global south
She Who Struggles: Revolutionary Women Who Shaped the World – review
In She Who Struggles, Marral Shamshiri and Sorcha Thomson compile a selection of essays about women’s (often overlooked) contributions to revolutionary causes around the world, with particular focus on the Global South. According to Lydia Hiraide, the book is an accessible and stimulating read exploring the role of women and feminist thought in building transnational and anti-colonial and social movements.
As the title of Marral Shamshiri and Sorcha Thomson’s edited collection affirms, revolutionary women have shaped our world in various ways. This collection of thirteen chapters pays homage to the militant efforts of women revolutionaries whose efforts are often underacknowledged in the dominant narratives of historical and contemporary revolutionary movements. Each chapter is dedicated to one or more women and/or the movements in which they participated, providing space for their stories to be told and for scholars, activists, and students to learn from them.
Each chapter illuminates an example of radical grassroots politics with a fiery militant edge, focusing particularly on the Global South.
This book strikes a tone which departs from the various forms of ‘Lean In’ liberal feminisms, which remain common across the Global North. Each chapter illuminates an example of radical grassroots politics with a fiery militant edge, focusing particularly on the Global South. The movements and histories that the contributors celebrate highlight women’s leadership and deep personal sacrifice in revolutionary movements, paying tribute to women who have lost their lives and loved ones in the struggle for liberation. Maurice J. Casey’s chapter focuses on Mary Mooney, a working-class Irish woman whose campaign for the liberation of political prisoners sprang from the imprisonment of her son, trade unionist Tom Mooney. What started as a personal experience of state violence for Mooney grew into a transnational campaign across the African and Irish diaspora, joining up with the campaigners and mothers of the Scottsboro boys. These stories remind us that the personal losses of women can spur the genesis of transnational solidarity.
In relation to violence, women are not only its victims; they have also been its agents.
But, in relation to violence, women are not only its victims; they have also been its agents. Jeremy Randall’s chapter on Japanese communist Shigenobu Fusako and the Japanese Red Army (JRA) invites us to reflect on women’s capacity for violence in revolutionary settings. Shigenobu, who started out as a student activist, was militant in her commitment to the liberation of all peoples – and particularly, the people of Palestine. She and the JRA in fact relocated to Palestine as a key site from which to foment revolution, in collaboration with organisations such as the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Under Shigenobu’s leadership, the JRA exploited “violence as a revolutionary tactic” (83). This is, of course, an approach which invites fundamental questions around the legitimacy of violence in the face of violence. Scholarship on the lives and work of figures like Shigenobu Fusako thus grapple with some of the key problematics at the heart of revolutionary political thought and practice. Such is the essence of the burning questions raised by other thinkers and activists, like Frantz Fanon, whose work and life addressed such themes in the context of colonial Algeria.
Chapters explore, for example, the active solidarity of figures like Madame Bình and Madame Nhu in Vietnam, Palestine and Iran as well as Shigenobu Fusako and the JRA across North Korea, Palestine, and Japan. These women’s histories remain startlingly relevant in today’s world
Though each chapter focuses on a different woman or women in their respective geographical and temporal contexts, several clear themes emerge throughout the book. Firstly, the exploration of women revolutionaries, past and present, affirms the central, rather than tangential, importance of women’s politics to nurturing and developing a revolutionary Left politics. Secondly, the book speaks back to dominant narratives which erase the names of women revolutionaries. More than recognising the role of women in general in revolutionary struggle, it names specific women and recounts their contributions. By doing so, it reminds us that these women were “all autonomous people with histories, feelings, dreams, desires and families” (152), while taking their work as serious sites from which to generate political thought and emancipatory action. Thirdly, a striking majority of the chapters emphasise the power of radical transnationalism in the revolutionary efforts of women worldwide. Chapters explore, for example, the active solidarity of figures like Madame Bình and Madame Nhu in Vietnam, Palestine and Iran as well as Shigenobu Fusako and the JRA across North Korea, Palestine, and Japan. These women’s histories remain startlingly relevant in today’s world, as we witness the unfolding of tragedy, resistance and waves of solidarity with Palestinian struggles, many led by women. In this regard, Jehan Helou’s chapter, “TESTIMONY: The Power of Women’s International Solidarity with the Palestinian Revolution” demands the recognition of women’s efforts as an important force in the struggle for Palestinian liberation.
Additionally, the book offers an interesting and welcome engagement with the arts as an important medium of resistance, in particular, poetry. The chapter by Marral Shamshiri offers an articulate exploration of Marzieh Ahmadi Osku’i’s poetry across the contexts of Iran, Afghanistan and India. Shamshiri examines poetry’s permanence in the context of life’s precarity and impermanence: the words of women poets live on in revolution, even when they themselves do not. This chapter is one of several that reminds us that “[f]or women, poetry is not a luxury,” but rather, “a vital necessity for our existence” and resistance. Kebotlhale Motseothata’s chapter “Lindiwe Mabuza: Culture as a Weapon of Resistance in South Africa” likewise deals with poetry and the arts as crucial instruments used in the struggle against Apartheid. Motseothata affirms the creative, visionary ways in which women have articulated the pain, struggle, and politics they face in living and resisting the intersections of racial capitalism and patriarchy.
