expertise to influence the drafting of legislation, and to serve as a consultant to policymakers. The New Zealand government determined it best to adopt a “collaborative governance” approach to sex work reform. A collaborative approach is defined as a process whereby non-state stakeholders are directly engaged in order to achieve the best, most responsive outcomes.57 The government considered the NZPC as a key partner in ensuring the policy was appropriate, meaningful, and authentic.58 Because the NZ government took an approach that involved the NZPC intimately, the discus-
sions resulted in policies that reflected the real concerns of sex workers rather than tokenizing them.59,60 The NZPC also influenced principled norm construction by creating a draft decriminalization Bill in 1994 upon which the PRA was based.61 Their version of the Bill was submitted to Parliament in 2000 by MP Tim Barnett, who the Collective had collected as an ally in the years prior.62 As the creators of the blueprint for the PRA, the NZPC can explicitly claim ownership of defining the norms surrounding sex work. They played a direct and explicit role in crafting the laws that ultimately achieved their main goal.63
. . .
Phase Four: Norm Application The final phase of norm emergence oversees the application of norms to principle challenging circumstances.64 As the new PRA began to be implemented, the NZPC continued its work of norm construction by providing resources and services that complemented the new era of decriminalization. Two examples best illustrate the NZPC’s ongoing support of sex workers and the new legal norms protecting them. With sex work being decriminalized, sex workers could legally file complaints against brothel operators without fearing retribution. When sex workers pursued legal action, the NZPC offered them information on their rights, options, and legal proceedings.65 Another effort of the Ministry of Health and the Collective was creating pamphlets and posters informing sex work clients of the legal requirement of contraceptives during oral and penetrative
12
sex.66 In removing the burden of responsibility from sex workers to inform clients of the law, the vulnerability of these workers was reduced. Where use of contraceptives had previously and regularly stood as a “10-minute argument” between a sex worker and client, the issues could now be resolved by the sex worker simply stating that ‘the law mandates it’.67 These two cases demonstrate how the NZPC continues to play a role in asserting newly established norms.
. . . Conclusion
New Zealand’s decriminalization of sex work was an immense feat, and one that would not have been accomplished without the entrepreneurial competencies of the NZPC. The Collective was central to informing and framing the emerging norms surrounding the sex work industry. Its discursive influence on politicians and the public cannot be overstated. Decriminalization has yet to be achieved in the vast majority of countries and territories. The success of New Zealand’s story suggests that such a change must come from civil society. Strong advocates for the cause are necessary to achieve truly transformative outcomes.
endnotes 1. Gillian M Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization: Sex Work ‘down under’ but Not Underground,” Criminology & Criminal Justice 14, no. 5 (November 1, 2014): 580, https://doi. org/10.1177/1748895814523024. 2. Aroney Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws: How New Zealand Sex Workers and Their Allies Shaped Decriminalisation in New Zealand,” Sexuality Research & Social Policy 18, no. 4 (December 2021): 955, http://dx.doi.org.proxy3. library.mcgill.ca/10.1007/s13178-021-00564-z. 3. Chi Adanna Mgbako, “Introduction ‘We Have Voices’” (NYU Press, 2016), 7, https://doi.org/10.18574/ nyu/9781479817566.003.0001. 4. Mgbako, 7. 5. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 581. 6. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 952. 7. Mgbako, “Introduction ‘We Have Voices,’” 11. 8. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 581. 9. Gillian Abel et al., Taking the Crime out of Sex Work: New Zealand Sex Workers’ Fight for Decriminalisation (Bristol, UNITED KINGDOM: Policy Press, 2010), 46, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/mcgill/detail.action?docID=555723. 10. Abel et al., 46. 11. Abel et al., 46. 12. Giovanni Mantilla, “Emerging International Human Rights
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Norms for Transnational Corporations,” Global Governance 15, no. 2 (2009): 280. 13. Abel et al., Taking the Crime out of Sex Work, 46. 14. Abel et al., 46. 15. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 954. 16. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 581. 17. Ann Marie Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience: Amnesty International and Changing Human Rights Norms (Princeton, UNITED STATES: Princeton University Press, 2001), 11, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/mcgill/detail.action?docID=581572. 18. Janice Raymond, “Gatekeeping Decriminalization of Prostitution: The Ubiquitous Influence of the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective,” Dignity: A Journal of Analysis of Exploitation and Violence 3, no. 2 (April 1, 2018): 2, https://doi. org/10.23860/dignity.2018.03.02.06. 19. Raymond, 1. 20. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 955. 21. Eurydice, 954. 22. Eurydice, 958. 23. Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience, 16. 24. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 958. 25. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 582. 26. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 958. 27. Raymond, “Gatekeeping Decriminalization of Prostitution,” 2. 28. Abel et al., Taking the Crime out of Sex Work, 47. 29. Rhiannon Morgan, “On Political Institutions and Social Movement Dynamics: The Case of the United Nations and the Global Indigenous Movement,” International Political Science Review 28, no. 3 (June 1, 2007): 274, https://doi. org/10.1177/0192512107077099. 30. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 583. 31. Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience, 32. 32. Clark, 33. 33. Clark, 33. 34. Clark, 16. 35. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 582. 36. Raymond, “Gatekeeping Decriminalization of Prostitution,” 2. 37. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 958. 38. Abel et al., Taking the Crime out of Sex Work, 46. 39. Abel et al., 47. 40. Abel et al., 51. 41. Abel et al., 51. 42. Abel et al., 51. 43. Mantilla, “Emerging International Human Rights Norms for Transnational Corporations,” 280. 44. Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience, 34. 45. Clark, 36. 46. Clark, 35. 47. Mantilla, “Emerging International Human Rights Norms for Transnational Corporations,” 280. 48. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 957. 49. Eurydice, 957. 50. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 580. 51. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 959. 52. Eurydice, 958. 53. Eurydice, 958. 54. Eurydice, 958.
55. Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience, 5. 56. Clark, 34. 57. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 954. 58. Eurydice, 954. 59. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 582. 60. Morgan, “On Political Institutions and Social Movement Dynamics,” 274. 61. Eurydice, “Changing Minds and Changing Laws,” 959. 62. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 583. 63. Abel, 583. 64. Clark, Diplomacy of Conscience, 35. 65. Abel, “A Decade of Decriminalization,” 585. 66. Abel, 586. 67. Abel, 586.
14
Social Capital Connections:
The Role of Civil Society in Fostering Successful Refugee Integration in the Global North By: Matthias Hoenisch
abstract The study of refugees generally discusses three stages of the refugee experience: the experiences of individuals which force them to leave their country of origin, the process of migration, and finally their resettlement. This third phase of refugeehood, the resettlement and integration stage, is often the longest part of the forced migration process. This paper will explore the role played by civil society organizations (CSOs) in facilitating the integration of refugees into their new communities in the Global North. Using the specific case of refugee resettlement in Canada, it will argue that the success of community refugee integration in the Global North is reliant on the presence of a strong civil society. It will reference the works of Putnam (1995), Harrell-Bond (2002), and Alkan (2021) to establish the benefits of CSOs in community-building before delving into case studies from Canada, the United Kingdom, and Norway that will illuminate the author’s argument. After acknowledging some weaknesses of CSOs, it will conclude by arguing that CSOs remain integral to ensuring the successful community integration of refugees in the Global North. L’étude des réfugiés évoque généralement trois étapes de l’expérience des réfugiés : les expériences des individus qui les forcent à quitter leur pays d’origine, le processus de migration et enfin, leur réinstallation. Cette troisième phase du statut de réfugié, l’étape de réinstallation et d’intégration, est souvent la partie la plus longue du processus de migration forcée. Cet article explorera le rôle joué par les organisations de la société civile (OSC) pour faciliter l’intégration des réfugiés dans leurs nouvelles communautés des pays du Nord. En utilisant le cas spécifique de la réinstallation des réfugiés au Canada, il soutiendra que le succès de l’intégration communautaire des réfugiés dans le Nord dépend de la présence d’une société civile forte. Il fera référence aux travaux de Putnam (1995), Harrell-Bond (2002) et Alkan (2021) pour établir les bienfaits des OSC dans le renforcement des communautés avant de se plonger dans des études de cas du Canada, du Royaume-Uni et de la Norvège qui éclaireront l’argumentation de l’auteur. Après avoir reconnu certaines faiblesses des OSC, l’article conclura en affirmant que les OSC restent essentielles pour assurer la réussite de l’intégration communautaire des réfugiés dans les pays du Nord.
T
he study of refugees generally discusses three stages of the refugee experience: the factors which force individuals to leave their homes, their migration, and their resettlement. This third phase of refugeehood, the resettlement and integration stage, is often the longest part of the forced migration process. It can take years, even decades, for people to rebuild a sense of “rootedness” in their new home after being unceremoniously forced from their native land, as illuminated by Liisa Malkki.1 As such, it is of utmost importance that refugee-accepting states engage in efforts to facilitate the integration of new arrivals into their new communities. However, state governments often fail to adequately fund or manage their own resettlement pro-
grams.2 Upon whom, then, does the onus of assisting the refugee resettlement and integration process fall? Drawing on sociology and anthropology, this paper will explore the role played by civil society organizations in integrating refugees into their new communities. Focusing on refugee resettlement in Canada, I will argue that the success of refugee integration in the Global North is dependent on the presence of a strong civil society. I will also incorporate case studies from the United Kingdom and Norway. While imperfect at providing humanitarian support, a strong civil society is essential for supporting the successful integration of refugees into Global North communities. Civil society organizations (CSOs) offer key services to help refugees establish roots and grow an attachment to their
16
new community. Filling in the gaps left by government services, CSOs support refugees in two main ways: practically, by providing job-seeking support, childcare, and other services; and relationally, through the cultivation of social capital. Social capital constitutes the tangible and intangible networks that connect society and empower refugees to become more integrated into the fabric of their new community. To begin, I will define civil society by invoking the work of Robert Putnam and will argue for the superiority of CSOs over humanitarian NGOs. I will then discuss the role played by CSOs in creating a welcoming environment for refugees and a sense of relatability between refugees and locals. A presentation of case studies will ensue, followed by a brief discussion on the weaknesses of CSOs.
. . .
The Importance of Civil Society Civil society can be defined as the associations and institutions which host social engagement. The organizations that constitute civil society include religious groups, labour unions, sporting clubs, fraternal organizations, and all manners of groups in which individuals interact to form interpersonal connections based on mutual interests. According to Robert Putnam, these connections create “social capital”: norms and shared understandings which facilitate communication, trust, and cooperation for common gains within a society.3 It follows, then, that a society with high rates of CSO participation should be more trusting, more cooperative, more unified, and more successful.4 A community with these qualities is understood as having a strong civil society. Trust, unity, and cooperation are integral
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to the successful integration of refugees into a new community. Increased trust can be seen as a reduction in the likelihood of xenophobic attitudes towards others, as fear and mistrust are at the root of these dangerous sentiments.5 In the context of anti-immigrant violence in South Africa, Christina Steenkamp emphasizes the importance of trust in creating bonds between different societal groups.6 Unity and cooperation are similarly important for refugee integration. In the complicated process of societal integration and acceptance, the sense of collective effort is crucial for creating a welcoming community for refugees.7 One could argue that NGOs, not CSOs, are the most important type of organization for supporting the refugee resettlement and integration process. Humanitarian NGOs are generally well-funded and well-organized.8 They often collaborate with governments and international organizations seeking to provide humanitarian aid.9 However, as argued by Barbara Harrell-Bond, interactions between aid NGOs and refugees can create a power imbalance which reduces refugees to almost sub-human units, limiting their rights in an unintentionally inhumane manner.10 Harrell-Bond’s work focuses on the case of NGOs in Uganda, but it also applies to marginalized refugees in the Global North because many refugee-oriented NGOs operate in both the Global North and Global South. Additionally, NGOs are beholden to their donors’ desires when planning aid efforts. Daniel A. Bell and Joseph H. Carens argue that fundraising through governments and private donors creates an ethical tension around the actions of NGOs.11 This further reduces the positive impacts of NGOs’ work with refugee communities. To aid and empower refugees more effectively, organizations must reduce the influence of donors in
decision-making and remove the dependent relationship created between themselves and the refugees they seek to help.12 As an alternative to NGOs, CSOs have qualities which make them much more suitable for the role of helping to resettle and integrate refugees into their new communities. They are community-oriented by definition, and their offerings to refugees are generally not of the variety that creates dependency, like food or money. Rather, they offer a sense of community engagement, relatability, and inclusion which is extremely valuable for refugees in a new home. Relatability is a particularly important quality for connecting refugees to their new communities.13 One way of creating relatability is through hospitality, as hospitality increases trust and stimulates positive long-term relationships. The ethnographic work of Hilal Alkan14 argues that hospitable gift-giving
“Relatability is a particularly important quality for connecting refugees to their new communities. One way of creating relatability is through hospitality, as hospitality increases trust and stimulates positive long-term relationships.”
creates a reciprocal relationship between the giver and the receiver that compels both parties to connect as individuals; hospitality “creates relations that are not contractual, equal, or strictly bounded in time. It turns complete strangers who happen to knock on the door into others with whom one can engage and possibly coexist.”15 The creation of this relatability is an important benefit of CSOs. Because membership in many of these organizations is centered around common interests, and because they are inherently more personal and freer from the outside influences of donors and sponsors, CSOs can act as a strong bridge between refugees and the local community. Connections which begin with relatability and shared interests can create a path to the formation of even closer forms of community integration.
. . .
Civil Society Organizations and Economic Integration Especially in North America, an important piece of the refugee resettlement process is the integration of refugees into their local economy.16 Language barriers and the complicated process of transferring diplomas make it difficult for immigrants to enter the workforce. Becoming an independent business owner is often the best option for refugees seeking to enter the local economy. This is a very good option, as immigrants or refugees who own their business have flexibility around scheduling and control over their salary. In addition, their businesses often become local hubs for other community members of the same background.17 Unfortunately, administrative inefficiency and cultural barriers still pose significant challenges to refugees’ entrepreneurial efforts.18 Civil society organizations play an important role in creating a community environment that is conducive to successful refugee entrepreneurship. The work of Hack-Polay and Igwe discusses how small, local volunteer organizations in the U.K. can act as a “catalyst to refugees rebuilding their lives, settlement, seeking employment or starting their own business.”19 These local volunteer organizations can be seen as a type of CSO in that they are constituted of local community members who share a common interest. These compassionate, bottom-up organizations employ creative and flexible problem-solving techniques to support refugees’ needs. They provide a welcoming environment for refugees and introduce them to a wide network of community connections which can assist in everything from English language lessons to applying for jobs and completing government documentation, effectively bridging the cultural and linguistic divides which create barriers to economic integration. Membership in refugee supporting CSOs is also self-sustaining; many members of these organizations are refugees who were helped by the organizations when they first arrived in the UK.20 Without the help of these CSOs, many immigrants would have greater difficulty entering the local economy and becoming integrated into the community.
. . .
The Weakness of Civil Society Organizations Thus far, I have argued that CSOs are crucially im-
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portant in facilitating the resettlement and integration of refugees in the Global North. This suggests that the social capital gains and support offered by CSOs would be impossible for governments or international aid organizations to provide. It must be noted that there is still an important place for national governments and international aid organizations in Global North refugee regimes in that their resources and organizational capacities far exceed those of the largest CSOs. While CSOs offer immensely important services and serve as platforms for refugees’ development of social capital in their new communities, they are far from perfect organizations. The presence of a civil society does not guarantee productive CSOs, nor does the presence of CSOs guarantee that the given community is accepting of refugees or ethnic minorities. Two of Canada’s most common types of CSOs, hockey clubs and Christian organizations, have notoriously poor records on diversity and racial inclusion.21 CSOs may not be uniformly positive organizations, often lacking the resources and organizational capabilities of humanitarian agencies and governments. But the benefits of the practical services offered by CSOs for refugees are too significant to overlook. CSOs are crucial in helping refugees forge social bonds with their new communities and create social capital, as explained by Hilal Alkan and Oliver Schmidtke. In addition, their provision of services is essential to refugees, ensuring they are well fed and employed.22 The variety of benefits CSOs produce for refugees makes them invaluable for empowering the refugee integration; no other type of organization has proved capable of adequately fulfilling these needs. Despite clear evidence that CSOs are powerful forces in encouraging the economic and social integration of immigrants into Global North communities, they are far from monolithic, forming and operating in a variety of ways. To better understand the nature of CSOs as unique organizations with shared benefits, we can assess case studies of CSOs in the Global North.
. . .
Case Study: Refugees Welcome to the Arctic In communities and countries with strong civil societies, cooperative groups and grassroots CSOs can be formed rapidly to respond to the needs of the community. This was the case in the tiny town of Kirkenes, Norway in 2015. When thousands of Syrian refugees
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entered northern Norway from Russia, their first stop was in Kirkenes, a community of around 3,500 people.23 To support these refugees, local Norwegians founded Refugees Welcome to the Arctic (RWTA), an organization created to support the newly arrived Syrian refugees. Tens of thousands of Norwegians joined the organization, and RWTA managed to provide a huge quantity of food for the refugees.24 At the time, the Norwegian national government had adopted a refugee policy described as “helping people where they are”25 – in other words, sending funding for humanitarian aid to common refugee source countries and discouraging refugees from seeking asylum in Europe—and especially Norway. When the Syrian refugees inevitably arrived in Norway despite these discouragements, the Norwegian government refused to supply them with sufficient aid.26 The founders and members of RWTA saw where additional support for refugees was needed and took action to feed thousands of refugees, openly rejecting the Norwegian government’s xenophobic policies in the process. The case of RWTA is a great example of civil society’s ability to fill in the cracks when the local government fails to provide the necessary aid for refugees.
. . .
The Canadian Context Canada applauds itself as a diverse “cultural mosaic” of a country,27 and thus its federal government tries to market itself as an accepting, welcoming country for refugees. Despite this pro-refugee façade, Canada lags behind 33 other countries in terms of its refugee population.28 This contradiction between Canada’s self-promoted image and its actual government policy around refugees seeps into the bureaucracy and into the experiences of refugees in Canada. Government resettlement programs have serious weaknesses driven by bureaucratic inefficiency that makes language acquisition, accreditation of foreign education, and finding employment opportunities all extremely challenging processes. The “one-size-fits-all” approach to Canadian refugee resettlement and the bureaucratic inefficiency endemic to the Canadian government lead to a failure by the Canadian government in its efforts to create a cultural mosaic.29 Despite the discouraging results of governmental efforts to resettle and integrate refugees in Canada, CSOs and civil society as a whole can support refugee integration in Canada. The work of Lam-
ba and Krahn highlights the importance of familial and social networks – and the social capital fostered by these networks – in facilitating the resettlement process.30 The social capital built through these relationships can be channeled by refugees needing assistance with a broad range of challenges, and has been shown to be an essential resource for a successful integration and resettlement.31 When faced with problems related to employment and health, refugees in Canada call on social capital connections outside of their family more often than within.32 Considering the importance of health and economic entry, it is clear that maintaining strong social capital connections is crucial for refugees. Bearing in mind that many refugees do not possess financial capital or human capital in the form of a Canadian-recognized formal education, the main resource at refugees’ disposal in their new Canadian communities is social capital.33 Civil society can play a valuable role in giving refugees in Canada a platform from which to build social capital. Schmidtke argues that a crucial piece of refugee integration is empowering refugees to become involved in public discourse and local policy making.34 Having influence in local politics requires a significant amount of social capital, so CSOs that support refugees in gaining a political voice are extremely valuable in the resettlement and integration process. In Vancouver, British Columbia, community-run Neighbourhood Houses, a form of grassroots
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CSO that have provided resources for those in need for over 80 years, are a key source of social capital – along with more tangible offerings like after-school care for children, support in seeking employment, and cultural events.35 By fostering an inclusive, diverse environment with low-risk opportunities for social engagement, leadership, and collective goal-setting, these Neighbourhood Houses create numerous ways for refugees to construct their own social capital. In facilitating incremental steps towards greater societal involvement in a low-pressure environment, Neighbourhood Houses give refugees the chance to build a solid foundation of social capital in their new homes.36 This same principle applies to all CSOs, which we can now see as both being the providers of practical support, like help with job applications and with navigating bureaucracy, and as means of accessing and building social capital, which refugees can then harness to enhance their connection to their new community. Such services are extremely valuable for refugees and would not be provided without the presence of a strong civil society.
