This issue of the Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE), Issue 141, is a general one consisting of seven research articles and a further two briefings. Taken together, these cover a variety of topics. They deal with studies set in widely separated geographical locations and combine macro-/continental-scale thematic analyses with more local-scale case studies. The selection reflects ongoing interest among the journal's contributors in the long-running (and recently intensified) processes of incorporation via capitalist globalisation of the continent's material, intellectual, symbolic and other ‘property’ (see, for example, the recent forum on Brand Aid/Brand Africa in ROAPE Issue 131, Richey and Ponte 2012).
Two themes link this diverse set of offerings. The first is the theme of continuity-in-change, notably in relation to state–society relations. Two-thirds of the articles explicitly address this theme of ‘the past in the present’ (the sub-title of Mark Duffield and Vernon Hewitt's [2009] book which has been reviewed in ROAPE comes to mind here). A second unifying ‘thread’ derives, in part, from ROAPE's abiding interest in the political economy of – and struggles against – inequality, oppression and exploitation, on the one hand; and focus on the nature of the state and power in the context of capitalist globalisation, on the other. The predominance of questions of resource struggles, livelihoods and ongoing capitalist expansion in Issue 141, then, reflect the response(s) of like- minded contributors to ROAPE's intellectual and political project. In this way, the interlinked processes of publishing, and being published in and by, ROAPE become a collective and/or mutually reinforcing activism in support of the journal's ideological commitments and intellectual preferences (cf. Mohan and Campbell 1998).
Take Ian Taylor's exploration of state capitalism and the oil sector in sub-Saharan Africa. He argues strenuously that in the wake of the global financial crisis, and even though ‘neoliberalism remains the global hegemonic project … , the global economy has seen a partial revival of the state's role in the economy.’ The attraction of the latter lies, Taylor suggests, in the (ultimately limited or circumscribed) challenge it offers to a central tenet of several decades of neoliberalism, that there is no alternative (TINA) (Cline-Cole and Harrison 2010) – even if its goal appears to be less the transformation of class relations and more the rectification of a malfunctioning market, albeit for the benefit of society rather than private capital. It is, then, the nature, emergence and (prospective) evolution of state capitalism or, more accurately, as Taylor is careful to specify, varieties of state capitalism as part of a changing ‘global development landscape’ which constitute his main focus. Significantly, Taylor cautions against any misplaced celebration of the ‘actual end of neoliberalism’, noting that ‘the state capitalist emerging economies are structurally integrated into the ongoing world order under the hegemony of neoliberal capitalism’; and, somewhat disappointingly if not entirely surprisingly, ‘do not represent a different or alternative order, other than one where these arrivistes are incorporated as notional equals’. Thus, while mineral-rich states which have adopted state capitalism have benefited from accelerated rates of capital accumulation, the paper notes, the benefits of such windfall earnings have not been extended to the poor, who remain marginalised and disenfranchised. Nor, suggests Taylor, citing Amin (1974) and Selwyn (2009) for support, could it be any different, given that the state capitalist models in question aim to stabilise capitalism rather than function as tools for the democratic socialisation of economies.
But then, as Taylor himself reminds us, courtesy of David Harvey, neoliberalism is best seen as a class project. And, arguably, nowhere more so than in its denigration of the state and vilification of state capitalism in a concerted attempt to delegitimise the former in the eyes of its public(s), while impugning the latter's credibility in its attempt to ‘buck’ the market in the interests of society. Thus, his conclusion is not only that state capitalism is both a class project which benefits favoured fractions through targeted interventions and therefore a continuation from the past; but also that neoliberal opposition to state capitalism conveniently forgets the indispensable role which state intervention has historically played in processes of incorporation and continues to play in neoliberal globalisation. Taylor returns us, we think, arguably fractionally more by the tone than the content of his contribution, to the idea of the political purpose of publishing (in) ROAPE.