This important book undertakes the vital work of recording and examining the contributions of women revolutionaries, whose stories are too often obscured in the mainstream imaginary
Overall, this is an exciting, informative and timely book. The chapters are relatively short and self-contained, making them ideal materials to assign in politics or history courses exploring ideas around revolution, feminism, anti-colonialism and transnational social movement organising. They are written clearly and dynamically, allowing complex themes and histories to be explored in an intellectually stimulating and accessible way. This important book undertakes the vital work of recording and examining the contributions of women revolutionaries, whose stories are too often obscured in the mainstream imaginary.
Note: This review gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image credit: thomas koch on Shutterstock
A Tale of Two Genocides: Namibia’s Stand Against Israeli Aggression
The distance between Gaza and Namibia is measured in the thousands of kilometers. But the historical distance is much closer. This is precisely why Namibia was one of the first countries to take a strong stance against the Israeli genocide in Gaza.
Namibia was colonized by the Germans in 1884, while the British colonized Palestine in the 1920s, handing the territory to the Zionist colonizers in 1948.
Though the ethnic and religious fabric of Palestine and Namibia differ, the historical experiences are similar.
It is easy, however, to assume that the history that unifies many countries in the Global South is only that of Western exploitation and victimization. It is also a history of collective struggle and resistance.
Namibia has been inhabited since prehistoric times. This long-rooted history has allowed Namibians, over thousands of years, to establish a sense of belonging to the land and to one another, something that the Germans did not understand or appreciate.
When the Germans colonized Namibia, giving it the name of ‘German Southwest Africa,’’ they did what all other Western colonialists have done, from Palestine to South Africa to Algeria, to virtually all Global South countries. They attempted to divide the people, exploited their resources and butchered those who resisted.
Although a country with a small population, Namibians resisted their colonizers, resulting in the German decision to simply exterminate the natives, literally killing the majority of the population.
Since the start of the Israeli genocide in Gaza, Namibia answered the call of solidarity with the Palestinians, along with many African and South American countries, including Colombia, Nicaragua, Cuba, South Africa, Brazil, China and many others.
Namibia rejects Germany’s Support of the Genocidal Intent of the Racist Israeli State against Innocent Civilians in Gaza
On Namibian soil, #Germany committed the first genocide of the 20th century in 1904-1908, in which tens of thousands of innocent Namibians died in the most… pic.twitter.com/ZxwWxLv8yt
— Namibian Presidency (@NamPresidency) January 13, 2024
Though intersectionality is a much-celebrated notion in Western academia, no academic theory is needed for oppressed, colonized nations in the Global South to exhibit solidarity with one another.
So when Namibia took a strong stance against Israel’s largest military supporter in Europe – Germany – it did so based on Namibia’s total awareness of its history.
The German genocide of the Nama and Herero people (1904-1907) is known as the “first genocide of the 20th century”. The ongoing Israeli genocide in Gaza is the first genocide of the 21st century. The unity between Palestine and Namibia is now cemented through mutual suffering.
However, Namibia did not launch a legal case against Germany at the International Court of Justice (ICJ); it was Nicaragua, a Central American country thousands of miles away from Palestine and Namibia.
The Nicaraguan case accuses Germany of violating the ‘Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.’ It rightly sees Germany as a partner in the ongoing genocide of the Palestinians.
This accusation alone should terrify the German people, in fact, the whole world, as Germany has been affiliated with genocides from its early days as a colonial power. The horrific crime of the Holocaust and other mass killings carried out by the German government against Jews and other minority groups in Europe during WWII is a continuation of other German crimes committed against Africans decades earlier.
The typical analysis of why Germany continues to support Israel is explained based on German guilt over the Holocaust. This explanation, however, is partly illogical and partly erroneous.
It is illogical because if Germany has, indeed, internalized any guilt from its previous mass killings, it would make no sense for Berlin to add yet more guilt by allowing Palestinians to be butchered en masse. If guilt indeed exists, it is not genuine. It is erroneous because it completely overlooks the German genocide in Namibia. It took the German government until 2021 to acknowledge the horrific butchery in that poor African country, ultimately agreeing to pay merely one billion euros in ‘community aid,’ which will be allocated over three decades.
The German government’s support of the Israeli war on Gaza is not motivated by guilt but by a power paradigm that governs the relations among colonial countries. Many countries in the Global South understand this logic very well, thus the growing solidarity with Palestine.
A photo titled “Captured Hereros,” taken circa 1904 by German colonists in Namibia. Photo | German Historical Museum
The Israeli brutality in Gaza, but also the Palestinian sumud, resilience and resistance, are inspiring the Global South to reclaim its centrality in anti-colonial liberation struggles.
The revolution in the Global South’s outlook—culminating in South Africa’s case at the ICJ and the Nicaraguan lawsuit against Germany—indicates that change is not the outcome of a collective emotional reaction. Instead, it is part and parcel of the shifting relationship between the Global South and the Global North.
