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Prettys, Engaged Intellectuals and Hypnotic Calm: A Visitor’s View of Zimbabwe

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Despite a challenging economic environment, severe shortages and a violent colonial history, Zimbabwe has managed to retain its magical charm and resourcefulness.

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Prettys, Engaged Intellectuals and Hypnotic Calm: A Visitor’s View of Zimbabwe
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Perhaps the deep silence – the initial unscripted reaction of the gathered crowd at Harare airport – upon laying eyes on the casket carrying the remains of Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe’s first independence president, and one-time icon of Africa’s independence struggles, was the best expression of the mood of the country, and its people.

It was neither a moment for despair by his followers, nor one of grim satisfaction, or even celebration by his rivals and erstwhile critics. It seemed like a point of sudden deep reflection, an opportunity to ponder on what had been the meaning of the struggles that defined the life of the man just gone.

This is a question much of sub-Saharan Africa should be asking itself in relation to their own earlier struggles for independence.

Africa has travelled a long road in a relatively short time, between the onset of the colonial enclosures and today, but remains dogged by intense challenges.

So, as Robert Mugabe was accorded every honour befitting him as the one that dedicated most of his life to making Zimbabwean independence a reality, the question remains: what now for Africa, and how shall the Africans cope in the meantime?

It is a complicated story. From the time of the rogue regime of Ian Smith and his Unilateral Declaration of Independence (essentially a white settler mutiny, between 1965 and 1979), Zimbabwe has laboured under various economic sanctions and other economic handicaps.

This can seem like a challenge unique to the country. But the fact is that no African country was really allowed to settle down and make its own path after independence. Nothing has changed since. It is quite unrealistic to expect “normality” to exist in places whose histories never allowed them to ever take root.

Zimbabwe simply has its own particular features. The country is beset with food, fuel, electricity and work shortages. Even paper money is scarce, with a lot of transactions undertaken via mobile phones using a digital currency. This has produced a people of remarkable forbearance, who still work to protect what is important to them. Or perhaps they were always like this?

None of this should deter the visitor: it is the common experience, to one degree or other, of all of our post-colonial spaces.

However, hardship should never be celebrated or romanticised either. When endured for too long by too many, it can cause social, familial and psychic damage.

This is a very large country, but one that can be traversed relatively easily, as compared to say Kenya, Ethiopia or Uganda, due in part to the wide, multi-lane highways running through relatively flat, open country where large farms are being gradually absorbed into what will be a very wide city within greater Harare, and just beyond.

Zimbabwe simply has its own particular features. The country is beset with food, fuel, electricity and work shortages. Even paper money is scarce, with a lot of transactions undertaken via mobile phones using a digital currency.

Food production and distribution remain somewhat held up in the halfway house created by the incomplete and problematic land reform programmes of the 1990s and early 2000s, leading to the shortages and the high prices.

Basically, it is a crisis borne out of the independence government’s gradual realisation that the West had quietly abandoned its promise to fund any black land reclamation programme from the white settler economy as a guarantee of the negotiated settlement that ended the liberation war. This led to a period of violent land seizures driven, it would seem, by anger, as much as a need to actually address the very real land hunger problem.

As a result, not enough land was transferred to shift food production’s centre of gravity away from the settler-built model, and yet not enough land was left with that model for it to continue its colonial role of pumping out mono-cropped harvests for the global markets, so as to at least remain a foreign exchange earner. And of the land that was taken, too much of it ended up in the hands of persons best placed to take advantage of presidential anger to benefit as land owners, but not necessarily as productive farmers.

None of this was then helped by the on-off drought that has gripped all of southern Africa since about 2015, as well as Africa’s general economic IMF-related challenges. This is what Thandeka Mkandawire, the Scandinavian-based Malawian economist, said in in a 2013 interview about our situation:

You know, the collapse of African economies in the main period of structural adjustment was deeper and lasted longer than the American Great Depression…We call the structural adjustment period the ‘lost decades’ and so on, but I don’t think that captures the economic decline of that period. We should be calling it the Great African Depression. There are some who suggest that Africa should forget about structural adjustment and look ahead. But people are still writing books about the American Great Depression to this day. Nobody says ‘don’t write about the Depression anymore, it’s over’. And in Africa, it’s still not over. Many countries in Africa have not fully recovered, have yet to reach their per capita income of the 1970s, so it’s still there.

An interesting study would be to see which countries in the region are coping best with the situation: those following the model of the larger-scale, somewhat mechanised white settler agriculture, or those that retained elements of African smallholder farming?

As Uganda’s Professor Mamdani once succinctly explained it, “Drought is not the cause of famine; it is merely the occasion for it.”

To what extent is the food shortage problem a structural one, an act of nature, or a product of dislocated smallholder farming?

For example, in all the supermarkets I shopped in, there never seemed to be a shortage or rationing of manufactured pet (mainly cat and dog) food, as there was for items for human consumption. And because of the food production structure described earlier, the supermarket system remains central to the food distribution system as a whole.

To what extent is the food shortage problem a structural one, an act of nature, or a product of dislocated smallholder farming?

Nearly all of southern Africa has a critical experience distinct from the rest of the continent: with the exception of Kenya, it is only Angola, Mozambique, Zimbabwe (southern Rhodesia), Namibia, South Africa and (to a smaller extent), Zambia (northern Rhodesia) that experienced large-scale European settler arrival and domination.

Reclamation, therefore, may have to be much more than a question of land acreage. It may well have to involve a reclamation of the pre-settler knowledge of how to use the land in a sustainable African way. That, ultimately, is a cultural question. But where are the custodians of such knowledge to be found, and how will they be consulted?

