Relational Accountability: Complexities of Structural Injustice 9781350222236, 9781848134652, 9781848134669

Citation preview

For Denise, who kept my head; and for my dear children, Miles Julien and Mayah Joele, who for every moment of every day unconditionally kept my heart

List of abbreviations

ADRA ANC ASEP CBOs CCDC CDCs CSO GoJ HEART IADB ICT JBDC JCC JFJ JSIF J-TEC KSAAF MDS NEI NGO NRA NSA NVQ OAS PMI REAs SDC TVET

Action for Rural Development African National Congress Alternative Secondary Education Programme community-based organizations Caribbean Child Development Centre community development committees civil society organization Government of Jamaica Human Employment and Resource Training Inter-American Development Bank information and communication technology Jamaica Business Development Corporation Jamaica Chamber of Commerce Jamaicans for Justice Jamaica Social Investment Fund Jamaica Tertiary Education Commission Kingston and St Andrew Action Forum Muktidhara Sansthan National Education Inspectorate non-governmental organization Núcleo Representativo das Associações do Dombe Grande non-state actor national vocational qualification Organization of American States Peace Management Initiative regional education agencies Social Development Commission technical and vocational education and training

Preface and acknowledgements

This book is the product of many years of learning about the principles and practice of accountability. It is the outcome of a struggle to reconcile the dominant framework for understanding accountability – one that is concerned predominantly with the technicalities of governance – with a relational approach. It is important to be clear here for governance has much to do with regulating relationships of power. It insists on crafting the institutions, management procedures, policies, guidelines and decisionmaking processes that allow for the effective execution of responsibilities. Good governance is critical. Yet, governance processes and mechanisms can be distancing; they can operate at a level that is too far removed from the human relationships they are attempting to regulate. In 2001, I published an article in the journal Democratization, entitled ‘Accountability: Idea, Ideals, Constraints’. That publication was one product of a larger study that explored conventional understandings of accountability and used empirical evidence to challenge the predominant ‘technical’ interpretations of the concept. As the title suggests, the article analysed the ‘idea’ and ideals of accountability, focusing primarily on direct and indirect relationships between government and the electorate. It also highlighted some of the substantial constraints to accountability, such as ‘the information gap between the politician and the electorate; the fallibility of constitutional safeguards; and the consequences of inadequate citizen involvement’. The paper, and the larger study it drew from, made the point that relationships of power shape accountabilities, and that these relationships are often rooted in long-standing social, political and economic inequalities. This book develops that theme. It uses conversations and life stories to analyse the deep roots to differing levels and relationships of accountability, delving into areas such as social conditioning throughout childhood and the quality of agency interventions, including the intended and unintended power dynamics that are cultivated, sustained, challenged and changed.

Preface and acknowledgements  xi Portions of the text have been published elsewhere and have now been revised and included, with kind permission from respective publishers: ‘Accountability: Idea, Ideals, Constraints’ in Democratization,Vol. 8, No. 3, October 2001 has been updated and re-presented in Chapter 1. I have used case studies that were published in the following submissions: (a) ‘Beyond Categories: Power, Recognition and the Conditions for Equity’, Background Paper for the World Development Report 2006 and book chapter in Bebbington et al., Institutional Pathways to Equity: Addressing Inequality Traps, Washington DC: World Bank; (b) ‘Intergenerational Transmissions and Race Inequalities: Why the Subjective and Relational Matter’ in IDS Bulletin, Vol. 40, No. 1, special issue, Intergenerational Transmissions: Cultivating Agency? January 2009. (c) ‘Making and Unmaking the Shotta: Boundaries and Counter-actions in the Garrisons’, IDS Working Paper 297, January 1, 2009 has been amended and included as Chapter 4. I am privileged to be part of an academic institution – the Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex – that is sincerely concerned with human development and that puts this concern into effective practice. Moreover, I have benefited enormously from being part of the Participation, Power and Social Change team, which is unafraid to test and push the boundaries of accepted knowledge and practice, including its own. Professors John Gaventa and Andrea Cornwall have inspired my thoughts on this book as on many other projects. Professor Rosalind Eyben has for many years now been a sterling mentor and friend and her role and impact cannot be overstated. I thank Martin Moncrieffe for his technical assistance with this project. I must also specially recognize some key persons, whose support over the last two years has allowed me the clarity and tenacity to complete this book: Richard Foulks, Sharon Sheriff, Kai Morgan, Marcia Petit-Frere, Kanini Rodney, Carol Watson Williams, Cassandra Heppell, Judith Taylor, Kayanne Taylor, Michael Witter, Veronica Salter, Homer Brodie, Richard Barrett, Marie Barrett, Claudette Pious and, importantly, my mother and friend, Lettuce Brown. These persons deserve considerable credit for this product, though I alone am accountable for any errors or omissions.

Introduction

Modern representative governments are commonly described as democracies, though of varying standards and standings. However, they are rooted in institutions and ideational positions that differ in fundamental ways from those that sustained classic forms of popular ‘democratic’ self-rule, particularly in ancient Athenian and Italian republics (Manin, 1997). Knowledge of some of the key distinctions across these ancient and modern systems can provide a useful starting point for analysing the dynamics of political – and, as the subject of this book describes, relational – accountability. It is important to immediately underscore two points. First, there is no assumption that lessons on democracy and on accountability are best sourced from analyses of European history. Democracy, as a terminology, may have originated with the Greeks but the ideas that underpin democracy were long accepted and practised across very many cultures. Similarly, despite the current fervour, including disillusion, that attends it, accountability is not a new preoccupation nor is it an exclusively Western passion. Second, all the known examples of classic democracy were flawed in notable ways, as are all societies. For example, popular self-rule in Athens really meant popular male self-rule: only adult males who had completed military training were eligible to vote; slaves, women, freed slaves, metics and persons whose citizen rights were suspended were excluded. Given current standards, it would be naïve to seek pure models of government within these ancient systems. Therefore, the first chapter of this book – ‘Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints’ – has a fairly modest objective: to highlight core ideas and ideals of democracy and to pit these against those that originally underpinned representative arrangements. With this background, the chapter discusses the implications for political accountability and for the institutions that have been crafted in its name. It highlights familiar concerns about the illusiveness of accountability and emphasizes the limitations of procedural and asocial interpretations of the concept. Finally, the chapter considers the significance of a relational approach to