Africa has been undergoing a process of geopolitical restructuring for years. The anti-French rebellions in West Africa, demanding true independence from the continent’s former colonial masters, and the intense geopolitical competition involving Russia, China and others are all signs of changing times. And with this rapid rearrangement, a new political discourse and popular rhetoric are emerging, often expressed in the revolutionary language emanating from Niger, Burkina Faso, Mali and others.
But the shift is not happening only on the rhetorical front. The rise of BRICS as a powerful new platform for economic integration between Asia and the rest of the Global South has opened up the possibility of alternatives to Western financial and political institutions.
In 2023, it was revealed that BRICS countries hold 32 percent of the world’s total GDP, compared to 30 percent held by the G7 countries. This has much political value, as four of the five original founders of BRICS are strong and unapologetic supporters of the Palestinians.
While South Africa has been championing the legal front against Israel, Russia and China are battling the US at the UN Security Council to institute a ceasefire. Beijing’s Ambassador to The Hague defended the Palestinian armed struggle as legitimate under international law.
Now that global dynamics are working in favor of Palestinians, it is time for the Palestinian struggle to return to the embrace of the Global South, where shared histories will always serve as a foundation for meaningful solidarity.
Feature photo | Hon. Yvonne Dausab, Minister of Justice of Namibia, joined representatives of over 50 nations in presenting testimony to the International Court of Justice on the legality of the Israeli occupation. Photo | International Court of Justice
Dr. Ramzy Baroud is a journalist, author and the Editor of The Palestine Chronicle. He is the author of six books. His latest book, co-edited with Ilan Pappé, is ‘Our Vision for Liberation: Engaged Palestinian Leaders and Intellectuals Speak Out.’ His other books include ‘My Father Was a Freedom Fighter’ and ‘The Last Earth.’ Baroud is a Non-resident Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Islam and Global Affairs (CIGA). His website is www.ramzybaroud.net
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Experiences of Menstruation from the Global South and North – review
In Experiences of Menstruation from the Global South and North, Kay Standing, Sara Parker and Stefanie Lotter compile multidisciplinary perspectives examining experiences of and education around menstruation in different parts of the world. Spanning academic research, activism and poetry, this thought-provoking volume advocates for inclusive approaches that encompass the diverse geographical, social, cultural, gender- and age-related subjectivities of menstruators worldwide, writes Udita Bose.
As Bobel writes in the foreword to Experiences of Menstruation from the Global South and North, “Menstruation is simultaneously everywhere and nowhere” (xvii). The book attempts to create dialogues between the Global North and Global South, recognising that menstrual experiences are a global issue, but the stigma, shame, and secrecy surrounding menstruation, make it difficult to address the various problems associated with menstruation.
The book criticises how discourse about menstruation in the Global South is characterised by the development approach produced by the Global North.
The book criticises how discourse about menstruation in the Global South is characterised by the development approach produced by the Global North. In the introduction, Lotter et al argue that development approaches adopted in the Global South focusing on “alleviating poverty and working towards gender equality and improvement of living conditions” (10) have reinforced stigma associated with menstruation. This occurs because such development approaches centre the supply and demand of menstrual products, which, according to Garikipati in Chapter Seven, promotes the concealment of menstruation through the use of menstrual products (105). Lotter et a argue that a decolonial approach will help to acknowledge that countries in the Global South have made “trailblazing developments” (11) in destigmatising menstruation and tackling period poverty: Kenya ended the taxation of menstrual products long before Canada, in 2004 (11). The editors thus call for the Global North to learn from the Global South and promote a collaborative global approach when discussing menstrual experiences.
The book identifies how a lack of scientific knowledge and information about menstruation exacerbates the stigmatising of sociocultural experiences associated with it
The collaborative approach is evident in how the chapters in the collection have been organised and linked. For instance, the book identifies how a lack of scientific knowledge and information about menstruation exacerbates the stigmatising of sociocultural experiences associated with it, in the Global North and the Global South. King (Chapter Three) discusses at length how “physiology textbooks” recommended for medical students in the UK do not explain that even though menstruation is a prerequisite for conception and pregnancy, they do not inevitably follow from menstruation (24). Such emphasis on the alleged “purpose” of the menstruating body obscures the reality of the experience for women and girls. The pain, discomfort and blood loss that regularly accompany menstruation is minimised, hindering girls’ and women’s ability to respond to and understand their own bodies. This resonates with Amini’s research in Iran (Chapter 12). Amini demonstrates how most girls in Iran respond to menarche thinking that they have either lost their virginity or have a bad illness (165). These chapters show how the experience of the biological process of menstruation is conditioned by the cultural meaning it gains in a context.
Research [in Nepal] found that intersecting factors like caste, religious ideologies and ethnicity determine whether a teacher can discuss menstruation in school.
Amini’s research connects to that of Parker et al (Chapter Four) which, based in Nepal, reiterates the importance of imparting knowledge about menstruation and placing it in its sociocultural context. Their research found that intersecting factors like caste, religious ideologies and ethnicity determine whether a teacher can discuss menstruation in school. In this chapter and in the research project Dignity Without Danger – a research project launched in 2021 by Subedi and Parker developing and gathering educational resources on menstruation in Nepal (2021) – research participants noted that they were left to study the topic of menstruation on their own (38). The contextualisation of menstrual knowledge also frames the work by Garikipati (Chapter Seven) who focuses her research on menstrual products in the Indian context (103). Along with criticising the profit-driven global market, she emphasises the need to focus on sustainable development. Garikipati advocates for solutions that are tailored appropriately to the individual context (105).
