Two weeks ago, I waded into an emotive Twitter exchange on the subject of unpaid internships for university graduates. It quickly became evident that this was not in fact a debate but the outpouring of pent-up frustrations that is all too common among the youth generally – and more so among the better educated – that was the subject of two recent eReview articles (Hustler Nation: Jobless youth, millennial angst and the political economy of underachievement; Education, Social Mobility and the Enclave Economy: Revisiting the Kenya Scenarios Project).
Having jumped into the fray, seemingly on the side of unpaid internships, I found myself on the receiving end, perhaps deservedly so. Still, I felt that the opportunity to inject some sobriety into the debate was not to be missed.
My last word on internships.
Your challenges will not be solved by the kindness of strangers. Kenya is a minority privilege economy. It can’t create the opportunities you expect for masses. You have 3 choices
join the fight to change the system
lower your expectations
— David Ndii (@DavidNdii) April 3, 2019
I will dispense first with a comment on why compulsory remuneration of internships is bad economics.
Hiring workers is costly, and firing is costlier still, both financially and emotionally. The human resource practice has developed various methods to minimise the risk and cost of unsuitable hires, such as screening, references, rigorous interviews, psychometric evaluations, probation, (which minimises the cost of separation), outsourcing (which shifts the transaction costs to employment agencies) and the poaching of proven performers from rivals at a considerable premium.
Internships can serve the same purpose. Consider a firm that employs university graduates and is willing to offer a salary of Sh30,000. If it employs one who turns out to be unsuitable, it incurs a month’s salary and a recruitment cost of a similar amount, a loss of Sh60,000.
Alternatively, the firm can offer three two-month internships and pay an allowance of Sh5,000 a month, at the end of which it offers the most suitable intern a job. It is not hard to see why firms would resort to this strategy in these days when the quality, and even the authenticity, of academic qualifications has become very uncertain. It is also readily apparent from this example that firms using interns as a search strategy ought to pay them. But it would be a mistake, and probably counterproductive, to generalise.
Other firms may be willing to take on interns as part of their corporate social responsibility but may not have the budget for it. And there are also graduates out there who are willing to do unpaid internships. There are also entrepreneurs who could offer valuable internships but may not be able to afford the cost. Think of an entrepreneur who is keeping her struggling technology start-up afloat by earning extra income, say by taking up a part-time teaching position that pays her Sh30,000. If, however, she could get interns willing to pay the amount, she would happily give up the part-time work and concentrate on the start-up. Compulsion to pay interns, whether through policy or through social pressure (such as the trending #payinterns), has the effect of reducing the supply of internships, which is maximised by allowing all three options – paid, unpaid and paying internships – and leaving the market to do the rest.
As I argued in Social Mobility and the Enclave Economy, today’s university graduate is a victim of a legacy of privilege from the halcyon days of matunda ya uhuru (fruits of independence) when it was an automatic ticket to high-status public sector jobs. All Bachelor of Arts graduates were automatically absorbed into the civil service as administrators. Those appointed as “Bwana DO” (District Officer) moved into a large bungalow previously occupied by a white man and were provided with a Land Rover and a bevy of “APs” (Administration Police) to do their bidding. Few university graduates joined the private sector, but those who did went straight to the top and enjoyed lifestyles that their peers in developed countries could only dream of. What Kenyans seem not to appreciate is that this status was not obtained on merit, and had no relationship whatsoever with the economic value of university graduates. It was a case of replacing white privilege with black privilege.
This transition was more or less complete by the late 70s. Since then, university graduates have simply been trickling down the system and displacing the less educated. In the 60s, a graduate was assured of a leadership role, in the 80s a professional and middle management position, in the 90s entry-level work, and, of course, today they are not guaranteed anything all. Up until the 80s, it was inconceivable that a university graduate could be a police constable, but here we are.
In short, university graduates have continued to have expectations of entering employment at a fairly high level and climbing the socio-economic ladder as rapidly as previous cohorts did.