2  Relational Accountability understanding accountability. The relational view of accountability goes beyond those interpretations of the concept that focus, predominantly, on checks and balances and on monitoring and evaluation. Such impersonal interpretations obscure relationships, power dynamics, structures, processes and complexities. The relational view, in contrast, seeks to understand the ways in which people perform in their roles as social actors, and how the quality of relationships influences the character of accountability. Why is the relational perspective important? Here, commonly accepted notions of accountability have lagged far behind the evidence on the ground, which proves that accountability is much more than a technical, managerial or procedural concept; rather, it is deeply social and political (see, for example, Newell and Wheeler, 2006; Goetz and Jenkins, 2005; Eyben, 2008). By dissecting citizenship experiences, analysts recognize that relations of power shape accountabilities, and that these relations are often rooted in long-standing social, political and economic inequalities. When it is understood in its relational sense, the limits of the procedural interpretations become apparent for, in actuality, accountability is normally skewed in favour of some actors as opposed to others. More equitable relations of accountability are required for social and democratic justice, which ought to be substantive objectives of functioning representative systems. Social and democratic justice are, in turn, necessary for building more equitable relations of accountability. Chapter 1 may give the deceptive impression that the book is purely a theoretical exposition on relational accountability. Therefore, it may seem slightly at odds with the considerably more rigorous empirical approach of the subsequent chapters.Yet, some used concepts such as accountability remain abstract and fuzzy precisely because they are not sufficiently challenged and refined by observations in the real world.They remain abstract, too, because intuitively these are social and political concepts that are fixed into an inadequate technical frame. Therefore, the book purposefully puts into practice a personal conviction that the most practicable theories are drawn from the evidence. It uses empirical data that are selected from years of work among children and adults in selected ‘democratic’ contexts, some more questionable than others, to bring the conceptualization and practice of accountability to life. Chapter 2, ‘“Citizenships” and relational accountability’, reviews key developments in thinking about citizenship and accountability. It pays particular attention to how differentiated and unequal citizenship experiences produce differentiated and unequal relations of accountability. Specifically, the chapter emphasizes that people conceptualize and experience accountability in different ways, depending on factors including their social conditioning and histories.

Introduction  3 Chapter 3, ‘Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability’, expands on Chapter 2. Using select case studies, it discusses the multiple roles of power in cultivating inequalities of accountability. Some of these case studies feature children’s experiences and emphasize how inequalities are transmitted across generations, thus perpetuating unequal relationships of accountability. Chapter 4, ‘Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities’, takes an even closer look at how sustained inequalities can produce actors who exercise their agency in ways that undermine the principles and goals of accountability.The stories presented in this chapter focus on children who are being raised in contexts of relentless violence, violence that is rooted in structural injustice. The chapter uses children’s stories to depict the multiple obligations that form within these boundaries and the differing forms of accountability that emerge as a consequence. Chapter 5, ‘Permeating boundaries? Complexities of building accountability’, evaluates how various actors have been attempting to build accountability within the inner-city contexts described in Chapter 4. It demonstrates some of the approaches and practices that have been working, those that contradict the stated purposes and even help to solidify unequal relations of accountability. It highlights the types of social actions and policy interventions that are critical for cultivating more equitable relations of accountability. The Conclusion reviews the key arguments and presents summary thoughts on the significance of relational approaches for accountability.

1 Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints The Athenian republics and modern representative governments There is a common belief that the assemblies in the ancient Athenian republics exercised all the powers and that it was this impracticality, more than any other, which triggered the radical move to representative forms of administration. Manin (1997), in Principles of Representative Government, explodes this myth. He notes that the assembled peoples did not exercise all powers. Rather, there were separate, smaller bodies that were assigned substantial powers, sometimes greater than those assigned to the assemblies. These representative bodies were assigned by lot, as distinct from appointment by elections in conventional representative systems. The institution of ‘lot’ reflected core democratic values, including ‘a deep distrust of political professionalism’; ‘the equal right to speak in the Assembly’; ‘an equal share in the power exercised by the assembled people’; ‘an equal probability of exercising the functions that were performed by a smaller number of citizens’ (Manin, 1997). Elections, it was felt – though the advocates of lot could not properly explain it – would not allow for the same level of equality (Manin, 1997: 41). The values that underpinned the early representative institutions were entirely different. In arguing for representative government, Natural Law theorists such as Grotius and Rousseau emphasized that consent was indispensable for establishing both legitimate authority and political obligation. It was under an electoral system, as opposed to a system where choice was made by lot, that consent would be secured. Therefore, by the time representative government was established, political equality and citizenship had assumed new meanings. In place of the equal right to hold office, citizens now had the equal right to consent to power. Manin makes the critical point that this latter view of citizenship has been upheld ‘as the natural way of envisioning citizenship’:

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  5 Not only do we share the viewpoint at the end of the eighteenth century but we are no longer aware that we are thereby giving precedence to a particular conception of citizenship over another. We have almost completely forgotten that even under conditions where it is not possible for everyone to participate in government, citizens can also be seen as desirous of reaching office. Manin, 1997: 92–3 This particular, arguably denuded, version of ‘representative’ citizenship was distinct from the earlier democratic variants in other ways. First, compared with the ancient republics, where mechanisms were purposefully established to prevent the unbridled access to power by those considered to be of higher social standing, representative governments, from their inception, encouraged men of ‘higher worth’ and distinction to assume office. Manin explains that particularly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this ‘principle of distinction’, which Walter Bagehot described as ‘deference’, typified the English culture. In England, the ‘principle of distinction’ intensified with the exorbitant costs of electoral campaigns and the property pre-qualifications established for parliamentary members.1 In France, the franchise – though it was a considerable ‘democratic’ achievement for the period – was limited to active citizens, which excluded those considered too dependent on others: ‘women, servants and the very poor’ (Manin, 1997: 98). In the United States, there were protracted debates about the value and nature of property qualification, and the desired status of political representatives, particularly the extent to which representatives should be men of superior standing. While the Anti-Federalists advocated that the ‘term representative implies that the person or body chosen … should resemble those who appoint them’, they were, nevertheless, under no illusion that the government was so constituted that the ‘natural aristocracy’ would assume power. For the Anti-Federalists, natural aristocracy was not a legal entitlement or entitlement by birth; rather, it referred to persons who had achieved high status, such as through accumulating wealth or position. It was in the ‘common course of human affairs’, they reasoned, that such inequalities of wealth and 1 Subramaniam (1983) explains that the concern with public accountability seems to have originated in England towards the end of the feudal period, with the commercial classes’ insistence that the king account for how their accumulated surpluses were spent. It was later refined during the upsurge of modern liberal democracy and eventually came to embody three related aspects: ‘accountability in regard to public funds, public responsibility in regard to the use of governmental power by politicians and civil servants and the executive’s responsiveness in regard to anticipating public needs and sensibilities’.