Human-made culture

A visitor may, therefore, focus more on the human-made culture, and less on geographical landmarks.

There is Mbira month, held every September. Created in 2012, and driven by the tireless Mr Albert Chimedza, a dreadlocked elder in the tradition of the musical instrument, and Director of the Mbira Centre in Harare, the month focuses on teaching and holding performances around this ancient instrument.

Chimedza does not simply play the instrument; he brings a whole philosophical dimension to how and why it remains an important part of the expression of Zimbabwe cultures. He is driven by his intense concern about the dereliction of African excellence.

“A lot of traditional African music now does not sound good, not because it is inherently bad, but because our instruments are badly made.”

The Mbira Centre also manufactures this ancient instrument, often referred to as a “thumb piano.” It manufactures – to order – some of the most exquisitely made examples, from fine wood and polished metal. Chimedza is even working on a prototype for one that can be digitally interfaced.

African culture, and the tools it employs, should not be an afterthought, something taken with leftovers after all the best energies, minds and materials have been expended on other more “useful” things. That is a legacy of an as yet unresolved colonial trauma, he argues.

“Tribal historians”

This point was brought to me in a different way during a very fortuitous afternoon I was honoured to share with Dr Aeneas Chigwedere. After a long career in education and politics, where after becoming the first black headmaster of a major secondary school, Chigwedere served variously as an elected Member of Parliament and also Minister of Education, Sports and Culture between 2008 and 2013. Now in his eighties, he lives in retirement just north of Harare. Open and generous with his knowledge, Chigwedere challenges the entire way in which African Zimbabwean history is conceptualised and therefore recorded.

His very first book, The Birth of Bantu Africa, written in 1982, was greeted with hostility by the then academic establishment, leading to him being labelled a “tribal historian”. His once citing of a spirit medium during an academic presentation did not help narrow the gap.

African culture, and the tools it employs, should not be an afterthought, something taken with leftovers after all the best energies, minds and materials have been expended on other more “useful” things.

Since then, in his twenty-five or so works, he has explored the migrations and settlements of the various Africans who make up Zimbabwe. He has explained their dynastic structure, founding myths and migration legends, linking them to the civilizations of the Nile Valley.

His work basically echoes Dr Chiekh anta Diop’s assertion that “The history of black Africa will remain suspended in air and cannot be written correctly until African historians dare to connect it with the history of ancient Egypt.”

In central Harare, just off from the main road to the gallery, one finds the Theatre in the Park, run by a team of very quietly determined managers. It offers new venture in theatre. I was very lucky to find myself there on the night one Stella Chiweshe performed. This lady, now in her seventies, established a global reputation as a Mbira player, as well as an actor and dancer from the 1970s onwards. It was a rare appearance for her in Harare, I am told.

This could be contrasted with the Reps Theatre, which I dropped in on. Despite an old history of also once grappling with old Rhodesia’s race laws, it strongly reminded me of the 1970s/80s Donovan Maule and then the Phoenix theaters in the Nairobi of my youth: with a strong orientation towards a certain European vision of culture and of performance mainly for the consumption of Europeans and for the “education” of Africans.

But a well-resourced orientation at that. An old colonial association between the country and branch of the wealthy English Courtauld family left the country in possession of many very valuable works of Western art.

Rhodesia established a “national” gallery in 1953 which, by 1974, was able to hold an exhibition of works by Gainsborough, Van Dyck, Panini, Reynolds, and Rembrandt, which are still in its possession. Now called the Zimbabwe National Gallery, it seems to be one place where all this broad span of contradicting legacies meet to form a very unique memory.

The work of weaving them together falls on the shoulders of the current director, Dr Raphael Chikukwa. So in the space of six weeks, between November and December last year, he held an exhibition of its collections of Rembrandts, during which a competition was also held, in which Harare visual artists were asked to re-imagine some of the Rembrandt classics in their own styles.

Rhodesia established a “national” gallery in 1953 which, by 1974, was able to hold an exhibition of works by Gainsborough, Van Dyck, Panini, Reynolds, and Rembrandt, which are still in its possession.

This was then followed by an exhibition titled “African Independence, Norwegian Solidarity”, in which the Norwegian embassy supported a travelling exhibition displaying an enormous archive of the actors and formations right across southern Africa that fought against settler colonialism, as well as the Scandinavian solidarity movements that sprang up to support them. Both exhibitions attracted interest from a very broad reach of Harare society as it stands.

Relics of colonialism

Further meanderings in central Harare took me to what I shall have to call an antiques shop. By this I mean a shop selling all manner of bric-a-brac and general items from former households. There were typewriters, old fishing gear, scout badges, colonial coins, cigarette cases, furniture, books, analogue cameras and tape recorders, and even more typewriters and everything else that once made up the busy-ness of a (largely white) life. It was as if this is where the old Rhodesia was still being quietly disposed of. I bought a few small mementoes, and paid by phone under a sign telling customers that no old coins would be accepted.

It got me thinking about the old south London neighbourhood of Norwood, in the suburbia centred on Croydon, where I once lived in the 1980s. The high street held clusters of shops disposing household items clearly from the 1940s and 1950s. One could find quality wooden furniture, classic wristwatches, and elaborate men’s shaving kits bound up in fine leather pouches.

Many of the items were well-crafted and actually quite beautiful, made before late capitalism made the Western world plastic and utterly disposable. I took them to have once belonged to men, once young, who were now passing on, or relocated to retirement homes.