And there is another dynamic at play; intergenerational social mobility has been quite high in Kenya. For example, my grandparents were primary school-educated (quite a high level of education in the 1920s and 30s!). Their children, born in the 1940s and 50s, are mostly high school-educated with a few being university-educated, while all my siblings and most of my cousins born in the 60s and early 70s are university-educated. This has meant that we have, by and large, become accustomed to intergenerational social mobility. But now we are getting to the point where we have a critical mass of graduates whose parents are themselves university-educated and who are finding themselves a notch or two below their parents socio-economic status. This is bound to be stressful.
I came across a new policy document the other day titled the Draft National Automotive Policy. Its goal is to revamp the local motor vehicle assembly industry by way of import protection – what we call import substitution industrialisation. In plain English, this means the strangulation of the used motor vehicle import trade. Twenty years ago, I was involved in a long-running debate in the papers with one Gavin Bennet, then an industry spokesperson, on precisely this subject. At its peak in the late 80s, the industry produced 10,000 vehicles a year. Ownership was limited to institutions and the wealthy, while others had to wait for used cars to trickle down into the market. Choice was limited to less than ten models, and they were not particularly well-made. I argued that liberalisation would broaden vehicle ownership and create more jobs, that the economic benefits would more than offset the jobs that would be lost in the assembly industry. My prognosis carried the day; the cost of motor vehicles came down, variety increased with cars available for every pocket, with the attendant increase in employment in trade and services that we see today in the industry.
According to the policy document, the industry has ramped up its installed capacity from 28,000 to 34,000 vehicles a year. Production increased from a post-liberalisation average of 5,000-6,000 vehicles to 9,000 in 2015 and 2016 but it has since fallen back to the historical 5,000-6,000 range. It is unclear why an industry operating at 20 per cent capacity would increase its capacity. More importantly, it is readily apparent that the implementation of this policy would not stimulate new investment but rather, the utilisation of the existing plants and equipment.
The document goes on to claim that full capacity would create 150,000 jobs. This is balderdash. The same document acknowledges that at its peak, the industry employed 12,000 people, 3,000 directly and 9,000 downstream. If it were proportionate, a fourfold increase in production would translate to 36,000 jobs — but in reality, it would be less than proportionate. Unsurprisingly, the document does not factor in the jobs that would be eliminated in the second-hand imports and trade sector. All said, even 25,000 jobs would be a stretch.
In the intervening period, as globalisation was proceeding, China and India were ramping up motorcycle production, and driving down the cost. Before liberalisation, the cheapest motorcycle would have cost a well-paid university graduate at least a year’s salary. Today you can check one out from the supermarket at about three times the monthly minimum wage. And, of course, the industry has exploded, with an estimated 1 million to 1.5 million boda bodas on the road, and the jobs created also being in the same range. We are informed by the document that there are already eight motorcycle assembly plants operating at 50 per cent capacity (more than double that of the car assemblers), as well as an unknown number of “makeshift/informal” assemblers. This industry has developed in a liberalised environment without the protectionism that is now being proposed for car assemblers.
It is worth noting that the makeshift/informal motorcycle assemblers are mentioned only in passing; we have jua kali operations out there assembling motorcycles, and a proposed industry policy that merely acknowledges their existence. The existence of backyard assemblers tells us that motorcycle assembly requires little capital to set up. In economic lingo, assembling cars is capital intensive, while assembling motorcycles is labour intensive. The low capital requirements that make jua kali motorcycle assembly possible also mean that it is more easily scalable. The regional market for motorcycles is in the order of a million units a year. We already know that car assemblers cannot compete while the potential of an exporting motorcycle assembly industry is readily apparent. Also readily apparent is that this automotive policy is not about jobs but about returns on capital – profits – at the expense of jobs, competitiveness, equity and growth; that is, every important economic policy objective.
First, that it takes five times more capital to create a manufacturing job in Kenya than in India, and 50 percent more than in China, in other words Kenya’s industry is the most capital intensive of the three
The contribution of the owners of capital to our economic underachievement through policy capture – such as seen here – is under-appreciated. A World Bank study, Kenya Growth and Competitiveness Study, estimated our manufacturing productivity in the early 2000s at $3,500 per worker, vis-à-vis China’s $4,400 and India’s $3,400. Our capital (i.e. investment) per worker was estimated at $11,500, China’s at $7,800 and India’s at $2,400, translating to a capital output ratio of 3.3 to India’s 0.7 and China’s 1.74. What exactly are these parameters telling us?
