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The Kenyan Supreme Court’s BBI Judgment – Part III: On Referendum Questions, Other Implications and Untidy Endnotes

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This is the last of three articles in which Gautam Bhatia analyses the judgments of the High Court, the Court of Appeal and the Supreme Court following the constitutional challenge to the BBI Bill.

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The Kenyan Supreme Court’s BBI Judgment – Part I: On Constitutional Amendments and the Basic Structure
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This is the third and concluding article about the Kenyan Supreme Court’s BBI judgment. The first and second articles can be accessed here. In this article, I will end by examining some of the possible implications of the judgment of the Court, going forward.

Distinct and Separate Referendum Questions

Recall that one of the grounds on which the High Court had invalidated the BBI Bill was that all seventy-four amendments had been lumped together as a “package”. The High Court had held that under Article 257, potential amendments would have to be placed before the People as distinct and separate referendum questions. The Court of Appeal was split on the point, but arguably, a majority of the bench held that at the very least, a “unity of theme” approach would have to be followed: that is, potential amendments that were thematically unrelated could not be lumped together in a package. The one exception was Tuiyott J, who held that the issue was not yet ripe for adjudication, as the IEBC was yet to frame the referendum question – or questions.

A majority of the Supreme Court agreed with Tuiyott J on this point. Thus, while the judgments of the High Court and Court of Appeal were set aside, the question still remains open for adjudication.

In my submission, however, while the Supreme Court did not explicitly decide the question, the overarching logic of its judgment(s) strongly implies that when the question does become ripe at some point in the future, the unity of content approach is to be followed.

The reason for this brings us back to our discussion in the previous post: going forward, any interpretation of Article 257 of the Kenyan Constitution must be informed by the Supreme Court’s finding that the purpose of the tiered amendment process is to provide internal constitutional safeguards against abusive amendments, and – specifically – against the culture of hyper-amendment. Indeed, it is particularly interesting to note that for more than one judge, the fact that no constitutional amendment had been successfully pushed through in the twelve years of the existence of the 2010 Constitution was evidence that the internal safeguards were working.

But now consider the consequences had the High Court’s judgment in May 2021 not stopped the (somewhat advanced) Article 257 in its tracks. Had the process been completed successfully, in one fell swoop, the Kenyan Constitution would have gone from having never been amended in twelve years, to having been amended seventy-four times in twelve years – and if anything can be called a “culture of hyper-amendment”, seventy-four amendments in twelve years would surely fit the bill!

The purpose of the tiered amendment process is to provide internal constitutional safeguards against abusive amendments, and – specifically – against the culture of hyper-amendment.

It is therefore not enough to say that the tiered amendment process provides an adequate internal safeguard against hyper-amendments. The tiered amendment process – as set out under Articles 255 – 257 – still leaves a range of interpretive questions open, and precisely how effective it is against hyper-amendments depends on how the courts answer those questions. It is easy to see that lumping all potential amendments into one referendum question is an enabler of hyper-amendments. As Musinga (P) rightly pointed out in the Court of Appeal, this enabled a culture where, in order to push through a potentially unpopular amendment, its proponents will include a range of “sweeteners” to make the Bill as a whole palatable – or, alternatively, raise the cost of not voting for it.

One can see a direct link between this kind of constitutional jockeying and the culture of hyper-amendment. It is therefore my submission that the constitutional silence in Article 257 on the question of distinct and separate referendum questions ought to be resolved in favour of the unity of content approach, as that is the interpretation that would further the purposes of Article 257 in checking hyper-amendments. Indeed, this interpretive approach matches precisely the Supreme Court’s approach to the popular initiative question. Article 257 was silent on whether the president could or could not initiate a popular initiative. The Supreme Court engaged in a purpose interpretation of Article 257 to hold that he could not, because the contrary interpretation would defeat the objective of the popular initiative. The same considerations apply to the issue of distinct and separate referendum questions.

Constitutional Gaps

On at least two crucial issues, the Supreme Court’s judgment was informed by a gap in the Constitution that was meant to be filled in by statute, but hadn’t yet been. The first was the issue of public participation. The second was the issue of the initiation of a popular initiative.

The first issue had also been discussed by the judges in the superior courts below. In the absence of a statute setting out the scope and content of public participation under the Article 257 process, the Courts were forced to stumble around a bit and search for the light, although the judges did eventually – relying upon the constitutional standard of public participation – return findings either way on the subject. Assuming, however, that at some point a law is passed that sets out its details, it will be interesting to see how the courts scrutinise its adequacy; any such scrutiny will now need to be judged against the standard of whether or not the statute can serve as a strong enough bulwark against abusive amendments and hyper-amendments. Thus, issues such as time to scrutinise bills, language, accessibility, and so on, will need to be considered from this rubric.