Several of Taylor's preoccupations – capital's incessant search for profit; the marginalisation and disenfranchisement associated with this quest in both new and old areas of profitability; and governance of development – are also at the heart of Markus Hoehne's analysis of recent conflict in northern Somalia's Galgala mountain region, an area of geographical and political marginalisation on the borderlands between Somaliland and Puntland, inhabited by the Warsangeli clan. Hoehne provides a detailed historical background to, as well as a careful explication of the recent character and changing nature and direction of the conflict. He locates these squarely in the spread of capitalist exploitation and disagreements over control of access to and, ultimately, distribution of spoils. The system of ‘development patrimonialism’ (see Gabay, this issue) that he describes operates within a wider context of ‘moderate’ development support from both Warsangeli diasporan and NGO sources; little direct local state investment in either infrastructure or people; and widespread destitution (especially among youth) linked partly to limited livelihood opportunities and partly, too, to the disruptive effects of counter-insurgency measures by the state and its international allies on already stretched livelihoods. In essence, he suggests, the conflict represents the outcome of the limited reach of a central(ising) state tendency interacting with elite accommodation and popular resistance at a variety of structural levels and geographical scales. And, while intensifying Islamist insurgency and counter-insurgency responses have become important components of what remain essentially local/regional (resource) conflicts, they are exacerbating rather than causal in nature. Consequently, Hoehne concludes, ‘[a]ny sustainable solution to the conflict must take the legitimate claims of the Warsangeli about the protection of their land and their resources into account. The anti-terrorism discourse is likely to inhibit the understanding of the issues at stake.’ What Markus Hoehne offers us is a contribution which is not only informed and informative, but also justifiably (albeit not unduly) critical. There is here, then, as in Taylor's contribution, evidence of both the theme of continuity-in-change (‘The conflict over land goes back to pre-colonial time’) and of activism-in-(con)text. (‘Like in other contexts, counter-terrorism measures worsened the situation and contributed to the creation of more terrorism.’)
Furthermore, in his passing mention of both NGOs in development governance and NGO operatives in the seeming facilitation of capitalist penetration of the borderlands, Hoehne helpfully anticipates the more sustained examination of civil society activism undertaken by another of the contributors to this issue of ROAPE.
In the article in question, Clive Gabay explores Joyce Banda's presidency in Malawi, particularly the concurrent processes of her rise to power in March 2012 and associated civil society activism, ‘which have defined Malawi's supposed [recent] political transition’. In order to account for ‘the promise and expectations’ of the (early) Banda years, Gabay explains that the government was a beneficiary regime in two senses: first, of widespread discontent over ‘internationally prescribed neoliberal policy prescriptions (which prioritise[d] GDP growth over other developmental indicators)’; and, second, of popular protest at the ‘elite-enriching’ activities of a well-entrenched ‘developmental patrimonialism’, which had failed dismally to improve the material circumstances of the majority. Unfortunately, as Ian Taylor noted in relation to the emergence of state capitalism in Africa, little in the way of ‘[a]ctual structural change in terms of governance or developmental policies’ has transpired. Indeed, this sense of continuity has been so overwhelming, Gabay suggests, that not only did March 2012 fail to herald a political ‘transition’, but the period since has seen Banda arguably ‘caught in an inexorable structure of political and business elite-produced patrimonialism in which she has no choice but to participate’.
Significantly, however, it is in the unremitting hardship associated with everyday life for ordinary Malawians, and ongoing popular protest at the sharply increased cost of living, that Gabay sees greatest evidence of business-as-usual. And it is here, too, where the past is so clearly manifest in the present, that like both Taylor and Hoehne, Gabay's contribution adopts a clear tone of textual activism. This is particularly noticeable in relation to what he describes as ‘the international political economy of civil society activism’ (emphasis in original). Here, Gabay argues that the rise to prominence of (a diverse and differentiated) civil society is best understood as part of wider political economic processes of ‘tinkering with the model of neoliberal development’; demonstrates that it is heavily implicated in the seemingly inconsistent and/or contradictory nature of civil society organisation (CSO) activism; and concludes by insinuating that CSO activism appears to be most pronounced when regime interventions ‘undermine’ state–market relations and, in the process, ‘threaten international policy prescriptions ’. For him, then, the nature and dynamics of CSO activity/activism have been, and remain, integral to ‘the continuities of the neo-patrimonial, para-statal and limitational characteristics which have driven Malawian politics and state–civil society relations in the postcolonial, and especially post-1994 period’ (emphasis added).