6  Relational Accountability status also created inequalities of influence. The Anti-Federalists were not unrealistic about inequality; they acknowledged its inevitability and pervasiveness. However, they were cautious about the potential oppressive powers of inequalities and the critical need to guard against these. Their insistence on seeking ‘likeness’ in representative systems was not rooted in a desire to hark back to the system of ‘lot’; it was meant to secure more reliable representation in which all citizens had better prospects of having their perspectives heard. The Federalists, in their counterarguments, upheld the citizens’ rights to choose their own representatives, despite perceptions of differences in status. The republican obligation was to ensure that erudite and virtuous representatives were chosen and their passions and interests held in check; such was the responsibility of the effective representative system: The aim of every political constitution is, or ought to be, first to obtain for rulers men who possess most wisdom to discern and most virtue to pursue the common good of the society and, in the next place, to take the most effectual precautions for keeping them virtuous whilst they continue to hold their public trust.The elective mode of obtaining rulers is the characteristic policy of republican government.The means relied on in this form of government for preventing their degeneracy are numerous and various. The most effectual one is such a limitation of the term of appointment as will maintain a proper responsibility to the people. Madison et al., 1987: 353 Therefore, the Federalists’ emphasis was not on ensuring ‘likeness’ with the people but on instituting effectual precautions, such that those who were appointed to office could be kept virtuous. These precautions were not meant to equalize relations between the representatives and the represented in very substantive ways. Arguably, it was the widespread social movements that culminated in universal adult suffrage across countries that made real attempts to equalize representative systems. However, Manin observes that even this ‘equality’ has been partial for there is still a tendency to choose ‘natural aristocrats’ – those valued as superior within their contexts. Such ‘natural’ tendencies persist and temper the thrust of institutional change. Specifically, institutions such as elections have not had the transformative outcomes anticipated; rather, they have been colored by the societies and cultures within which they are situated.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  7

Some broad characteristics of representative government: problems for accountability The limitations of accountability mechanisms, including elections, will be discussed further subsequently.The immediate task is to elaborate on what Manin characterizes as the ‘metamorphoses of representative government’. There is substantial truth to O’Donnell’s (1999) argument that many representative governments have not only fallen short in the democratic element; some are profoundly illiberal and some struggle for even a modest whim of credibility in the republican component. Moreover, these developing, as well as reputedly accomplished, democracies can sustain skewed notions of citizenship, which are complicated by partial understandings and practices of accountability. Within democracies, people may, in principle, have the freedom to choose – the liberal component2 (although even this may, in practice, be circumscribed) – but they may not have real freedoms, particularly to improve the quality of their lives. Furthermore, the limited electoral choices they are allowed can, in actuality, amount to a choice among degrees and forms of oppression. Within democracies, checks and balances may exist – the republican component – but these may discount the citizens’ roles in developing countervailing powers to check and balance their representatives. The substantive responsibilities to the people, in this regard, require revised assumptions about the naturalness of inequalities and the natural responsibilities that arise from these inequalities. The democrats’ fallacy, as Aristotle describes it, is to assume that citizens’ equality in birth necessarily translates to equality in every respect. Similarly, oligarchs assume that inequality in wealth or in any other area necessarily translates to inequality in every respect. Both are erroneous exaggerations. For Aristotle, this meant that constitutions should be sufficiently mixed to allow for citizens’ equality and inequality; thus, combining democratic, oligarchic and aristocratic elements. This book takes the argument in a different direction. It contends that governments have a responsibility to tackle oppressive inequalities, for these are simply incompatible with the rights, freedoms and capabilities that ought to obtain within democracies (Dasgupta, 1993; Nussbaum, 1995; Sen, 1999; Moore, 2001;Young, 2002; Hayward, 2009). 2 O’Donnell (1999) describes the liberal component of politics as ‘the idea that there are some rights that should not be encroached upon by any power … including the state’. The republican principle is the ‘idea that the discharge of public duties is an ennobling activity that demands careful subjection to the law and devoted service to the public interest, even at the expense of sacrificing the private interests of the officials’.The democratic component stresses the principle of majoritarian rule and public participation. Offe and Preuss (1991), in their comparison of the American and French democratic models, also provide an instructive discussion of liberal and republican politics.

8  Relational Accountability There often are substantive variations between the ideals of democracies and what occurs in practice. This point hardly seems worth reinforcing; analytically, it would be reckless to predict outcomes based on typologies of political systems. Amartya Sen (1999), in making the link between democracy and freedom, explains that the democratic arrangement guarantees the political freedoms necessary for realization of basic capabilities, including political and social participation. It provides the fora in which views can be expressed and heard; therefore, citizens have a legitimate basis to make claims, such as of economic and social needs, and to expect attention. Furthermore, democracy has a constructive role in creating (through avenues such as discussion and exchange) values and norms that inform how needs are conceptualized and satisfied. However, he is also careful to emphasize that democracy’s achievements do not hinge exclusively on rules and procedures. Other crucial factors include the ways in which opportunities are used, the dynamism of moral arguments and value formation, the activism of opposition parties and the general quality of multiparty politics. All these reflect existing and historical structures and relations of power, which produce wide variations in the substantive content of formal, electoral democracy. Moore’s (2001: 6) basic typology of political systems includes collapsed states, states under personal rule, minimally institutionalized states, institutionalized non-competitive states and institutionalized competitive states. His research shows that it is in institutionalized competitive democracies that people have the best prospects for making and contesting claims and for shaping their lives in order to reach their goals. Yet, Moore found no consistent relation between democracy and specific goals, such as poverty reduction. Instead, he observes that some of the best performers in poverty reduction are the former socialist but un-democratic countries, such as Cuba, China and Vietnam. Nattrass and Seekings (2001) made a similar assessment of the relation between democracy and inequality. While some democratic countries endorse and observe principles of equity in procedures and outcomes, others, such as Brazil and South Africa, have horrendous records in income and social inequalities. Chile has been successful at reducing the incidence of poverty but has sustained high levels of inequality. In these and other cases, democracy has opened institutional spaces for some measure of government by people who are living in conditions of poverty but it has not produced the anticipated egalitarian outcomes. In contrast, it is not necessarily the case that people who live in reputedly ‘collapsed states’ or under authoritarian arrangements have no capacity for agency or mechanisms for empowerment. Similarly, regime status cannot foretell the quality of civil liberties and human rights or their extension and reach.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  9 There are a number of reasons for this unpredictability. Among them, different forms of rule can be combined within one state, which makes it difficult to establish straightforward maps between regime type and power distribution and relations. Thus, a patronage system of rule can coexist, sometimes quite snugly, with an institutionalized competitive system. It is well known, too, that political systems – particularly those undergoing or still in the early post-transition phase – will bear traces of the previous systems of rule. It is often difficult to pinpoint where authoritarian forms of rule are truly succeeded by democratic governance; elections are not sufficient to tell. Governments may be replaced without disturbing the underlying power structure. For example, Fantu Cheru (2001) suggests that although South Africa’s majority black population has gained political power since 1994, real economic power remains with select corporate and elite interests. The resulting ‘neo-liberal strategies of privatization, liberalization and deficit reduction effectively undermines the country’s antipoverty strategy, with costly consequences in areas such as water supply and sanitation, health, education and social security.3 Therefore, there is an underworld of political wheeling and dealing that may be critical for political stability but inconsistent with goals of reducing poverty and inequality (in their various social, political and economic manifestations) and of empowerment.4 Thus, established power relations may remain embedded in institutions (formal and informal) and relationships despite regime change.5 I will revisit 3 Nattrass and Seekings (2001) explain that black South African voters have remained loyal to the African National Congress (ANC) despite their disappointment with the party’s performance; they have not used their political power to demand swift economic reforms. Nevertheless, the ANC must be careful to balance its economic policy, for ‘as partisan identification declines, retrospective voting on economic performance rises in importance’. This threat remains though there are no immediate prospects for realignments in political allegiances. 4 Nancy Powers’ (1995) study of the ‘Politics of Poverty in Argentina’ in the 1990s provides a lucid description of how the Menem government was able to establish fiscal pacts with provincial governments in order to continue its structural adjustment programmes and to ignore or minimize the merit of opposing constituencies through surreptitious wheeling and dealing. Consequently, poverty and inequality continued unabated. 5 Analysts tend to force a, sometimes unnatural, division between formal and informal institutions. However, formal institutions frequently reflect societal norms although, ideally, they should have a ‘distinct presence over and above the performance of individuals’ and social groups (Strathern, 1997). Informal institutions are behavioural norms and conventions that are transmitted throughout history. ‘They are the products of shared historical experiences, and choices made by particular groups can be dictated by these common (and often unique) points of reference’ (Moncrieffe, 1999). Informal norms can be both supportive and destructive. Inequality and poverty can breed their own norms as societies try to find ways to survive.