First, that it takes five times more capital to create a manufacturing job in Kenya than in India, and 50 per cent more than in China. In other words, Kenya’s industry is the most capital intensive of the three. Second, that it takes $3.3 dollars of investment to produce a dollar of industrial output in Kenya, less than two dollars in China and less than a dollar in India. Moreover, the same study found that our labour was also the most costly, at $100 per month for unskilled factory workers, against China’s at $85 and India’s at $50. Let us put this into perspective: the amount of investment that creates one job in Kenya would create four jobs in India, and two in China. Moreover, Kenya is the least attractive investment destination as, of the three, it has the highest labour cost, a feature of the protectionist high-profit economy that the proposed motor vehicle policy is designed to restore.
More fundamentally, with close to a million young people joining the workforce a year, should we be protecting industries that require a million shillings to create a job, while the same investment can create five or more jobs elsewhere
We are churning out 150,000 university graduates a year. Let us say that this motor vehicle policy was implemented and indeed did create 25,000 jobs. Let us assume, generously, that a fifth – 5,000 jobs that is – were new university graduate jobs. How many sectors and industries would we need to protect to absorb, say, half the annual supply of university graduates? More fundamentally, with close to a million young people joining the workforce each year, should we be protecting industries that require a million shillings to create a job while the same investment could create five or more jobs elsewhere?
Last week the President took the occasion of the State of the Nation address to announce a financial scheme fronted by his family’s bank. Fish rots from the head.
Why is this policy so fixated on waking up a corpse? Because the policy has been written by the assemblers themselves. In fact, all the industry players are listed in the document by name. This is highly unusual. Analysis of specific enterprises does inform policy, but this is usually contained in studies, memoranda and background papers, not in the final policy documents. Final policy documents of this nature should be neutral. But what does it matter? Last week the president took the occasion of the State of the Nation address to announce a financial scheme fronted by his family’s bank. Fish rots from the head.
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Education in Rwanda: A Long Walk to the Knowledge Economy
If Rwanda is to attain its stated ambition to become of a middle-income country by 2035 driven by the knowledge economy, then it must inject significant investments in the education and related sectors.
Rwanda has shown commitment to bring improvements to its education sector. The development of Human capital that involves the enhancement of the education and health sectors was one of the main pillars of Rwanda’s development programme launched in 2000 to transform the country into a middle income state driven by the knowledge economy by 2020. Many developed countries joined in to financially support Rwanda to fulfil its development ambitions.
But while Rwanda did not meet its target to transform into a middle-income state by 2020, it has nevertheless made progress in the education sector that should be recognised. The country has now near-universal access to primary education with net enrolment rates of 98 per cent. There are also roughly equal numbers of boys and girls in pre-primary, primary and secondary schools in Rwanda. Compared to other sub-Saharan African countries, Rwanda has made great improvements in the education sector based on the gains made in primary school gross enrolment, out-of-school and retention rates and considering that the country came out of a genocidal civil war in the 1990s. Those of us living and travelling across the country can also see that the government of Rwanda has built more schools across the country to address congestion in classrooms.
However, education in Rwanda is faced with serious challenges which, if not addressed, the country will not attain its ambition to become a middle-income by 2035 and a high-income by 2050. The World Bank’s comparison with middle- and high-income countries, to whose ranks Rwanda aspires to join, shows that Rwanda lags far behind in primary and lower secondary school completion levels.
The gains made in education are not equally distributed across Rwanda. There are, for instance, wide disparities in lower secondary education by income and urban–rural residence. Whereas lower secondary school gross enrolment ratio level is 82 per cent in urban areas, it is only 44 per cent in rural areas. Moreover, transition rates between primary and lower secondary education are 53 per cent in urban areas, and 33 per cent in rural areas. School completion is 52 per cent among the richest quintile while it is 26 per cent among the poorest. Any future development strategy is unlikely to succeed if it does not provide basic equality of opportunity for all in Rwanda.