International political economy, non-state activity and heritage (or patrimony) are also at the heart of Carol Thompson's analysis of philanthrocapitalism, which she sees as operating in the ‘interstices between the public and the private’. But while Gabay cautions against ‘overstat[ing] the degree to which Malawian CSOs are in hock to donor imaginations’, Thompson is forthrightly robust in her description of philanthrocapitalism as ‘distinguished by the goal of remaking the public sphere into its own image ’. The latter is, argues Thompson, an image in which social relationships are quantified; business practices and techniques normalised; corporate assessment methods and evaluation measures ‘mainstreamed’; and all-round transparency reduced. Her account of philanthrocapitalism's emergence and rise to prominence, and incessant pursuit of increased revenue, looks to what David Harvey (2006) has described as the ‘neoliberal turn’ as the main explanation. Indeed, Thompson sees the deliberate hollowing out of the state, acting in tandem with the planned deregulation of capital movement/mobility, as ultimately creating conditions favourable to the concurrent processes of ‘privatisation’ of Africa's biodiversity and ‘globalisation’ of its agriculture. She is thus interested to highlight the systemic nature of the processes by which Africa's genetic wealth – including traditional ecological knowledge (TEK) – is being appropriated, and which operate at a variety of scales and involve a diverse network of public and private interests. And, for illustration, offers a close and radical reading of philanthrocapitalism in African agriculture, with a focus on the Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa (AGRA) and food production.
But if the structure and dynamics of philanthrocapitalism help to explain why biopiracy is occurring, that still leaves the task of clarifying exactly how actual genetic appropriation and associated agricultural transformation are taking place. Here, Thompson deploys, to good effect, insights from the literature on accumulation by dispossession in describing how ‘AGRA partners have “dispossessed” … African farmers of revenue from commercialisation and, further, of use of … newly bred genetic strain’; and how they do so by rejecting the reciprocity of access and benefit sharing (ABS) principle and associated practices, and refusing to acknowledge sources of (and residual interests in) collected plant material. Indeed, she speaks of ‘double accumulation by dispossession’ to describe such biopiracy; decries what she sees as the AGRA-inspired goal of transforming smallholder food crop farming (‘a way of life’) into a technological and business ‘transaction’; and notes approvingly, in concluding, the organised objections of African governments and CSOs to the ‘multiple and serious incursions into … public seed sectors and … agricultural initiatives, by the philanthrocapitalist project of the Gates Foundation's AGRA’. A useful reminder, then, that what Bill Gates has described elsewhere as ‘creative capitalism’, like other forms of neoliberal globalisation, both produces uneven outcomes and frequently provokes resistance. But, as with all the other contributors thus far, Thompson's intention is only partly to clarify and inform – the historical, encyclopaedic and near-forensic touches in her contribution notwithstanding. It is also, and just as importantly, to lobby in support of popular and other forms of resistance to ‘replacing public agricultural sectors with private business practices and control’. And here, she too subscribes to the ROAPE tradition of textual advocacy and/or activism (cf. Thompson 2012).
The closely related themes of agrarian change and agricultural transformation link Thompson to the next two contributors, James and Boamah, who both address the issue of ‘land grab’, although they highlight different aspects of land dis- and re-possession. Gareth James is interested to examine the causes and outcomes of the Fast Track Land Reform Programme (FTLRP) in Zimbabwe, while Festus Boamah seeks to analyse the role of traditional institutions of chieftaincy in the expropriation of land for large-scale capitalist biofuel investment in Ghana. It is thus important, on the one hand, to know who the beneficiaries of land occupation and reform in Zimbabwe are; and, on the other, to both identify the motivations behind the intervention of traditional authority in land transactions, and determine the socio-economic and other consequences, for different social classes of rural Ghanaians, of such intervention. Not surprisingly, both contributors are as interested in materialist and symbolic meanings of land, and their links to social identity, including class, as they are in evoking neoliberal adjustment and globalisation in explaining recent and longer-term land relations, and in highlighting the potential of state-sponsored and capitalist intervention in land, for transforming agrarian structure and altering production relations. Land, just like the seeds which Carol Thompson writes about, ‘provides roots’ in a multiplicity of ways (cf. Bujra, Bush and Littlejohn 2011).