10  Relational Accountability this theme later. For now, it is sufficient to propose that elected governments should not ignore the ways in which political systems reproduce relations that abuse citizens’ rights, cultivate and harden ‘un-freedoms’ and undermine people’s capabilities, for these are inconsistent with the ideals that, in principle, make democracy distinct.There are also strategic reasons for addressing inequalities: their perpetuation threatens and can corrupt and uproot the (perhaps already frail) democratic, liberal and republican elements that constitute modern representative governments.

Conceptualizing accountability Briefly, the essence of modern representative government is that citizens’ interests are reflected through representation and that electoral and other constitutional provisions contain the powers that are allowed to public representatives. Accountability is the crux of the arrangement for, as Bellamy and Palumbo (2010) describe, it is through relationships of political accountability that citizens are connected to their representatives. The mechanisms designed for political accountability provide channels of communication for decision-making, impose the constraints that are necessary to ensure that representatives are responsive to citizens, authorize the executive and administrative branches of government to act, and facilitate scrutiny of the unelected officials who work within government departments (Bellamy and Palumbo, 2010: xi).Therefore, ‘political accountability is responsible for directing the political system towards the public interest and engendering the principles of social autonomy and political self-determination that are at the core of democratic politics’ (Bellamy and Palumbo, 2010: xi). Accountability is normally thought to comprise two dimensions: ‘answerability’ and ‘enforceability’ (Schedler et al., 1999). In principle, answerability entails providing explanations for actions and justifications for the use of authority. This explanatory dimension – which may be conceptualized as ex-ante accountability (Moncrieffe, 2001) – is meant to be proactive: it is a ‘relationship intended to enhance the responsiveness of agents to those whom they are expected to serve’ (Johnson, 1974: 3). However, as Schedler et al. (1999: 15) put it: ‘accounting actors do not just call into question but also eventually punish improper behavior and, accordingly, accountable persons not only tell what they have done and why but bear the consequences for it, including eventual negative sanctions’. Indeed: Exercises of accountability that expose misdeeds but do not impose material consequences will usually appear as weak, toothless, ‘diminished’ forms of accountability.They will be regarded as acts of window dressing rather than real restraints on power.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  11 Within representative governments, negative/ex-post accountability refers to holding public officials and departments accountable through the law, other monitoring and sanctioning mechanisms and, ultimately, elections.Therefore, negative accountability connotes ‘answering for the use of authority, ex-post facto’. Both ex-ante and ex-post accountability, with their processes for answerability and enforceability, entail appraisal and monitoring, though the means, including the institutions, for achieving these will differ.

Criteria and conditions for ex-ante accountability Although there is broad agreement that it is through relationships of accountability that citizens are able to demand quality representation, there is no consensus on what quality representation is. Debates on this matter have not abated; they are as pertinent and contentious as they were centuries ago, with important implications for accountability. The limits of representation through aggregation Most persons would contend that governments represent when they act in the public’s interest. However, does acting in the public’s interest constitute acting according to the citizens’ ‘expressed’ or ‘best’ interest? Is there a necessary distinction between them? According to the ‘expressed interest’ position, citizens are the most reliable judges of what is best for them and representatives are, therefore, required to respond to their preferences and implement their desires. The criteria for representation, according to this minimal definition, are that governments are responsive to the preferences of the electorate and that the electorate, in turn, defines and freely expresses its preferences.6 Under this arrangement, governments act in accordance with what the majority of citizens want (unless there are guarantees for minorities), so that preferences have to be aggregated. Governments can more easily represent the public’s interests where there is little conflict in preferences – that is, where most citizens desire the same course of action – though there is little denial that citizens’ expressed interests will almost always conflict. When conflicts occur, governments will then have to make their own judgments. Therefore, according to this model: 6 The deliberative and the aggregative models of democracy offer different views on how citizens’ interests should be represented and accounted for and, therefore, have different implications for positive/ex-ante accountability. While each accepts the important roles of core procedures of democracy – voting in elections, the rule of law, freedom of assembly and of speech – the aggregative model offers a more restricted/less politicized account of how voter preferences and interests are represented.