In order to push through a potentially unpopular amendment, its proponents will include a range of “sweeteners” to make the Bill as a whole palatable

The second issue finds mention in Mwilu DCJ’s judgment, although its echoes are present from the High Court, to the Court of Appeal, and to the Supreme Court. This is the issue of the popular initiative. Eighteen out of nineteen judges who heard this case agreed that the president cannot initiate a popular initiative under Article 257. The devil, however, is in the detail: in the present case, the president’s involvement – through proxies – was too overt and too categorical for most of the judges to ignore. One can easily imagine, however, that stung by this reversal in all the Courts, a future president might just decide to be a lot more subtle about this, and put in substantially greater distance between themselves and their proxies.

At the Court of Appeal, Tuiyott J, and at the Supreme Court, Koome CJ, both exhibited a keen awareness of this problem, but at the end of the day, beyond applying good judicial common sense, there is only so much that Courts can directly do to prevent executive “hardball”. This is why Mwilu DCJ probably had it right when she listed out a range of issues – such as, for example, whether promoters could be members of political parties, or political parties themselves – that might arise in the future. And the fine-grained character of these issues indicates that they are better off addressed by the legislative scalpel rather than the judicial sledgehammer. Of course, the risk here is, given that Article 257 is meant to be a constitutional amendment route that serves as an alternative to parliament, parliament itself legislating on the scope of who can activate Article 257 will raise potential conflicts of interest. That is perhaps inevitable, and once again, it might just be the case that the issue will ultimately find its way back to the judiciary, and that the courts will need to consider at what point the indirect involvement of state actors reaches a threshold where it starts to threaten the fundamental purpose of Article 257.

Parliament itself legislating on the scope of who can activate Article 257 will raise potential conflicts of interest.

Indeed, there is good reason to think that the BBI litigation marks the beginning and not the end of the story. Coming away from the judgment, we find that there is a window open for judicial intervention to stop constitutionally destructive “amendments” (although it is no longer being called “the basic structure doctrine”), but the length, breadth, and design of this window is also … open (pardon the pun). We also find that it has now been firmly established that the purpose of Chapter XVI – and, specifically Article 257 – is to constrain the imperial presidency, check abusive amendments, and safeguard against hyper-amendments. But as history shows, the imperial presidency is not so easy to contain – its “taming” will need more than one set of judgments – but rather, it is a constitutional commitment that will need to be renewed and renewed again. Stopping subtle and indirect hijackings of Article 257, package-deal referendums, and inadequate public participation (to name just a few threats) will all be part of that renewal.

Conclusion: Shadow and Light

It remains to end with a disclaimer (or two). As one of the amici before the Supreme Court of Kenya in the present appeal, my analysis is naturally situated within that broader context, and the arguments I have made in these three articles reflect some of the arguments in my amicus brief (I am particularly grateful to the Court for having admitted the brief, and then – across multiple judgments – engaged with the arguments closely and in depth). Indeed, these arguments reflect a broader set of intellectual commitments I bring to interpreting Constitutions; I believe that Constitutions are fundamentally about power relations, about deciding who has power and who doesn’t, who gets to wield power and upon whom it is wielded, and how power (state power, in particular) is to be confronted, mitigated, and contained. Our task as interpreters is to try and ensure that Constitutions live up to their own goal (often stated in the Preamble) of democratising power, and of checking abuse and impunity.

Having had the opportunity to engage so deeply with these questions in the context of the Kenyan Constitution over the last one year has been a privilege. As an outsider who has tried to approach the subject with respect and humility, but who – no doubt – has often put his foot in it, it has been particularly wonderful to experience the openness and generosity with which the Kenyan interpretive community has treated me; for that, I am deeply grateful. After all, as Yvonne Owuor once wrote, there is a “cartography not of possession, but of – how odd – belonging.”

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Gautam Bhatia is a constitutional lawyer based in New Delhi, India.

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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.

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Education in Rwanda: A Long Walk to the Knowledge Economy
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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.

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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.

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No Imperialist Peoples, Only Imperialist States
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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.

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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.

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Jeremy Corbyn: We Must Democratize the Economy
Photo: Chatham House, London
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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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