. . .
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Conclusion The resettlement and integration stage of the refugee experience can be an incredibly frustrating and long-winded process. While governments and aid organizations often provide essential housing, food, and documentation for refugees upon their arrival in their new community, these actors consistently fail to facilitate the process of economic, political, and social integration for refugees. Instead, civil society organizations fulfill the crucial role of providing refugees with support in a wide range of areas. The case studies of the local volunteer organizations in the U.K., Refugees Welcome to the Arctic, and the Neighbourhood Houses in Vancouver demonstrate how CSOs are an essential resource for refugees in the Global North. CSOs can act with the support of governments but are often formed in response to the recognition of inadequate government policies toward refugees. From providing practical help with job applications, finding childcare, and organizing events to creating opportunities and platforms from which refugees can build their own social capital to become more connected to their communities, CSOs are fundamental to the process of refugee integration in the Global North.
At the baseline level, a strong civil society’s value for refugees lies in Robert Putnam’s description of social capital. The presence of a strong civil society and of CSOs allows for the creation of norms and shared understandings which facilitate communication, trust, and cooperation for mutual gains within a society. In an environment where communication, trust, cooperation, and interpersonal relatability are prevalent, refugees can resettle, integrate, and flourish.
endnotes 1. Liisa Malkki, “National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity among Scholars and Refugees,” Cultural Anthropology 7, no. 1 (February 1992): 24-44, https://doi.org/10.1525/ can.1992.7.1.02a00030. 2. Anastasia Brown and Todd Scribner, “Unfulfilled Promises, Future Possibilities: The Refugee Resettlement Program in the United States,” Journal on Migration and Human Security 2, no. 2 (2014): 101-120, https://doi. org/10.1177/233150241400200203; Ervis Martani, “Rebalancing and improving refugee resettlement in Canada,” Policy Options, 2 November 2020, https://policyoptions.irpp.org/magazines/november-2020/rebalancing-and-improving-refugee-resettlement-in-canada/. 3. Robert D. Putnam, “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital,” Journal of Democracy 6, no. 1 (January 1995): 65-78, https://doi.org/10.1353/ jod.1995.0002. 4. Putnam, “Bowling Alone,” 65-78. 5. Christina Steenkamp, “Xenophobia in South Africa: What Does it Say about Trust?,” The Commonwealth Journal of International Affairs 98, (10 July 2009): 439-447, https://doi. org/10.1080/00358530903017949. 6. Steenkamp, “Xenophobia in South Africa,” 444-446. 7. Victoria M. Esses, Leah K. Hamilton, Caroline Bennett-AbuAyyash, and Meyer Burstein, Characteristics of a Welcoming Community, 5, March 2010, http://p2pcanada.ca/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Characteristics-of-a-Welcoming-Community-11.pdf. 8. Daniel A. Bell and Joseph H. Carens, “The Ethical Dilemmas of International Human Rights and Humanitarian NGOs: Reflections on a Dialogue between Practitioners and Theorists,” Human Rights Quarterly 26, no. 2 (May 2004): 300–329, https://doi.org/10.1353/ hrq.2004.0017. 9. Bell and Carens, “Reflections on a Dialogue,” 324-326. 10. Barbara E. Harrell-Bond, “Can Humanitarian Work with Refugees Be Humane?,” Human Rights Quarterly 24, no. 1 (February 2002): 51–85, https://doi.org/10.1353/hrq.2002.0011. 11. Bell and Carens, “Reflections on a Dialogue,” 324. 12. Harrell-Bond, “Humanitarian Work with Refugees,” 51-55. 13. Helen Dempster and Karen Hargrave, “Understanding public attitudes towards refugees and migrants” (working paper 512, Overseas Development Institute and Chatham House, 2017), https://www.refugee-economies.org/assets/downloads/Paper_ Dempster_and_Hargrave.pdf.
14. Hilal Alkan, “The gift of hospitality and the (un)welcoming of Syrian migrants in Turkey,” American Ethnologist 48 (16 May 2021): 180-191, https://doi.org/10.1111/amet.13012. 15. Alkan, “The gift of hospitality,” 189. 16. Dieu Hack-Polay and Paul Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric – Small Voluntary Organizations and Effective Refugee Integration in the Communities,” Journal of Enterprising Communities: People and Places in the Global Economy 13, no. 1 (16 May 2019): 5-23, https://doi.org/10.1108/JEC-112018-0084. 17. Hack-Polay and Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric,” 7. 18. Hack-Polay and Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric,” 6-7. 19. Hack-Polay and Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric,” 9. 20. Hack-Polay and Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric,” 11. 21. Bernadette Arthur, “The Canadian Church Must Break Ties With White Supremacy,” Citizens for Public Justice, 14 July 2020, https://cpj.ca/the-canadian-church-must-break-ties-with-whitesupremacy/; Jon Hernandez, “Misogyny, racism and bullying prevalent across Canadian youth hockey, survey finds,” CBC, 5 May 2021, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/misogyny-racism-bullying-across-canadian-youth-hockey-1.6014070. 22. Hack-Polay and Igwe, “Beyond Words and Rhetoric,” 5-23; Nefissa Naguib, “Middle East Encounters 69 Degrees North Latitude: Syrian Refugees and Everyday Humanitarianism in the Arctic,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 49, (16 October 2017): 645-660, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020743817000630. 23. Statistics Norway. Population and land area in urban settlements. (Oslo, Norway: Statistics Norway, 2021). https://www.ssb. no/en/befolkning/folketall/statistikk/tettsteders-befolkning-og-areal. 24. Naguib, “Middle East Encounters,” 645-660. 25. Naguib, “Middle East Encounters,” 646. 26. Naguib, “Middle East Encounters,” 647. 27. Howard Schneider, “Canada: A Mosaic, Not A Melting Pot,” The Washington Post, 5 July 1998, https://www.washingtonpost. com/archive/politics/1998/07/05/canada-a-mosaic-not-a-meltingpot/8a4998ed-b04b-491e-b72e-1ef4d8e96d84/. 28. The World Bank. Refugee population by country or territory of asylum. (Washington, D.C.: The World Bank, 2020). https://data. worldbank.org/indicator/SM.POP.REFG?most_recent_value_desc=true. 29. Martani, “Rebalancing and improving refugee resettlement.” 30. Navjot K. Lamba and Harvey Krahn, “Social capital and refugee resettlement: The social networks of refugees in Canada,” Journal of International Migration and Integration 4, (September 2003): 335-360 https://doi. org/10.1007/s12134-003-1025-z. 31. Lamba and Krahn, “Social capital and refugee,” 337. 32. Lamba and Krahn, “Social capital and refugee,” 352-353. 33. Lamba and Krahn, “Social capital and refugee,” 336. 34. Oliver Schmidtke, “The Civil Society Dynamic of Including and Empowering Refugees in Canada’s Urban Centres,” Social Inclusion 6, no. 1 (29 March 2018): 147-156, https://doi.org/10.17645/si.v6i1.1306. 35. Shmidtke, “The Civil Society Dynamic,” 149 36. Shmidtke, “The Civil Society Dynamic,” 147-156.
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Cheerleading Versus Responsive Propoganda: Evidence from Women 2 Drive Arrests in Saudi Arabia By: Celia Benhocine
abstract This study presents an account of the Saudi regime’s cyber troop activity on social media during the wave of arrests of Women 2 Drive activists in summer 2018. To determine the regime’s overarching propaganda strategy on Twitter in the case of the Women 2 Drive activists’ arrests, I weigh the theories of cheerleading and responsive propaganda with an empirical investigation involving a quantitative of tweets produced by 5,929 Twitter accounts, sampled from the original 88,000 accounts taken down under the suspicion of platform manipulation activity linked to the Saudi regime. The exploration of the data and a sentiment analysis of the sample suggest that the coordinated Twitter activity featured overwhelmingly Arabic and positive content, providing evidence that the Saudi regime’s overarching strategy was to engage in cheerleading using automated and cyborg accounts. Contributing to the existing literature about state-sponsored astroturfing, the investigation aims to fill the gap left by accounts of the Saudi propaganda strategy that are limited to traditional news outlets. Cette étude présente un compte rendu de l’activité des cybertroupes du régime saoudien sur les réseaux sociaux lors de la vague d’arrestations de militantes de Women 2 Drive à l’été 2018. Pour déterminer la stratégie globale de propagande du régime sur Twitter dans le cas des arrestations de militantes de Women 2 Drive, je compare les théories de la propagande cheerleading et de la propagande réactive avec une enquête empirique impliquant un nombre de tweets produits par 5 929 comptes Twitter, échantillonnés à partir des 88 000 comptes originaux supprimés sous le soupçon d’activité de manipulation de plateforme liée au régime saoudien. L’exploration des données et une analyse des sentiments de l’échantillon suggèrent que l’activité coordonnée sur Twitter comportait un contenu majoritairement arabe et positif, ce qui prouve que la stratégie globale du régime saoudien était de s’engager dans la propagande cheerleading en utilisant des comptes automatisés et cyborg. Contribuant à la littérature existante sur l’astroturf commandité par un État, l’enquête vise à combler le vide laissé par les récits de la stratégie de propagande saoudienne qui se limitent aux médias traditionnels.
I
In tr odu c t i on
n In September 2017, the Saudi regime announced the lift of its driving ban on women, which would come into effect in late June of 2018. It was intended to shine a positive light on the kingdom’s new Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS), who aimed to elicit enthusiasm for his Vision 2030 plan to modernize the country.1 The announcement came at a time when protests against the ban were already a long-standing challenge to Saudi authorities. These protests were not a mass movement but involved organized driving on predetermined days where 30 to 70 women would drive around the kingdom’s major cities. Some women posted videos of themselves
driving to social media while others simply switched seats with their husbands to run their daily errands.2 By October 2013, three events of this kind had been registered.3 The repeated acts of civilian disobedience, often going unnoticed by the police, warranted a warning from the Interior Ministry Spokesman General Mansur al-Turki. MBS’s announcement purposefully intended to silence the background work made by feminist activists as part of the Women 2 Drive campaign they started in 2011 by instructing them to keep quiet about the announcement.4 When some activists refused to comply with the announcement’s instructions by continuing to tweet about the issue, the regime cracked down on them with over a dozen arrests between May 14 and May 22, 2018, right before
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the effective implementation of the policy on June 24, 2018.5 Repression continued until June.6 Outspokenright before the effective implementation of the anonymous and non-anonymous citizens turned to Twitter to manifest their discontent in support of the feminist activists who currently cumulate approximately 1.2 million followers.7 Simultaneously, state-sponsored media channels and newspapers launched smear campaigns against the women concerned. The anecdotal evidence regarding the Saudi propaganda strategy during the event in traditional news outlets is clear — many accounts suggest the use of intimidation tactics by the Saudi Press Agency. For example, the newspaper Okaz published related articles using the headline “No Place for Traitors Among Us,”8 while the official Saudi Press Agency accused them of “breach[ing] (Saudi) social structure and mar[ring] the national consistency.”9 However, there are no accounts of regime-affiliated cyber troop activity – “government or political party actors tasked with manipulating public opinion online” – on social media during the event,10 except for Twitter stating that suspicious activity occurred, warranting the suspension of 5,929 Saudi- linked accounts.11 In light of this, this paper seeks to answer the question: What was the Saudi regime’s overarching propaganda strategy on Twitter in the case of the Women 2 Drive activists’ arrests? Two theories, that of cheerleading and responsive propaganda, emerge as potential explanations to categorize Saudi astroturfing efforts in this context. I argue that through coordinated cyber troop activity, the state-backed information operation that occurred during the summer 2018 arrests of Women 2 Drive activists produced mainly positive content akin to cheerleading, targeted towards an Arabic- speaking domestic audience. “Positive” content means that the content analyzed uses positively charged words, whereas cheerleading specifically refers to positively charged
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pro-regime messages such as praise and support. Social media has been documented as a powerful tool for activism12 – in an organizational capacity, for example –, but digital authoritarianism has long dislodged this status as the frontier of authoritarian learning.13 More specifically, this paper adds to the existing literature about the circumstances in which authoritarian regimes may use cheerleading as a propaganda strategy. Using a dataset of 5,929 deactivated accounts by the Twitter Transparency Operation, I analyze tweet activity between 2017 and 2019 and perform a content analysis on a sample of tweets between May 2018 and August 2018. According to Twitter, all of the accounts contained in the data were part of a network of state-backed information operations managed by a digital marketing and communications company called Smaat.14 In the first two sections of this paper, I outline the theoretical framework used to investigate the cyber troop activity event and present three hypotheses addressing the target audience and messaging valence (whether a message is positively or negatively charged).15 Then, I highlight the data and methodology used to carry out the analysis. In the two sections that follow, I delve into sample composition and provide evidence of coordination for the operation. After analyzing results of the inquiry, I bring nuance to the findings by considering limitations to the study. The last section concludes.
. . .
Theoretical Framework The literature about authoritarian propaganda strategies mainly deals with domestic electoral constraints (i.e., the absence or presence of national elections and their bindingness). Huang suggests that authoritarian regimes use disinformation to signal their strength and dissuade dissent.16 It is widely known that many
governments deploy significant resources to produce propaganda through state media alongside other displays of power. Similarly, Baggot Carter & Carter draw on state-backed newspaper data to argue that a regime faced with little to no electoral constraints uses absurdly positive content to intimidate rather than try and persuade citizens of the regime’s merits.17 This is because the lack of pushback or ideological competition towards the regime narrative to which everyone is exposed creates the collective recognition of a credible repression threat. In other words, even if the population knows the content is absurd, it is also impossible to openly challenging it. Finally, King et al. provide evidence from China that cheerleading is used to draw attention away from inflammatory topics to limit the potential for popular mobilization arising on social media. This helps counter journalistic accounts that government workers – hired to conduct disinformation and censorship operations – engage in argumentation online.18 Both the regime and the population know that state-backed information is most likely false and unreliable. This means that incentives to consume propaganda-laden content are lower. However, this does not matter from the regime’s perspective if the government apparatus employs other traditional repressive and censorship tools to prevent the majority from overtly challenging its domination abilities, as well as creating a credible repression threat. These three accounts suggest that minimal or nonexistent election pressures in an authoritarian context incentivize the regime to engage in both positive and cheerleading-type propaganda content.
Opposing this view is another side of the literature that advances the possibility of authoritarian propaganda acting in response to public opinion. Jin applies textual analysis from the People’s Daily articles in China and reports a change in messaging valence from positive to negative regarding human genome editing technology following a wave of public disapproval.19 The theoretical framework of responsive authoritarian propaganda relies on two conditions. First, the issue at hand must not threaten the regime’s legitimacy and perceived ability to rule. Second, the issue must be relatively new so that the regime’s discourse concerning it is more malleable without the narrative appearing unstable. With the first condition in mind, it is evident that electoral constraints are not the only factors influencing propaganda strategies. This evidence from China applies to the regime shifting its discourse to reflect the public’s opinion rather than shifting its discourse valence but still going against the public’s opinion. I describe a theoretical possibility of the latter in the Saudi Arabian case in the Hypotheses section. Limited theory exists about disinformation strategies by authoritarian regimes in the Middle East that may apply more readily to the Saudi Arabian case as opposed to evidence from China. Previous work regarding social media and disinformation in the Middle East and North Africa has addressed civil society’s potential for organization and monitoring,20 and has documented general trends in social media manipulation by state and non-state actors.21 Many parallels can be drawn between the two countries to defend the use of the chosen literature as it
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relates to this paper’s research question. First, both states have similar information environments based on Freedom House’s measures of Internet freedom. Both countries have the same score on several indicators such as self-censorship by journalists, manipulation of information towards political interests, diversity of the informational landscape, and economic/ regulatory constraints on users’ ability to publish content online.22 Secondly, China and Saudi Arabia were reported to have similar cyber troop capacities in terms of spending, communication strategies, fake accounts, as well as overall messaging and valence.23
. . . Hypotheses
This framework thus presents a puzzle concerning the Saudi Arabian regime’s propagandic tendencies in its Twitter activity. Both theories are supported by registered evidence of Saudi cyber troops adopting government cheerleading and opponent attack strategies.24 Let us review the theoretical implications of cheerleading and propaganda responsiveness. Contrary to China, the risk of mobilization from movements originating in Saudi Arabia is much lower. Indeed, there are several accounts documenting thousands of yearly protests in China,25 including in the academic literature,26 but that is not the case in Saudi Arabia. Thus, despite the “explosion of advocacy” on Twitter by women activists,27 there may not have been a tangible threat of social mobilization to the regime. However, it is also important to note that unlike the Chinese government, the Saudi Arabian government does not differentiate between regime criticism that does and does not have collective action potential. In the aftermath of the Arab Spring, the palace implemented its 2014 decree labelling any criticism against the regime as a punishable act of terrorism.28 This includes association with any political movement (including on social media) and sympathizing with individuals under regime scrutiny.29 From the regime’s perspective then, the definition of “collective action potential” is incredibly broad. This implies that the threshold for activities the regime perceives as a threat is lower than China’s, justifying its aim to distract under circumstances broader than the those only concerned with the threat of offline mobilization. Distraction, rather than meaningful engagement with dissidents, describes the process of creating so many pro-regime posts that they effectively drown out any content deemed problem-
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atic. This restricts the probability that any user will see problematic posts, while engagement might create more visibility for these posts.30 Accordingly, the cheerleading theory could hold in this situation. Statebacked accounts could have used a combination of positive message valence on Twitter combined with content amplification strategies to divert attention away from the condemnation of physical repression. On the other hand, it is also possible that positive messages praising the regime for its forward- looking attitude regarding its decision to allow women to drive could have shifted towards negative attacks on dissidents on Twitter. Since a concession about women’s right to drive was already made within the broader ideological framework enforcing Islamic law that prevents women from being immodest, the issue of women’s driving does not fundamentally and politically challenge the regime. This satisfies the first condition of the responsive authoritarian propaganda framework. However, the second condition is not satisfied since the campaign concerning a woman’s
right to drive was a longstanding issue. Because of this, I hypothesize that a cheerleading strategy would dominate for the suspected disinformation event. The alternative explanation would be to observe negative content or content that disparages the opposition (those who criticize the regime and its actions), but this is less convincing because taunting users would detract from regime distraction efforts online. Even in offline repression of online commentators, Pan and Siegel showed that while arrests decreased the activity of those arrested,31 they also brought followers of the detainees to become more active and engaged with the issue at hand than they previously were. The cheerleading hypothesis implies that the disinformation campaign would be aimed towards a domestic public, whose discontent could transform into a threat to the system’s authority. Language is a significant feature of the Saudi response because the distraction associated to the cyber troop activity should target a domestic audience, which would be done using Arabic. On the other hand, an attempt to save face on the world stage so as not to tarnish the Crown Prince’s reputation as a reformer would be more likely to use English. In other words, the responsiveness hypothesis could exhibit a growing proportion of tweets aimed at a foreign and Western public. This leads to the formation of hypothesis 1 and its alternative (null) hypothesis:
H1: The Twitter cyber troop operation produced more Arabic than English content. H1(null): The Twitter cyber troop operation produced similar Arabic and English content. Next, if the cheerleading theory holds for the overall campaign, the average valence of the Tweets should be predominantly positive. Alternatively, the responsiveness approach would predict the opposite.
H2: The Twitter cyber troop operation produced mainly positive content.
H2 (null): The Twitter cyber troop operation produced mainly negative content. The third hypothesis seeks to elucidate whether there is a difference in strategy based on the target audience, since a domestic cheerleading campaign should exhibit a higher proportion of positive Arabic tweets compared to English ones. A potential reason for differing strategies across languages is that the Saudi government would be more concerned with distraction domestically and does not intend to distract a foreign audience from the tumults occurring at home.
H3: The Twitter cyber troop operation produced differentially positive Arabic content compared to English tweets. H3 (null): The Twitter cyber troop operation did not produce differentially positive Arabic content compared to English tweets.
Data and Met hod To answer the research question, I used data released in December 2019 by Twitter Information Operations from Twitter’s transparency initiative. Twitter reported the suspension of more than 88,000 accounts over the violation of platform manipulation regulations and linked them to a large state backed information operation originating from Saudi Arabia. Twitter pre-filtered these accounts to remove those posting unrelated spam content. The dataset I used thus contains a representative sample of those filtered accounts, for a total of 5,929 accounts. First, I investigated trends in coordination and automated activity between Summer 2017 and 2019.