The standard of education in Rwanda is another major challenge. At the end of Grade 3, 85 per cent of Rwandan students were rated “below comprehension” in a recent reading test, and one in six could not answer any reading comprehension question. In my view, the quality of education has been partly affected by the abrupt changes in the language of instruction that have taken place without much planning since 2008.
Any future development strategy is unlikely to succeed if it does not provide basic equality of opportunity for all in Rwanda.
Learning levels in basic education remain low in Rwanda. Children in the country can expect to complete 6.5 years of pre-primary and basic education by the age of 18 years. However, when this is adjusted for learning it translates to only about 3.8 years, implying that children in Rwanda have a learning gap of 2.7 years. This is a concern.
Education in Rwanda is also impended by high levels of malnutrition for children under 5 years. Although there have been improvements over time, malnutrition levels remain significantly high at 33 per cent. Malnutrition impedes cognitive development, educational attainment, and lifetime earnings. It also deprives the economy of quality human capital that is critical to Rwanda attaining its economic goals and sustaining its economic gains. In 2012, Rwanda lost 11.5 per cent of GDP as a result of child undernutrition.
Because of low learning levels and high levels of malnutrition in children under 5 years, Rwanda has consistently ranked below average on the World Bank’s Human Capital index since 2018, the year the index was first published. HCI measures which countries are best at mobilising the economic and professional potential of their citizens.
If Rwanda is to develop the competent workforce needed to transform the country into a knowledge-based economy and bring it into the ranks of middle-income states, the government must put significant public spending in basic education. This has not been the case over the past decades. According to the World Bank, Rwanda’s public spending on primary education has been significantly lower than the average for sub-Saharan African countries with similar coverage of primary school level as Rwanda. This low spending on primary education has translated into relatively modest pay for teachers and low investment in their professional development which in turn affects the provision of quality education in Rwanda. The government recently increased teachers’ salary but the increment is being eroded by, among other things, food price inflation in Rwanda.
Malnutrition impedes cognitive development, educational attainment, and lifetime earnings.
Going forward, Rwanda’s spending on education needs to be increased and allocated to improving standards. Considering that the underlying cause of the high rate of malnourishment in children is food insecurity, the government needs to spend more on the agriculture sector. This sector employs 70 per cent of the labour force but has received only 10 per cent of total public investment. Public investment in Rwanda has in the past gone to the development of the Meetings, Incentives, Conferences and Exhibitions sector rather than towards addressing pressing scarcities. This approach must be reviewed.
Increasing public expenditure in education and connected sectors should also be combined with strengthening accountability in the government institutions responsible for promoting the quality of education in basic schools and in promoting food security and livelihoods in Rwanda. This is because not a year goes by without the office of the Rwanda auditor general reporting dire inefficiencies in these institutions.
Strengthening institutional accountability can be achieved if the country adapts its consensual democracy by opening up the political space to dissenting voices. Doing so would surely enhance the effectiveness of checks and balances across institutions in Rwanda, including in the education sector, and would enable the country to efficiently reach its development targets.
No Imperialist Peoples, Only Imperialist States
Adam Mayer praises a new collection, Liberated Texts, which includes rediscovered books on Africa’s socialist intellectual history and political economy, looking at the startling, and frequently long ignored work of Walter Rodney, Karim Hirji, Issa Shivji, Dani Wadada Nabudere, A. M. Babu and Makhan Singh.
Liberated Texts is a magnificent, essential, exciting tome that feels like a bombshell. This incredibly rich collection is a selection that is deep, wide, as well as entertaining. The book focuses on twenty-one volumes from the previous one hundred years, with a geographical range from the UK, the US, Vietnam, Korea, the Peoples Republic of China, the Middle East, Ireland, Malaysia, Africa (especially East Africa), Europe, Latin America, and the former Soviet Union, focusing on books that are without exception, foundational.