12  Relational Accountability democracy is a process of aggregating the preferences of citizens in choosing public officials and policies. The goal of democratic decision-making is to decide what leaders, rules and policies will better correspond to the most widely and strongly held preferences. Young, 2002: 19 The important requirement is that preferences are fairly aggregated (including through transparent processes for coalition building and competing for votes). Where this obtains, representatives can, then, freely act in concert with what the majority wants. Young (2002) points out that there are theoretical holes in the aggregative model, particularly when one starts from the premise that democracies ought to defend principles of justice. She documents the major limitations: first, the aggregative model takes no account of the sources and origins of expressed preferences.7 Are they products of coercion? Are they based on mere whim or on deliberation? What are the underlying motives? Are they altruistic or profoundly selfish? Second, the model is individualistic and offers little scope for reaching decisions via public deliberation and cooperation. Third, the model assumes that individuals will make strategic and rational choices, yet the aggregated preferences are not necessarily rational or reasoned; they may not reflect the order of preferences that individuals established. Fourth, the aggregative model does not prioritize what is thought to be ‘morally right’; moral arguments are normally viewed as subjective and, possibly, irrational. The model does not facilitate evaluation of the moral legitimacy of particular interests and preferences.Young (2002: 21) concludes: If, even at its best, democracy is simply a mechanism for aggregating preferences which are subjective and non-rational, and if the fair outcome reflects which preferences are more widely or strongly held, then there is no reason why those who do not share those preferences ought to abide by the results. They may simply feel that they have no choice but to submit, given that they are in the minority. Is responsiveness to aggregated preferences sufficient for representation? Is this what the public expects of its representatives? It is clear that 7 Schumpeter (1942) is a severe critic of the expressed interest position. In most cases, he reasons, citizens can hardly define their own preferences and what they conceive and express as their best interest is often determined by what the majority desires, by personalization and/or by patronage. For Schumpeter, democracy is and should be nothing more than that ‘institutional arrangement for arriving at political decisions in which individuals acquire the power to decide by means of a competitive struggle for the people’s vote.’

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  13 governments are elected to act in what they consider to be the citizens’ best but not expressed interest. The very structure of these governments provides some proof, for as Manin (1997) explains, while citizens can remove and elect representatives to office, they cannot provide legally binding instructions. Governments are, after all, privy to a wealth of information that the public does not have access to and are in better positions to decipher whether desires – majority or not – would be undesirable at a particular point in time, or simply inappropriate. To simply satisfy public desires, knowing they will be costly or downright foolhardy, without presenting the options to the public, would be to act irresponsibly. On occasions, governments may need to adopt bold positions and act against majority interests because a number of ‘other’ interests and factors must be considered.8 It follows that, in practice, representatives are accountable to a variety of interests and coordination of these interests and conflict resolution are critical to proper representation. Pitkin (1972) has provided a classic explanation of the concept: Representation means acting in the interest of the represented, in a manner responsive to them. The representative must act independently; his action must involve discretion and judgment; he must be the one who acts. The represented must also be (conceived as) capable of independent action and judgment, not merely being taken care of. And, despite the resulting potential for conflict between representative and represented about what is to be done, that conflict must not normally take place. The representative must act in such a way that there is no conflict, or if it occurs, an explanation is called for. He must not be found persistently at odds with the wishes of the represented without good reason in terms of their interest, without a good explanation of why their wishes are not in accord with their interest. These discussions underscore the following issues: first, responsiveness to the electorate is insufficient for representing the public’s best interest. Second, responsiveness does not constitute responsible government, yet responsible administration should characterize those actions that are conducted in the public’s best interest. Correspondingly, it is now possible to establish the first criterion for ex-ante accountability: ex-ante accountability entails taking account of – though not necessarily 8 For example, Przeworski (1991) suggests that procedural and substantive pacts may be necessary for democratic stability.

14  Relational Accountability accepting – sectionalized or partial interests. The manner in which these are balanced and reflected in policy is then a matter of judgment that is influenced, in turn, by moral, political, social and economic considerations. This caveat is important, for accountability may require restraints under certain conditions, such as in circumstances where it conflicts with and can compromise proper representation or good government.9 The latter is a potentially risky assertion, which must be qualified: governments can easily use this as an excuse to restrict information unnecessarily. On some issues, such as those involving security, governments will not always be able to make their choices and positions clear prior to or during policy implementation. On some, there may be no time for consultation and deliberation. Here, Diamond (1993) describes the paradox between ‘representatives and governability’. Governments are held accountable for the quality of their representation and must, therefore, account to varied interests. However, they are also held accountable for the quality of outcomes and the quality of outcomes depends on governability. Governability, in turn, presumes that governments must be able to rise above and mediate among interests. Where urgent and decisive responses are required, accounting for and accounting to varying interests may not be feasible.10 The significance of deliberation Positions that challenge citizen rationality and advocate that governments must actually refine expressed preferences and act in the citizen’s best interest often minimize the importance of public involvement. This attitude can produce institutions and processes that severely check the citizen’s abilities to participate in their own political futures, that is, beyond their electoral privileges. Farrar (1998) argues, for example, that Schumpeter’s   9 For varied perspectives on what constitutes good government see, for example, Lancaster (1992); World Bank (1992); OECD (1994). 10 Przeworski (1991) suggests that procedural and substantive pacts may be necessary for democratic stability. Jenkins’ (1995) ‘Liberal Democracy and the Political Management of Structural Adjustment in India’ provides an illuminating example of the potential conflict between, in this case, transparent political decision-making and good government. He explains that the ability of the government (under the then prime minister, P.V. Narasimha Rao) to achieve some progress in its structural adjustment efforts – despite the constraints posed by social and economic elites – has more to with strategies designed to quell potential conflicts and to accommodate groups rather than an emphasis on transparency. Though transparency is important to accountability and performance, responsible governments may be required to weigh this objective against what is agreed to be their prime political responsibility. MacDonald (1996) suggests that this same sort of political dealing was critical for democratic survival in South Africa.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  15 (1942) almost summary denial of the electorate’s capacity for rationality and his insistence that the people’s responsibility in a democracy is simply to elect and subsequently dispose of governments through the electoral process, ultimately minimize the importance of public involvement. Participation theorists11 suggest that similar ‘Schumpeterian’ approaches to the public have produced institutions and processes that tend to discourage citizen participation, that is, beyond their input at elections. However, as Held (1987) notes, although increased participation does not guarantee optimal representation, it does improve the government’s ability to discern the public’s interest, allows it to gain legitimacy and, importantly, it is also through this medium that the public can more closely hold public officials to account. ‘If, however, the electorate has limited influence on policy until the periods of election, this means that in such systems a lack of accountability – in both its positive and negative conceptions – can easily exist, particularly in those cases where checks and balances are not built into the constitution or where appropriate penalties for contraventions are not exacted’ (Moncrieffe, 1998). Ex-ante accountability, then, draws upon the deliberative model, which favours dialogic processes, in which participants express needs and propose and debate solutions. In order to support principles of democratic justice, deliberative processes must be inclusive (facilitating representation at least from all parties that are significantly affected by the issues at stake); advance political equality (such that persons have equal rights and freedoms to express opinions); allow for reasonable discussions in order to reach agreements; and involve a public – meaning diverse interest groups – whose members are mutually accountable (see, for example, Young, 2002; Bessette, 1980, 1994; Blattberg, 2003; Cohen, 1989; Elster, 1999). Therefore, as a general principle, policy choices should be subject to deliberation and consultation, not restricted to members of the governing party but extended to the opposition, other significantly affected parties and groups, as well as individuals who can offer specialist knowledge. Second, referenda should be sought on some decisions, particularly those that have constitutional implications.Third, if a government believes that it is acting representatively but this is not obvious to the public, then it has a duty to explain how, in taking a particular course of action, it is representing. This obtains whether or not governments consider the public capable of understanding. As Ake (1993) suggests, the claim that ‘there is no choice in ignorance’ is both seductive and misguided. Low 11 See, for example, Barber (1984); Gould (1998); Pateman (1970); Held (1987).