However, as James notes, the FTLRP ‘significantly altered the agrarian structure of Zimbabwe, largely replacing the predominantly white-owned large-scale commercial farming sector with a broader-base of small-scale (A1) and medium to large-scale (A2) farms ’. In contrast, Boamah suggests that, despite a national context of agribusiness investment dominated by jatropha cultivation for liquid biofuel production in Ghana, ‘[t]he involvement of state institutions in land allocations now merely takes the form of confirmation and registration of the agreements between chiefs and investors.’ Consequently, the impact of active chiefly participation in large-scale land transactions has been most keenly felt at the local level, where chiefs appear to be re-establishing their (‘traditional’ and historical) authority over land (and therefore labour), often to the detriment of (particularly ‘non-compliant’) migrant and other marginal groups, and sometimes in collaboration (even ‘joint venture agreements’) with agribusiness investors. In one case as in the other, popular and other forms of resistance led by CBOs and supported by NGOs are shown to constitute an integral part of an unfolding story. Indeed, as James makes clear, it was the intensification and spread of land occupations throughout Zimbabwe which ‘forc[ed] the government to implement the Fast Track Land Reform Programme’. And in one of the two projects studied in Ghana, ‘community-based activist groups … made public demonstrations to contest perceived numerous non-transparent land deals. Agitation among the residents reached a peak with the petition submitted to the King of Asante to oust the paramount chief … in order to secure their land and “local citizenship” identity.’ These were successful in forcing the renegotiation of a lease agreement, and subsequent payment of compensation, on more favourable terms, even if they have had little success thus far in halting the advance of capitalist farming in the area, including its adherence to the tenet of farming-as-business and the substitutability of crops as mere commodities. The latter are, of course, tendencies which are decried in Thompson's contribution.
In the final article, William Martin and Brendan McQuade show, in fascinating and worrying detail, the gradual but seemingly steady ‘appropriation’ of African Studies for increasingly non-academic (and ethically questionable) ends and means. They highlight how academic opposition in the USA to funding of research and teaching on Africa by military and intelligence agencies has increasingly been circumvented over the last 25 years. This process underwent a step change in 1991 with the National Security Education Act (NSEP) and accelerated after 9/11. It has speeded up further since 2008. The combination of NSEP funding within universities and the growth of parallel institutions within the defence and intelligence sector in the USA has meant that the principled stance taken by the African Studies Association and the Association of African Studies Programs has been both undermined and circumvented.
Straightforward US Federal funding has declined while the alternative funding streams have burgeoned. This is reflected in the research topics and training programmes dealing with Africa (as far as can be ascertained, despite efforts using the Freedom of Information Act). These are developments which, as Martin and McQuade conclude, hardly augur well for the discipline of African Studies in the USA which faces a distinctly uncertain future. Indeed, it is not only that American Africanists ‘face the prospect of the study of Africa bypassing the vibrant, open, and often highly contested discussions among students and scholars of Africa, and the reduction of much research to narrow problem-solving work driven by military and intelligence values and procedures’. It is also, and just as importantly, that ‘there are few popular forces as yet to counter the declining funding of African Studies programs as higher education is increasingly privatised and administrators increasingly turn to private and shrinking federal funding dollars.’ There are, then, profound implications for academic freedom, publicly accountable research activity, research ethics and, possibly, for the safety of US researchers in Africa. Nor are these concerns restricted to the USA, for similar phenomena on a smaller scale can be detected in the UK, with the growing ‘corporatisation’ of universities (and commodification of intellectual activity more generally) here too – something which ROAPE continues to monitor, document and contest (see, for example, our statement on Open Access publishing, http://www.roape.org/).
Martin and McQuade provide confirmation of ROAPE's reputation for textual advocacy in choosing the journal as outlet for their article. However, this is almost certainly not merely fortuitous, for ROAPE collaborates closely with the Association of Concerned Africa Scholars (ACAS), one of the Africanist organisations with a reputation for opposing the linkages described in the article. Yet the paper also represents an important contribution to the literature on the nature of the state and power in the context of capitalist globalisation in its own right – one, moreover, which attends to both change and continuity. These are, of course, characteristics which speak to the two unifying themes of Issue 141 identified earlier in this editorial, as well as acting as a reminder of ROAPE's history of solidarity and activism in opposition to exploitation, inequality and oppression (cf. Mohan and Campbell 1998).