The collection is nothing less than a truth pill: in composite form, the volume corrects world history that Howard Zinn’s The People’s History of the United States offered for the sterile, historical curriculum on domestic (US) history. The volume consists of relatively short reviews (written by a wide collection of young and old academics and activists from every corner of the globe) but together they reflect such a unified vision that I would recommend Liberated Texts as compulsory reading for undergraduate students (as well as graduates!) Although the text is a broad canvas it speaks to our age (despite some of the reviewed book having been written in the 1920s).
Each review is by default, a buried tresure. The writer of this very review is a middle-aged Hungarian, which means that some of the works and authors discussed were more familiar to me than they would be to others. For example, Anton Makarenko’s name was, when the author grew up in the People’s Republic of Hungary, a household word. Makarenko’s continued relevance for South America and the oppressed everywhere, as well as his rootedness in the revolutionary transformations of the Soviet experiment, are dealt with here marvellosly by Alex Turrall (p. 289). In loving detail Turrall also discusses his hero the pedagogue Sukhomlinsky’s love for Stalinist reforms of Soviet education (p. 334).
There is one locus, and one locus only, where death is given reign, perhaps even celebrated: in a Palestinian case (p. 133) the revolutionary horizons are firmly focused on the past, not on any kind of future. The entire problematic of Israeli society’s recent ultra right-wing turn (a terrible outcome from the left’s point of view) is altogther missing here. Yet it is difficult to fault the authors or editors with this (after all, they painstakingly included an exemplary anti-Nazi Palestinian fighter in the text, p. 152) but it might be in order to challenge a fascination with martyrdom as a revolutionary option on the radical left.
In every other aspect, Liberated Texts enlightens without embarrassment, and affirms life itself. Imperialism is taken on in the form of unresolved murders of Chinese researchers in the United States as a focus (p. 307), and in uncovering the diabolical machinations of the peer-review system – racist, classist, prestige-driven as it is (p. 305).
The bravery of this collection is such that we find few authors within academia’s tenure track: authors are either emeriti, tenured, very young academics, or those dedicated to political work: actual grassroots organizers, comrades at high schools, or as language teachers. This has a very beneficial effect on the edited volume as an enterprise at the forefront of knowledge, indeed of creating new knowledge. Career considerations are absent entirely from this volume, in which thankfully even the whiff of mainstream liberalism is anathema.
I can say with certainty regarding the collection’s Africanist chapters that certain specialists globally, on African radical intellectual history, have been included: Leo Zeilig, Zeyad el-Nabolsy, Paul O’Connell, Noosim Naimasiah and Corinna Mullin all shed light on East African (as well as Caribbean) socialist intellectual history in ways that clear new paths in a sub-discipline that is underfunded, purposely confined to obscurity, and which lacks standard go-to syntheses especially in the English language (Hakim Adi’s celebrated history on pan-Africanism and communism stops with the 1950s, and other works are in the making).
Walter Rodney, Karim Hirji, Issa Shivji, Dani Wadada Nabudere, A. M. Babu, Makhan Singh are the central authors dealt with here. Rodney is enjoying a magnificent and much deserved renaissance (but this collection deals with a lost collection of Rodney’s 1978 Hamburg lectures by Zeilig!) Nabolsy shows us how Nyerere’s Marxist opposition experienced Ujamaa, and Tanzanian ’socialism’. Nabudere – a quintessential organic intellectual as much as Rodney – is encountered in praxis as well as through his thought and academic achievements in a chapter by Corinna Mullin. Nabudere emerges as a towering figure whose renaissance might be in the making right at this juncture. Singh makes us face the real essence of British imperialism. Nabudere, Babu and even Hirji’s achievements in analysing imperialism and its political economy are all celebrated in the collection.
Where Shivji focuses on empire in its less violent aspect (notably NGOs and human rights discourse) powerfully described by Paul O’Connell, Naimasiah reminds us that violence had been as constitutive to Britain’s empire, as it has been to the Unites States (in Vietnam or in Korea). An fascinating chapter in the collection is provided by Marion Ettinger’s review of Richard Boyle’s Mutiny in Vietnam, an account based entirely on journalism, indeed impromptu testimony, of mutinous US soldiers tired of fighting for Vietnam’s landlord class.