The discussions on contextualising knowledge production about menstruation by researchers in diverse sociocultural and physical contexts underline the need for inclusivity. Inclusion is discussed in relation to several dimensions of menstrual knowledge production. Various researchers have captured menstrual experiences in the everyday context of the workplace (Fry et al, Chapter Eight), the school (Parker et al, Chapter Four; King, Chapter Three), the community (Garikipati, chapter Seven; Quint, Chapter Five; Macleod, Chapter 13) and the home (Amini, Chapter 12). In every setting, it is the menstruating body whose agency takes centre stage. This is enabled through the diverse and creative research methods employed by the researchers to explore menstrual experiences. For instance, Macleod (Chapter 13) had menstruating girls shoot films to narrate their menstrual experiences and held informal sessions in the schools in Gombe and Buwenge in Uganda to watch the films (190). This resonates with Lessie’s (Chapter Two) multi-sectoral approach to addressing menstruation and menstrual health. As Letsie underscores, the right to information and the right to health are basic human rights. Menstrual health is therefore a human rights issue, and its inclusion in health and development policies and programmes should be prioritised.
The book encompasses menstruating bodies at different stages of life, be it menarche or menopause
The book encompasses menstruating bodies at different stages of life, be it menarche or menopause (Weiss et al, Chapter 10), and menstruating bodies that are disabled (Basnet et al, Chapter Nine). The concluding pages of the book discuss the future prospects of research on menstruation. In doing so, Standing et al highlight the need for more research on “menstruators at margins” (230), for example, menstruators in prisons and detention centres, in humanitarian settings, sex workers, and those with disabilities. Thomson’s (Chapter 11) poem calls for normalising menstruation irrespective of gender and menopause irrespective of age, describing voluntary menopause at a young age to convert from being a female to a male (“because when I was a little girl, I knew I wasn’t…I just thank God that me and my Mother’s menopause didn’t align” 156-157). The poem echoes Lotter et al’s observation in the introduction that “not all women have periods and not all people who menstruate are women” (7). More than seeing menstruation through a lens of gender, it needs to be seen as “an issue of equity and justice” (7).
In this way, the book thus comes full circle in attempting to locate the menstruating body at the epicentre of the school and integrate all other sectors of society (family, community, policy development) into the production of knowledge on menstruation. The amplification of the need for inclusivity is particularly valuable, recognising the differences between menstrual experiences in the Global North and the Global South and challenging the gender binary, as captured in Thomson’s poetry. It is a thought-provoking volume which exposes the reader to the geographical, social, cultural, gender- and age-related subjectivities in which menstruation is experienced, examined through a variety of epistemological approaches. The book thus sets the ball rolling for further advancement of knowledge production around menstrual experiences in all their diversity.
Note: This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image credit: PINGO’s Forum on Flickr.
The New Silk Road
Despite initial optimism, the Chinese-financed Kenyan Standard Gauge Railway project's uneven distribution of benefits and unintended consequences unveil a complex interplay between global ambitions, local politics, and community dynamics in the Belt and Road Initiative....
Foreign Aid and Its Unintended Consequences – review
In Foreign Aid and Its Unintended Consequences, Dirk-Jan Koch examines the unintended effects of development efforts, covering issues such as conflicts, migration, inequality and environmental degradation. Ruerd Ruben finds the book an original and detailed analysis that can help development policymakers and practitioners to better anticipate these consequences and build adaptive programmes.
Foreign Aid and Its Unintended Consequences. Dirk-Jan Koch. Routledge. 2023.
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Dirk-Jan Koch’s Foreign Aid and its Unintended Consequences offers a rich discussion on the unintended consequences of development efforts, including effects on conflicts, migration and inequality and changes in commodity prices, human behaviour, institutions and environmental degradation. The book explains how different perceptions of donors and recipients lead to quite opposite strategies (eg, for managing the Haiti earthquake), whereas in other settings aid programmes can even intensify local conflicts or spur deforestation.
Koch devotes due attention to the aggregate impact of development activities through so-called backlash effects, negative spillovers and positive ripple effects.
Koch devotes due attention to the aggregate impact of development activities through so-called backlash effects, negative spillovers and positive ripple effects. Many of these effects also occur in Western countries, where they are commonly labelled as crowding-in and -out, linkages and leakages, and substitution effects. Each chapter includes real-life examples (mostly cases from sub-Saharan Africa), ranging from due diligence legislation on conflict minerals in DR Congo to the experiences of the author’s parents with the Fairtrade shop in the tiny Dutch village of Achterveld.
Koch consistently argues that the analysis of unintended effects is helpful to unravel the complexities of development cooperation and enables better identification of incentives that allow for more adaptive planning. This is a welcome contribution, since it provides a common language for better communication between development agents.