It was the same with cars. Harare road traffic can be divided into three groups. There are numerous very high-end modern cars that would not be out of place in any affluent European city. On these, opinion is divided. “Those are the people draining the Treasury” is one fixed view. Another is that it is prudent Harareans keeping their money in a high-value moveable item that can be quickly converted into dollars should a sudden misfortune occur.

Another group is made up of well-maintained Japanese vehicles from the 1970s and 1980s vintage, plus more than a few colonially classic early Land Rovers – often driven by white Zimbabweans.

A third is venerable European classics from as far back as the 1950s. I expressed idle curiosity in one, a venerable Vauxhall Victor parked at one of the many quasi-formal dealerships on the roadside. “Someone just bought it,” I was told. A white lady had been there the day before, and paid $2000 in cash of the $2500 price. Maybe she was buying back a memory.

None of this exempts anyone from the ubiquitous fuel queues, where vehicles of all eras line up, stretching around street corners for hours on end. There, everybody is just about equal.

It is the same again with the city’s architecture: Dutch/Boer revivalist; Rural English; 1960s English municipal; colonial English; Soviet brutalist; and Chinese modernist styles all stand side by side, illustrating which was the dominant influence at any given time.

The absence of an overt police presence on the streets suggested a generally good security situation in Harare at least. And even when present, they were not bearing firearms, unlike Uganda, where the AK-47 has basically replaced the truncheon.

A lot of the ordinary townsfolk one meets, be it on the street, assisting with parking and the like, are clearly fairly well-educated, not to mention resourceful.

After weeks of messy hair, I was forced to walk into an office and ask the gentleman at reception to help a brother out: did he know of any barbers in the neighbourhood?

His directions brought me to Mbuya Nehanda Street, where the vibe changed. It was a little more like a Kampala “downtown” neighbourhood. As we were in the holiday season, long queues of people waited to board buses taking them upcountry. Only the very orderly Zimbabwean queuing style reminded me that I was not in Kampala, or Nairobi.

That stillness of spirit seems to be encapsulated in the myriad of intriguing stone sculptures you will come across standing in large mute groups in sales gardens. If a way could be found to ship them cheaply, they could be a useful export earner for the country.

The barber arrangement is to have large crowded halls made up of numerous individually-owned stations where someone may work on you. It is a very female-dominated space, Asian hair extensions evidently being in very great demand among Harare women. Upon asking if they also “do men”, I was directed to an impassive, brown lady whom I took to be the manager when she said “Please sit down.” I think she took my hesitation as scepticism. In fact, I was worried that she was going to wander off in search of a barber, and explained that I did not wish to wait long. “No”, she said, “I cut men’s hair” and immediately whipped out a nice smartphone, and handed it to me. She literally had a video advert of herself working on a customer, as well as clips from a local TV station that once did a feature on her. Meet “Pretty” (her trade name), a one-woman advertising agency. (A small tip: Some Harare barbers prefer customers to come with their own hair clippers, “because of illnesses”.)

That stillness of spirit seems to be encapsulated in the myriad of intriguing stone sculptures you will come across standing in large mute groups in sales gardens. If a way could be found to ship them cheaply, they could be a useful export earner for the country.

Finally, there was Domboshawa, just directly north of the city, which presents as a national tourism site. Its most protected area is near the top, where ancient cave paintings can still be seen. The great rock formations are of greater interest not for their physical splendor, but for how humans have related to them.

I immediately recognised it at a shrine, very similar in dimension, quietness and purpose, to Walussi (“the hill of Horus”) in my native Buganda. Being surrounded in the main by large farms, it had the air of having been cut off from its original pilgrims, possibly by displacement, and then the “trespass” laws those farms may have brought at the time of their establishment.

I made sure to make offerings and prayers from the caves at the very top, and all the way down, wherever water met with the rocks.

I prayed for Zimbabwe. May she overcome her current challenges. And she will, as long as it has Prettys, engaged intellectuals, and the hypnotic calm radiating from Mbira music. And Zimbabwe will always have those.

If you have travel plans, visit Zimbabwe. You will not regret it.

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Kalundi Serumaga is a social and political commentator based in Kampala.

Politics

Stealth Game: “Community” Conservancies and Dispossession in Northern Kenya

The fortress conservation model, created with support from some of the world’s biggest environmental groups and western donors, has led to land dispossession, militarization, and widespread human rights abuses.

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Stealth Game: “Community” Conservancies and Dispossession in Northern Kenya
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With its vast expanses and diversity of wildlife, Kenya – Africa’s original safari destination – attracts over two million foreign visitors annually. The development of wildlife tourism and conservation, a major economic resource for the country, has however been at the cost of local communities who have been fenced off from their ancestral lands. Indigenous communities have been evicted from their territories and excluded from the tourist dollars that flow into high-end lodges and safari companies.

Protected areas with wildlife are patrolled and guarded by anti-poaching rangers and are accessible only to tourists who can afford to stay in the luxury safari lodges and resorts. This model of “fortress conservation” – one that militarizes and privatizes the commons – has come under severe criticism for its exclusionary practices and for being less effective than the models where local communities lead and manage conservation activities.

One such controversial model of conservation in Kenya is the Northern Rangelands Trust (NRT). Set up in 2004, the NRT’s stated goal is “changing the game” on conservation by supporting communities to govern their lands through the establishment of community conservancies.

Created by Ian Craig, whose family was part of the elite white minority during British colonialism, the NRT’s origins date back to the 1980s when his family-owned 62,000-acre cattle ranch was transformed into the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy. Since its founding, the NRT has set up 39 conservancies on 42,000 square kilometres (10,378,426 acres) of land in northern and coastal Kenya – nearly 8 per cent of the country’s total land area.