Many readers of this anthology will identify with those veterans (since the collection appears in the English language) perhaps more than with East Asia’s magnificent, conscious fighters also written about in the book. Even in armies of the imperialist core, humanity shines through. Simply put, there are no imperialist peoples, only imperialist states.
Zeilig’s nuanced take on this important matter is revealed in Rodney’s rediscovered lectures. Also, the subtlety of class analysis in relation to workers versus peasants, and the bureacratic bourgeoisie profiting from this constellation (p. 219) brings to mind the contradiction that had arguably brought down Thomas Sankara, Burkina Faso’s anti-imperialist president who nevertheless found himself opposing working class demands. Rodney’s politics in Guyana invited the same fate as Sankara, as we know.
Nabolsy’s review on Hirji’s The Travails of a Tanzanian Teacher touches on very interesting issues of Rodney’s role especially in the context of Ujamaa and Nyerere’s idiosyncratic version of African socialism. Nabolsy appreciates Nyerere efforts but analyses his politics with great candour: Ujamaa provided national unification, but failed to undermine Tanzania’s dependency in any real sense. The sad realization of the failure of Tanzania’s experience startles the reader with its implications for the history of African socialism.
On an emotional and personal level, I remain most endeared by the Soviet authors celebrated in this text. So Makarenko and Sukhomlinsky are both Soviet success stories and they demonstrate that this combination of words in no oxymoron, and neither is it necessarily, revisionist mumbo-jumbo. Their artificial removal from their historical context (which had happened many times over in Makarenko’s case, and in one particular account when it comes to Sukhomlinsky) are fought against by the author with Leninist gusto.
Sukhomlinsky had not fought against a supposedly Stalinist education reform: he built it, and it became one of the most important achievements of the country by the 1960s due partly to his efforts. The former educational pioneer did not harm children: he gave them purpose, responsibility, self-respect, and self-esteem. The implication of Sukhomlinsky and Makarenko is that true freedom constructs its own order, and that freedom ultimately thrives on responsibility, and revolutionary freedom.
As this collection is subtitled Volume One, it is my hope and expectation that this shall be the beginning of a series of books, dealing with other foundational texts, and even become a revolutionary alternative to The London Review of Books and the New York Review of Books, both of which still demonstrate how much readers crave review collections. Volumes like Liberated Texts might be the very future of book review magazines in changed form. A luta continua!
This article was first published by ROAPE.
We Must Democratize the Economy
In the UK, prices for basic goods are soaring while corporations rake in ever-bigger profits. The solution, Jeremy Corbyn argues, is to bring basic resources like energy, water, railways, and the postal service into democratic public ownership.
On Thursday, December 15, the Royal College of Nursing went on strike for the first time in their 106-year history. Understaffed, underpaid, and overworked, tens of thousands of National Health Service (NHS) nurses walked out after being denied decent, livable pay rises. Hailed as heroes one year, forced to use food banks the next, nurses’ wages have fallen more than £3,000 in real terms since 2010; three in four now say they work overtime to meet rising energy bills.
People will remember 2022 as the year that the Conservative Party plunged this country into political turmoil. However, behind the melodrama is a cost-of-living crisis that has pushed desperate people into destitution and the so-called middle classes to the brink. We should remember 2022 as the year in which relative child poverty reached its highest levels since 2007 and real wage growth reached its lowest levels in half a century. (Average earnings have shrunk by £80 a month and a staggering £180 a month for public sector workers.) These are the real scandals.
For some MPs, this was the year they kick-started their reality TV careers. For others, this was the year they told their children they couldn’t afford any Christmas presents. For energy companies, it was the year they laughed all the way to the bank; in the same amount of time it took for Rishi Sunak to both lose and then win a leadership contest, Shell returned £8.2 billion in profit. SSE, a multinational energy company headquartered in Scotland, saw their profits triple in just one year. Profits across the world’s seven biggest oil firms rose to almost £150 billion.