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Then, I selected observations between May 1 and August 31, 2018, to capture the disinformation event. Although the exact period of repression occurred from May to July, August observations were kept because the social stress caused by the event likely persisted for some time both on the civilian and regime side. I explored trends in the number of tweets and account creation over time in the whole sample to gain some insight regarding the level of coordination in the suspected operation. To this same end, I also summarized the top 5 tweeting platforms used by tweeters in the sample, as well as their follower and following data. The next step was to test H1 using tweeting f requenc y by language and proportion calculations. I tested H2 and H3 by performing a sentiment analysis. To begin, I selected Arabic and English tweets, cleaning the text data to remove URLs, punctuation, and random arrays of words. Upon manual examination of the data, many tweets contained lines of randomly mixed letters and numbers. Since I could not detect a clear pattern of occurrence, I coded the program such that all English words above ten letters be removed. For Arabic tweets, I removed letters f rom the L atin alphabet altogether to prevent the translation program from translating characters unnecessarily. Despite this step being a potential limitation, I assumed that the overall valence of a tweet
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should not change by removing a few English words where they occurred in Arabic tweets. Furthermore, legible English words within Arabic tweets were a rare occurrence in the data. This suggests that any strateg y pertaining to foreign audiences would thus be picked up in English-language tweets. B efore proceeding to the text analysis, the Arabic tweets were translated to English using the Google Cloud Translation API. With the English and translated Arabic tweets in a single set, I coded a binar y variable indicating the language of origin to differentiate between message valence in Arabic and English subsets. The Quantitative Discourse Analysis package in R evaluated the text sentiment of each tweet on a linear scale f rom -1 to 1, -1 representing the most negative and 1 representing the most positive score. The value was then converted into positive, negative, and neutral directional qualifiers. To substantiate that sentiment analysis can be used as evidence of cheerleading, I provide a qualitative analysis of 10 randomly selected Tweets with a sentiment score above 0.3 to evaluate whether the content corresponds to cheerleading. I chose a threshold of 0.3 to get a lower bound on sentiment and obser ve whether that still corresponded to cheerleading. The 10 tweets sampled directly or indirectly referenced Mohammed Bin Salman either in the tweet text or in the hashtag, and contained words of encouragement, religious references attesting to his glor y, or general praise. This confirms the viability of sentiment analysis as a measure of cheerleading. The complete table of tweets and their score can be found in the Appendix. The most positive Tweet with a score of 1 was originally in English and read:
“We trust you.. We are with you” with the hashtag “MBS.”
The le ast p osit ive t we et w it h a s c ore of 0.31 w as or ig ina l ly in Arabic and re ad:
“A strong speaker, a very smart man, a brave leader, a politician, he reads things to the smallest detail and has a futuristic outlook.”
W h o i s T wee t ing? Explor ing S a m pl e C om posi t i on Whe n ana ly z ing t he prop agand a st rateg y for t he e ve nt at hand, it is imp or t ant to c ons i d e r w h i ch accounts are repres ente d in t he s ampl e. It is li kely t hat s ome accounts t hat we re p ar t of t he s ame op erat ion wou ld not have b e e n t a ke n dow n by Tw itter, esp e ci a l ly of f i ci a l ac c ounts t hat did not eng age i n b ehav ior a k in to sp amming but st i l l prop ag ate d t he s ame me ss age as t he overa l l i n f lu e nc e c amp aig n. Thus, t he s ample most l i kely c ont ains b ot and c y b org a c cou nt s . B ot a cc ou nt s are c omple tely automate d, w he re as c y b org accounts us e a mix of automat i on and hu man a c t iv it y. 3 2 Since t he d at a c ons iste d of dis able d accounts, it w as not p oss ible to de te r mine w he t her a cc ou nt s we re b ots by using a lgor it hms such as B ot or Not . I t hus relie d on t wo indic ators su g ge ste d by Hindman and B arash. 3 3 F i rst , automate d accounts may have hig h and prop or t i ona l r at ios of fol lowe rs to follow i ng a c c ou nt s . S e c ond, t he y ove r w helmi ng ly us e t h i rd-p ar t y applic at ions to p ost at pre- d e te r m i ne d inter va ls, li ke, ret we et and fol l ow l arge numb ers of us ers. Table 1 and Tabl e 2 show su m mar y st at ist i c s for t he ac c ou nt s c ons i d ere d dur ing May 1 and August 3 1 , 2 0 1 8 . In t he f irst qu ar t i le of Table 1, we ob s e r ve t hat t he fol low ing to fol lower count is ne arly e qu a l, but t he rat io diverges as we cons i d e r h i g he r qu ar t i le s. Ha lf of t he use rs have arou nd 9,000 fol lowers and 1,000 fol l owe d a c c ount s , w h i l e t he top 25 p ercent of us e rs have ne arly 5 0 t hous and fol l owe rs and 8 , 000 fol lowe d accounts. Thes e nu mb e rs are sur pr is ing , e sp e c i a l ly at t he median. They indicate that if these accounts represent
real people, they most likely engaged in inauthentic engagement since they were flagged by Twitter. Table 2 provides more insight on this supposition. The analysis revealed 126 different Twitter client apps, and the top 5 apps combined only make up 15 percent of the total platforms. The regular Twitter for iPhone, Twitter for Android, and Twitter Web Client represent a minimal portion of all platforms. The average Twitter user is not engaged enough to use third-party apps to maximize their activity. Since the sample mostly contains third-party client apps, it is thus safe to infer that those accounts with high follower counts at the top of the distribution may have been authentic but posted content in an automated way, whereas accounts with lower follower counts were completely automated. This preliminary analysis reveals that most accounts included in the sample are either bots or cyborg accounts. Since the differentiation between bot and cyborg accounts cannot be ascertained, the rest of the analysis does not differentiate between bot and manually produced content.
Troops That Tweet Tog et her, S ta y Tog et her : Assessing Evidence of Coordinat ion Figure 1 shows an enormous spike in tweeting activity starting in May 2018. From June 2017 to June 2018, the monthly average remained around 20,000 tweets. From the beginning of May, this number increases by a factor of 3.5 at its peak until June and remains within a range of 35,000 to 60,000 until the end of August of 2018. In addition, the tweet
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Table 1: Follower and Following Count Summary Statistics
Table 2: Top 5 Twitter Client Platforms
frequency decreases starting in September and remains around 30,000 thereafter. This timely and disproportionate amount of activity relative to the previous year corresponds to the event of interest, which is indicative of coordinated activity. Similarly, Figure 2 corroborates this result since the second highest peak in the number of accounts created at one time occurs in the first quarter of 2018, right before the disinformation event. There are two other significant peaks in account creation in 2013 and 2014. From 2012 to 2014, Twitter usage rates boomed in Saudi Arabia, with a year-on-year growth rate of 42 percent between 2012 and 2013 (Marcello, 2018).34 It is thus possible that surges in account creations during that two-year span reflected the overall trend of Twitter penetration in Saudi Arabia overall. In addition, the same time frame corresponds to the postArab Spring period, where some accounts may have been created to guard against the attitudinal shift towards mobilization as a result of the
31
. . .
Arab Spring (BB C, 2014). 35
Analyses of the Hypothesis and Discussion The first condition for the cheerleading hypothesis to hold is that the Saudi operation should be mainly targeted towards the domestic population. Table 3 shows that Arabic tweets make up the majority of the sample. Only 3.5 percent of all the tweets considered for the time frame of interest are in English, which is very small considering that it is the second most used language by the kingdom’s cyber troops. A potential explanation for this is that aside from the domestic population, cyber troop activity may target immediate regional populations in the Middle East and North Africa who mostly consume content in Arabic. For instance, the Saudi government was reported to have produced 34 percent of all Twitter content mentioning the Liby-
32
an civil war at the time of the Libyan National Army’s (LNA) advance towards Tripoli in March of 2019 (Centro Studi Internazionali, 2019).36 The operation flooded the platform using hashtags such as #securethecapital in Arabic and was intended to promote regional legitimacy for the LNA as an opposing party to the UN-backed Government of National Accord. A caveat to this explanation is that Arabic dialects differ between countries, which could hinder comprehension across audiences between Libya and Saudi Arabia for instance. However, using nonstandard Arabic in disinformation campaign materials would defeat the core purpose of exposing a maximum number of users to the chosen narrative. The present analysis cannot make any conclusions as to the spread and reach of tweets in the Summer of 2018, but it is reasonable to assume that the main target audience was Arabic
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speakers. Figure 3 shows the same result while providing some nuance about the proliferation of English publications. Compared to August and September numbers, English tweet numbers are visibly higher during the most inflammatory period of the event and reach as many as 2000 tweets per day. Around July 16, English tweets drop and remain insignificant for the rest of the period. For purposes of scale, I added the tweet frequency for the Catalan language, which was the third most frequent language of tweets in the sample. A potential explanation for this could stem from the Catalonian political parties’ sometimes antagonistic position to the Spanish parliament regarding diplomatic and economic ties between Spain and Saudi Arabia. 37 Given the results in Table 3 and Figure 3, hypothesis 1 is supported.
The next piece of evidence to determine whether the cyber troop operation surrounding the arrest of feminist activists in the Summer of 2018 corresponded to the cheerleading or propaganda responsiveness theoretical framework comes from the sentiment analysis. Hypothesis 2 states that overall, messaging valence should be positive across both English and Arabic tweets. This part of the analysis takes a random sample of 100,000 observations from the dataset. Table 4 shows the results rounded up to the first decimal. Supporting hypothesis 2, the overall percentage of positive tweets is the highest and constitutes a majority. Negative content represents the smallest fraction of the overall sample. Neutral content represented 27.4 percent of the sample. This may indicate that aside from the suspected cheerleading operation, a part of the content produced may have served to drown out participatory tweets aiming to share information about the ongoing situation. The results for hypothesis 3 show that Arabic content was not differentially positive compared to English content. Nonetheless, positive content represents more than 50 percent of the sample in both cases. Moreover, although the percentage of positive English tweets surpasses that of Arabic tweets by 5 percent, the remaining proportions for neutral and negative content are very similar. This
suggests the cyber troop operation adopted a parallel strategy in both languages. It is interesting that English tweets were mostly positive because the cheerleading framework does not make any predictions about authoritarian propaganda targeting a foreign audience accessible in a different language than the regime’s respective country. Apart from pure signaling, there is no apparent reason why a regime should be concerned with flexing its repressive ability over a foreign audience, given that it does not have to be concerned by social mobilization from that population. In most cases, foreign media have covered and condemned issues regarding repression, but no tangible consequences have ensued. Comparing the valence of Arabic tweets in Table 5 to the overall valence of tweets in Table 4, it is clear to see that the overall messaging valence of the operation was supported by the high proportion of Arabic tweets compared to English ones. In the context of the online backlash in response to the arrests of feminist Women 2 Drive activists in Saudi Arabia, evidence from the three hypotheses points to the plausibility of the cheerleading strategy. According to the cheerleading theoretical framework, the cyber troop activity suggests that the regime aimed to demotivate online collective action over its repressive measures while re-affirming its dominance over the
34
. . .
public discourse in the Twitter online space. Limitations
When interpreting the results, it is important to keep in mind the limitations that challenge the external and internal validity of the study. As addressed in the sample composition section of this paper, the analysis likely only reflects the content published by bot and cyborg accounts. The data does not contain any information about official state accounts, and accounts run by influential figures in mainstream media that have a significant following and may disseminate content with a different valence than presently analyzed. These accounts were unlikely to have been shut down by Twitter and are thus not reflected in the dataset. It is not possible to assert whether the cheerleading theory holds better than the responsive propaganda theory for this subset of cases. Further research aimed at these cases would be needed to draw such conclusions. Therefore, the results cannot be generalized to the entirety of Saudi cyber troop activity surrounding the arrests and beyond. Additionally, the analysis cannot make any causal links attributing the observed posi-
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tive valence of tweets to that event itself. Quantitative and systematic evidence can only confirm that suspicious online activity occurred in parallel to evidence that suggests cheerleading. The remaining limitations regard internal validity. It was not possible to assess the accuracy of the translation of Arabic tweets due to language limitations, which means the valence results entirely depend on the quality of the Google Translate API. Though more developed and precise than the traditional Google Translate platform, the lack of an accuracy measure could be a concern. However, it is reassuring that the message valence of both languages’ tweets was similar. Equally as important is the operation of the content analysis package. The dictionary contains only 1280 positive words and 2952 negative words, which means that any word not covered by the dictionary is not considered in the computation. Relatedly, the dictionary takes into account all positive words it recognizes, regardless of the context. Some tweets may merely constitute amplification and distracting positive content unrelated to the regime, politics, or the situation regarding the arrests. Furthermore, the direction of the sentiment may be overestimated in the positive or negative direction because the conversion is not nuanced enough to distinguish
very small positive or negative values from zero, which corresponds to the neutral direction. In this case, a threshold indicating the probability that a certain text has a valence far enough from zero would be useful. Contributing to this limitation is that, regardless of the dictionary in the package, the algorithm cannot pick up on negation modifiers like the adverb “not.” Hence, a sentence with such a modifier would be counted as equally positive as the same sentence without the modifier despite having opposite meanings.
. . . Conclusion
This study contributes to the literature about cheerleading as an authoritarian propaganda strategy in cyber troop activity by automated and cyborg accounts. The coordinated Twitter activity featured overwhelmingly Arabic and positive content, providing evidence that the Saudi regime’s overarching strategy was to engage in cheerleading. In addition, the messaging valence of Arabic and English tweets as positive in similar proportions, suggests that the propaganda strategy across target audiences matched. The overall findings refuted the responsive propaganda theory and corroborated the framework suggested by Huang, King et al., and Baggot Carter & Carter in the context of online activism about women’s rights. 38 Indeed, Saudi cyber troop activity on Twitter in the case of the Women 2 Drive activists’ arrests corresponded to the theoretical expectation regarding an authoritarian regime’s use of propaganda as a signal of authority, while the use of bots and automated accounts paired with positive valence messaging matched the “distract, don’t en 39 gage” approach suggested by King et al.
endnotes 1. Samuel Sigal, “A Saudi Woman’s ‘Mixed Feelings’ About Winning the Right to Drive,” The Atlantic, September 27, 2017, https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2017/09/saudi-arabia-women-driving/541275/. 2. Mary Casey-Baker and Joshua Haber, “Saudi Arabia Warning against Women’s Driving Campaign,” Foreign Policy (blog), October 25, 2013, https://foreignpolicy.com/2013/10/25/saudi-arabia-issues-warning-against-womens-driving-campaign/. 3. Jason Burke, “Saudi Arabia Women Test Driving Ban,” The Guardian, June 17, 2011, sec. World news, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2011/jun/17/saudi-arabia-women-drivers-protest. Casey-Baker and Haber, “Saudi Arabia Warning Women’s Campaign.” 4. Rothna Begum, “The Brave Female Activists Who Fought to Lift Saudi Arabia’s Driving Ban,” Human Rights Watch (blog), September 29, 2017, https://www.hrw.org/news/2017/09/29/ brave-female-activists-who-fought-lift-saudi-arabias-driving-ban. Sigal, “A Saudi Woman’s ‘Mixed Feelings’ About Winning the Right to Drive.” 5. “Saudi Police Arrest Three More Women’s Rights Activists,” Independent, May 23, 2018, https://content.jwplatform.com/previews/1hd4zKiz-9ygSIn9G. 6. “Saudi Arabia Arrests More Women’s Rights Activists: HRW,” Reuters, June 20, 2018, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-saudi-arrests-idUSKBN1JG0VL. 7. Liz Ford, “Saudi Women Strive to Bring Male Guardians to a Twitter End,” The Guardian, March 28, 2018, sec. Global Development, https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2018/mar/28/saudi-arabia-women-strive-to-bring-maleguardians-to-a-twitter-end. 8. Sarah El Sirgany and Tamara Qiblawi, “Rights Groups Slam ‘Smear Campaign’ against Saudi Activists,” CNN, May 21, 2018, https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/21/middleeast/saudi-women-activists-arrests-intl/index.html. 9. Ibid. 10. Samantha Bradshaw and Philip N. Howard, “The Global Organization of Social Media Disinformation Campaigns,” Journal of International Affairs 71, no. 1.5 (2018): 23–32. 11. “New Disclosures to Our Archive of State-Backed Information Operations,” Twitter (blog), December 20, 2019, https://blog. twitter.com/en_us/topics/company/2019/new-disclosures-to-ourarchive- of-state-backed-information-operations.html. 12. Social media as a tool for activism: Paolo Gerbaudo, Tweets and the Streets: Social Media and Contemporary Activism (Pluto Press, 2012); Dhiraj Murthy, “Introduction to Social Media, Activism, and Organizations,” Social Media + Society 4, no. 1 (2018): 2056305117750716. 13. Digital authoritarianism as the frontier of authoritarian learning: Marc Lynch, “After Egypt: The Limits and Promise of Online Challenges to the Authoritarian Arab State,” Perspectives on Politics 9, no. 2 (2011): 301–10; Steven Heydemann and Reinoud Leenders, “Authoritarian Learning and Authoritarian Resilience: Regime Responses to the ‘Arab Awakening,’” Globalizations 8, no. 5 (October 2011): 647–53, https://doi.org/10.1080/14747731.2011 .621274; Alina Polyakova and Chris Meserole, “Exporting Digital Authoritarianism: The Russian and Chinese Models,” Democra-
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cy and Disorder (Brookings, n.d.), https://www.brookings.edu/ wp-content/uploads/2019/08/FP_20190827_digital_authoritarianism_polyakova_meserole.pdf. 14. “New Disclosures to Our Archive of State-Backed Information Operations.” 15. Samantha Bradshaw and Philip N Howard, “Troops, Trolls and Troublemakers: A Global Inventory of Organized Social Media Manipulation,” Working Paper No.2017.12 (Oxford Computational Propaganda Project, 2017), https://fpmag.net/wp-content/ uploads/2017/11/Troops-Trolls-and-Troublemakers.pdf. 16. Haifeng Huang, “Propaganda as Signaling,” Comparative Politics 47, no. 4 (July 1, 2015): 419–44, https://doi. org/10.5129/001041515816103220. 17. Erin Baggot Carter and Brett L. Carter, “Autocratic Propaganda in Global Perspective” (Working Paper, School of International Relations, University of Southern California, 2019). 18. Gary King, Jennifer Pan, and Margaret E. Roberts, “How the Chinese Government Fabricates Social Media Posts for Strategic Distraction, Not Engaged Argument,” American Political Science Review 111, no. 3 (2017): 484–501. 19. Shuai Jin, “Does Authoritarian Propaganda Ever Respond to Public Opinion?” (University of Massachusetts Boston, 2019), https://polmeth.mit.edu/sites/default/files/documents/Shuai_Jin. pdf. 20. For potential of civil society organization and monitoring: Mona Elswah and Philip N. Howard, “The Challenges of Monitoring Social Media in the Arab World: The Case of the 2019 Tunisian Elections” (Oxford Computational Propaganda Project, March 23, 2020), https://demtech.oii.ox.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/sites/93/2020/03/Tunisia-memo-English.pdf; Lynch, “After Egypt.” 21. For trends in social media manipulation, see for example: Alexei Abrahams and Andrew Leber, “Electronic Armies or Cyber Knights? The Sources of Pro-Authoritarian Discourse on Middle East Twitter,” International Journal of Communication 15, no. 2021 (January 2021): 1173–99; Sara El-Khalili, “Social Media as a Government Propaganda Tool in Post-Revolutionary Egypt,” First Monday 18, no. 3 (March 4, 2013), https://doi. org/10.5210/fm.v18i3.4620; Andrew Leber and Alexei Abrahams, “A Storm of Tweets: Social Media Manipulation During the Gulf Crisis,” Review of Middle East Studies 53, no. 2 (2019): 241–58, https://doi.org/10.1017/ rms.2019.45. 22. “Saudi Arabia: Freedom on the Net 2020 Country Report,” Freedom House, 2020, https://freedomhouse.org/country/saudi-arabia/freedom-net/2020; “China: Freedom on the Net 2020 Country Report,” Freedom House, 20, https://freedomhouse.org/country/china/freedom-net/2020. 23. Samantha Bradshaw and Philip N Howard, “The Global Disinformation Order: 2019 Global Inventory of Organised Social Media Manipulation,” 2019, 27. 24. Ibid. 25. Will Freeman, “The Accuracy of China’s ‘Mass Incidents,’” Financial Times, March 2, 2010, https://www.ft.com/content/9ee6fa64-25b5-11df-9bd3-00144feab49a; Tao Ran, “China’s Land Grab Is Undermining Grassroots Democracy,” The Guardian, December 16, 2011, sec. Opinion, https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2011/dec/16/china-land-grab-undermining-democracy; “Why Protests Are so Common in China,” The Economist, Octo-
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ber 4, 2018, https://www.economist.com/china/2018/10/04/whyprotests-are-so-common-in-china. 26. Yao Li, “A Zero-Sum Game? Repression and Protest in China | Government and Opposition | Cambridge Core,” Government and Opposition 54, no. 2 (2019): 309–35. 27. “Saudi Arabia Arrests More Women’s Rights Activists: HRW.” 28. Pascal Menoret, “Repression and Protest in Saudi Arabia,” Middle East Brief 101 (Brandis University, Crown Center for Middle East Studies, August 2016), https://www.brandeis.edu/ crown/publications/middle-east-briefs/pdfs/101-200/meb101. pdf. 29. Ibid. 30. King, Pan, and Roberts, “Social Media Posts for Strategic Distraction.” 31. Jennifer Pan and Alexandra A. Siegel, “How Saudi Crackdowns Fail to Silence Online Dissent,” American Political Science Review 114, no. 1 (February 2020): 109–25, https://doi. org/10.1017/S0003055419000650. 32. Bradshaw and Howard, “The Global Disinformation Order.” 33. Matthew Hindman and Vlad Barash, “Disinformation, ‘Fake News’ and Influence Campaigns on Twitter,” Knight Foundation, October 2018, https://knightfoundation.org/reports/disinformation-fake-news-and-influence-campaigns-on-twitter/. 34. Mari Marcello, “Twitter Usage Is Booming in Saudi Arabia,” GWI, March 20, 2013, https://blog.gwi.com/chart-of-the-day/ twitter-usage-is-booming-in-saudi-arabia/. 35. “Reporting Saudi Arabia’s Hidden Uprising,” BBC News, May 30, 2014, sec. Middle East, https://www.bbc.com/news/worldmiddle-east-27619309. 36. “Information Warfare in Libya: The Online Advance of Khalifa Haftar.” (Centro Studi Internazionali, May 2019), https:// cesi-italia.org/contents/Analisi/Information%20warfare%20 in%20Libya%20The%20online%20advance%20of%20Khalifa%20Haftar_1.pdf?fbclid=IwAR3dbzi-7hEjs8fJXNs0T4HDx22LXhMxQ6tZIoP3ezl28E17haIDjJHWQCc. 37. Alan Ruiz Terol, “Saudi Arabia: Spain Rejects Arms Embargo Requested by Catalan Parties,” accessed March 24, 2022, http:// www.catalannews.com/politics/item/saudi-arabia-spain-rejects-arms-embargo-requested-by-catalan-parties, https://www. catalannews.com/politics/item/saudi-arabia-spain-rejects-armsembargo-requested-by-cat 38. Huang, “Propaganda as Signaling;” King, Pan, and Roberts, “Social Media Posts for Strategic Distraction;” Baggot Carter and Carter, “Autocratic Propaganda in Global Perspective.” 39. Huang, “Propaganda as Signaling.” R Code can be downloaded at: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Ajm6lHWVwfaxB3gajjoaQ8cWA8j5Xm0d/view?usp=sharing
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IDCC Policy Brief: Chronic Respiratory Diseases and Household Air Pollution in Rural Zambia By: Isabella Frymoyer, Siobhan Mehrotra, Marianna Gutierrez Herrera
abstract Within rural Zambia, household air pollution (HAP) from open-flame cooking is one of the leading causes of chronic respiratory illness and premature death in women and children. Our policy presents an interim intervention combining both educational awareness and structural changes according to house type in order to minimize exposure and consequently mitigate the health effects of HAP. Within rural Zambia, household air pollution (HAP) from open-flame cooking is one of the leading causes of chronic respiratory illness and premature death in women and children. Our policy presents an interim intervention combining both educational awareness and structural changes according to house type in order to minimize exposure and consequently mitigate the health effects of HAP.