16  Relational Accountability education levels and poverty do not necessarily mean that there will be no concern about or knowledge of political issues, or the ability to decide which political leader or party would be best able to cater to increased welfare. Having been elected to represent the people, governments have certain duties to the people; thus, deliberation, consultations and providing explanations are additional criteria of ex-ante accountability. Fourth, since governments cannot consider interests unless citizens are able to formulate and express them, access to information is critical and governments must ensure, to the extent feasible, that this is supplied. The representative systems that would best facilitate positive accountability are those that encourage contestation, consultation and inclusion, rather than exclusion. This means that certain basic rights must be enforced, not merely institutionalized: free expression, freedom to associate, the right to vote, and security of property and persons. Such representative systems would also comprise certain well-directed economic, political and social projects since, as Przeworski et al. (1999) reason, ‘we expect governments to do all that is possible under the circumstances to improve our welfare’ (Manin et al., 1999), or as modern contractualism contends, it is reasonable to expect that governments, as far as their abilities and circumstances allow, would not only work towards improving living standards, but would also seek to ‘provide the rights, entitlements and empowerments with which its citizens can themselves decide and act effectively to realize whatever it is that they want to realize’ (Hawthorn, 1993: 25).12 It is crucial that these rights apply to all segments of the population ‘in a real sense’. Phillips (1997) suggests that it is inadequate to merely advocate political equality while sustaining gross social and economic inequities and depriving groups of citizens of opportunities to participate, as fully as they might, in the political process. In order for governments to take account of the experiences and preferences of ‘those social groups who by virtue of their race or ethnicity or religion or gender have felt themselves excluded from the democratic process’, these interests must be represented. These groups must have the power to organize and express their preferences or, alternatively, have their interests reliably represented, particularly in government. Citizens must have a say in the kinds of provisions desired and must be able to hold service providers accountable for the quality of these provisions and for the extent to which they are accessible. 12 Amartya Sen has argued, persuasively, that governments ought to be concerned with developing people’s ‘capabilities’ to function, at a minimum to meet basic living standards and, thereafter, within acceptable constraints, to realize the goals they have set for themselves. See Sen (1987).

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  17 Therefore, ‘there is a relationship between public contestation and the level of socioeconomic development’ (Dahl, 1971). Socioeconomic development requires that the ‘country’s society and economy provide literacy, education and communication, create a pluralistic rather than a centrally dominated social order, and prevent extreme inequalities’. Dasgupta (1993) reasons that the exercise of political rights presumes some measure of individual autonomy: the ‘rights and liberties needed for persons to develop their goals and interests in an autonomous fashion and to shape their lives in accordance with their reflective goals’.

Some obligations of just representation There are often some hardcore ‘relational’ obstacles to people’s realization and exercise of their rights, such as to political participation, which may be rooted in enduring injustices. (Enduring injustices are based in the past but have continuing consequences.) There are moral argument for addressing old and preventing new injustices is clear: • •

History is important for understanding why some injustices persist and states are morally obliged to respond. Representatives cannot claim to serve the public’s interest while, at the same time, ignoring and/or facilitating injustices. While it may not be possible to hold original perpetrators accountable or to take on responsibility for the past, political communities ought to use lessons from history to ensure justice in the present and the future.

Therefore, Spinner-Halev (2007) endorses the basic model of political responsibility: Members of a political community have a responsibility toward one another to live in conditions of justice (or at least decency), or that the government they share is responsible to ensure justice. … The path toward repairing enduring injustices lies through explaining to the dominant community why conventional methods of liberal justice will not solve certain enduring injustices. An understanding of history will help with this, mostly as a means to comprehend the limits of liberal justice. Spinner-Halev, 2007: 588, 592 The injustices that infringe on people’s political rights are commonplace. Chapters 4–5 will show that enduring injustices can cultivate unequal citizenships and relationships of accountability from childhood.

18  Relational Accountability These inequalities of accountability can be passed on across generations, unnoticed and unattended to, dismissed as being among those natural aberrations within political societies. Governments, for the sake of democratic justice, cannot afford to ignore these injustices. Rather, governments, through their representation, have a responsibility to deal with the injustices that persist from old injuries and to prevent their replication. They must also address current injustices and safeguard societies, as well as they might, to prevent human rights infringements and abuses. Hayward (2009) argues, quite persuasively, that there must, necessarily, be a more proactive and moral role for representation. She is discontented with conventional perspectives, which limit the function of representative systems to merely ensuring that interests are ‘tracked and presented’. Legitimacy, she contends, ‘requires that representative and other political institutions shape interests in democracy-promoting ways’. This is particularly pertinent where there are structural inequalities: When power relations are hierarchical … and when hierarchies are relatively enduring because they are the product of inequalities that are structural in form, then the interests that should affect outcomes include interests in destabilizing inequalities and in subverting entrenched hierarchies. Political institutions, including institutions of political representation, should encourage the formation of interests such as these. Hayward, 2009: 127 Like Hayward, Jung (2009) pushes the obligations of representation to include recognizing and addressing the structural injustices that prevent some groups from experiencing meaningful access to rights, power and presence. ‘Historical and ongoing injustices’, she notes, persist across generations. ‘They are woven into the fabric of society’s political institutions and laws, through its norms and mores, and into the very texture of everyday life … they have structural systemic roots in the history of liberal democracy’ (Jung, 2009: 146). States have long had a role in using perceived cultural and other forms of difference to ‘establish the boundaries of inclusion and exclusion’; that is, ‘the boundaries of citizenship’ (Jung, 2009: 156). Critical liberalism offers a theory of state obligation towards the dispossessed; states have a responsibility to act in ways that would remedy structural injustice.13 Importantly, this involves ensuring that systems and 13 Jung recognizes that rights may have an important role in ‘opening up the political space to oppositional politics’. She argues that despite their advantages, there are limits to