Tackling the cost-of-living crisis means offering an alternative to our existing economic model — a model that empowers unaccountable companies to profit off the misery of consumers and the destruction of our earth. And that means defending a value, a doctrine, and a tradition that unites us all: democracy.
Labour recently announced “the biggest ever transfer of power from Westminster to the British people.” I welcomed the renewal of many of the policies from the manifesto in 2019: abolishing the House of Lords and handing powers to devolved governments, local authorities, and mayors. These plans should work hand in hand, to ensure any second chamber reflects the geographical diversity of the country. If implemented, this would decentralize a Whitehall-centric model of governance that wastes so much of this country’s regional talent, energy, and creativity.
However, devolution, decentralization, and democracy are not just matters for the constitution. They should characterize our economy too. Regional governments are demanding greater powers for the same reason an unelected second chamber is patently arcane: we want a say over the things that affect our everyday lives. This, surely, includes the way in which our basic resources are produced and distributed.
From energy to water and from rail to mail, a small number of companies monopolize the production of basic resources to the detriment of the workers they exploit and the customers they fleece. We rely on these services, and workers keep them running, but it is remote chief executive officers and unaccountable shareholders who decide how they are run and profit off their provision. Would it not make more sense for workers and consumers to decide how to run the services they provide and consume?
As prices and profits soar, it’s time to put basic resources like energy, water, rail, and mail back where they belong: in public hands. Crucially, this mold of public ownership would not be a return to 1940s-style patronage-appointed boards but a restoration of civic accountability. Water, for example, should be a regional entity controlled by consumers, workers, and local authorities, and work closely with environmental agencies on water conservation, sewage discharges, the preservation of coastlines, and the protection of our natural world. This democratic body would be answerable to the public, and the public alone, rather than to the dividends of distant hedge funds.
Bringing energy, water, rail, and mail into democratic public ownership is about giving local people agency over the resources they use. It’s about making sure these resources are sustainably produced and universally distributed in the interests of workers, communities, and the planet.
Beyond key utilities, a whole host of services and resources require investment, investment that local communities should control. That’s why, in 2019, we pledged to establish regional investment banks across the country, run by local stakeholders who can decide — collectively — how best to direct public investment. Those seeking this investment would not make their case with reference to how much profit they could make in private but how much they could benefit the public as a whole.
To democratize our economy, we need to democratize workplaces too. We can end workplace hierarchies and wage inequalities by giving workers the right to decide, together, how their team operates and how their pay structures are organized. If we want to kick-start a mass transfer of power, we need to redistribute wealth from those who hoard it to those who create it.
Local people know the issues facing them, and they know how to meet them better than anyone else. If we want to practice what we preach, then the same principles of democracy, devolution, and decentralization must apply to our own parties as well. Local party members, not party leaders, should choose their candidates, create policy, and decide what their movement stands for.
Only a democratic party can provide the necessary space for creative and transformative solutions to the crises facing us all. In a world where the division between rich and poor is greater than ever before, our aim should be to unite the country around a more hopeful alternative — an alternative that recognizes how we all rely on each other to survive and thrive.
This alternative is not some abstract ideal to be imagined. It is an alternative that workers are fighting for on the picket line. Even before the nurses went on strike, 2022 was a record-breaking year for industrial action. Striking workers are not just fighting for pay, essential as these demands are. They are fighting for a society without poverty, hunger, and inequality. They are fighting for a future that puts the interests of the community ahead of the greed of energy companies. They are fighting for us all.
Their collective struggle teaches us that democracy exists — it thrives — outside of Westminster. The government is trying its best to turn dedicated postal workers and railway workers into enemies of the general public — a general public that apparently also excludes university staff, bus drivers, barristers, baggage handlers, civil servants, ambulance drivers, firefighters, and charity workers. As the enormous scale of industrial action shows, striking workers are the general public. The year 2022 will go down in history, not as the year the Tories took the public for fools, but as the year the public fought back. United in their thousands, they are sending a clear message: this is what democracy looks like.
This article was first published by Progressive International
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