I m p a c t s of Household A ir Po l l u t i on Ind o or p ol lut i on is t he 6t h hig hest f ac tor in c aus e of d e at h according to a Glob a l He a lt h r isk re p or t by W HO. 1 C o ok ing us ing biomass rel e as e s har mf u l p ol lut ants such as c ar b on monox ide into t he hous ehold at mosphe re. 2 T he s e p ol lut ants are comp os e d of p ar t i cl e s me asur ing >10 microns (PM10) in d i ame te r w it h t hos e >2.5 microns (PM2.5) p e ne t r at i ng d e ep in t he lungs c ausing many respi r ator y ( and non - re spir ator y) dis e ases ( F i g u re 1) . 3 Throug h our inter vent ions, mor t a l it y rel ate d to p ar t ic u l ate matter ( P M ) e x p o su re c an b e sig nif ic ant ly re duce d, t hus fol low i ng SD G Targe ts 3 . 4 , 3 . 9 & 7.b. 4 T h is p olic y aims to imple ment inte r i m i nte r ve nt ions us ing a mixe d met h o d appro a ch . One ha lf of t he proj e c t w i l l fo c us on t he implement at ion and fol l ow - t h rou g h of an aw are ne ss raisi ng e du c at i on prog ram. The s e cond ha lf w i l l b e fo c us e d on t he const r uc t ion
of t ion
de v ices to improve vent i l aw hich w i l l var y for hous e t y p e.
Po licy Reco mmend a t ion s ; Pr ePha se Wo r k 1) S e tt i ng up t he proj e c t wou l d b e u nd e r t he gui d ance of t he Z ambi an Mi n ist r y of C ommu n it y D e velopment and S o ci a l S er v i ce s 5 t hat fo c us es on women’s emp ower ment and c om mun it y d e velopment. 2) Hi r i ng t ransl ators and lo c a l gu i d e s. 3) E st ablish a b as e to work out of i n Kit we. 4) G ai n a c c e ss to l o c a l r u r a l l e a d e rs w ho c an help us access af fe c te d p opu l at i ons. 5) Includ e fema le i nput to le ar n ab out d ome st i c ac t iv it i es .
Pha se 1: Incr ea se Awa r e n e s s A study re ve a le d t hat t he annu a l r ate of physic an-di ag nos e d ast hma in Z ambi a is est imate d at on ly 3%, 6 w hich su g gest s u nder-repres ent at ion of af fe c te d p e opl e. 7
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:
Phase 2: Educat ion A m o n g Wo m en
Sugg es t ed Me t hods:
1) Hi re p e ople to work as l e aders. 2) Spre ad Awareness w it h lo c a l NGOs su ch as C it izen’s Env ironment a l and S o ci a l C onc e r n ( C ESC o). Dif f usion of infor mat ion t hrou g h a r adio shows wou ld extend t he re ach of t he proj e c t b e yond t he reg ion . 3) Hold i n for mat ion s essions w it hin t he commu nit y.
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Po t ent ial A r eas t o Addr ess:
1) 2) 3) 4)
Ke epi ng chi ld ren out of t he k itche n. Mov i ng C o ok i ng O uts i d e L i mit i ng t i me i n t he k itchen . A lter i ng prep arat i on prac t i ces .
P hase 3 : Ven t i l at i on C on s tr uct io n Su gg es t ed Tar g e t s:
1) C onst r uc t stove ho o ds in t he stone and mor t ar hous es and s cre en do ors in mud houses. 2) The Nat iona l Housing Aut hor it y of Z ambi a c ou ld help w it h c onst r uc t ion ef for t s. 7
Policy Mechanisms This policy is within the greater international interest of reducing the effects of poverty as the consequences of poor energy infrastructure discourage autonomous development.8 Although there is a lack of air quality standards in developing countries, political persuasion can be achieved through the incidence avoided of premature mortality, thus decreasing damage costs and the burden of disease.9 Just as there is an incentive to decrease costs politically, the public will have an opposite mechanism within this policy. Our education program will help support the success of the structural interventions by outlining the impacts of HAP specifically to the local women. In order to avoid the health impacts related to CRDs, the willingness-to-pay of the people will increase in order to avoid these high damage costs, therefore increasing their willingness to purchase, maintain and keep the structural interventions. Success of the Policy The education program will measure success according to the number of schools enrolled and listeners on the radio show. The structural interventions will measure success according to the number of new stove hoods/screen doors installed according to the percent-
endnotes 1 - World Health Organization. Publication. Global Health Risks: Mortality and Burden of Disease Attributable to Selected Major Risks. WHO Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data, 2009. 2 - Bruce, Nigel, Rogelio Perez-Padilla, and Rachel Albalak. “Indoor air pollution in developing countries: a major environmental and public health challenge.” Bulletin of the World Health organization 78 (2000): 1078-1092. 3 - Bruce, Nigel, Rogelio Perez-Padilla, and Rachel Albalak. “Indoor air pollution in developing countries: a major environmental and public health challenge.” Bulletin of the World Health organization 78 (2000): 1078-1092. 4 - United Nations. “The 17 Goals.” Sustainable Development Goals. Accessed February 27, 2022. https://sdgs.un.org/goals. 5 -“Home.” Ministry of Community Development and Social Services, 2022. https:// www.mcdss.gov.zm/. 6- Jumbe Marsden, E., Wa Somwe, S., Chabala, C. et al. Knowledge and perceptions of asthma in Zambia: a cross-sectional survey. BMC Pulm Med 16, 33 (2016). https:// doi.org/10.1186/s12890-016-0195-3.
age of homes with adequate ventilation. The success of these policies overall will be measured according to: mortality rate attributed to household and ambient air pollution10, mortality rate attributed to CRDs, annual mean concentration of less than 2.5 um as an exposure indicator of ambient air pollution, a reduction in the measured pollutant carbon monoxide (CO), and the reported pollution reductions sustained over time. Long Term Sustainability While countries with similar levels of HAP have managed to adapt other recommendations, the socio-economic and political infrastructure within Zambia’s rural population would not be able to maintain these. For example, electricity and hydropower would not be cost-effective due to unstable power grids, and the environmental sustainability of alternative fuels such as kerosene and liquefied petroleum gas would create greater disadvantages in the short and long term. Even if implemented, other socio-cultural factors with cooking such as speed, ease of use, tradition, and safety make alternative stove and ventilation options unfavoured by the public which can reduce the efficiency of clean fuel policy implementation.11 If ignored, this can cause fuel/stove stacking and mixing wherein traditional fuels/stoves are used alongside the intervention method, reducing its effectiveness. Therefore, we believe that a mixed-use approach will help aid the implementation of both interventions in the long term. Other limitations to consider are that even at relatively low concentrations, particulate matter (PM) can produce adverse effects on health, with no evidence of a safe level of exposure or a threshold below which no adverse health effects occur.12 Therefore, our goal is to minimize exposure to a reasonable extent, making changes depending on the level of success seen. 7 - “National Housing Authority Zambia.” Be Forward Real Estate, 2019. https://real-estate-zambia.beforward.jp/2019/01/11/national-housing-authority-zambia/. 8 - González-Eguino, Mikel (2015). “Energy Poverty: An Overview.” Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews 47: 377–85. 9- Hunt, A. (2011), “Policy Interventions to Address HealthImpacts Associated with Air Pollution, Unsafe Water Supply and Sanitation, and Hazardous Chemicals”, OECD Environment Working Papers, No. 35, OECD Publishing. http://dx.doi. org/10.1787/5kg9qx8dsx43-en. 10 - United Nations. “SDG Indicators.” Sustainable Development Goals. United Nations. Accessed February 27, 2022. https://unstats.un.org/sdgs/metadata/?Text=&Goal=3&Target=. 11 - Esong, M.B., Goura, A.P., Mbatchou, B.H.N. et al. Distribution of sources of household air pollution: a cross-sectional study in Cameroon. BMC Public Health 21, 318 (2021). https://doi.org/10.1186/s12889-021-10350-6. 12 - World Health Organization Europe. Publication. Air Quality and Health. WHO Europe Factsheets on Sustainable Development Goals, n.d.
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From Grassroots Activism to Anti-Globalisation Movement : The Role of World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises in the Water War of Cochabamba
By: Saruul Khishigjargal
abstract The water war or the movement against water privatization in Cochabamba in 1999 was a response to Banzer’s government effort to privatize Cochabamba’s water system to the subsidiary of multinational giant Bechtel Enterprises, Aguas del Tunari, as part of a World Bank-mandated Structural Adjustment Program. This made water unaffordable to residents of Cochabamba and they protested to keep Bechtel out of their city. While the impact of structural adjustment programs in Bolivia has been robustly researched, the role and involvement of the aforementioned multinational corporations in creating the conditions for the formation of mass protests has not been clearly identified. Thus, this research aims to answer the question, what role did the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises play in the transition of grassroots activism in Cochabamba into the anti-globalization movement? It argues a) coercive, top-down management and contracts from multinational organizations, b) the insurgent democratic organization and strategic resistance, and c) international alliances facilitated the success of the protest against water privatization and its proliferation into the anti-globalization movement. La guerre de l’eau ou le mouvement contre la privatisation de l’eau à Cochabamba en 1999 était une réponse aux efforts du gouvernement Banzer pour privatiser le système d’eau de Cochabamba à la filiale du géant multinational Bechtel Enterprises, Aguas del Tunari, dans le cadre d’un programme d’ajustement structurel mandaté par la Banque mondiale. Cela a rendu l’eau inabordable pour les habitants de Cochabamba et ils ont protesté pour garder Bechtel hors de leur ville. Bien que l’impact des programmes d’ajustement structurel en Bolivie ait fait l’objet de plusieurs recherches approfondies, le rôle et l’implication des sociétés multinationales susmentionnées dans la création des conditions propices à la formation de manifestations de masse n’ont pas été clairement identifiés. Ainsi, cette recherche vise à répondre à la question suivante: quel rôle la Banque mondiale et Bechtel Enterprises ont-elles joué dans la transition de l’activisme populaire à Cochabamba vers le mouvement altermondialiste? Cet article soutient que a) la gestion coercitive de haut en bas et les contrats des organisations multinationales, b) l’organisation démocratique insurrectionnelle et la résistance stratégique, et c) les alliances internationales ont facilité le succès de la protestation contre la privatisation de l’eau et sa prolifération dans le mouvement altermondialiste. Introduction
T
he anti-globalization movement began in 1999 from the Seattle protests against neoliberal globalization. Evans states the movement was “aimed at replacing the dominant global regime with the one that maximizes democratic political control and makes the equitable development of human capabilities and environmental stewardship its priorities.”1 The supporters of the anti-globalization movement protested the economic, environmental, and human abuses that
were exacerbated by globalization.2 We observe a case of such resistance in the Water War of Cochabamba, Bolivia, where local indigenous farmers and workers united against the water privatization mandated by the structural adjustment programs that the World Bank and International Monetary Fund (IMF) implemented. The movement against water privatization in Cochabamba was comprised of three major protests against the Water Law 2029 and the intervention of a multinational corporation Bechtel. The problem was a result of the fact that communities in Cochabamba were consistently running out of water supply due
44
to environmental causes and increased population. The local community demanded a new water national council to deal with water management from the government and advocated for a long-term solution. However, the government’s response was often to dig deep wells in nearby towns, a short-term solution that exhausted scarce water reserves under the soil. So, when a drought struck in the late 1990s, the locals appealed to the government and the city municipality again, who resultingly re-enacted the same solution. Determined to take matters into their own hands the locals started building roadblocks to protest against drilling wells. In the meantime, a newly elected president Hugo Banzer was in conversation with the World Bank to ask for a 600-million-dollar development loan, which required the Bolivian government to privatize social services to foreign corporations. The government signed the deal and passed a new water law that effectively privatized Cochabamba’s water system to Bechtel’s subsidiary Aguas del Tunari. The protestors truly became engaged when the multinational company hiked up water rates for both the rural and urban communities. Residents of Cochabamba and local partners protested peacefully against this privatization until president Banzer declared martial law, during which time a student was shot and killed by the police. Enraged by the government’s protection of Bechtel and the lack of support from the government on decreasing water rates or changing the water legislation, locals became resolute to drive Bechtel out of their city. Eventually, Bechtel’s management left the city, and the locals won their water back. The legacy of this war and its details will be further elaborated on in the research paper. The victory of this grassroots activism was momentous for the entire movement because it challenged the legitimacy and efficacy of the structural adjustment programs endorsed by the World Bank and IMF.3 Although the impact of the structural adjustment programs in Bolivia has been researched, the role and involvement of these multinational corporations in creating the conditions for mass protests to form has not been clearly identified. This paper aims to bridge this gap and answer the central question, what role did the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises play in the transition of grassroots activism in Cochabamba into the anti-globalization movement of Bolivia? To answer this question, I hypothesize that the structural adjustment programs that the World Bank and International Monetary Fund im-
45
plemented in Bolivia in 1986 sowed the seed for its own demise that led to the water war of Cochabamba. I argue that coercive, top-down management and contracts from multinational organizations, the insurgent democratic organization and strategic resistance, and international alliances facilitated not only the success of the protest against privatization but also its proliferation into the anti-globalization movement.
. . . Concepts
Before the argument on how the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises created the conditions for the grassroots activism against water privatization in Cochabamba to transition to the anti-globalization movement, some understanding of the following concepts need to be established: grassroots activism, the anti-globalization movement, water privatization, multinational corporations, and structural adjustment programs. To start with grassroots activism, Skaidre argues that it is a form of mobilization of the ordinary people that arises “in response to the new social cleavages and increased polarization due to neo-liberalization and globalization processes”.4 The grassroots activism in this paper will refer to the organization of Cochabamba’s rural and urban communities that united against the water privatization mandated by the Bolivian government. The success of the protests of these ordinary people proved to be exemplary progress for the anti-globalization movement; otherwise known as the transnational resistance to neoliberal globalization5 that supported free-market capitalism for foreign investors but undermined local decision making, environmental protection, and human rights.6 Anti-globalization movements in the Global South aimed to demonstrate against “the privatization of state-owned resources and public services”.7 The privatization or the transfer of ownership and control of government assets to private investors 8 was required as part of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank’s structural adjustment programs. The structural adjustment programs were enforced under the pressure of multinational institutions9 to reduce government control and expenditure and integrate free-market reforms, such as privatization and free trade.10 This paper will analyze the role of two multinational institutions, the World Bank who granted the Bolivian government a 600-Million-dollar development loan,11 and Bechtel
Enterprises, the US-based engineering and construction giant that took on the MISICUNI Dam project.12
. . .
Summary of the Water War in Cochabamba In this section, a two-part summary of the events of the water war will be provided, reviewing the literature on the subject matter. The first part will review the involvement of the World Bank, the main events of the protests, and the outcome. The second part will summarize the successive dis
putes with Bechtel Enterprises, the water war’s legacy, and its involvement in the anti-globalization movement.
. . .