Everyone involved in development programmes is invited by this book to reflect on their own experiences with unintended consequences. I still remember the shock when an external review of a large integrated rural development programme in Southern Nicaragua revealed that most funds were spent at the local gasoline station and car repair workshop for maintenance of the project vehicles. My original enthusiasm for Fairtrade certification of coffee and cocoa cooperatives was substantially reduced when I became aware that price support enabled farmers to maintain their income with less production and therefore increased inequality within rural communities.
Koch consistently shows that it is important and possible to disentangle each of these possible or likely side effects and to act to combat them.
The systematic overview of unintended consequences of foreign aid gives an initial impression that development cooperation is a system beyond repair. This is, however, far from the truth. Koch consistently shows that it is important and possible to disentangle each of these possible or likely side effects and to act to combat them. That requires an open mind and thorough knowledge of responses by different types of agents and institutions.
The analysis falls short, however, in showing that several types of unintended consequences are likely to interact (such as price and marginalisation effects, or conflict and migration effects). Other consequences may partially overlap or perhaps compensate for each other. Moreover, there is likely to be a certain ”hierarchy” in the underlying mechanisms, where behavioural effects, governance effects and price effects crowd out several other consequences. In addition, a further analysis of the development context and the influence of norms and values might be helpful to better understand why certain effects occur, or not.
There is likely to be a certain ‘hierarchy’ in the underlying mechanisms, where behavioural effects, governance effects and price effects crowd out several other consequences
Koch argues that unintended consequences are frequently overlooked due to “linear thinking” in international development. He probably refers to the dominance of logical frameworks in traditional development planning and the recent requirement for presenting a Theory of Change with different impact pathways for development programmes. Since links and feedback loops between activities are already widely acknowledged, Koch seems to merge “linearity” with “causality”. For responsible development policies and programmes, we need better insight into the cause-effect relationship, recognising that differentiated outcomes may occur and that side effects are likely to be registered.
The absence of linear response mechanisms has been part of development thinking since its foundation by development economist and Nobel-prize winner Jan Tinbergen. His work (and my PhD thesis) heavily relied on linear programming, which is still considered as an extremely useful approach for showing that an intervention can generate multiple outcomes and that policymakers need some insights into alternative scenarios before they start to act. Impact analysis through different (quantitative and qualitative) methods digs deeper into the adaptive behaviour of development agents in response to a wide variety of incentives (ranging from financial support and legal rules to knowledge diffusion and information exchange). Our attention should be focused on understanding how non-linearity as occasioned by the involvement of multiple agents with different interests (and power) in development programmes leads to multiple – and sometimes opposing – outcomes from interventions.
Our attention should be focused on understanding how non-linearity […] in development programmes leads to multiple – and sometimes opposing – outcomes from interventions.
Koch’s analysis is based on a wide variety of case studies and testimonies, enriched with secondary research on the gender effects of microfinance, the occurrence of exchange rate disturbances (Dutch Disease), and the effectiveness of incentives to encourage natural resource conservation (Payments for Ecosystem Services). In a few cases, it makes use of more systematic impact reviews made by the International Initiative for Impact Evaluation (3ie) and Campbell Collaboration. Information about the size and relative importance of the unintended consequences is notably absent.
The reliance on illustrative case studies and dense description challenges the academic rigor of the book. It may hinder our understanding about the underlying causes and mechanisms behind these effects: are they generated by the development intervention themselves, or are they due to the context in which the programme is implemented, or the types of stakeholders involved in its implementation? A more comparative approach could be helpful to better understand, for instance, why microfinance was accompanied by an increase in domestic violence in certain parts of India, but not in others. Comparing different ways of designing and organising microfinance would provide clearer insights into the causes of variation in outcomes.
Opening up for such an interactive engagement with development activities asks for an institutional re-design of international development cooperation, permitting projects with a substantially longer duration (eight to ten years), closing the gap between policy and practice and accepting a political commitment for learning from mistakes. Moreover, dealing with unintended consequences requires that far more aid is channelled through embassies and local organisations that have direct insights into local possibilities and needs.
Social and community service programmes for basic education and primary healthcare tend to deliver the most tangible positive effects on incomes, nutrition, behaviour, women’s participation and income distribution.
Furthermore, focusing on adaptive planning and learning trajectories may also imply that policy priorities for foreign aid need to change. Social and community service programmes for basic education and primary healthcare tend to deliver the most tangible positive effects on incomes, nutrition, behaviour, women’s participation and income distribution. The development record of programmes for trade promotion is far more doubtful and still heavily relies on (unproven) trickle-down reasoning. Particular attention should be given to budget support and cash transfers as aid modalities with the least strings attached that show a high impact on critical poverty indicators. Contrary to these findings, several years ago the Dutch parliament stopped budget support and eliminated primary education as a key policy priority.
While the author concludes by focusing on the need to act on side effects and further professionalisation of international development programmes, more concrete leverage points could be identified. First, many of the registered effects tend to be related to cross-cutting structural differences in resources and voice, and therefore programmes that start with improving asset ownership and women’s empowerment are likely to yield simultaneous changes in different areas. Second, a stronger focus on systems analysis (beyond complexity theory) can be helpful to identify inherent conflicts and tensions in development programmes that could be the subject of political negotiation. Unravelling potential trade-offs then becomes a key component of development planning. Third, more space could have been devoted to the role of experiments in the practice of development cooperation. Policymakers expect a high level of certainty and face difficulties to become engaged in more adaptive programming. Accepting deliberate risk-taking may be helpful to improve aid effectiveness.
