30 years after declaring independence from Somalia in 1991, Somaliland can take pride in an impressive but not flawless democratisation record. Since 2002, the people of Somaliland have participated in six multi-party elections: three presidential elections (2003, 2010 and 2017) and two district council elections (2002 and 2012), but only one parliamentary (2005), and none for the House of Elders (Guurti). At last, combined local council and parliamentary elections will take place on 31 May 2021, respectively four years and eleven years after they were due.
The repeated postponements of elections have at times caused political tensions and uncertainty. This has undermined Somaliland’s democratisation process, weakened public confidence in democracy, stalled institution-building and reforms, and damaged the country’s relationship with the international community.
The main obstacle to holding parliamentary elections has been the difficulty in reaching a political compromise on the allocation of the 82 seats in the House of Representatives to Somaliland’s regions – and by extension, their clans – without a reliable national census. The 2005 parliamentary election could only take place because the National Electoral Commission (NEC) brokered a compromise on seat distribution just weeks before the polls.
However, the five-year mandate of the House of Representatives came to an end in 2010 without a reliable national census having been carried out, or a political solution put in place to resolve the issue of seat distribution. Disagreement on this issue delayed the holding of parliamentary elections for the next 10 years. Whenever the issue was raised, the only solution proposed was to return to the 2005 compromise formula. However, this has elicited strong opposition from people in Awdal region (western Somaliland), particularly from the Samaroon clan, who felt that the 2005 arrangement did not allocate them enough seats. Leaders from the clan threatened to boycott any future polls if a revised seat allocation formula was not agreed.
The national clan arithmetic and balance were at the centre of this stand-off. Expectations in Awdal region were anchored in a demand to allocate half of the seats of the House of Representatives to non-Isaaq clans (including Samaroon, Isse, Harti). The argument was based on the need to protect minority rights against majority rule and promote equitable clan representation rather than representation based on population. Among the leaders of the populous Isaaq clans in particular, the proposal was perceived as unreasonable and provocative. It was also seen as an attempt to win the other non-Isaaq clans, such as the Harti, over to the Samaroon cause.
Given the overwhelming public support in Awdal for stronger representation, and the fear of alienating other non-Isaaq constituencies, Somaliland’s political leaders refrained from addressing this divisive issue, contributing to the continued postponement of Somaliland’s parliamentary elections. But growing internal and external pressure forced President Musa Bihi to act. In September 2020, he endorsed a new electoral law, which stipulated that parliamentary seats would again be distributed according to the 2005 arrangement. The law was passed in early October, despite strong opposition from MPs and elders in Awdal region, paving the way for the NEC to prepare parliamentary elections.
Women’s candidacy and representation
The change in 2002 from the clan-based system of representation to electoral democracy with universal suffrage gave women in Somaliland the right to stand for election and to vote. There was hope among women that recognition of their political rights would improve women’s participation and representation in Somaliland’s politics unlike in the clan-based system of nominations, which discriminated against women.
However, the first test of the new system — the local council elections held in 2002 — demonstrated that formal recognition of the political rights of women was rarely respected in practice and was not enough to significantly improve their political participation. Clan influence remained extremely strong and most Somalilanders voted along clan lines, which tends to exclude women. The patriarchal clan system meant that very few women were put forward for election. In 2002, this resulted in only two women being elected among a total of 379 local councillors.
Even when the law allows it, few women run for office in Somaliland. And women too generally vote along clan lines, often under the direction of the men in their family. In the run-up to the parliamentary elections of 2005, women’s groups and other civic organisations campaigned hard to have provisions included in the electoral law that would establish a quota for women candidates. However, the initiative was rejected by parliament. Once more, female candidates were largely excluded from the electoral process due to the strong clan influence in the nomination process and voting patterns. As a result, out of the 246 candidates in the parliamentary elections, only seven were women and of the 82 MPs elected, only two were women.
Efforts to amend the electoral law to set a quota for women continued and in 2007, constant pressure and lobbying from women’s groups and other civic organisations eventually persuaded the government and parliament to include provisions in the electoral law that would grant a quota for female candidates. But although the proposal was endorsed by the House of Representatives, it was rejected by the House of Elders due to opposition from religious groups. The proposal was put to a vote again in 2020, but both Houses rejected the amendments under external pressure.
In the absence of a quota or a framework for promoting women’s representation, female candidates for the upcoming parliamentary elections on 31 May 2021 have sought support and endorsement from their respective clans. Seven women reportedly pursued the backing of their clans. Only one of them won the full support of her clansmen, setting a precedent as this was the first time in Somaliland’s history that clan elders, intellectuals, the diaspora, youth, opinion makers, and businessmen publicly endorsed a woman’s candidacy. Securing her clan backing furthered her candidacy. Resources were mobilised and a database was established to support her and to ensure high turnout in her clan constituency during the voter registration exercise. In contrast, a female candidate who failed to secure the support of her clansmen has faced strong and consistent resistance and opposition from her clan leadership and politicians.