Part 1: The World Bank and the Water War The structural adjustment program was introduced to Bolivia in 1985 as a response to the hyperinflation, excessive social expenditures, and lack of dependable savings, which the post-revolutionary period of military rule imparted onto the elected democratic government in 1982.13 Specifically, the IMF and World Bank tested the “New Economic Policy” (NEP), under which Bolivia’s economic, political, and social reforms caused a significant reduction in mining, manufacturing, and service jobs, dismantled organized labor movements, and passed a controversial privatization program through Congress.14 As part of this new privatization program, the Bolivian government introduced the SIRESE law in 1994 regarding resource management. This law trans-
ferred “the economic functions of the state to the private sector and its regulative role to autarkic superintendencies”. 15When it came to water management, the proposal for this law was redrafted in 1998. It threatened the cultural, economic, and social value of water for indigenous peoples, who declared water could not be a commercial object driven by market value.16 So, NGOs and rural people assembled to protect the rights of indigenous peoples, who made up 62% of the population.17 In 1999, the protestors issued a counterproposal to the Bolivian government that defended the communitarian water rights, rejected superintendency, and proposed creating a national water council.18
However, the Bolivian government bypassed this debate and passed Law 2029, which allowed concessions and licenses to be sold to any legal institution, however, favored large enterprises and discouraged community management.19 This law meant two things: first, any license or concession holder has exclusive rights to the water supply over a designated area;20 and second, locals need to pay money to concession holders to use any water services, which included the local community wells, private wells, and even collected rainwater.21 The water system in Cochabamba had been facing a crisis due to old infrastructure, population growth, and chronic poverty leading up to Law 2029.22 In tandem with this law’s passing, through the municipal water company, SEMAPA, the Bolivian government signed a contract with Aguas del Tunari, a subsidiary of Bechtel Enterprises, behind closed doors in 1999.23 This contract granted 40 years of exclusive rights to all water supply and services in the region of Cercado, where Cochabamba is located.24 It also gave Bechtel Enterprises the responsibility of building the MISICU-
46
NI dam, which was the government’s long-term solution to the water crisis.25 The contract also guaranteed Bechtel and investors an average annual profit of 16%, calculated from the planned water rate increases.26 This increased rate started the Water War in Cochabamba. The protests began in January 2000 after the water rate increased up to 200% for the citizens of Cochabamba.27 The rural and urban communities in Cochabamba formed the alliance Coordinadora Departamental en Defensa del Agua y de la Vida (Coordinadora) to channel their collective action against Bechtel and the Bolivian government.28 On January 11th, 2000, citizens created road blockades demanding a reduction in water prices and nullification of Law 2029.29 For three days, the city shut down, with thousands marching and protesting at Cochabamba’s central plaza.30 On January 13th, Coordinadora leaders, headed by Oscar Olivera, met with representatives of the government and negotiated an investigation into the increased water prices, revision and change of the Law 2029, and a revision of the contract with Aguas del Tunari or Bechtel Enterprises.31 The Coordinadora leaders gave the government three weeks, during which citizens ceased water payments and Bechtel Enterprises threatened to cut off the water.32 On February 4th, 2000, a few hundred people planned a peaceful march at the central plaza to reaffirm their cause during lunch hour. However, a region-
47
al governor and then President Hugo Banzer’s appointee, Hugo Galindo, announced that the protest was illegal and sent a thousand-armed troops to repress the activism.33 Cochabamba leaders saw this as a declaration of war as the government refused to diminish Bechtel’s water spikes and protected Bechtel.34 This led to more factions of society joining the Coordinadora, from cocoa farmers like Evo Morales to political figures like Congressman Maldonado.35 With the new partnerships, Coordinadora leaders acquired the contract with Bechtel and changed their strategies entirely after learning its exploitative details. They were now after an annulment of the contract with Bechtel and to get back the public ownership of their water supply.36 On March 26th, 2000, the Coordinadora conducted survey research of almost fifty thousand respondents, whereby 99% declared the rejection of water rate increases, 96% affirmed the annulment of the contract with Bechtel, and 97% rejected the water privatization of Law 2029.37 On April 4th, 2000, the final battle began. With road blockades, marches, and a city-wide shutdown, thousands gathered to demand the departure of Bechtel and the annulment of water privatization in Law 2029. However, on April 7th, government officials arrested Coordinadora leaders. The day after, President Banzer, a former dictator, declared a state of siege, where constitutional rights were curtailed, and armed forces opened fire with real ammunition.38 Amidst the violence, an unarmed seventeen-year-old civilian, Victor Hugo Daza, was shot in the face by an army captain Robinson Iriarte de La Fuente.39 A local television station broadcasted the bloody event, and the city stood at a standstill.40 On April 9th, 2000, after the bloody event, Coordinadora’s supporters grew more resolute, and ten thousand protestors filled the streets with the chants for Bechtel to leave.41 As a supporter claims, “Once you have already paid a certain price… you don’t back down for anything”.42 On April 10th, representatives of Bechtel fled the country, and the Bolivian government announced the contract is annulled.43 The government signed an agreement with the Coordinadora stating that SEMAPA will be in charge of the water systems, and the road blockades will be lifted once the Law 2029 is amended and proof of the annulment of the Bechtel contract is provided.44 On April 11th, President Banzer revises the Law 2029, and on April 20th, the state of siege is lifted.45
Part 2: Anti-Globalization Movement, Dispute with Bechtel, and the Legacy of the Water War During the same week as the heated demonstrations in Cochabamba, another momentous anti-globalization protest against the World Bank and IMF was taking place in Washington, D.C. It was the first collective action since the Seattle protests six months earlier. Moreover, the news about the Cochabamba Water War broke out into the international forum from the updates provided by The Democracy Center, and Coordinadora’s leader Oscar Olivera was invited to speak at the protest.46 Thousands of activists welcomed Olivera and President of the Council of Canadians, a highly esteemed water rights activist, Maude Barlow celebrated the Coordinadora’s success against Bechtel and named Olivera the hero from Bolivia.47 Olivera later became an internationally known champion for the anti-globalisation movement.48 The Bolivian water war became a media sensation with dozens of academics, filmmakers, and media channels reporting and investigating the case years after the victory was won.49 However, the victory was short-lived in Bolivia. In November 2001, a year and a half after Bechtel Enterprises left Cochabamba, the US-
based multinational organization filed for a demand of 50 million dollars to recover the costs and lost profits from the Bolivian government at the International Center for the Settlement of Investment Disputes (ICSID).50 The ICSID was a strictly confidential international trade disputes court run by the World Bank. It was “created…to provide arbitration between countries and foreign investors”.51 The Bolivian government offered to pay the cost of the actualized investment from Bechtel, which was less than 1 million dollars, but Bechtel refused and proceeded to court.52 The Coordinadora, with its partners and supporters, launched an international campaign to suffocate Bechtel’s will to continue with its demand.53 As a result, protesters worldwide from San Francisco to Amsterdam to Sri Lanka demanded Bechtel drop its charges as protestors directly petitioned Bechtel’s CEO, Riley Bechtel.54 In January 2006, Bechtel dropped the charges with a settlement of 30 cents.55 It was the first time a multinational organization like Bechtel dropped a case due to public pressure.56 The water war left a robust democratic legacy for Bolivia and a widespread impact on the anti-globalization movement.57 There was a clear social and political transition towards democracy when Coordinadora’s close ally and head of the Movement to-
48
ward Socialism (MAS) party, Evo Morales, ran for the presidency and became the first indigenous president with a landslide victory in 2005.58 This was a significant election because Morales represented the working class as well as the indigenous population, whose campaigns and policies reflected his indigenous values.59 It showed that “a new form of democracy ‘from below’”60 was taking root in Bolivian politics. More globally, multiple groups from Atlanta to Uruguay to Stockton to India emerged to fight against water privatization, proceeding Cochabamba’s water war.61 For instance, in 2002, in Uruguay, a coalition against water privatization, the National Commission in Defense of Water and Life (CNDAV), was formed after the Uruguayan government and IMF sought to privatize the water systems.62 Coordinadora leader Oscar Olivera consulted the CNDAV multiple times, exchanging ideas and strategies.63 Their collaboration led to a constitutional amendment in Uruguay that “secures the protection and sovereignty of this natural resource [water] against attacks from transnational corporations transcending the national limits of Uruguay and setting a strong political precedent of the whole region.”64
. . .
The Role of the World Bank and Bechtel in the Bolivian Grassroots Activism: Transitioning to an Anti-Globalisation Movement This section answers the main research question of this paper: Chiefly, what role did the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises play in the transition of grassroots activism in Cochabamba into the anti-globalization movement of Bolivia? It argues that coercive and extractive contracts, democratic organization and strategic resistance, and international alliances facilitated not only the success of the protest against privatization but also
49
its proliferation into the anti-globalization movement. The Bolivian water war escalated due to chronic water shortages, increased water prices, and a lack of support from the government.65 On the surface, it appears as though Cochabamba citizens were fighting against the Bolivian government to rectify the Law 2029 and annul the contract with Bechtel Enterprises. However, upon closer inspection, the World Bank and Bechtel Entreprises had a substantial involvement and direct influence in the Bolivian government’s decision-making.66 This correlation and the resulting proliferation of Bolivian grassroots activism into the anti-globalization movement will be examined through the following subsections: coercive and extractive contracts, democratic organization and strategic resistance, and international alliances.
. . .
Coercive and Extractive Contracts Through the structural adjustment programs, the World Bank and IMF aspired to let the market manage the resources and systems of a state.67 They assumed that states in the Global South were incapable of administering public services due to monopolies and high corruption and private corporations were better equipped to deliver more efficient services.68 However, market regulation does not account for the more impoverished segment of the population, which would be left out by privatization, 69 and this became the seed of their demise in Bolivia, as demonstrated by the victory of the water war. When the World Bank lent the Bolivian government 600 million dollars as a development loan to improve its infrastructure, it imposed privatization70 as part of its main conditions vis-à-vis the structural adjustment program. The coercive nature of this contract is noted by scholars71 as it forced the Bolivian government to choose between no loan and a de-
velopment loan with disadvantageous conditions. In the context of the water crisis, the first option would lead to the continued suffering of numerous communities, e.g., Cochabamba, La Pez, and El Alto, from outdated infrastructure and a lack of water supply. The second option would benefit the upper-middle and upper class72 but jeopardize the interests of the most vulnerable communities in the country, such as farmers, miners, and blue-collared workers, from a reduction in state expenditure and employment cuts.73 Understandably, the Bolivian government signed the contract of the developmental loan. This contract explicitly included the MISICUNI dam project, a plan to build a dam that would provide a long-term water supply to Cochabamba and neighboring areas.74 The MISICUNI dam was estimated to cost 185-million-dollar and not many engineering companies volunteered to take up the project due to concerns with profitability and viability.75 Since the developmental loan depended on implementing the MISICUNI project, the Bolivian government sought to speed up the process.76 It opened the project proposal to negotiation, and Aguas del Tunari – the subsidiary of Bechtel Enterprises – was the first to show interest.77 Eager to have an investor, the Bolivian government rushed to sign a heavily altered contract with Bechtel Enterprises that would also grant the exclusive right to own and provide water sources for 40 years.78 In the alteration, Bechtel’s intention to gain profits from this project was evident. The water rate was exorbitantly increased, which the World Bank was aware of 79 and the social criteria that protected the rights of the water users were eliminated.80 As former CEO Stephen Bechtel stated, the company was “more about making money, than making things”.81 These coercive and extractive contracts diverted the head of the Bolivian government, or President Hugo Banzer, from functioning as an elected representative of Bolivian citizens to a willing hostage to
the contracts’ conditions. However, the President was not powerless or innocent by any means. President Banzer proceeded against the consultation of his advisors when he sent armed troops and declared the state of siege,82 illustrating to the people that the Bolivian government was protecting Bechtel, which fueled the protestors’ resolve to prevail even more. Nevertheless, certain actors within the Bolivian government also assisted the Coordinadora in developing its strategy against the Banzer administration and Bechtel.83 This suggests the Bolivian government had internal conflicts that reflected its opposition to water privatization and its duty to comply with the conditions of the transnational agreements. This can be further justified by the government’s prompt annulment of the contract with Bechtel when its personnel left the country. Nevertheless, bound by the conditions of coercive and extractive contracts, the Bolivian government acted in defense of Bechtel Enterprises and as the hand of the World Bank and, by extension, neoliberal policies, which left a scarring distrust and disassociation of the protestors from the elected government.84 This created the condition of a power vacuum for the diverse communities of Cochabamba to come together and democratically organize against a common enemy through the Coordinadora. This brings us to the next section.
. . .
Democratic Organization and Strategic Resistance The Coordinadora accomplished two key breakthroughs that led to the success of the water war. First, it facilitated the democratic organization of diverse groups of people under a common cause. Second, it encouraged strategic resistance against the Bolivian government and the contract with Bechtel. Before the Bolivian government enacted Law
50
2029 and Bechtel Enterprises came to Cochabamba, there was a distinct demographic split between the urban and rural communities, where they routinely fought over resources and job opportunities.85 The rural community consisted of blue-collared workers, such as cocoa farmers and miners, who often had no access to the existing water systems, which ran through city centers.86 The rural community had built up grievances with the local authorities, who following the government’s directives dug wells in the farmlands to provide water.87 But soon, they dried up from heat waves, leaving the irrigation land useless88 and the water crisis unresolved. On the other hand, the urban community consisted of white-collar workers who had access to the water systems, but the pipes carrying the water lost 55% due to leaks and “clandestine hookups”.89 The latter group was aggravated by the Bolivian government’s employment cuts due to neoliberal policies.90 Even so, these groups had common denominators: their desire for Bechtel to leave Cochabamba and their indigenous heritage that valued water as a human right rather than a commodity.91 Their collective action through the Coordinadora was characterized by these commonalities.92 And factions like university students, factory union workers, environmental groups, members of Congress, lawyers, and engineers had joined to defend their collective right to water by the final battle.93 The Coordinadora achieved this by holding town meetings or assemblies that ensured equal participation.94 Up to 70000 people came to voice their opinions on critical decisions through votes in these meetings, and this led to the mass survey conducted to validate their collective action.95 The organization of Coordinadora set the foundation for democratic, bottom-up governance as a form of resistance against the top-down management of the World Bank, Banzer’s administration, and neoliberal policies. This later enabled fellow proponent Evo Morales to run for President in 2005. Moreover, the Coordinadora used strategic tactics to resist the passive and violent repression from the Bolivian government. It used road blockades, marches, plaza occupations, and negotiations as its core strategies. As Bjork-James argues, road blockades have been a successful form of protest in labor protests, political conflicts, indigenous rights movements, and environmental and antiwar movements around the globe.96 While not a novel tactic, the blockades used by Coordinadora were creative and effective. To prevent vehicles from passing, the protesters left “blan-
51
kets of spikes and nails on roads”.97 Alternatively, they built rock walls to hide behind to collect and throw back the tear gas canisters at the police.98 Finally, tens of protestors called water warriors would run across the road edge-to-edge to stop police from advancing further, creating a makeshift barrier.99 In addition, their negotiation tactics were noted to be successful because of their technical accuracy and academic literacy, which demonstrated concrete knowledge of the water issues within Bolivia.100 This was thanks to the experts supporting their movements through alliances and partnerships, which the next section will examine.
. . .
International Alliances Through its alliance with the anti-globalization movement, the water war in Cochabamba forced the World Bank to reconsider and adapt their recommendations on water privatization to become more open and inclusive.101 Arguably the strongest alliances to the protestors in the water war were The Democracy Center and the proponents of the Anti-Globalization Movement. The Democracy Center is a U.S-based organization dedicated to foster local and global democracy by supporting grassroots activism.102 It was the main on-ground international news outlet that informed the world about the water war.103 The Democracy Center aided the war in two crucial ways. First, it disseminated accurate information to the international community via newsletters, which was especially critical during the state of siege, when all television and radio broadcasts were blocked.104 The newsletters gained more traction and attention when the Democracy Center’s reports debunked President Banzer’s foreign press release stating that the protesters were drug traffickers who were out to destabilize
the government.105 The international community could clearly see that the government was using violence to repress peaceful protestors through the Democracy Center’s updates of the media footage of police brutality and Victor Hugo Daza’s assassination.106 Moreover, the use of the Internet and media allowed the story to reach beyond borders and gain more allies because it created momentum and raised awareness.107 It authorized proponents of the anti-globalization movement across the world to condemn the Banzer administration for human rights violations and to participate in campaigns against the Bechtel dispute.108 The Democracy center reports that over 500 people petitioned the CEO of Bechtel to drop the 50-million-dollar charge against Bolivia, 15 people chained themselves to the Bechtel headquarters in San Francisco, and Dutch activists renamed the street of Bechtel headquarters, Victor Hugo Daza Street.109 These modes of nonviolent protest and nonviolent intervention, particularly the signed public statements (petition), communication with a wider (newsletter) audience, and physical interventions (stand-in protest), pressured Bechtel Enterprises to finally withdraw its demands. The alliance with the proponents of the transnational anti-globalization movement also legitimized the water war’s victory as a collective triumph against neoliberal policies. After the water war and protest in Washington D.C, where the leader of Coordinadora Oscar Olivera was welcomed as a water rights activist, the World Bank and IMF were under intense scrutiny for the efficacy and implementation of their policies.110 In 2000, the President of the World Bank, James Wolfensohn, and chief water official, John Briscoe were questioned about the water war in Cochabamba and forced to defend their water privatization policies.111
tion through the Coordinadora, who united diverse factions of society and left robust democratic governance leading to increased alliances and expert strategies against the Bolivian government. Thirdly, the alliances with the Democracy Center and proponents of the anti-globalization movement enabled the Coordinadora to win against the Bechtel dispute through an international campaign and triggered the World Bank to review and revise its neoliberal policies.
. . .
Discussion on Water Management The Vice-President of the World Bank, Ismail Serageldin, stated that wars in the 21st century will be about water.112 The accelerated climate change from pollution, deforestation, droughts, and urbanization diminishes the scarce freshwater sources, recyclable only through rainwater.113 In 2017, more than 884 million people did not have access to safe drinking water, according to the WHO and UNICEF.114 To respond to this scarcity, the World Bank and IMF implemented water privatization.115 In theory, through privatization, water would be priced as a commodity according to its economic and environmental cost and be managed by private companies who would be directly accountable to their customers and stakeholders.116 However, in practice, many countries in the Global South were apprehensive about the neoliberal approach because it meant that many citizens would not be able to afford the price of water.117 Citizens of Global South countries approached water management from the perspective of “water as a non-substitutable resource essential to life”.118 In this frame, access to water should
. . .
Part 3: Conclusion Overall, this paper has aimed to identify the role of the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises in the transition of grassroots activism in Cochabamba into the anti-globalization movement. After a comprehensive summary of the water war in Cochabamba, it established three main findings. Firstly, coercive and extractive contracts from the World Bank and Bechtel Enterprises set the foundation for the Bolivian government’s actions against the interests of its citizens. In turn, this propelled the protestors to collective ac-
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be recognized as a human right, not a commodity. The water war of Cochabamba is a clear example of this debate of water as a human right versus a commodity. The rationale behind the argument water as a human right is built upon two pillars: firstly, water is a non-substitutable, essential good for life, and secondly, many human rights mandated by the UN depends on the supply and access to water, such as the right to food, health, and life.119 Bakker explains that after water rights movements against privatization, like in Bolivia and Uruguay, central development agencies, such as the UNDP and WHO, began to support their movement as it would propel governments to prioritize water issues and fulfill basic water needs more efficiently.120 While the support of these international organizations is a significant breakthrough for water rights activists, much progress still needs to be made. For instance, the skeptics and proponents of water privatization critique that water as a human right will not produce practical changes to improve water equality and sustainable management.121 Private companies motivated by profit (like Bechtel Enterprises) will undoubtedly manage water systems less sustainably than the public sector, whose main agenda is to ensure everyone has access to water (like the Coordinadora). However, using water as a free resource could lead to faster degradation of the earth’s fresh water supply, which we all depend on. The solution for future of water management needs to incorporate sustainability while recognizing that water is a human right. One such proposal comes from Bakker, who argues that the alter-globalization movement provides viable alternative models to the neoliberal privatization for water management.122 As opposed to anti-globalization, alter-globalization is a social movement that supports global cooperation but values environmental rights and civil liberties. The main alter-globalization alternatives include mutualization of asset ownership, where the majority of shares are owned by users in a private company, and public-public partnerships, where two non-governmental organizations from different countries collaborate to exchange expertise and resources.123 Such partnerships could feasibly provide the first steps towards balancing the need for long-term sustainability with access to water’s existence as a human right.