Policymakers expect a high level of certainty and face difficulties to become engaged in more adaptive programming. Accepting deliberate risk-taking may be helpful to improve aid effectiveness.
These reservations aside, Foreign Aid and its Unintended Consequences is a welcome and original contribution to the debate on development effectiveness. Koch offers a systematic conceptual and empirical analysis of ten types of unintended effects from international development activities, and its recommendations on how these effects can be tackled in practice will be useful for policymakers, practitioners and evaluators.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
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Sick and Tired
Attachment to the ideal of resilience only maintains a world which demands it.
When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West – review
In When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West, David Keen considers how powers in the Global North exploit, or even manufacture, disasters in the Global South for political or economic gain. Though taking issue with Keen’s engagement with psychoanalysis, Daniele-Hadi Irandoost finds the book an insightful exploration of the global power dynamics involved in disasters and their far-reaching repercussions.
When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West. David Keen. Polity. 2023.
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In When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West anthropological writer David Keen attempts to show how disasters are exploited for political and economic gain. A disaster, as defined by Keen, is “a serious problem occurring over a short or long period of time that causes widespread human, material, economic or environmental loss”. Keen’s analysis deals with two types of disaster in the Global North. The so-called “sudden” or “dramatic” disasters are caused by stark terrorism (eg, the 9/11 attacks), natural causes (Hurricane Katrina), financial and economic recessions (crash of 2007–8), migration crises (Calais), Covid-19, and the war in Ukraine.
Keen attempts to show how disasters are exploited for political and economic gain.
On the other hand, “extended” or “underlying” disasters derive from long-smouldering conditions of economic disparity (eg, globalisation and inequality), considerable changes in climate (deficiencies in the domestic infrastructure), as well as political fragmentation (erosion of democratic norms, etc).
Colonial historiography assumed that disasters were usually confined to the Global South. Incidentally, in his investigative research in the Global South, especially in Sudan, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Keen discovered that the politics of that world were disposed to deliberately make, manipulate and legitimise “famines, wars and other disasters”. This state of affairs enabled certain beneficiary actors to extract political, military and economic benefits.
In his investigative research in the Global South, especially in Sudan, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Keen discovered that the politics of that world were disposed to deliberately make, manipulate and legitimise famines, wars and other disasters
Here, Keen sounds a note of warning. Democracies provide only a fragile protection against disasters, and for six reasons (according to examples across the globe): disasters might be deemed “acceptable”, vulnerable groups do not always have the “political muscle” to guard against disasters, opportunists may seek to maximise profit through the suffering of certain groups, “elected politicians” may “distort” information about a disaster, democracies “may give false reassurance in terms of the apparent immunity to disaster” (emphasis in original), and, finally, a democracy may itself erode over time.
In theorising disasters, Keen endeavours to advance beyond the traditional distinction between the Global North and the Global South.
In theorising disasters, Keen endeavours to advance beyond the traditional distinction between the Global North and the Global South. His purpose is to show that, in the Western world, disasters have “come home to roost”, that the violence of “far away” countries (“whether in the contemporary era or as part of historical colonialism”) has found its way back into the Global North in the form of “various kinds of blowback”.
These “boomerang effects”, to use Keen’s words, “take a heavy toll on Western politics and society” when they are “incorporated into a renewed politics of intolerance” (“internal colonialism”). In particular, Keen says that, in the Global North, we find there is an increasing drive for security by “allocating additional resources for the military, building walls, and bolstering abusive governments that offer to cooperate in a ‘war on terror’ or in ‘migration control’ – … [which] tend not only to bypass the underlying problems but to exacerbate them” (emphasis in original). Additionally, Keen alleges that the expenses of “security systems” suck “the lifeblood from systems of public health and social security, which in turn feeds back into vulnerability to disaster”.
there is an increasing drive for security […which] tends not only to bypass the underlying problems but to exacerbate them
As Keen sees it, disasters either “hold the potential to awaken us to important underlying problems”, or “keep us in a state of distraction and morbid entertainment”, finding it important to consider their causes rather than their consequences.
Keen draws upon a wide selection of literature, covering authors including Naomi Klein, Mark Duffield, Giorgio Agamben, Ruben Andersson, Amartya Sen and Jean Drèze, as well as Michel Foucault, Susanne Jaspers, Arlie Russell Hochschild, Richard Hofstadter, and Nafeez Ahmed, among others. He pays particular attention to the work of Hannah Arendt. Her 1951 work, The Origins of Totalitarianism is a powerful and permanently valuable account of the way in which politics is framed “as a choice between a ‘lesser evil’ and some allegedly more disastrous alternative”.
[Arendt’s] 1951 work, The Origins of Totalitarianism, is a powerful and permanently valuable account of the way in which politics is framed ‘as a choice between a ‘lesser evil’ and some allegedly more disastrous alternative’.