The communities that live on these lands are predominantly pastoralists who raise livestock for their livelihoods and have faced decades of marginalization by successive Kenyan governments. The NRT claims that its goal is to “transform people’s lives, secure peace and conserve natural resources.”

However, where the NRT is active, local communities allege that the organization has dispossessed them of their lands and deployed armed security units that have been responsible for serious human rights abuses. Whereas the NRT employs around 870 uniformed scouts, the organization’s anti-poaching mobile units, called ‘9’ teams, face allegations of extrajudicial killings and disappearances, among other abuses. These rangers are equipped with military weapons and receive paramilitary training from the Kenyan Wildlife Service Law Enforcement Academy and from 51 Degrees, a private security company run by Ian Craig’s son, Batian Craig, as well as from other private security firms. Whereas the mandate of NRT’s rangers is supposed to be anti-poaching, they are routinely involved in policing matters that go beyond that remit.

Locals allege that the NRT compels communities to set aside their best lands for the exclusive use of wildlife.

Locals have alleged the NRT’s direct involvement in conflicts between different ethnic groups, related to territorial issues and/or cattle raids. Multiple sources within the impacted communities, including members of councils of community elders, informed the Oakland Institute that as many as 76 people were killed in the Biliqo Bulesa Conservancy during inter-ethnic clashes, allegedly with the involvement of the NRT. Interviews conducted by the Institute established that 11 people have been killed in circumstances involving the conservation body. Dozens more appear to have been killed by the Kenya Wildlife Services (KWS) and other government agencies, which have been accused of abducting, disappearing, and torturing people in the name of conservation.

Over the years, conflicts over land and resources in Kenya have been exacerbated by the establishment of large ranches and conservation areas. For instance, 40 per cent of Laikipia County’s land is occupied by large ranches, controlled by just 48 individuals – most of them white landowners who own tens of thousands of acres for ranching or wildlife conservancies, which attract tourism business as well as conservation funding from international organizations.

Similarly, several game reserves and conservancies occupy over a million acres of land in the nearby Isiolo County. Land pressure was especially evident in 2017 when clashes broke out between private, mostly white ranchers, and Samburu and Pokot herders over pasture during a particularly dry spell.

But as demonstrated in the Oakland Institute’s report Stealth Game, the events of 2017 highlighted a situation that has been rampant for many years. Local communities report paying a high price for the NRT’s privatized, neo-colonial conservation model in Kenya. The loss of grazing land for pastoralists is a major challenge caused by the creation of community conservancies. Locals allege that the NRT compels communities to set aside their best lands for the exclusive use of wildlife in the name of community conservancies, and to subsequently lease it to set up tourist facilities.

Although terms like “community-driven”, “participatory”, and “local empowerment” are extensively used by the NRT and its partners, the conservancies have been allegedly set up by outside parties rather than the pastoralists themselves, who have a very limited role in negotiating the terms of these partnerships. According to several testimonies, leverage over communities occurs through corruption and co-optation of local leaders and personalities as well as the local administration.

A number of interviewees allege intimidation, including arrests and interrogation of local community members and leaders, as tactics routinely used by the NRT security personnel. Furthermore, the NRT is involved not just in conservation but also in security, management of pastureland, and livestock marketing, which according to the local communities, gives it a level of control over the region that surpasses even that of the Kenyan government. The NRT claims that these activities support communities, development projects, and help build sustainable economies, but its role is criticized by local communities and leaders.

In recent years, hundreds of locals have held protests and signed petitions against the presence of the NRT. The Turkana County Government expelled the NRT from Turkana in 2016; Isiolo’s Borana Council of Elders (BCE) and communities in Isiolo County and in Chari Ward in the Biliqo Bulesa Conservancy continue to challenge the NRT. In January 2021, the community of Gafarsa protested the NRT’s expansion into the Gafarsa rangelands of Garbatulla sub-county. And in April 2021, the Samburu Council of Elders Association, a registered institution representing the Samburu Community in four counties (Isiolo, Laikipia, Marsabit and Samburu), wrote to international NGOs and donors asking them to cease further funding and to audit the NRT’s donor-funded programmes.

A number of interviewees allege intimidation, including arrests and interrogation of local community members and leaders, as tactics routinely used by the NRT security personnel.

At the time of the writing of the report, the Oakland Institute reported that protests against the NRT were growing across the region. The organization works closely with the KWS, a state corporation under the Ministry of Wildlife and Tourism whose mandate is to conserve and manage wildlife in Kenya. In July 2018, Tourism and Wildlife Cabinet Secretary Najib Balala, appointed Ian Craig and Jochen Zeitz to the KWS Board of Trustees. The inclusion of Zeitz and Craig, who actively lobby for the privatization of wildlife reserves, has been met with consternation by local environmentalists. In the case of the NRT, the relationship is mutually beneficial – several high-ranking members of the KWS have served on the NRT’s Board of Trustees.

Both the NRT and the KWS receive substantial funding from donors such as USAID, the European Union, and other Western agencies, and champion corporate partnerships in conservation. The KWS and the NRT also partner with some of the largest environmental NGOs, including The Nature Conservancy (TNC), whose corporate associates have included major polluters and firms known for their negative human rights and environmental records, such as Shell, Ford, BP, and Monsanto among others. In turn, TNC’s Regional Managing Director for Africa, Matt Brown, enjoys a seat at the table of the NRT’s Board of Directors.