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endnotes 1. Evans, Peter. “Fighting marginalization with transnational networks: Counter-hegemonic globalization.” Contemporary sociology 29, no. 1 (2000): 272. 2. Rouhani, L., 2021. “Week 4: Modes of Protest: Electronic Repertoires of Contention” 3. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” Latin American Perspectives 30, no. 3 (2003): 15. 4. Skaidrė, Ž., 2019. Grassroots Activism and Sustainable Development: 2. [online] SpringerLink. Available at: <https://link.springer.com/referenceworkentry/10.1007/978-3-319-63951-2_281-1> [Accessed 28 March 2021]. 5. Rouhani, L., 2021. “Week 6: Anti-Globalization Movements” 6. Kohl, Benjamin. “Challenges to neoliberal hegemony in Bolivia.” Antipode 38, no. 2 (2006): 305. 7. Ibid. 8. OECD, 1993. GLOSSARY OF INDUSTRIAL ORGANISATION ECONOMICS AND COMPETITION LAW. [online] Oecd.org. Available at: <https://www.oecd.org/regreform/ sectors/2376087.pdf> [Accessed 28 March 2021]. 9. Perreault, Thomas. “State restructuring and the scale politics of rural water governance in Bolivia.” Environment and Planning A 37, no. 2 (2005): 263-284. 10. Pettinger, T., 2019. Structural Adjustment - definition and criticisms - Economics Help. [online] Economics Help. Available at: <https://www.economicshelp.org/blog/2139/economics/structural-adjustment> [Accessed 28 March 2021].;Oringer, J. and Welch, C., 1998. Structural Adjustment Programs - Institute for Policy Studies. [online] Institute for Policy Studies. Available at: <https://ips-dc.org/structural_adjustment_programs> [Accessed 28 March 2021]. 11. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” Dignity and defiance: Stories from Bolivia’s challenge to globalization (2008): 15. 12. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 13. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” the Crisis of Neoliberalism, and Public Services1.” International labor and working-class history 71, no. 1 (2007): 8-28. 14. Ibid. ;Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 15. Ibid., 16. 16. Ibid. 17. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” the Crisis of Neoliberalism, and Public Services1.” 18. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 19. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.” Revista de Gestión Del Agua en América Latina 1 (2004): 37-46. 20. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 21. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. Edinburgh: AK Press, pp.77-112. 22. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 23. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.” 24. Ibid. 25. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 26. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 16. 27. Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” NACLA Report on the Americas 36, no. 4 (2003): 35. ; Norris, Amanda L., and Katina E. Metzidakis. “Public protests, private contracts: confidentiality in ICSID arbitration and the Cochabamba water war.” Harv. Negot. L. Rev. 15 (2010): 38. 28. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.”: 41. 29. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 19. 30. Ibid. 31. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.”: 41. 32. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 20. 33. Ibid., 21. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., 21-22. 36. Ibid., 24. 37. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.”: 42. 38. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 25. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatization of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.”: 42. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 26.
47. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 27. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 51. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 30. 52. Norris, Amanda L., and Katina E. Metzidakis. “Public protests, private contracts: confidentiality in ICSID arbitration and the Cochabamba water war.” Harv. Negot. L. Rev. 15 (2010): 31-76. 53. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 54. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 32-41. 55. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 56. The Democracy Center. n.d. Bechtel VS Bolivia — THE DEMOCRACY CENTER. [online] Available at: <https://www.democracyctr.org/bechtel-vs-bolivia> [Accessed 5 April 2021]. ; Wagner, A. and Schultz, J., 2006. Bechtel Surrenders in Bolivia Water Revolt Case. [online] Earthjustice. Available at: <https://earthjustice.org/news/press/2006/bechtel-surrenders-in-bolivia-water-revolt-case> [Accessed 5 April 2021]. 57. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 58. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 29. 59. Ibid. 60. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class”: 21. 61. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 27. 62. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 63. Ibid. 64. Ibid., 103. 65. Bonnardeaux, David. “The Cochabamba “Water War”: An Anti-Privatisation Poster Child?.” Washington, DC: International Policy Network (2009). 66. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” ; Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” 67. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 68. Evans, Peter. “Fighting marginalization with transnational networks: Counter-hegemonic globalization.” 69. Perreault, Thomas. “State restructuring and the scale politics of rural water governance in Bolivia.” 70. Kohl, Benjamin. “Challenges to neoliberal hegemony in Bolivia.” Antipode 38, no. 2 (2006): 304-326. ; Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” 71. Kohl, Benjamin. “Challenges to neoliberal hegemony in Bolivia.” ; Bonnardeaux, David. “The Cochabamba “Water War”: An Anti-Privatisation Poster Child?.” Washington, DC: International Policy Network (2009).; Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba.; Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.”; Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” 72. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” 73. Bjork-James, C., 2013. Claiming space, redefining politics: Urban protest and grassroots power in Bolivia. Ann Arbor: ProQuest, pp.1-32.; Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 74. Bonnardeaux, David. “The Cochabamba “Water War”: An Anti-Privatisation Poster Child?.” 75. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 76. Ibid. 77. Ibid. 78. Ibid.; Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” 79. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.”; Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” 80. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.” 81. St. Clair, J., 2021. Straight to Bechtel: When Donald Rumsfeld Laid Pipe. [online] CounterPunch. Available at: <https://www.counterpunch.org/2005/05/09/straight-to-bechtel/> [Accessed 5 April 2021]. 82. Shultz, Jim. “Bolivia: the water war widens.” 83. Assies, Willem. “David versus Goliath in Cochabamba: Water rights, neoliberalism, and the revival of social protest in Bolivia.”;Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 84. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 85. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” 86. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 87. Ibid. 88. Ibid. 89. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”: 35. 90. Bonnardeaux, David. “The Cochabamba “Water War”: An Anti-Privatisation Poster Child?.” 91. Bjork-James, C., “Claiming space, redefining politics: Urban protest and grassroots power in Bolivia.”; Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 92. Spronk, Susan. “Roots of Resistance to Urban Water Privatization in Bolivia: The “New Working Class” 93. Norris, Amanda L., and Katina E. Metzidakis. “Public protests, private contracts: confidentiality in ICSID arbitration and the Cochabamba water war.” 94. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 95. Ibid. 96. Bjork-James, C., “Claiming space, redefining politics: Urban protest and grassroots power in Bolivia.”: 8. 97. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba: 9. 98. Ibid.
99. Ibid. 100. Bustamante, Rocio. “The water war: resistance against privatisation of water in Cochabamba, Bolivia.” 101. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”; Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 102. Democracycenter.org. n.d. About Us. [online] Available at: <https://www.democracycenter.org/about-us> [Accessed 4 April 2021]. 103. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 104. Norris, Amanda L., and Katina E. Metzidakis. “Public protests, private contracts: confidentiality in ICSID arbitration and the Cochabamba water war.” 105. Ibid. 106. The Democracy Center. n.d. Bechtel VS Bolivia. 107. Cloud, D., 2019. Progressive Social Movements and the Internet. [online] Repository. upenn.edu. Available at: <https://repository.upenn.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1797&context=asc_papers> [Accessed 4 April 2021].; Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 108. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.”; The Democracy Center. n.d. Bechtel VS Bolivia. 109. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 110. Shultz, Jim. “The Cochabamba water revolt and its aftermath.” 111. Ibid. 112. Barlow, Maude. “Water is a basic human right.” Peace Research 32, no. 4 (2000): 98. 113. Dangl, B., 2007. The Price of Fire: Water War in Cochabamba. 114. CDC, 2021. Global WASH Fast Facts | Global Water, Sanitation and Hygiene | Healthy Water | CDC. [online] Cdc.gov. Available at: <https://www.cdc.gov/healthywater/global/ wash_statistics.html#:~:text=The%20latest%20published%20information%20on,have%20 safe%20water%20to%20drink> [Accessed 9 April 2021]. 115. Barlow, Maude. “Water is a basic human right.” Peace Research 32, no. 4 (2000). 116. Bakker, Karen. “The “commons” versus the “commodity”: Alter‐globalization, anti‐ privatization and the human right to water in the global south.” Antipode 39, no. 3 (2007): 430-455. 117. Barlow, Maude. “Water is a basic human right.” Peace Research 32, no. 4 (2000). 118. Bakker, Karen. “The “commons” versus the “commodity”: Alter‐globalization, anti‐ privatization and the human right to water in the global south.”: 432. 119. Bakker, Karen. “The “commons” versus the “commodity”: Alter‐globalization, anti‐ privatization and the human right to water in the global south.” 120. Ibid. 121. Ibid. 122. Ibid. 123. Kenton, W., 2019. Understanding Mutualization. [online] Investopedia. Available at: <https://www.investopedia.com/terms/m/mutualization.asp#:~:text=What%20Is%20Mutualization%3F,own%20a%20majority%20of%20shares.&text=This%20form%20of%20business%20structure%20is%20also%20known%20as%20a%20cooperative> [Accessed 9 April 2021].; European Water, n.d. Public-Public Partnerships: An alternative model. [online] Europeanwater.org. Available at: <http://europeanwater.org/european-water-resources/reports-publications/99-public-public-partnerships> [Accessed 9 April 2021].
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Western Spin of the Human Rights Revolution: How the Global Hegemony Manipulated Change for Demands after World War II By: Leo Clarke
abstract The Human Rights Revolution of the mid-twentieth century is widely regarded as an existential paradigm shift in the valuation of human life. And yet, the decades that followed the ratification of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) has failed to yield the bold change in priorities it promised. Many historians and scholars have since interpreted these supranational legislations as placations for citizens of the global south and marginalized populations across the globe. It also stymied the momentum of domestic and global socialist revolution. Documents like UDHR articulate a highly ambiguous notion of justice, as well as a non-committal approach towards enforcement and punishment of human rights violations. As a result, the international dynamics of power remain largely the same since 1945, only now with adapted and modernized methods of subjugation. De nombreux historiens et universitaires ont depuis interprété ces législations supranationales comme des apaisements pour les citoyens des pays du Sud global et des populations marginalisées du monde entier. Cela a également freiné l’élan de la révolution socialiste nationale et mondiale. Des documents comme la DUDH articulent une notion très ambiguë de la justice, ainsi qu’une approche non contraignante de l’application et de la répression des violations des droits humains. De ce, les dynamiques internationales de pouvoir sont restés globalement inchangés depuis 1945, maintenant avec des methodes adaptées d’asservissement.
D
espite the assertion of their “self-evdence” in the American Bill of Rights,1 human rights did not percolate into the plane of international law until the aftermath of World War II. To many, the following two decades spelled a Human Rights Revolution, marking a seemingly ubiquitous ideological and humanitarian shift, akin to that of the Enlightenment Era. However, to others – namely, subjects of colonialism, oppressed minority groups, and ideological opponents to capitalism – this era is rife with disingenuous promises and desperate compromises proposed by Western-based supranational organizations, to resist both an imminent global socialist revolution, and the unraveling of imperial empires. This paper will elaborate on three historical angles regarding the inception of human rights into international law and discourse. Firstly, it will argue that the verbiage of the promises made has been explicitly noncommittal and caveated, which characterizes human
rights as a broad culture to aspire to, rather than a policy objective. Secondly, although the post-WWII era coincided with the formal divorce of colonies from their colonizers, this was not the epoch of humanitarian reform it promised to be. Finally, the paper shall close with a discussion on how the inauguration of human rights continues to leave marginalized groups in the periphery of political discourse to this day.
. . .
Origins of Human Rights Language Human rights have been noncommittal and verbose since their inception. The language serves to propagate a liberal, capitalist framework rather than shepherd human wellbeing. Article One of the French Declaration of the Rights of Man qualifies man’s inherent status of “free and equal” as contingent to subjective “social distinctions” that can be imposed by the government based on a vague “general good”.2 This inclusion es-
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. . . sentially permits the French government to renege on their promise of rights when it suits their agenda.3 Nearly 160 years later, the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) echoes similar virtues, and expands on them, urging people to “act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood”, and condemning “distinction of any kind, such as race, color, sex, language…”.4 The use of such commanding language is insufficient to make a document binding. They fail to sufficiently articulate precise definitions for human rights or supplement an enforcement infrastructure in the language. Therefore, violations go unpunished on a regular basis. The definition of human rights was sabotaged by obfuscation, because both private and public institutions were built on subjugation of some degree, and legislature that was emphatic and binding would have hurt them tremendously. The Enlightenment Era was a critical prologue to the conception of human rights because it fostered the “subtle but momentous changes in the perception of bodies and selves”,5 necessary for human rights. Lynn Hunt, a professor of Modern European History at UCLA, and author of The Paradoxical Origins of Human Rights, explains that the “rising threshold of shame about bodily functions and the growing sense of bodily decorum […] created clearer lines of demarcation between individual bodies and greater respect for bodily integrity”.6 The difference between progress of the eighteenth and nineteenth century, and the Human Rights Revolution of the mid-twentieth century, is that the former was a bottom-up collective intellectual discovery, whereas the Human Rights Revolution was a top-down series of declarations, prescribed by hegemonic powers, as a method of deflecting accountability. Post-WWII global politics are defined by performance rather than potency. In Daniel Cohen’s words, “rather than a radical shift in moral standards, the Human Rights Revolution reinforced the sovereign prerogatives of nation-states”.7 Makau Mutua is a professor of International Human Rights and International Law at SUNY Buffalo School of Law. Mutua notes that “Non-Western philosophies and traditions […] were either unrepresented or marginalized during the early formulation of human rights”.8 Essentially, he theorizes that historically rights have not been rooted in humanitarian interest so much as the protection of private property for the ruling elite. English philosopher and physician, John Locke, summated fundamental rights as “Life, Liberty, and Estate”.9 Locke does not distinguish between right
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and privilege. That which is inalienable is not divorced from the tangible and opulent, and therefore reveals who philosophers of the time intended these “rights” for. This mantra was critically influential to the American Bill of Rights. Not only does this declaration make no mention of economic or cultural rights, but it fails even to condemn the USA’s “original sin”, slavery.10 In fact, property rights were often evoked to victimize slave-owners in the face of abolitionist efforts throughout the nineteenth century, as slaves were legally designated as property. The above arguments allow us to infer that the language of rights rarely derived from benevolent or humanitarian motives, but rather the maintenance of exploitative Western practices.
“Not only does this declaration make no mention of economic or cultural rights, but it fails to even condemn America’s ‘original sin’, slavery.” Reconsolidation of Colonial Power Post-Revolution Abolition of the slave trade is often regarded as the origin of human rights promotion through international law-making. It also marks the first instance of Western powers calculatedly renouncing oppressive activities, in a manner that sustains capitalist and imperial agendas. In 1806, Britain banned the transportation of slaves (a seemingly positive change), with ulterior motives. The bill was received enthusiastically in Parliament because it was presented as a political wartime maneuver against France,11 with whom Britain was at war. This legislation helped Britain curry favor among other states. It also evaded diplomatic besmirchment from the French, which could have weakened their imperial standing. The USA followed suit the next year, and by the 1840s, over twenty states were party to international treaties pledging to abolish the slave trade. These treaties of the early nineteenth century are viewed by many
scholars as both political posturing, and a calculated economic loss, eventually expected to pay dividends. Makau Mutua explained that “far from being a selfless endeavor, abolitionism served the economic self-interest of influential factions of society made wealthy by the rise of industrial capitalism”.12 The industrial revolution made abolition a more palatable loss, especially given the potential repercussions of sustaining slavery. Just one decade prior, in 1791, the first successful slave revolt in history occurred in St. Domingue. In February 1794, the French Assembly voted to abolish slavery in all its colonies. They also resolved that “slave-owners would be indemnified” for the financial value of their slaves.13 Immediately, perpetrators of the most egregious violation of the law, would be financially rewarded. This was a pertinent case study of how imperial powers were forced to adapt their methods of oppression, and in doing so, disguised them behind ethical intent. After World War II, colonies increasingly demanded greater self-determination; Western powers were forced to strategically relinquish some political jurisdiction, without releasing their grasp on global resources. Superpowers were backtracking from promises made during the war in the Atlantic Charter of 1941.14 Suddenly, this prompted the importance of self-determination. In Samuel Moyn’s words, “global self-determination would have spelled the end of empire”.15 United against a common imperial enemy, the Allies evoked democracy and freedom from oppression. When the war concluded, they faced an outstanding bill, owed to both domestic and colonial citizens. The introduction of human rights installed an atmosphere of change in global discourse and bought the West some time in resisting the anti-colonial insurrection. Samuel Moyn called human rights the “substitute” and “consolation prize” of true self-determination.16 Western states dragged their feet throughout
the UN human rights formulation. They deliberately constructed charters that surrendered minimal political and economic leverage. The original draft of the UN Charter made no reference to human rights. It is speculated that Britain “feared this might add fuel to the independence movements in its colonies”.17 After all, there was precedent for rapid decolonization by force, namely in Haiti, and the USA. To maintain supremacy, colonizers carefully granted surface-level sovereignty to appease demands, without releasing states from their economic will. Caveats were included in UN legislation that impeded the realization of the global periphery’s agency; when petitions were discussed as a method of protest, some members insisted on a “Colonialist Clause”, restricting citizens of colonies from doing so.18 And so, the new conditions under UN supervision remained unconducive to political liberty.
. . .
The Pacification of Socialist Revolution Not only was the Human Rights Revolution from the mid-1940s to mid-1960s a fabricated revolution, but it was a manufactured suppression of an ongoing, socialist revolution. If one assumes rights to be inherent, then one must conclude that rights cannot be created, only discovered. Therefore, Hunt argues natural rights would never have evolved into human rights without revolutions.19 In 1950, the Council of Europe adopted the European Convention of Human Rights, intended to “generalize social democracy” against Communism.20 That same year, the USA implemented NSC-68, a National Security Council document that affirmed that “any means were justified to increase American power relative to that of the USSR”.21 “Any means” included military aggression in foreign, non-hostile lands, namely Latin American states that flirted with socialism. In 1954, Jacobo Arbenz, Pres-
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ident of Guatemala, was overthrown in a covert operation by US intelligence. Arbenz was regarded as a threat because of his sympathies with the Communist Party, his contacts across the Eastern Bloc, but most importantly, because he curtailed trade privileges to the United Fruit Company.22 The Guatemalan coup is an example of the manner in which Western superpowers justified meddling in the democratic process and suppressing revolution with a sanctimonious and poorly articulated prescription of human rights. The disingenuity of human rights became evident when socialist states were constantly rebuffed in their attempts to add breadth and teeth to UN literature. In the San Francisco Conference of 1945, twenty South American countries insisted on a more holistic approach to human rights.23 Hernan Santa Cruz of Chile argued the “indivisibility” of rights. He insisted “liberal political regimes couldn’t secure sustained progress w/o assuring economic, social and cultural rights”.24 The USA refused to accept economic human rights. This would have burdened American transnational corporations with higher wages, as well as fair pricing for their imports. Given the USA’s corporatist prerogatives, economic rights were a non-starter. Interactions like this indicate why many Latin A mericans deem human rights an “Anglo-Saxo n export”,25 inappropriate for their countries. The American Convention on Human Rights, est ablished in 1969, gives an indication as to how the global human rights legislature could have looked without the dominant interference of capitalist interest, particularly after the Protocol of San Salvador provision in 1988, which articul ated economic, social, and cultural rig hts.26 Instead, current globalist legi slation on human rights is muddl ed, unenforceable, and guarante es virtually nothing to its con stituents.
Human Rights in Relation to Minority Groups Increased global exposure of racism and racial violence in the so-called “First World” threatened the façade that the West was the land of humanitarianism. It forced them to reinvent their methods of oppression. Steven Jensen, a Senior Researcher at the Danish Institute for Human Rights, reported that African, Asian, and Caribbean diplomats disclosed discrimination they experienced in Washington DC and New York, which became a heated point of contention during UN debates.27 The USA was repeatedly embarrassed by their own human rights track record, once more in October 1962, when the court-ordered admission of Black student James Meredith into the University of Mississippi spurred widespread hate crimes. This incident “raised doubts about the ideals that the country claimed to represent”.28 More significantly to US foreign policy, in the heat of the Cold War, it “allowed for easy propaganda for America’s opponents”.29 Sure enough, the Soviet delegate “ignited a sharp ideological exchange” on the matter,30 shaming the nation for its hypocrisy regarding voting rights, housing discrimination, work, and education. Controversies like the James Meredith case threatened to expose the USA’s true, cynical objectives. President Lyndon B. Johnson viewed critiques as “a risk that could also involve an oppo rtunity”.31 Afterwards, the 1960s marked an era of inclusive legislation, including the Equal Pay Act (1963), Civil Rights Act (1964), Affirmative Ac tion (1965), and the Fair Housing Act (19 68). Although these are valiant examples of bottom-up revolutions, they were on ly enabled to succeed with approval from the powers at be. This attes ted to the fact that Western cou ntries were only willing to im plement progressive hum an rights laws when the y were on the defensi ve front, especially when that threat came from co mmunist actors.