Keen competently summarises her exposition of “action as propaganda,” upon which reality is prepared to conform to “delusions”. From his point of view, “action as propaganda” is represented by five distinct methods namely, “reproducing the enemy” (war on terror), “creating inhuman conditions” (police attacks in Calais), “blaming the victim” (austerity programmes in Greece), “undermining the idea of human rights” (the growing emphasis on removing citizenship in the UK), and “using success to ‘demonstrate’ righteousness” (Trump’s self-proclaimed powers of prediction).
Keen’s discussion of these strategies to exert control resonates with contemporary politics in the UK. One is reminded of the retrogressive character of Home Secretary Suella Braverman’s article for the Times on 8 November 2023, in the context of the Israel-Hamas war and the Armistice Day, suggesting that pro-Palestine protesters are “hate marchers”, and that the police operate with a “double standard” in the way they handle pro-Palestinian marches. This is, of course, one example of the insidious process of “painting dissent as extremism”.
Nevertheless, Keen’s use of “magical thinking”, or “the belief that particular events are causally connected, despite the absence of any plausible link between them”, is one aspect of his argument that struggles to convince. Keen is persuaded that “magical thinking” links up with a well-developed science of psychoanalysis in accordance with Sigmund Freud’s conception of the magical and how people affected by neurosis may turn away from the world of reality. But the impression given by Keen’s economic or anthropological perspective is that he may have overlooked the complexity of psychoanalysis.
Keen is persuaded that “magical thinking” links up with a well-developed science of psychoanalysis in accordance with Sigmund Freud’s conception of the magical and how people affected by neurosis may turn away from the world of reality
Here, we come to two of the chief problems of what “magical thinking” really means. First, according to Karl S. Rosengren and Jason A. French, magical thinking is “a pejorative label for thinking that differs either from that of educated adults in technologically advanced societies or the majority of society in general”. Second, they found, “it ignores the fact that thinking that appears irrational or illogical to an educated adult may be the result of lack of knowledge or experience in a particular domain or different types of knowledge or experience”. It is necessary, therefore, to understand the writings of Freud as the product of their locus nascendi. That is to say, it is dangerous to politicise the processes of psychology, or, to be more exact, to apply them outside the formalities of therapy.
To conclude, When Disasters Come Home is a book to which all those interested in current affairs, geopolitics and development studies must come sooner or later, abounding in illuminating extrapolations on the ruling and official class’s exploitation (or even manufacture) of disasters.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
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Belly Woman: Birth, Blood and Ebola: The Untold Story – review
In Belly Woman: Birth, Blood and Ebola: The Untold Story, Benjamin Black gives a first-hand account of the 2014 Ebola outbreak in Sierra Leone and the efforts of communities and healthcare workers to save the lives of pregnant women at risk. Black’s gripping exposé indicts the slow and inadequate response by international health agencies and argues for better-resourced healthcare systems, better reproductive healthcare for women and valuing local expertise to prevent future epidemics, writes Susannah Mayhew.
Belly Woman: Birth, Blood and Ebola: The Untold Story. Benjamin Black. Neem Tree Press. 2023.
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Belly Woman: Birth, Blood and Ebola, the Untold Story has the fluidity and compulsion of a novel while providing fascinating insights into frontline action and research on the effects of Ebola on pregnant women and how to protect them. Written by obstetrician gynaecologist and aid advisor Benjamin Black, the book arises from his years spent with Médecins Sans Frontiers (MSF) before, during and after the devastating Ebola outbreak in Sierra Leone between 2014-2016. Structured in three parts, it first takes us through the desperate early months of epidemic response in which healthcare staff charted unknown territory as they managed the “mindboggling” (77) complexities of caring for pregnant women with Ebola. We then return to Sierra Leone a few months later to an improving situation in which Ebola in pregnancy could safely be managed, but local learning was ignored by international responders (who had eventually arrived). Finally, as the epidemic declines, we witness the ongoing post-Ebola tragedy of maternal death.
The book is both a powerful story of how medics of all nationalities strived to save lives against the odds and a deeply personal, sharply political book about the existing inadequacies of women’s reproductive healthcare which were tragically magnified during Ebola.
The book is both a powerful story of how medics of all nationalities strived to save lives against the odds and a deeply personal, sharply political book about the existing inadequacies of women’s reproductive healthcare which were tragically magnified during Ebola. The book swings back and forth in time as Black juxtaposes his London experiences of maternal care, particularly during Covid, with the raw accounts of actions in Sierra Leone. This sets the desperate inadequacies of facilities in Sierra Leone in stark relief against the smooth functioning, highly resourced facilities of the UK. It also highlights, in both situations, the dangerous consequences of arrogance when it drives decision-making by those in positions of political and medical power. The lived experiences of Black’s narrative provide a quietly damning judgement on the world’s response to Ebola and the ubiquitous failure to listen to and learn from those in the frontlines of crisis response – both medics and ordinary citizens.
The lived experiences of Black’s narrative provide a quietly damning judgement on the world’s response to Ebola and the ubiquitous failure to listen to and learn from those in the frontlines of crisis response – both medics and ordinary citizens.