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  19 mechanisms are in place to hold non-state actors and citizens to account. This obligation is important, for as the relationships within democracies are multi-varied and multi-directional, it is quite possible to obtain the desired response from government but continue to be at risk from varying elements within society. For Lonsdale (1986), this shows the distinction between high and deep politics; for Dunn (1986), it describes the differing influences of vertical and horizontal hazards. The important point is that political accountability cannot be concerned solely with what transpires between the representatives and the represented. Representation requires tackling the oppressions and injustices that come from and are manifested in relationships deep within societies for this is where some of the more considerable challenges to accountability reside. Is contestation consistent with representation? Aggregative and deliberative processes are inadequate for the interestformation/re-cultivation that Hayward recommends. In the aggregative view, interests should influence political outcomes because those agents who are affected by outcomes believe that they have these interests.Where interests exist, democratic processes should amass and represent them. Deliberative approaches go much further. They contend that these interests should be subjected to reasoning and that the interests that are tracked and represented should be those that are deemed rational and reasonable. Contestatory processes do not seek the deliberative resolution; neither do they consider aggregation to be sufficient for representing and obtaining redress for systematic oppressions. Instead, the critical question is whether political processes allow for and actively encourage ‘free and equal struggles over collective norms and principles’ (Hayward, 2009: 127). Hayward is correct. Her position stands in distinct contrast to the sanitized and depoliticized approach to representation that denies the power relations and struggles that are inherent to it. It is a position that Chantal Mouffe (1993) – drawing on but also diverging from Carl Schmitt’s (1985, 2007) critique of liberal democracy – develops well in her The Return of the Political. By linking liberal democracy to liberal capitalism, Mouffe individual and collective rights. Individual rights can atomize, at the expense of collective solidarity. Collective rights can reify groups and uphold boundaries in ways that do not facilitate ‘transformative engagement between group members and state institutions’ (Jung, 2009: 155). However, membership rights provide a platform for political action; they highlight the injustices that persons encounter by virtue of being members of particular groups and encourage collective solidarity as persons seek resolutions. However, while collective rights can reify certain categories, membership rights shift in response to structural changes and social meanings.

20  Relational Accountability argues, there are very many theorists who equate politics with the rule of law. The antagonisms and threats that liberal democracy must contend with are depicted as largely external to it, such as in ‘other’ non-democratic political systems. Such obscurantism can culminate in manifold and destructive conflicts that can threaten the existence of democracy. In contradistinction to these anti-political perspectives, then, it is prudent to accept ‘that every identity is relational and that the condition of existence of every identity is the affirmation of difference’ (Mouffe, 1993: 2). The affirmation of difference will, necessarily, include antagonisms. The appropriate stance is not to deftly skirt antagonisms but to anticipate (to the extent that this is feasible) and field them through democratic institutions. Silencing antagonisms through labelling them as irrational and pathological only works for a period. History provides sufficient proof: disaffection and non-participation can be channelled via alternate outlets; collective identities and collective hostilities can develop, sometimes with troublesome and unforeseen consequences. The case study presented in Chapter 4 demonstrates this point.

Criteria and conditions for ex-post accountability The ex-post dimension of accountability needs little elaboration. Put simply, it is being liable to sanction if, in the citizen’s perception, the responsibilities of the office have been executed inappropriately or unsatisfactorily. Here, representative governments rely on openly competitive elections between rival interests. In principle, elections serve a critical function, for the power to reject unsatisfactory governments and replace them with more favourable alternatives is placed firmly in the hands of the citizenry, with the expectation that this method of securing accountability will encourage effective performance and proper representation. Thus, by making people answer for past actions via elections, they will be more compelled to fulfil their present responsibilities. Elections provide for dismissal without further punishment. Additional punishment is only applied when the official is judged to be guilty of criminal offences, in which case, punishment becomes the responsibility of the courts (Elster, 1999). Ex-post accountability requires adequate appraisal mechanisms. Apart from direct citizen assessment, accountability depends upon the existence and effectiveness of other supporting institutions such as the media, and elected representatives and other public officials could be better appraised and sanctioned if there were independent monitoring agencies such as the Auditor and Attorney General. O’Donnell (1999: 39) suggests that there should be:

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  21 state agencies that are authorized and willing to oversee, control, redress, and/or sanction unlawful actions of other state agencies. The former agencies must have not only legal authority for proceeding in this way but also, de facto, sufficient autonomy with respect to the latter. These agencies provide for horizontal accountability. Additionally, citizens should have access to legal recourse when contraventions occur. A fair process exists where all citizens – not just the wealthy segments – have access to legal redress, and to other facilities such as consumer rights commissions. Information is critical for ex-post accountability: citizens must have adequate information in order to assess their representatives’ performance. The importance of institutions For accountability, both ex-ante and ex-post, there should be effective institutions. For ex-ante accountability, there should be institutionalized means through which interests can be heard and channeled – especially to government – and through which governments can provide information to the electorate. For ex-post accountability, the institutions must provide for effective appraisal and sanctioning. Strathern (1997) highlights the importance of ensuring that institutions are ‘given a distinct presence over and above the performance of individuals’ since the overarching rules and framework that inform practice are critical for defining the character of the state. Pettit (1997: 277–8) outlines some basic but important components of a framework that is constructed to secure accountability. He emphasizes that these components are essential for building a republic characterized by ‘freedom as non-domination’. Following the republican tradition, then, accountability depends on: 1 2 3 4

‘An empire of law condition’. Governments should be required to observe and operate according to well-established, generally applicable law. Second, and following Montesquieu, power should be effectively dispersed (divided among legislative, judicial and executive arms and in bicameral and federal arrangements). Constitutional limitations are necessary so that laws are not easily swayed by majority will. Ordinary people should, however, be able to contest the decisions and operations of government. This ‘contestatory democracy’ must

22  Relational Accountability be deliberative (‘requiring that decisions are based on considerations of allegedly common concern’ – such as should obtain in parliamentary arrangements), inclusive (‘making room for people from every quarter to be able to press challenges against legislative or executive or judicial decisions’) and responsive (‘giving a proper hearing to the complaints made in different areas’).