Conclusion Oftentimes, we regard any seemingly virtuous diplomatic initiative as a step in the right direction, even when they are performative actions, and especially when they span across cultures and continents. However, the development of human rights in the two decades following WWII must be interpreted more critically. Colonial subjects were obstructed from agency and denied a pathway to a more socially equitable state. Minority factions were continually contained in submission through the guise of a more benevolent paternal relationship. Political revolutions were stalled and stymied by paper-compromises, deflating political momentum, and burying important issues from mainstream discourse. Articulating universal pillars that are “abstract enough to be safely embraced”,32 has not only muddled the path to universal self-determinism and promotion of well-being, but directly benefited the hegemonic actors who this kind of legislation should reprimand and punish.
endnotes 1. Thomas Jefferson, et al, July 4, Copy of Declaration of Independence. -07-04, 1776 2. Robespierre, Maximilien. 1850. Declaration of the rights of man and the citizen.: [publisher not identified]. http://galenet.galegroup.com/servlet/MOME?af=RN&ae=U107508699&srchtp=a&ste=14&locID=edmo69826. 3. David René, & P., D. V. H. (1958). The French legal system: An introduction to civil law systems. Amazon. Retrieved February 27, 2022, from https://www. amazon.com/Civil-Law-Tradition-Introduction-Systems/dp/1503606813. 4. United Nations General Assembly, “The Universal Declaration of Human Rights” (1948), http://www.un.org/en/universal-declaration-human-rights. 5. Lynn Hunt, “The Paradoxical Origins of Human Rights,” in Human Rights and Revolutions, edited by Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom et. al., 2nd edition (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007), 5. 6. Lynn Hunt, “The Paradoxical Origins of Human Rights,” in Human Rights and Revolutions, edited by Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom et. al., 2nd edition (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007), 7. 7. Daniel Cohen, “The Holocaust and the ‘Human Rights Revolution’: A Reassessment,” in The Human Rights Revolution: An International History, edited by Akira Iriye et. al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 69. 8. Makau Mutua, Human Rights: A Political and Cultural Critique (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 155. (Conclusion) 9. Jenny S. Martinez, “The Anti- Slavery Movement and the Rise of International Non-governmental Organizations,” in The Oxford Handbook of International Human Rights Law, edited by Dinah Shelton (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 227. 10. Wallis, Jim. America’s Original Sin: Racism, White Privilege, and the Bridge to a New America. Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, a division of Baker Publishing Group, 2017. 150. 11. Jenny S. Martinez, “The Anti- Slavery Movement and the Rise of International Non-Governmental Organizations,” in The Oxford Handbook of International Human Rights Law, edited by Dinah Shelton (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 240. 12. Makau Mutua, Human Rights: A Political and Cultural Critique (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 157. (Conclusion) 13. “Slavery in the French Atlantic World.”. Accessed October 6, 2021. https://
www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780199730414/obo9780199730414-0270.xm 14. Seddon, M. (2016). The origins and limitations of the atlantic charter: Britain, the USA, Venezuela, and the development of Free Trade, 1933–1944. Journal of Transatlantic Studies, 14(1), 71. 15. Samuel Moyn, Human Rights and the Uses of History (New York: Verso, 2017), 163. 16. Samuel Moyn, Human Rights and the Uses of History (New York: Verso, 2017), 160. 17. Jenny S. Martinez, “The Anti- Slavery Movement and the Rise of International Non-Governmental Organizations,” in The Oxford Handbook of International Human Rights Law, edited by Dinah Shelton (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 240. 18. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 128. 19. Lynn Hunt, “The Paradoxical Origins of Human Rights,” in Human Rights and Revolutions, edited by Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom et. al., 2nd edition (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2007), 3. 20. Daniel Cohen, “The Holocaust and the ‘Human Rights Revolution’: A Reassessment,” in The Human Rights Revolution: An International History, edited by Akira Iriye et. al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 67. 21. Kathryn Sikkink, Mixed Signals: U.S. Human Rights Policy and Latin America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 39. (Chapter 2. “The Idea of Internationally Recognized Human Rights”). 22. Táíwò, O. O. (2021, December 6). When the United Fruit Company tried to buy Guatemala. The Nation. Retrieved February 27, 2022, from https://www. thenation.com/article/economy/united-fruit-guatemala/ 23. Kathryn Sikkink, Mixed Signals: U.S. Human Rights Policy and Latin America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 23. (Chapter 2. “The Idea of Internationally Recognized Human Rights”). 24. Kathryn Sikkink, Mixed Signals: U.S. Human Rights Policy and Latin America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 23. (Chapter 2. “The Idea of Internationally Recognized Human Rights”). 25. Kathryn Sikkink, Mixed Signals: U.S. Human Rights Policy and Latin America (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 26. (Chapter 2. “The Idea of Internationally Recognized Human Rights”). 26. DSI :: Indicators of protocolo de san salvador. OAS. (n.d.). Retrieved March 12, 2022, from https://www.oas.org/en/sare/social-inclusion/protocol-ssv/indicators.asp 27. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 121. 28. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 120. 29. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 120. 30. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 120. 31. Steven L. B. Jensen, The Making of International Human Rights: The 1960s, Decolonization, and the Reconstruction of Global Values (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 121. 32. Daniel Cohen, “The Holocaust and the ‘Human Rights Revolution’: A Reassessment,” in The Human Rights Revolution: An International History, edited by Akira Iriye et. al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 70.
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Photography as a Pivotal Tool for Early Human Rights Movements By: Kaavya Mohan
abstract Modern humanitarianism often references the need to alleviate the suffering of fellow human beings. Historian Lynne Hunt argues that this empathy serves as a psychological identification mechanism that furtherx human rights since “equality of rights is unimaginable without a strong sense that others are like you in body and spirit”. She coins this as the development of an “imagined empathy”. This essay will demonstrate how the use of photography further broadened local human rights movements by appealing to the visual empathy of citizens internationally. By historically tracking the implications of photographs in the case study of King Leopold II of Belgium’s reign of terror in the Congo during the late 1800s up until the early 20th century, it will be argued that they not only served as tools in eliminating the alienation to atrocities oversees, but also served as a driving force for development of “imagined empathy” and the subsequent humanization of international suffering. As exemplified in the case of the Congo Free State, the moral dimension of human rights was allowed to evolve and marked one of the first intergovernmental collaborations between western countries against “crimes against humanity”. Moralement, l’humanitarisme moderne fait souvent référence à la nécessité de soulager les corps souffrants d’un autre être humain, comme l’a souligné Lynn Hunt. Hunt a fait valoir que cette empathie sert de mécanisme d’identification psychologique pour faire avancer les droits de l’homme puisque « l’égalité des droits est inimaginable sans un fort sentiment que les autres sont comme vous dans le corps et l’esprit », ce qu’elle appelle le développement d’une « empathie imaginée ». Cet essai démontrera comment l’utilisation de la photographie a contribué à amplifier les mouvements locaux des droits de l’homme en faisant appel à l’empathie visuelle des citoyens à l’échelle internationale. En suivant historiquement les implications des photographies dans l’étude de cas du règne de terreur du roi Léopold II de Belgique au Congo à la fin des années 1800 jusqu’au début du 20e siècle, il sera soutenu qu’elles ont non seulement servi d’outils pour éliminer l’aliénation à atrocités, mais ont également servi de force motrice à « l’empathie imaginaire » et à l’humanisation subséquente de la souffrance internationale. Comme l’illustre le cas historique marquant de l’État indépendant du Congo, la dimension morale des droits de l’homme a pu évoluer et a marqué l’une des premières collaborations intergouvernementales entre pays occidentaux contre les « crimes contre l’humanité ».
Introduction
T
he development of photography, the inception of the printing press, and rising literacy rates in western populations collectively advanced early human rights movements by appealing to the empathy of individuals internationally. The emergence of photography built a visual narrative to atrocities worlds away or, at the very least, a world that was inaccessible to western populations. This created the psychological foundation for global human rights and “imagined
empathy”.1 While many methods have been used to produce visual imagery in early humanitarian discourse,2 this essay will specifically focus on the role of photographs in human rights discourse during King Leopold II of Belgium’s reign in the Congo from the late 19th century up until the early 20th century.
. . .
1. Imagined Empathy and the Morality of Human Rights When defining human rights in the historical context,
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it is necessary to consider the moral dimension of nature. As highlighted by Lynn Hunt, modern humanitarianism often references a need to alleviate the suffering bodies of a fellow human being.3 However, the alleviation of human suffering must first begin with the recognition of the shared humanity with “the other”.4 Hunt argues that empathy in this context serves as a psychological identification mechanism to further human rights since “equality of rights is unimaginable without a strong sense that others are like you in body and spirit”, something she coins as the development of an “imagined empathy”.5 Thus, human rights must therefore be simultaneously universal and local. Stern and Straus argue in support of Hunt’s imagined empathy, stating that human rights are locally and specifically mediated despite including everyone in the global marketplace of humanitarian ideas.6 This relationship between a local population and the universality of humanity can oblige any specific local context to stand as incredibly important in imagined empathy, thus bringing about meaningful action. Stern explains that: “human rights acquire power precisely from internationally supported assertions of a transcendent claim [of humanity] — transhistorical, transnational, and universal. Certain fundamental rights are innately endowed upon people, by virtue of their humanity, regardless of particular circumstances.”7 Here, the norm of universality as it pertains to human rights is clearly tied to the moral foundation and recognition of human rights through imagined empathy.
. . .
2. Imagined Empathy and the Legality of Human Rights Hunt expands on the manners in which Enlightenment thinkers advanced ideals of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”, as stated in the 1776 American Declaration of Independence.8 Such self-evident rights of man were echoed in the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen in 1789.9 Human rights discourse or the rights of man, did not yet carry the crucial element of universality, as elites of society controlled power and information. The capacity to intellectualize the human experience was thus still very much a privilege that remained reserved to a restricted class of citizens—notably Anglo-Saxon, landowning, and male citizens. The limits of empathy during the Enlightenment must therefore be historically situated in the context of
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British imperialism and the Atlantic Slave Trade. Although the development of a legal tradition of rights and social contract theory may have helped shape the concept of human rights, Hunt argues that revolutions underpin the evolution of property rights into human rights. Hunt references the political shocks of the American and French Revolutions of 1776 and 1789 respectively, stating that: “rights had to shed their historical garments to become human rights – rights potentially applicable to everyone”, alluding to the universality of human rights.10 Therefore, human rights discourse was allowed to emerge during the social and political unrest of revolutions. At these times, authorities were most urgently compelled to respond to the will of the people, otherwise known as the “Rule of Law”.11 During these revolutions structures of power distribution and social class were attacked and transformed, allowing for the ideal of a shared, universal humanity and other moral concerns to be heard.12 The production of these broader forms of empathy drove the humanization of the “other” and created a moral foundation for the recognition of human rights. Thus, I argue that the growth of photography and the free press bridged the physical and cultural differences among global citizens and served as an integral prerequisite for the establishment of universal human rights.
. . .
3. King Leopold II and the Belgian Congo ‘Crimes against humanity’, was first conceived to describe the widespread massacre of Congolese individuals under King Leopold II’s rule in the Congo.13 Although not the first colonial atrocity of this period, this case is unique in our discussion on the historical development of global human rights due to its success in creating a moral empathic narrative on the ideal of human rights. This case also furthered the need for a universal framework on crimes against humanity, as opposed to previous discourse treating such events as local or war crimes. Ironically enough, King Leopold of Belgium’s aim for the Congo was widely acclaimed as an early humanitarian project for bringing civility to the people of the Congo.14 The European actors in the Berlin Conference of 1885 saw no objections to his supposedly noble objectives and legally signed off the Free State of the Congo—and the protection of all those in the land—to King Leopold. However, by
1888, Leopold had established an armed infantry of soldiers named the Force Publique meant to terrorize locals into harvesting rubber. By 1891, the law allowed the Force Publique to take hostages and imprison the chiefs of villages who failed to meet their quota.15 The colonial military force regularly misused their power, using severe brutality and lethal force to fill the rubber quotas. Belgian officials under Leopold’s rule demanded the right hand of the victim to serve as proof that the expensive munitions given to soldiers were used for the purpose of repression, and not for personal endeavours such as hunting.4 Therefore, a cruel economy arose where missed quotas were paid off with human hands and feet, including those of children. The first public outcry to the devastation occurring in the Congo came from American George Washington Williams’ visit to the Congo, during which he witnessed grave atrocities committed by Belgian officers. In a public letter to King Leopold published in the New York Herald in 1890, Williams describes in vivid detail a scene where he saw women and children “laughing and talking” only to be shot “and wounded and groaning and pleading for mercy”.16 Using graphic vocabulary to enliven a recantation of his experiences, Williams attempts to cultivate a sense of empathetic humanity amongst the reader by, for instance, describing the sounds the victims were making. The timing of Williams’ open letter in combination with rising local pressure in Britain led to a parliamentary debate in the British House of Commons that resulted in Roger Casement’s assignment as a British Consul to report on the situation in the Congo.4 This exemplifies the growing global era and a moral marketplace for human rights where an American report results in a British intervention for a Belgian atrocity in Africa. In 1903, Casement pub lished a detailed report including personal tes-
timonials of victims with names and se veral photographs showing the mutilation of the individuals.17 The report’s use of photos served as irrefutable proof of the atrocities committed by Belgian officials. While these photographs served as key evidence in the case, it also served as an empathic and moral global call for action. In 1904, the Congo Reform Association was created amidst the fallout from Casement’s report. Headed by Edmund Dean Morel, the association began monthly publications of these “atrocity photographs”, which Morel also published in his own books. In Red Rubber, Morel echoes modern rights language, as codified by the Universal Declaration,18 when speaking to the deprivation of the Congolese people’s right to “land, property and labour”.19 Meanwhile, Magic Lantern shows with slides and a script of these photographs, travelled and gained popularity across borders. This was due to the power that the graphic photographs held in advocating for a sense of shared humanity. All of these efforts brought forth international outrage on the suffering in the Congo. The recognition of a universal human right was only found when confronted with its loss, and the devastating photographs lead to an “imagined empathy”.20 Susan Santong speaks of this loss, stating that visual aids bring forth an ever-mounting feeling of reality when confronted with the body of another human being, thus transcending the imagination.21 The photographs in the Free Congo’s campaign had this exact effect on the global community. Such a horrific reality of human suffering was brought to the very doorsteps of a global population and their respective representative governments. The mounting international pressure directly brought on by these photographic campaigns caused King Leopold to eventually turn the territory over to Belgium in 1908. This notion of human rights as both universal
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and local has been made relevant throughout this contemporary period through the use of photographs, the free printing press, and new technologies such as the Magic Lantern shows. This is most effectively demonstrated in the case of the Congo Free State activism, which was integral to not only the development and demonstration of the moralizing aspects of human rights, but also to the legal aspects as well, setting an intergovernmental precedent on how to handle crimes against humanity far before the creation of the League of Nations or United Nations. The multi-level engagement of international non-governmental missionaries with Magic Lantern shows and private citizen activists stood as a break from the strictly inter-governmental involvement on such global issues that had preceded it. For instance, Morel’s “The Black Man’s Burden”22 echoes the critical tone of the French revolutionaries against imperialist ‘civilizing missions’ and focuses on the human dignity of the individual and collective experiences of oppression. The Congo case’s appeal to a shared humanity in need of moral defense enables citizens to demand that their government engage and protect human rights. Accompanying his final photograph, Morel writes at the end of Red Rubber, “no grandmotherly legislation, so sentimental claims are being urged in their interest. Only justice”.23 This personal demand for justice showcases a break from earlier historical developments of private rights, exemplifying the universality of self-evident, human rights.
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Conclusion Both the universality and the simultaneously local and global nature of human rights was significantly furthered with the technological development of photography and the printing press. Human Rights not only served as a tool for eliminating mass oversight of atrocities overseas but also served as a driving force for the imagined empathy and subsequent humanization of international suffering. As exemplified in the case study of the Congo Free State under King Leopold, the moral dimension of human rights grew—and eventually produced tangible results—through grassroots activism and intergovernmental collaboration between Western countries that leaned heavily on print and photo.
endnotes 1. Lynn Hunt, “The paradoxical origins of human rights”. (Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2000), 10. 2. Elizabeth Edwards, “Anthropology and Photography: 1960-1920”. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992). 3. Thoman W Laquer, “Bodies, details and the humanitarian narrative”, in Lynn Hunt, The New Cultural History, (1989). 176-204.
4. Adam, Smith, “The Theory of Moral Sentiments” (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, [1759] 1984), 14. 5. Hunt, “The paradoxical origins of human rights”, 10. 6. Steve J Stern., and Scott Straus, eds. The human rights paradox: Universality and its discontents. (University of Wisconsin Pres, 2014). 7. Stern and Straus, “The human rights paradox: Universality and its discontents, ” 10. 8. Mercer, John Frances, Jane Doe, George Washington, John Jay, Roger Sherman, and Samuel Adams. “Declaration of Independence.” (1922). 9. James Harvey Robinson, “The French Declaration of the Rights of Man, of 1789.” Political Science Quarterly 14, no. 4 (1899): 653-662. 10. Hunt, “The paradoxical origins of human rights”, 5. 11. Brian Z, Tamanaha. On the rule of law: History, politics, theory. Cambridge University Press, 2004. 12. Hunt “The paradoxical origins of human rights” 13. Sharon Sliwinski, “The Childhood of Human Rights: The Kodak on the Congo.” The Journal of Visual Culture 5 (2006): 335-336. 14. H. M. Stanley, The Congo and the Founding of Its Free State: A Story of Work and Exploration. (London: 1885). 224. 15. George Martelli, “The New Policy”. In Leopold to Lumumba: A History of the Belgian Congo 18771960. (London: Chapman & Hall, 1962). 138-149. 16. George Washington Williams, “Open letter to King Leopold II of Belgium”, (New York: The New York Herald, 1890). 17. Roger Casement, “The Eyes of Another Race: Roger Casement’s Congo Report and 1903 Diary”, (Dublin: University College Dublin Press, 2003 [1903]. 18. UN General Assembly, “Universal Declaration of Human Rights,” 217 (III) A (Paris, 1948). 19. E.D Morel, Red rubber: The story of the rubber slave trade flourishing on the Congo in the year of grace 1907 (London: Riley Brothers LTD, 1906), 21. 20. Hunt “The paradoxical origins of human rights”. 21. Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others. (New York, Picador Reading Group, 1993). 25 22. Morel, E. D. 1920. The black man’s burden. Manchester: The National Labour Press, Ltd. 23. Morel, E.D. Red Rubber: The story of the rubber slave trade flourishing on the Congo in the year of grace 1907. London: Riley Brothers LTD, 1906. 212
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Driving Unsustainable and Dualistic Growth: Impacts of Foreign Investment Inflows into Mongolia Between 1991-2016: By: Enkhuun Byambadorj
abstract Through an analysis of foreign direct investment (FDI) inflow trends into Mongolia from 1991-2016, this piece challenges predominant theories about FDI-led growth in lower-income countries. In the early democratization period of Mongolia, FDI inflows were driven by the strength of investment liberalization policies, which initially stumbled in implementation in the post-Soviet era. However, following the election of the Democratic Coalition in 1996, a newly realized investment-friendly market led to rapid FDI inflows such that by 2010, FDI inflows accounted for 23.6% of GDP, compared to 1.2% in 1996. The upshot in FDI inflows is disproportionately concentrated in the mineral and service sectors and in urban regions of the country, failing to generate proportionate employment growth and leading to rapid rural-urban migration rates. Both the expansion of the mining sector and urbanization have negatively influenced environmental conditions. Ultimately, I posit that FDI growth has failed to generate sustainable economic development in Mongolia. Instead, the economy has become tied to the boom-and-bust cycles of the mineral commodity market and the country has increasingly neglected development in rural regions, resulting in dualistic growth. Grâce à une analyse des tendances des flux d’investissements directs étrangers (IDE) en Mongolie de 1991 à 2016, cet article remet en question les théories prédominantes sur la croissance tirée par les IDE dans les pays à faible revenu. Au début de la période de démocratisation de la Mongolie, les entrées d’IDE étaient stimulées par la forces des politiques de libéralisation des investissements, dont la mise en œuvre a d’abord échoué dans l’ère post-soviétique. Cependant, à la suite de l’élection de la Coalition démocratique en 1996, un nouveau marché favorable aux investissements a conduit à des entrées d’IDE rapides, de sorte qu’en 2010, les entrées d’IDE représentaient 23,6 % du PIB, contre 1,2 % en 1996. L’impact de l’afflux d’IDE s’est concentré de manière disproportionnée dans les secteurs minier et des services et dans les régions urbaines du pays, ne parvenant pas à générer une croissance proportionnelle de l’emploi et entraînant des taux rapides de migration rurale-urbaine. L’expansion du secteur minier et l’urbanisation ont tous deux eu une influence négative sur les conditions environnementales. Tout compte fait, je soutiens que la croissance des IDE n’a pas réussi à générer un développement économique durable en Mongolie. Au lieu de cela, l’économie est devenue liée aux cycles d’expansion et de récession du marché des matières premières minérales et le pays a de plus en plus négligé le développement dans les régions rurales, ce qui a entraîné une croissance dualiste.