Stealth Game also reveals how the NRT has allegedly participated in the exploitation of fossil fuels in Kenya. In 2015, the NRT formed a five-year, US$12 million agreement with two oil companies active in the country – British Tullow Oil and Canadian Africa Oil Corp – to establish and operate six community conservancies in Turkana and West Pokot Counties.

The NRT’s stated goal was to “help communities to understand and benefit” from the “commercialisation of oil resources”. Local communities allege that it put a positive spin on the activities of these companies to mask concerns and outstanding questions over their environmental and human rights records.

The NRT, in collaboration with big environmental organizations, epitomizes a Western-led approach to conservation that creates a profitable business but marginalizes local communities who have lived on these lands for centuries.

Despite its claims to the contrary, the NRT is yet another example of how fortress conservation, under the guise of “community-based conservation”, is dispossessing the very pastoralist communities it claims to be helping – destroying their traditional grazing patterns, their autonomy, and their lives.

The  Constitution of Kenyan  2010 and the 2016 Community Land Act recognize community land as a category of land holding and pastoralism as a legitimate livelihood system. The Act enables communities to legally register, own, and manage their communal lands. For the first three years, however, not a single community in Kenya was able to apply to have their land rights legally recognized. On 24 July 2019, over 50 representatives from 11 communities in Isiolo, Kajiado, Laikipia, Tana River, and Turkana counties were the first to attempt to register their land with the government on the basis of the Community Land Act. The communities were promised by the Ministry of Land that their applications would be processed within four months. In late 2020, the Ministry of Lands registered the land titles of II Ngwesi and Musul communities in Laikipia.

The others are still waiting to have their land registered. In October 2020, the Lands Cabinet Secretary was reported saying that only 12 counties have submitted inventories of their respective unregistered community lands in readiness for the registration process as enshrined in the law.

Community members interviewed by the Oakland Institute in the course of its research repeatedly asked for justice after years of being ignored by the Kenyan government and by the police when reporting human rights abuses and even killings of family members. The findings reported in Stealth Game require an independent investigation into the land-related grievances around all of the NRT’s community conservancies, the allegations of involvement of the NRT’s rapid response units in inter-ethnic conflict, as well as the alleged abuses and extrajudicial killings.

Pastoralists have been the custodians of wildlife for centuries – long before any NGO or conservation professionals came along. While this report focuses on the plight of the Indigenous communities in Northern Kenya, it is a reality that is all too familiar to indigenous communities the world over. In far too many places, national governments, private corporations, and large conservation groups collude in the name of conservation, not just to force Indigenous groups off their land, but to force them out of existence altogether.

Pastoralists have been the custodians of wildlife for centuries – long before any NGO or conservation professionals came along.

The latest threat comes from the so-called “30×30 initiative”, a plan under the UN’s Convention on Biological Diversity that calls for 30 per cent of the planet to be placed in protected areas – or for other effective area-based conservation measures (OECMs) –  by 2030.

The Oakland Institute’s report, Stealth Game, makes it clear that fortress conservation must be replaced by Indigenous-led conservation efforts in order to preserve the remaining biodiversity of the planet while respecting the interests, rights, and dignity of the local communities.

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Politics

Nashulai – A Community Conservancy With a Difference

Before Nashulai, Maasai communities around the Mara triangle were selling off their rights to live and work on their land, becoming “conservation refugees”.

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The Sekenani River underwent a mammoth cleanup in May 2020, undertaken by over 100 women living in the Nashulai Conservancy area. Ten of the 18 kilometres of fresh water were cleaned of plastic waste, clothing, organic material and other rubbish that presented a real threat to the health of this life source for the community and wildlife. The river forms part of the Mara Basin and goes on to flow into Lake Victoria, which in turn feeds the River Nile.

The initiative was spearheaded by the Nashulai Conservancy — the first community-owned conservancy in the Maasai Mara that was founded in 2015 — which also provided a daily stipend to all participants and introduced them to better waste management and regeneration practices. After the cleanup, bamboo trees were planted along the banks of the river to curb soil erosion.

You could call it a classic case of “nature healing” that only the forced stillness caused by a global pandemic could bring about. Livelihoods dependent on tourism and raising cattle had all but come to a standstill and people now had the time to ponder how unpredictable life can be.

“I worry that when tourism picks up again many people will forget about all the conservation efforts of the past year,” says project officer Evelyn Kamau. “That’s why we put a focus on working with the youth in the community on the various projects and education. They’ll be the key to continuation.”

Continuation in the broader sense is what Nashulai and several other community-focused projects in Kenya are working towards — a shift away from conservation practices that push indigenous people further and further out of their homelands for profit in the name of protecting and celebrating the very nature for which these communities have provided stewardship over generations.

A reckoning

Given the past year’s global and regional conversations about racial injustice, and the pandemic that has left tourism everywhere on its knees, ordinary people in countries like Kenya have had the chance to learn, to speak out and to act on changes.

Players in the tourism industry in the country that have in the past privileged foreign visitors over Kenyans have been challenged. In mid-2020, a poorly worded social media post stating that a bucket-list boutique hotel in Nairobi was “now open to Kenyans” set off a backlash from fed-up Kenyans online.

The post referred to the easing of COVID-19 regulations that allowed the hotel to re-open to anyone already in the country. Although the hotel tried to undertake damage control, the harm was already done and the wounds reopened. Kenyans recounted stories of discrimination experienced at this particular hotel including multiple instances of the booking office responding to enquiries from Kenyan guests that rooms were fully booked, only for their European or American companions to call minutes later and miraculously find there were in fact vacancies. Many observed how rare it was to see non-white faces in the marketing of certain establishments, except in service roles.