Part one of the book plunges us into the thick of the epidemic as local and international staff struggle to the point of frustrated exhaustion to deal with the pace and scale of an epidemic which “should never have exploded […] It had all happened in slow motion and was totally predictable”, yet the world ignored it – “I felt like we were screaming into a vacuum.” (166). Black gives us rich insight into the extent of grass-roots medical efforts in responding to the disease and gathering hitherto undocumented data on the impact of Ebola on pregnancy. He reveals a world in which “[r]oulette, not medicine, became the order of the day” (40) with staff operating in an ethical “no-man’s land” (65). They faced daily dilemmas: what do you do with a pregnant woman in critical condition who might have Ebola but without immediate obstetrics intervention would not survive the time it took to get the Ebola test-result back? Frontline doctors kept their own notes and shared their own learning, creating some of the first (and only) research on how Ebola affects pregnant women and their unborn foetuses, and how to manage such pregnancies safely.
Frontline doctors kept their own notes and shared their own learning, creating some of the first (and only) research on how Ebola affects pregnant women and their unborn foetuses
The slowness and inadequacy of the international response to the West Africa Ebola epidemic is well known, but the book still shocks with its detail of the nature and consequences of the wider response. Seven months after the first officially diagnosed case the international “cavalry” arrive, prompted by concerns of a risk to global health security, and ironically but predictably “in synchronicity with declining transmission” (210). In Part Two Black describes the shameful in-fighting between international responders desperate to make their mark and claim territory. He and his colleagues in the field joked darkly of “Ebola tourists”, the “EOAs (Experts On Arrival)” (181) and the “hot-headed rigidity and lack of pragmatism” of the UK military response (215) all of whom sometimes put patients at risk despite available lessons that could have avoided this.
The WHO ignored local learning and produced guidelines for the Ministry of Health that directly undermined the management of pregnant women post-Ebola, and failed again to listen when frontline MSF doctors voiced their concerns.
Even in the final throes of the epidemic (Part Three), when so much should have been learned, there are distressing illustrations of the power of arrogance. The WHO ignored local learning and produced guidelines for the Ministry of Health that directly undermined the management of pregnant women post-Ebola, and failed again to listen when frontline MSF doctors voiced their concerns. This lead directly to unnecessary deaths before the guidelines were finally repealed – truly, “Egos can kill” (324). This approach that discounts local knowledge has been seen repeatedly, including in Democratic Republic of Congo’s biggest Ebola outbreak just two years later despite attempts to improve feedback from communities, and in the UK’s own Covid response as lessons were “forgotten, wilfully ignored or recycled for the next emergency” (239). The damage that ignoring important lessons can do is agonisingly exposed in the many unnecessary deaths of pregnant women that Black describes. He notes that though experimental drugs and vaccines were promising, they could not “replace basic hygiene, health promotion and community engagement” (167) – and to achieve this trust in health workers is key.
Trust in healthcare cannot be built by a ‘revolving door’ of international medical health workers and ‘experts’; it is built through local health staff working tirelessly on the ground
Although not explicit in the book, the breakdown of trust has longstanding repercussions that echo through the book’s narratives of both Ebola and UK Covid responses. Trust in healthcare cannot be built by a “revolving door” (9) of international medical health workers and “experts”; it is built through local health staff working tirelessly on the ground: “As the outside world, with all its resources and capability, held back in fear and self-protectionism, these individuals stood firm, and […] played a part in saving us all.” (159). Yet, these people were largely ignored when the world was congratulating itself on saving the day (329), though some, like Black’s trusted local colleague Morris, gave their lives.
During the epidemic, pregnancy was seen as an explosive risk […] but afterwards, maternal mortality and morbidity – like much of women’s health – were too often invisible
The question of how to tackle the underlying “protracted health crisis” (113) of high maternal mortality rates haunts the third part of the book. Black and his colleagues were acutely aware that, “[t]he end of Ebola was not the end of the emergency, just as the start had never been the beginning.” (316). During the epidemic, pregnancy was seen as an explosive risk (a potential “Ebola bomb” ch.25), but afterwards, maternal mortality and morbidity – like much of women’s health – were too often invisible so “if you didn’t look for it, you didn’t see it, and if you didn’t see it then there was no emergency” (254). This meant that even MSF’s hierarchy failed to acknowledge the absolute necessity of supporting family planning as a critical preventive measure for high-risk pregnancy and maternal death.
There is an urgent need to rethink humanitarian approaches in light of Black’s insights, to humbly learn from and work with frontline responders to strengthen health systems and protect the health of all women and young children.
Following Ebola, Sierra Leone overtook Sudan and Chad to suffer the highest maternal mortality rate in the world. The colonial and neo-colonial legacy of aid-dependent, resource-poor health systems unable to respond to major shocks like Ebola undoubtedly contributed to this protracted health crisis, but arguably the superiority mindset of many international responders compounded and perpetuated it. There is an urgent need to rethink humanitarian approaches in light of Black’s insights, to humbly learn from and work with frontline responders to strengthen health systems and protect the health of all women and young children. In making this case, Belly Woman is an extraordinary book – a visceral, harrowing but ultimately life-affirming read.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: Samenwerkende Hulporganisaties on Flickr.