Introduction
F
oreign Direct Investments (FDI) areoverseas investments made by private Multinational Corporations (MNCs), or enterprises that conduct productive activities in multiple countries.1 FDI represents a long-term relationship between a foreign direct investor or parent enterprise and a recipient country.2 It is commonly theorized that FDI flowing
from high-income countries (HICs)/developed countries into low- and middle-income (LMICs)/developing countries help to fill capital and technological gaps in LMICs, thereby fostering economic development.3 This paper will examine and challenge the legitimacy of this theory by analyzing the trends and implications of FDI inflows into Mongolia between 1991-2016. The analysis will focus on the effects of FDI on the mineral and service sectors, as these are the first and second largest recipients of FDI in Mongolia, respectively.
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This paper argues that the current framework of foreign direct investment inflows fails to promote sustainable economic development in Mongolia. Through an examination of the mineral and service sectors, this piece will demonstrate that FDI has, in part, created and protracted Mongolia’s dependence on primary commodities, while stimulating dualistic growth domestically. To demonstrate this point, this paper will analyze the implications of FDI on employment creation, rural and urban environments, and GDP per capita growth patterns between 1991-2016. The remainder of the paper will be organized in the following way: the second section will track FDI inflows into Mongolia during the specified period and their possible determinants. The third section will look at how FDI has influenced growth and employment in the mineral sector, while the fourth section will look at FDI influences on service sector growth and employment. These sections will also highlight how growth and employment patterns in the two sectors have led to poor environmental outcomes. Finally, the fifth section will analyze the potential long-term implica-
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. . .
tions of FDI on Mongolia’s economic development. I. Background and Context: Foreign Direct dInvestment Trends Between 19912016 This section contextualizes Mongolia’s FDI inflows within economic policymaking. The time period between 1991-2016 was chosen for analysis because: one, this is a long enough timespan to observe trends; and two, the versatile FDI inflow patterns of this period allow for nuanced analysis.
. . .
I.i Steady FDI Inflows: 1991-1996 As seen from Figure 1, FDI inflows as a percentage of GDP stayed fairly constant with incremental increases throughout 1991-96 with an average of 0.70% of GDP. This timeframe will be referred to as Period 1. FDI flows during this time were largely a result of weak market,
trade, and investment liberalization policies implemented following the fall of the former Soviet Union (FSU). For almost 70 years up until 1990, Mongolia was de facto part of the 16th republic of the Federated Soviet Union (FSU). It received considerable financial and technical assistance from the USSR and was closed to foreign trade and investment everywhere except with members of the FSU.4 As a result, the disintegration of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s led to severe macroeconomic shocks for Mongolia, with GDP per capita per annum growth falling to -10% in 1991.5 In response to external economic shocks and domestic political pressure, Mongolia set out on a stabilization reform agenda in 1990 to create a private sector-led open economy. Part of the reform agenda was attracting greater foreign investments to boost economic recovery. While market aspirations were genuine, policy implementation in the 1990s was unorganized across different levels of government and, at times, reflected Soviet-era policy agendas.6 The institutional capacity to implement market reform was weak and the political will to enforce them was also lacking, especially in regional and municipal contexts. As a result, the early transition years were chaotic and “inappropriately phased.”7 For example, while price deregulation took effect in 1991, local governments would introduce price regulations to counteract liberalization at the national level.8 Similar tactics limited the extent of reform during Period 1. Davaakhuu et al. posit that foreign investors look for economies that are open, stable, and with good institutional infrastructure and low barriers to investment.9 Weak implementation of reform during the 1990s failed to create this environment conducive
to FDI, explaining the relatively unchanging rates of FDI inflow despite attempts to attract investment.
. . .
I.ii Growing FDI Inflows: 1997-2010 The newly elected Democratic Coalition took office in 1996 and embarked on a “radical reformist” agenda.10 The Foreign Investment Law (FIL) was initially passed in 1993 to encourage foreign investment, and revisions in 1998, 2002, and 2008 further strengthened the liberalization agenda to create a more investment-friendly environment. Example revisions included tax and regulation exemptions for investment companies, legal stability guarantees like the prohibition of confiscation of foreign investment assets, and no restrictions on size and contents of investments.11 These policies, along with Mongolia’s accession to the WTO in 1997, created business and economic confidence, and FDI inflows rose from accounting for 1.2% of GDP in 1996 to 23.6% in 2010.12 This rapid upshot in FDI seen in Figure 1 from 1997-2010 will be referred to as Period 2.
. . .
I.iii Volatile FDI Inflows: 2011-2016 Compared to the fairly steady and steadily increasing FDI in Periods 1 and 2, respectively, inflows between 2011 and 2016 were relatively volatile. This timeframe will be referred to as Period 3. As observed in Figure 1, FDI inflows reached a peak of 43.9% of GDP in 2011 but plummeted to -37.2% of GDP in 2016. Such alarming volatility during Period 3 reflects the country’s growing dependence on its commodity exports.13
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Since the 2009 foreign investment agreement with MNC Rio Tinto and creation of the Oyu Tolgoi copper-gold mine, mineral extraction has soared in Mongolia. By 2016, minerals (copper, gold, and coal) accounted for 72.5% of exports, with copper holding the largest share (28.2%).14 As FDI flows depend on the profitability of investment, it would be reasonable to argue that mineral commodity prices, in part, dictate FDI trends during Period 3. To test this, Figure 3 shows trends in FDI inflows and world copper prices on the same graph. It can be observed that the two variables coincide well during Period 3. While being careful to draw causal statements, a high correlation between commodity prices and FDI can be seen, showcasing increasing dependence on commodities.
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II. Implications of FDI on the Mineral Industry Historically, MNCs operating in developing countries have focused on investing in extractive and primary industries.15 Mongolia is no exception to this, with an overwhelming 61% of FDI flowing into the mining sector from 1990-2010.16 The sector’s strong appeal to FDI is both a result of natural resource stocks and domestic policies targeted at foreign investors. Mongolia is rich in mineral resources such as copper, gold, uranium, iron ore, and coal. The government took strategic steps throughout the 1990s and 2000s to promote this sector, such as the Gold Program in 1991 that liberalized investment policies in the mining sector. Along with favorable environments for FDI in the 2000s, MNCs such as Rio Tinto saw a large reservoir of largely untapped mineral resources in a country lacking the institutional and infrastructural capacity to exploit them. Additionally, lax environmental regulations reduced costs of foreign investment in mining. These factors made the country’s mineral sector ripe for FDI.17 As a result, the mining sector grew from accounting for 9.3% of GDP from 1990-95 to 29.2% in 2006-2008 as seen in Table 1. The mineral sector’s economic size more than tripled. Despite this unprecedented growth, the mining sector accounted for only 3.5% of employment in Mongolia in 2010 and grew to merely 4% by 2018.18,19 Figure 4 shows that despite the overwhelming increases in FDI flowing into the mineral sector throughout Periods 2 and 3, the share of employment in the industry sector has grown by a
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less than proportionate amount. The fact that only about 4% out of 29% share of employment in industry is from the mineral sector in 2018—even though the mineral sector accounts for most of the output from industry—also speaks to the meager influence of mining sector growth on employment creation. The mineral sector has also had negative impacts on local herding environments. According to the Minerals Law, mining companies are required to restore mined sites. However, many companies illegally drain polluted water and carry out careless explosions,
“While the service sector has been more successful in employment creation, it has simultaneously exacerbated inequities between urban and rural areas.” as on-the-ground implementation of environmental regulations falls short of policy goals. As most mining in Mongolia is surface mining that excavates pastureland, herders surrounding mine sites lose herding ground and livestock, forcing them into unemployment and to look for jobs in cities. This has contributed to Mongolia’s rapid rural-urban migration since 2000.20 Thus, while FDI has promoted the growth of the mining sector, investments have not only failed to contribute to employment generation but have had detrimental effects on herding environments as well.
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III. Implications of FDI on the Service Sector The second largest recipient of FDI in Mongolia is the service sector, having received 23.5% of FDI inflows from 1990-2010.21 This has been a favorable sector for investors because Mongolia’s relatively cheap labor reduces the cost of production for
MNCs. Additionally, the same liberalization policies targeting trade, prices, and investment that promoted FDI into the mineral sector have also encouraged foreign investment in the service sector. As a result, the service sector grew from accounting for 14.2% of GDP by the end of 1980s to 21% from 2006-2008.22 Unlike the mineral sector, Figure 2 shows that the service sector has generated considerable employment in the economy: between 1990-2010, this sector accounted for 20.4% of total employment, second only to the agricultural and herding sector. This is because, unlike the capital-heavy nature of the mineral sector, the service sector is predominantly dependent on labor. While the service sector has been more successful in employment creation, it has simultaneously exacerbated inequities between urban and rural areas. FDI is highly concentrated in urban settings, with more than 90% of total investments registered in the capital city Ulaanbaatar (UB). This disproportionate flow of FDI into cities is a partial result of the lack of physical infrastructure in rural regions and concomitant agglomeration of markets and industries in UB. Since the service sector is also predominantly located in urban areas, a majority of employment creation has been in cities. Just as the Harris-Todaro model predicts, this supply-side job creation has induced urbanization during Periods 2 and 3.23 Meanwhile, the rural sector has been overlooked by foreign investment and has been unable to gain from the benefits of FDI. The rise of the service sector has created an-
other challenge for cities. Along with the urbanization of herders, UB’s development has been unable to keep pace with rural-urban migration. Those who migrate to the city often find themselves in informal urban settlements called the ger district, which lacks access to centralized heating. During winter months, this district relies on domestic coal burning for heat, aggravating urban air pollution to toxic levels. For instance, in 2018, air pollution in UB surpassed WHO safety recommendations by 133 times.24 Therefore, the promotion of mineral and service sectors due to foreign investments have resulted in negative environmental consequences in both rural and urban areas.
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IV. Long-Term Implications of FDIs on Economic Development Another commonly cited advantage of foreign direct investments is their contribution to national development. The economic logic of FDI suggests that it allows for technological, capital, and managerial knowledge spillovers that promote savings and growth.25 In Mongolia’s case, Javsandorj & Dehong argue that promotion of FDI in the country will create linkages both within the economy and the world market and improve domestic standards of living.26 However, this ideal theory needs to be critically contextualized within Mongolia’s development patterns.
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IV.i Protracted Vulnerability: FDI Implications on Growth Trends The predominance of the mineral sector in Mongolia, supported by FDI, has made the economy and growth trends vulnerable to boom-and-bust cycles of mineral commodities. Figure 5 depicts FDI inflows as percentage of GDP and GDP per capita growth rates on the same graph. The stark negative GDP per capita figures in the early 1990s are representative of the macroeconomic shocks following the fall of the USSR. The economy was able to recover in 1994 following initial economic reforms that allowed the recovery of the mining and agricultural sectors.27 GDP growth slowed down between 1996-2001 due to domestic circumstances, such as unfavorable weather for herding and closure of state-owned enterprises. However, GDP growth rates began to improve in 2002 because of, again, the enhanced performance of the mining, agricultural, and services sectors. From these trends, it is possible to deduce that during Periods 1 and 2, the mineral sector aided the recovery of the struggling economy during economic transition and unfavorable domestic conditions. In contrast, the GDP per capita growth rates in Period 3 closely follow trends of FDI inflows (which was shown to coincide with commodity price changes in Figure 3). For example, in 2011, copper prices boomed reaching close to $9000 per metric ton. Accordingly, FDI inflows peaked at near 45% of GDP and GDP per capita rates also accelerated to more than 15%. In contrast, in 2016 copper prices fell to below $5000 per metric ton, drawing down foreign direct investment inflows to -37% and GDP per capita growth to nearly -1%. Over the span of just five years, the country went from growing in the double digits to economic contraction. Hence, in Period 3, GDP per capita rates seem to be partially dictated by commodity price fluctuations or the well-being of the mineral sector. Taken together, figures 3 and 5 depict a strong correlation between commodity prices, FDI inflows, and growth rates. This is a dangerous predicament for Mongolia as such correlations signal that the economy has become dependent on mining boom-and-bust cycles and the associated FDI flows. Commodity prices are volatile in nature, which creates vulnerability that leaves growth outcomes at the whims of the world copper market. While Figure 5 shows that the country has somewhat recovered from the 2016 shock
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due to IMF stabilization policies, Bauer at al. posit that even a 15% permanent drop in commodity prices could undo the benefits of the IMF program.28 Such precarity to macroeconomic pressures outside Mongolia’s control points to the need to diversify the economy by domestically gaining from the mineral sector and channeling mining revenue toward other productive sectors. However, attempts to ensure domestic gains from mining may, ironically, be dangerous to FDI. For example, in 2012, the government proposed changes to the mining law that would ensure 34% of mining projects were controlled by domestic companies.29 Although the amendment was not passed, the proposal shocked foreign investors and damaged investor sentiment toward Mongolia, contributing to the decline in FDI inflows seen on Figure 1 since 2012. This places Mongolia in a double bind: the economy is both bound to mineral commodity prices and to the domestically unfavorable FDI policies. Attempts at securing gains from FDI places these same sources of investment at risk. In sum, while FDI has promoted growth of GDP per capita and the mineral sector, it has made Mongolia precarious to turbulent commodity prices, making the current path of development unsustainable.
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IV.ii Dualistic Growth: FDI Implications on Employment Previous sections have demonstrated how FDI failed to contribute to employment in the largest investment receiving sector, mining. This section further explains how FDI has been unsuccessful in promoting equitable growth between sectors and rural and urban regions. There are two main reasons for why FDI growth has not led to employment creation. First, there is a significant disparity in the distribution of FDI within sectors, with a heavy concentration in the capital-intensive mining sector. In contrast, the labor-intensive manufacturing sector has attracted only 5% of total FDI. Moreover, as part of the country’s attempt to attract investments, the Labor Law does not require MNCs to hire local workers if the labor skills are not available.30 This means that domestic workers are often not employed in jobs requiring technical and managerial skills and thus the argument of knowledge spillover breaks down in Mongolia’s context. Second, disparities in geographic distribution of FDI are worsening the imbalance between rural
and urban areas. As stated above, 90% of FDI is registered in the capital city. The second largest recipient of FDI is the rural Tuv Region, which receives 3% of foreign investments but accounts for 20% of the national population. Such regional disparities are worsened by sectoral distribution of FDI with the service sector receiving the second largest share. The combined effect of geographic and sectoral inequities means that: one, rural infrastructure remains underdeveloped and FDI continues to circumvent rural regions, failing to create rural jobs; and two, because FDI does
not benefit rural populations and service jobs are centered in cities, rural-urban migration and, therefore, urban air pollution are aggravated. This dualistic pattern of growth is demonstrated by regional poverty rates between 1998-2015. While poverty in urban regions have improved from 39% to 32%, they have worsened in rural areas from 33% to 47%.31 In all, the role and impact of direct foreign investment in Mongolia is fundamentally about the character of the country’s developmental path. With the current FDI framework under
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which disproportionate investment has flowed into the capital-intensive mineral sector and employment creation has occurred solely in urban areas, growth has become increasingly inequitable and dependent on commodities. This ultimately makes Mongolia’s path of development unsustainable.
. . . Conclusion
The data and analysis in this paper are a lens into how FDI can influence the long-term nature of a nation’s economic development. Mongolia is an interesting and compelling case study for these dynamics because it counters the hegemonic discourse of FDI and growth theory. This paper has argued that flows of foreign direct investment into Mongolia have been unsuccessful in promoting sustainable economic development. FDI inflow trends during 1991-2016 were driven by the strength of investment liberalization policies and mineral commodity prices. The heavy preference of FDI towards the mineral and service sectors have resulted in dualistic employment and GDP per capita growth trends and detrimental environmental effects in rural and urban regions. Future policymaking in relation to FDI will need to consider these unsustainable growth factors to shift the course of economic development toward more equitable distribution of investments between sectors and urban and rural regions.
endnotes 1. Michael P. Todaro and Stephen C. Smith, Economic Development, 12th ed. (Pearson, 2015), 732. 2. UNCTAD, World Investment Report 2008. Mongolia: Country fact sheet. 3. Oyunbadam Davaakhuu, Kishor Sharma, and Yapa M.W.Y Bandara, “Foreign Direct Investment in a Transition Economy: Lessons from the Experience of Mongolia,” Global Business Review 15, no. 4 (December 1, 2014): 664, https://doi. org/10.1177/0972150914543427. 4. Peter Boone, “Grassroots Macroeconomic Reform in Mongolia,” Journal of Comparative Economics 18, no. 3 (June 1, 1994): 333, https://doi.org/10.1006/jcec.1994.1051. 5. See Figure 2 6. Peter Murrell, Karen Turner Dunn, and Georges Korsun, “The Culture of Policy-Making in the Transition from Socialism: Price Policy in Mongolia,” Economic Development and Cultural Change 45, no. 1 (1996): 175–94. 7. Richard Marshall, Frederick Nixson, and Bernard Walters, “Tracking Economic Policy and Poverty Outcomes in Mongolia,” SSRN Electronic Journal, 2008, 5, https://doi.org/10.2139/
ssrn.1265540. 8. Boone, “Grassroots Macroeconomic Reform in Mongolia,” 331. 9. Oyunbadam Davaakhuu, Kishor Sharma, and Yapa M.W.Y Bandara, “Determinants of Foreign Direct Investment During Economic Transition in Mongolia,” 2015, 148. 10. Richard Pomfret, “Transition and Democracy in Mongolia,” Europe-Asia Studies 52, no. 1 (January 2000): 152, https://doi. org/10.1080/09668130098316. 11. Davaakhuu, Sharma, and Bandara, “Determinants of Foreign Direct Investment During Economic Transition in Mongolia,” 144. 12. See Figure 1 13. Ariunzul Javzandorj and Lu Dehong, “Factors Contributing to Foreign Direct Investment in Mongolia,” European Researcher, no. 30 (2012): 1560. 14. “Mongolia (MNG) Exports, Imports, and Trade Partners,” accessed December 4, 2020, https://oec.world/en/profile/country/ asmng?yearSelector1=exportGrowthYear6. 15. Todaro and Smith, Economic Development, 736. 16. Davaakhuu, Sharma, and Bandara, “Determinants of Foreign Direct Investment During Economic Transition in Mongolia,” 145. 17. Oyunbadam Davaakhuu, “Development Strategies and Structural Change in Mongolian Economy: An Analysis of Trends, Patterns and Determinants of Trade and Investment,” 2013, 86. 18. See Table 2 19. Bolor Narankhuu, “Are Natural Resources a Curse or a Blessing for Mongolia?,” Mineral Economics 31, no. 1 (May 1, 2018): 172, https://doi.org/10.1007/s13563-018-0144-0. 20. Yukio Suzuki, “Conflict Between Mining Development and Nomadism in Mongolia,” in The Mongolian Ecosystem Network: Environmental Issues Under Climate and Social Changes, ed. Norio Yamamura, Noboru Fujita, and Ai Maekawa, Ecological Research Monographs (Tokyo: Springer Japan, 2013), 270, https://doi. org/10.1007/978-4-431-54052-6_20. 21. See Table 2 22. See Table 1 23. Davaakhuu, “Development Strategies and Structural Change in Mongolian Economy: An Analysis of Trends, Patterns and Determinants of Trade and Investment,” 148. 24. UNICEF, “Mongolia’s Air Pollution Is a Child Health Crisis,” accessed December 6, 2020, https://www.unicef.org/eap/press-releases/mongolias-air-pollution-child-health-crisis. 25. Todaro and Smith, Economic Development, 737. 26. Javzandorj and Dehong, “Factors Contributing to Foreign Direct Investment in Mongolia,” 1564. 27. Davaakhuu, Sharma, and Bandara, “Foreign Direct Investment in a Transition Economy,” 671. 28. Andrew Bauer et al., “Fiscal Sustainability in Mongolia,” 2017, 27. 29. Hirofumi Arai et al., “The Northeast Asian Economic Review,” 2015, 47. 30. Davaakhuu, Sharma, and Bandara, “Determinants of Foreign Direct Investment During Economic Transition in Mongolia,” 143. 31. Davaakhuu, Sharma, and Bandara, “Foreign Direct Investment in a Transition Economy,” 671.
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