Another conversation that has gained traction is the question of who is really benefiting from the conservation business and why the beneficiaries are generally not the local communities.

Kenyan conservationist and author Dr Mordecai Ogada has been vocal about this issue, both in his work and on social media, frequently calling out institutions and individuals who perpetuate the profit-driven system that has proven to be detrimental to local communities. In The Big Conservation Lie, his searing 2016 book co-authored with conservation journalist John Mbaria, Ogada observes, “The importance of wildlife to Kenya and the communities here has been reduced to the dollar value that foreign tourists will pay to see it.” Ogada details the use of coercion tactics to push communities to divide up or vacate their lands and abandon their identities and lifestyles for little more than donor subsidies that are not always paid in full or within the agreed time.

A colonial hangover

It is important to note that these attitudes, organizations and by extension the structure of safari tourism, did not spring up out of nowhere. At the origin of wildlife safaris on the savannahs of East Africa were the colonial-era hunting parties organised for European aristocracy and royalty and the odd American president or Hollywood actor.

Theodore Roosevelt’s year-long hunting expedition in 1909 resulted in over 500 animals being shot by his party in Kenya, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Sudan, many of which were taken back to be displayed at the Smithsonian Institute and in various other natural history museums across the US. Roosevelt later recounted his experiences in a book and a series of lectures, not without mentioning the “savage” native people he had encountered and expressing support for the European colonization project throughout Africa.

Much of this private entertaining was made possible through “gifts” of large parcels of Kenyan land by the colonial power to high-ranking military officials for their service in the other British colonies, without much regard as to the ancestral ownership of the confiscated lands.

At the origin of wildlife safaris on the savannahs of East Africa were the colonial-era hunting parties organised for European aristocracy and royalty.

On the foundation of national parks in the country by the colonial government in the 1940s, Ogada points out the similarities with the Yellowstone National Park, “which was created by violence and disenfranchisement, but is still used as a template for fortress conservation over a century later.” In the case of Kenya, just add trophy hunting to the original model.

Today, when it isn’t the descendants of those settlers who own and run the many private nature reserves in the country, it is a party with much economic or political power tying local communities down with unfair leases and sectioning them off from their ancestral land, harsh penalties being applied when they graze their cattle on the confiscated land.

This history must be acknowledged and the facts recognised so that the real work of establishing a sustainable future for the affected communities can begin. A future that does not disenfranchise entire communities and exclude them or leave their economies dangerously dependent on tourism.

The work it will take to achieve this in both the conservation and the wider travel industry involves everyone, from the service providers to the media to the very people deciding where and how to spend their tourism money and their time.

Here’s who’s doing the work

There are many who are leading initiatives that place local communities at the centre of their efforts to curb environmental degradation and to secure a future in which these communities are not excluded. Some, like Dr Ogada, spread the word about the holes in the model adopted by the global conservation industry. Others are training and educating tourism businesses in sustainable practices.

There are many who are leading initiatives that place local communities at the centre of their efforts to curb environmental degradation.

The Sustainable Travel and Tourism Agenda, or STTA, is a leading Kenyan-owned consultancy that works with tourism businesses and associations to provide training and strategies for sustainability in the sector in East Africa and beyond. Team leader Judy Kepher Gona expresses her optimism in the organization’s position as the local experts in the field, evidenced by the industry players’ uptake of the STTA’s training programmes and services to learn how best to manage their tourism businesses responsibly.

Gona notes, “Today there are almost 100 community-owned private conservancies in Kenya which has increased the inclusion of communities in conservation and in tourism” — which is a step in the right direction.

The community conservancy

Back to Nashulai, a strong example of a community-owned conservancy. Director and co-founder Nelson Ole Reiya who grew up in the area began to notice the rate at which Maasai communities around the Mara triangle were selling or leasing off their land and often their rights to live and work on it as they did before, becoming what he refers to as “conservation refugees”.

In 2016, Ole Reiya set out to bring together his community in an effort to eliminate poverty, regenerate the ecosystems and preserve the indigenous culture of the Maasai by employing a commons model on the 5,000 acres on which the conservancy sits. Families here could have sold their ancestral land and moved away, but they have instead come together and in a few short years have done away with the fencing separating their homesteads from the open savannah. They keep smaller herds of indigenous cattle and they have seen the return of wildlife such as zebras, giraffes and wildebeest to this part of their ancient migratory route. Elephants have returned to an old elephant nursery site.

In contrast to many other nature reserves and conservancies that offer employment to the locals as hotel staff, safari guides or dancers and singers, Nashulai’s way of empowering the community goes further to diversify the economy by providing skills and education to the residents, as well as preserving the culture by passing on knowledge about environmental awareness. This can be seen in the bee-keeping project that is producing honey for sale, the kitchen gardens outside the family homes, a ranger training programme and even a storytelling project to record and preserve all the knowledge and history passed down by the elders.

They keep smaller herds of indigenous cattle and they have seen the return of wildlife such as zebras, giraffes and wildebeest to this part of their ancient migratory route.

The conservancy only hires people from within the community for its various projects, and all plans must be submitted to a community liaison officer for discussion and a vote before any work can begin.

Tourism activities within the conservancy such as stays at Oldarpoi (the conservancy’s first tented camp; more are planned), game drives and day visits to the conservation and community projects are still an important part of the story. The revenue generated by tourists and the awareness created regarding this model of conservation are key in securing Nashulai’s future. Volunteer travellers are even welcomed to participate in the less technical projects such as tree planting and river clean-ups.