The most marginalised groups in Somaliland are the Gabooye, who constitute the traditional occupational castes (“low caste”) known as Tumaal, Midgaan and Yibir. (In casual speech, these groups are often referred to as Beelaha Gabooye, although members of the various sub-groups do not necessarily accept this appellation. For the purposes of brevity, the term Beelaha Gabooye is used to refer to the Gabooye, Tumaal, and Yibir together.) For the Gabooye, the challenge of representation is more a question of their social status rather than their numbers; they have a significant number of voters to pick up seats in Hargeisa and other urban centres. But their internal divisions and especially their lack of political, social, and economic clout as a result of years of marginalisation hinder the nomination and electoral success of Gabooye candidates. To rectify this, Gabooye representation had also been discussed as part of the failed attempts to establish quotas.
Female candidates for the upcoming parliamentary elections have sought support and endorsement from their respective clans.
In the absence of quotas, the Gabooye now compete with candidates from the “noble” sub-clans of Somaliland, both to get nominated by the parties and to win seats in the parliamentary and local elections. Local observers believe that at least one Gabooye candidate in Hargeisa has a good chance of winning a parliamentary seat because he is a prominent and outspoken member of a political party and enjoys public support.
Harti candidacy and representation
In the eastern regions of Sool, Sanaag and Togdheer that are the object of contest between Somaliland and Puntland, the Dhulbahante and Warsangeli clans — which are sub-clans of the Harti clan federation which includes the Majerteen of Puntland — have long been divided in their attitudes towards Somaliland. In the run-up to the 2005 parliamentary elections, there were security concerns about holding elections in some of these contested areas. Exclusion of these territories from the poll would have reduced Harti representation in the new parliament. A provision was therefore made in the electoral law for eight reserved, uncontested seats for these Harti sub-clans – six for the Dulbahante and two for the Warsangeli.
In spite of this, Harti representation decreased from 14 to 10 following the 2005 parliamentary election. Of these seats, 8 were from the uncontested list, while 2 were elected. In contrast, the number of Samaroon seats from Awdal region increased from 10 to 13. Candidates from the Isaaq clans won 57 seats, gaining 10 seats at the expense of the Harti and minority representation. Members from Isaaq clans now controlled 70 per cent of the House, up from 63 per cent before the polls.
Ensuring the active participation of the Harti clans in the upcoming parliamentary election remains a challenge. There was an understanding between some Harti MPs and the president that the provision granting uncontested seats for the non-voting Sool, Sanaag, and Togdheer regions would remain. However, the plan met with strong opposition from some Isaaq MPs in these three regions who hope to win these seats in an electoral contest. They pressured the government to back off and passionately lobbied other Isaaq MPs to vote against reserved seats for the Harti. All Samaroon parliamentarians and most of the Harti MPs boycotted the parliamentary debate on the electoral law in protest against the proposed seat allocation. In the end, the law was narrowly approved by Isaaq MPs in parliament, and no seats were reserved for Harti constituencies.
For the Gabooye, the challenge of representation is more a question of their social status rather than their numbers.
Those opposed to the special arrangement argued that the Harti communities could organise themselves as a political group to register enough voters to compete successfully in the elections. This sentiment is shared by some members of the Harti, particularly those from the areas controlled by Somaliland, such as Sool region. Efforts by the competing candidates from the Dulbahante clan in Sool, government officials from these areas and the political parties have all considerably improved participation in voter registration. The Dulbahante districts now account for more than 57 per cent of the registered voters in the region, which would enable Dulbahante candidates to win 6 or 7 of the 12 electoral seats if there is high voter turnout. By contrast, the Warsangeli candidates (mostly in Sanaag) were far less successful because large sections of the area are not sufficiently under the control of the Somaliland government. The two predominantly Warsangeli districts have registered only about 10,000 voters. Together with about 16,500 other voters in the capital district of Eiragabo, Warsangeli candidates stand a chance to win only 2 out of 12 electoral seats in Sanaag. The refusal by parliament to allocate uncontested seats could inflict substantial damage on political representation in Somaliland if the Harti constituencies fail to gain sufficient numbers in the House.
The absence of legal commitments and special arrangements to promote the representation of women, minorities, and clans from Somaliland’s contested regions in the upcoming parliamentary election will reinforce an exclusionary majoritarian voting system. This will clearly produce segments of winners and losers and will ultimately lead to less inclusive representation.
The most obvious losers will be women. Already, few women are running for parliament due to the prevailing social barriers. At best, women are likely to have only one representative in parliament. This will mean that women continue to be denied equal legislative rights, which will also have a negative impact on public policy.
Harti representation in parliament could reduce further after the upcoming election, thereby increasing their sense of marginalisation within Somaliland. It is also foreseeable that Isaaq clans will increase their share of seats at the expense of the Harti, while Samaroon representation will probably remain unchanged, thereby increasing Isaaq dominance in the parliament and further cementing their majoritarian rule.
This article relies heavily on interviews and informal discussions with candidates and MPs from Awdal, Hargeisa, Sool, East Sanaag and West Sanaag conducted between 6 and 22 December 2020.
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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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