Expressing his hopes for a paradigm shift in the tourism industry, Ole Reiya stresses, “I would encourage visitors to go beyond the superficial and experience the nuances of a people beyond being seen as artefacts and naked children to be photographed, [but] rather as communities whose connection to the land and wildlife has been key to their survival over time.”

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Politics

Battery Arms Race: Global Capital and the Scramble for Cobalt in the Congo

In the context of the climate emergency and the need for renewable energy sources, competition over the supply of cobalt is growing. This competition is most intense in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Nick Bernards argues that the scramble for cobalt is a capitalist scramble, and that there can be no ‘just’ transition without overthrowing capitalism on a global scale.

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Battery Arms Race: Global Capital and the Scramble for Cobalt in the Congo
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With growing attention to climate breakdown and the need for expanded use of renewable energy sources, the mineral resources needed to make batteries are emerging as a key site of conflict. In this context, cobalt – traditionally mined as a by-product of copper and nickel – has become a subject of major interest in its own right.

Competition over supplies of cobalt is intensifying. Some reports suggest that demand for cobalt is likely to exceed known reserves if projected shifts to renewable energy sources are realized. Much of this competition is playing out in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). The south-eastern regions of the DRC hold about half of proven global cobalt reserves, and account for an even higher proportion of global cobalt production (roughly 70 percent) because known reserves in the DRC are relatively shallow and easier to extract.

Recent high profile articles in outlets including the New York Times and the Guardian have highlighted a growing ‘battery arms race’ supposedly playing out between the West (mostly the US) and China over battery metals, especially cobalt.

These pieces suggest, with some alarm, that China is ‘winning’ this race. They highlight how Chinese dominance in battery supply chains might inhibit energy transitions in the West. They also link growing Chinese mining operations to a range of labour and environmental abuses in the DRC, where the vast majority of the world’s available cobalt reserves are located.

Both articles are right that the hazards and costs of the cobalt boom have been disproportionately borne by Congolese people and landscapes, while few of the benefits have reached them. But by subsuming these problems into narratives of geopolitical competition between the US and China and zooming in on the supposedly pernicious effects of Chinese-owned operations in particular, the ‘arms race’ narrative ultimately obscures more than it reveals.

There is unquestionably a scramble for cobalt going on. It is centered in the DRC but spans much of the globe, working through tangled transnational networks of production and finance that link mines in the South-Eastern DRC to refiners and battery manufacturers scattered across China’s industrializing cities, to financiers in London, Toronto, and Hong Kong, to vast transnational corporations ranging from mineral rentiers (Glencore), to automotive companies (Volkswagen, Ford), to electronics and tech firms (Apple). This loose network is governed primarily through an increasingly amorphous and uneven patchwork of public and private ‘sustainability’ standards. And, it plays out against the backdrop of both long-running depredations of imperialism and the more recent devastation of structural adjustment.

In a word, the scramble for cobalt is a thoroughly capitalist scramble.

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Chinese firms do unquestionably play a major role in global battery production in general and in cobalt extraction and refining in particular. Roughly 50 percent of global cobalt refining now takes place in China. The considerable majority of DRC cobalt exports do go to China, and Chinese firms have expanded interests in mining and trading ventures in the DRC.

However, although the Chinese state has certainly fostered the development of cobalt and other battery minerals, there is as much a scramble for control over cobalt going on within China as between China and the ‘west’. There has, notably, been a wave of concentration and consolidation among Chinese cobalt refiners since about 2010. The Chinese firms operating in the DRC are capitalist firms competing with each other in important ways. They often have radically different business models. Jinchuan Group Co. Ltd and China Molybdenum, for instance, are Hong Kong Stock Exchange-listed firms with ownership shares in scattered global refining and mining operations. Jinchuan’s major mine holdings in the DRC were acquired from South African miner Metorex in 2012; China Molybdenum recently acquired the DRC mines owned by US-based Freeport-McMoRan (as the New York Times article linked above notes with concern). A significant portion of both Jinchuan Group and China Molybdenum’s revenues, though, come from speculative metals trading rather than from production. Yantai Cash, on the other hand, is a specialized refiner which does not own mining operations. Yantai is likely the destination for a good deal of ‘artisanal’ mined cobalt via an elaborate network of traders and brokers.

These large Chinese firms also are thoroughly plugged in to global networks of battery production ultimately destined, in many cases, for widely known consumer brands. They are also able to take advantage of links to global marketing and financing operations. The four largest Chinese refiners, for instance, are all listed brands on the London Metal Exchange (LME).

In the midst of increased concentration at the refining stage and concerns over supplies, several major end users including Apple, Volkswagen, and BMW have sought to establish long-term contracts directly with mining operations since early 2018. Tesla signed a major agreement with Glencore to supply cobalt for its new battery ‘gigafactories’ in 2020. Not unrelatedly, they have also developed integrated supply chain tracing systems, often dressed up in the language of ‘sustainability’ and transparency. One notable example is the Responsible Sourcing Blockchain Initiative (RSBI). This initiative between the blockchain division of tech giant IBM, supply chain audit firm RCS Global, and several mining houses, mineral traders, and automotive end users of battery materials including Ford, Volvo, Volkswagen Group, and Fiat-Chrysler Automotive Group was announced in 2019. RSBI conducted a pilot test tracing 1.5 tons of Congolese cobalt across three different continents over five months of refinement.

Major end users including automotive and electronics brands have, in short, developed increasingly direct contacts extending across the whole battery production network.

There are also a range of financial actors trying to get in on the scramble (though, as both Jinchuan and China Molybdenum demonstrate, the line between ‘productive’ and ‘financial’ capital here can be blurry). Since 2010, benchmark cobalt prices are set through speculative trading on the LME. A number of specialized trading funds have been established in the last five years, seeking to profit from volatile prices for cobalt. One of the largest global stockpiles of cobalt in 2017, for instance, was held by Cobalt 27, a Canadian firm established expressly to buy and hold physical cobalt stocks. Cobalt 27 raised CAD 200 million through a public listing on the Toronto Stock Exchange in June of 2017, and subsequently purchased 2160.9 metric tons of cobalt held in LME warehouses. There are also a growing number of exchange traded funds (ETF) targeting cobalt. Most of these ETFs seek ‘exposure’ to cobalt and battery components more generally, for instance, through holding shares in mining houses or what are called ‘royalty bearing interests’ in specific mining operations rather than trading in physical cobalt or futures. Indeed, by mid-2019, Cobalt-27 was forced to sell off its cobalt stockpile at a loss. It was subsequently bought out by its largest shareholder (a Swiss-registered investment firm) and restructured into ‘Conic’, an investment fund holding a portfolio of royalty-bearing interests in battery metals operations rather than physical metals.

Or, to put it another way, there is as much competition going on within ‘China’ and the ‘West’ between different firms to establish control over limited supplies of cobalt, and to capture a share of the profits, as between China and the ‘West’ as unitary entities.

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Thus far, workers and communities in the Congolese Copperbelt have suffered the consequences of this scramble. They have seen few of the benefits. Indeed, this is reflective of much longer-run processes, documented in ROAPE, wherein local capital formation and local development in Congolese mining have been systematically repressed on behalf of transnational capital for decades.

The current boom takes place against the backdrop of the collapse, and subsequent privatization, of the copper mining industry in the 1990s and 2000s. In 1988, state-owned copper mining firm Gécamines produced roughly 450 000 tons of copper, and employed 30 000 people, by 2003, production had fallen to 8 000 tons and workers were owed up to 36 months of back pay. As part of the restructuring and privatization of the company, more than 10 000 workers were offered severance payments financed by the World Bank, the company was privatized, and mining rights were increasingly marketized. By most measures, mining communities in the Congolese Copperbelt are marked by widespread poverty. A 2017 survey found mean and median monthly household incomes of $USD 34.50 and $USD 14, respectively, in the region.

In the context of widespread dispossession, the DRC’s relatively shallow cobalt deposits have been an important source of livelihood activities. Estimates based on survey research suggest that roughly 60 percent of households in the region derived some income from mining, of which 90 percent worked in some form of artisanal mining. Recent research has linked the rise of industrial mining installations owned by multinational conglomerates to deepening inequality, driven in no small part by those firms’ preference for expatriate workers in higher paid roles. Where Congolese workers are employed, this is often through abusive systems of outsourcing through labour brokers.

Cobalt mining has also been linked to substantial forms of social and ecological degradation in surrounding areas, including significant health risks from breathing dust (not only to miners but also to local communities), ecological disruption and pollution from acid, dust, and tailings, and violent displacement of local communities.

The limited benefits and high costs of the cobalt boom for local people in the Congolese copperbelt, in short, are linked to conditions of widespread dispossession predating the arrival of Chinese firms and are certainly not limited to Chinese firms.

To be clear, none of this is to deny that Chinese firms have been implicated in abuses of labour rights and ecologically destructive practices in the DRC, nor that the Chinese state has clearly made strategic priorities of cobalt mining, refining, and battery manufacturing. It does not excuse the very real abuses linked to Chinese firms that European-owned ones have done many of the same things. Nor does the fact that those Chinese firms are often ultimately vendors to major US and European auto and electronic brands.

However, all of this does suggest that any diagnosis of the developmental ills, violence, ecological damage and labour abuses surrounding cobalt in the DRC that focuses specifically on the character of Chinese firms or on inter-state competition is limited at best. It gets Glencore, Apple, Tesla, and myriad financial speculators, to say nothing of capitalist relations of production generally, off the hook.

If we want to get to grips with the unfolding scramble for cobalt and its consequences for the people in the south-east DRC, we need to keep in view how the present-day scramble reflects wider patterns of uneven development under capitalist relations of production.

We should note that such narratives of a ‘new scramble for Africa’ prompted by a rapacious Chinese appetite for natural resources are not new. As Alison Ayers argued nearly a decade ago of narratives about the role of China in a ‘new scramble for Africa’, a focus on Chinese abuses means that ‘the West’s relations with Africa are construed as essentially beneficent, in contrast to the putatively opportunistic, exploitative and deleterious role of the emerging powers, thereby obfuscating the West’s ongoing neocolonial relationship with Africa’. Likewise, such accounts neglect ‘profound changes in the global political economy within which the “new scramble for Africa” is to be more adequately located’. These interventions are profoundly political, providing important forms of ideological cover for both neoliberal capitalism and for longer-run structures of imperialism.

In short, the barrier to a just transition to sustainable energy sources is not a unitary ‘China’ bent on the domination of emerging industries as a means to global hegemony. It is capitalism. Or, more precisely, it is the fact that responses to the climate crisis have thus far worked through and exacerbated the contradictions of existing imperialism and capitalist relations of production. The scramble for cobalt is a capitalist scramble, and one of many signs that there can be no ‘just’ transition without overturning capitalism and imperialism on a global scale.

This article was published in the Review of African political Economy (ROAPE).

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