Ex-ante and ex-post accountability: some inherent and contingent constraints There is normally a huge mismatch between the high ideals of accountability and what obtains in practice. Explanations for these variations tend to focus on the shortcomings of the institutional mechanisms: the information gap between the politician and the electorate and the resulting problems for accountability (Diamond, 1993); the limits to the elections– accountability relationship (Cheibub and Przeworski, 1999); and the fallibility of constitutional safeguards (Nedelsky, 1988). In addition, much of the work on citizenships, participation and accountability describes the processes and consequences of inadequate and skewed involvement (Barber, 1984). Theorists and practitioners also recognize that developing countries are affected not only by these rather general limitations but by various contingent factors, many of which exist by virtue of being developing countries, and that these make the bid to build more ‘accountable’ structures and processes a difficult undertaking. Broadly, governments within developing countries often operate in more fragile conditions than those in developed countries, and this can cause them to be less responsive to the electorate than would be desirable.14 However, it is this ‘inadequate responsiveness’ that often allows them the space to implement some urgent policies. At the same time, governments cannot afford to be excessively unresponsive as this puts their legitimacy and the stability of the system at risk, for people will endure exclusions and burdens only up to a point. Individuals will either become frustrated with their unchanged economic and social circumstances or increasingly dissatisfied, even as their incomes and expectations rise. This unfortunate situation can breed practices and institutions that minimize citizen participation and can lead to many negative and unintended outcomes. It can, for instance, increase dependence on the state and stifle citizen initiative. There are other practical considerations: economic conditions can dictate how much can be spent on ensuring the integrity of elections, 14 This lack of responsiveness in many developing countries was exacerbated until the end of the cold war, by real or imagined demands of national security.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  23 implementing constitutional safeguards such as independent investigative bodies or implementing proper monitoring and sanctioning mechanisms within departments. Because of economics, too, governments may overtly or covertly temper citizen participation, fearing the added demands that this can place on the state. However, this described fragility can be and is, in many cases, manipulated by politicians who seek to hold on to power either to implement what they consider necessary reforms that would serve the public’s interest or to accumulate scarce benefits for themselves and their affiliates. Here, the inadequacies of the democratic procedures provide unintended support. Where accountability is largely secured through elections, the politician’s quest is to maintain significant pockets of support. This is achieved by using the party machinery, patronage and various means of coercion. Elections become a mere formality. Results are, on occasions, known beforehand and, where they are not, there are frantic efforts to please core supporters and woo the undecided. Particularly in poor countries, this becomes a tremendously expensive venture that normally involves irresponsible policy-making. Additionally, in many of these developing countries, institutions do not have the overriding authority or independence that Strathern proposes. Instead, they are to varying degrees subordinated, subjected to the whims of the political directorate, so that institutions such as the Auditor General or other independent investigative agencies, even where they do exist and function, are largely ineffective. These are not merely the types of problems that characterize new democracies alone. There are numerous examples of them existing and flourishing in some of the more long-standing democracies. Some limitations of elections In 1999, Cheibub and Przeworski published findings from their empirical investigation of two widely accepted propositions: ‘democracy is a political regime that is distinguished by the accountability of the rulers to the ruled; and elections are the mechanism through which accountability is enforced’. They selected a sample of 135 countries and, within that, studied 102 democratic regimes, tracing their electoral practice from between 1950, the year they gained independence or from when economic data became available, through to 1990. Cheibub and Przeworski started with the familiar assumption that governments’ survival in office depends on their performance. In order to assess performance, the investigators concentrated on governments’ economic record: the rates of growth in per capita income and per capita consumption; government consumption as a

24  Relational Accountability proportion of GNP; and the growth rate of the labour force. They found that except for the slight influence that the growth rate in employment had on survival in office, all the other economic variables had virtually no effect, results which are consistent with other studies that have either concluded that there is no relation between economic outcomes and government survival or have indicated that although there may be some relation in selected contexts, there are no consistent patterns. Concerned that these weak correlations obtained because some additional institutional factors were necessary to enforce accountability, Cheibub and Przeworski decided to control their sample in order to measure whether ‘clarity of responsibility’ affects the relation between economic performance and government survival. They hypothesized that if voters could clearly identify the party or parties to be punished, they would do so more effectively. However, although they introduced controlling variables, such as ‘the share of the majority party in the legislature; the number of effective parties in the legislature; whether or not the government is a coalition’ or whether the military interferes in politics, none of these affected the relationship between accountability and economic outcomes. This observation applied even during election periods, when it would have been expected that governments would be more responsive to voter reactions. Thus, Cheibub and Przeworski were compelled to conclude: ‘elections do not enforce economic accountability in democratic regimes’. They outlined some possible reasons: voters may not allow incumbents adequate opportunity to execute policies; they may prefer a change of government to economic wellbeing; they may have inadequate information or simply make incorrect judgments. These are important considerations. Invariably, the information gap between the representatives and the represented constitutes an inherent tension within and across democracies. Democratic governments rely on popular approval, particularly during elections periods; however, what the electorates desire – that is, their expressed interests – may not make good economic or political sense (Diamond, 1993). Consequently, incumbents may resort to the strategy of trimming their policies in order to please the electorate; they may even make dishonest representations of what they intend to do. Post-election policy switches can be blatant, as Stokes (1997, 1999) observes in Latin America. They may be more difficult to pinpoint, particularly in contexts where they were not clearly enunciated at the outset. This type of obfuscation is not uncommon in countries where representatives are selected based on their personalities and ability to convince, largely through the media, that they are trustworthy and capable of executing policies, for there, the emphasis is on image, rather

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  25 than on clearly stated policy objectives and the strategies that are crafted to execute them. Measuring accountability becomes more difficult in such contexts since both intended outcomes and the means to achieve the ends are quite vague. Whatever the context, it is certainly the case that the electoral accountability mechanism does not force pre-election honesty, so that politicians who are intent on being elected may consider it foolish to tell the electorate the whole truth. Instead, their hope is that by the next day of reckoning, the electorate would have seen the benefits of their policy choices and viewed them more favourably.This is not an unreasonable expectation since ‘institutions of accountability operate in real time, either sporadically or periodically, and this provides officials with opportunities to avoid electoral responsibility for particular actions by grouping unpopular with popular actions’ (Ferejohn, 1999). We can complain about the restrictedness of the measures used and about the need to control for other potentially influential institutional factors. Certainly, issue voting can encompass a wide range of variables, including the credibility of the leader, the government’s foreign policy, attention to social concerns and perceptions of the government’s responsiveness to different interest groups. These are among the very many considerations that may be more significant to the electorate than growth rates and consumption patterns. Nevertheless, Przeworski and Cheibub’s findings underscore two salient points: (1) voting patterns are not necessarily predictable and (2) elected officials are not necessarily punished or rewarded through electoral mechanisms. There are numerous examples from diverse democracies, which suggest that elections may be unreliable in both more and less institutionalized political systems. For example, Ikpe (2009)15 laments the absurdity of elections in some African countries, including Nigeria, Kenya, Zambia and Côte d’Ivoire, where the ‘rational’ expectation was that the governments would have been summarily booted from office, given their performance record. Instead, poorly performing governments were re-elected by many of the very people who claimed to be dissatisfied. Even more perplexing and potentially damaging is the frequency with which election results are knowingly rigged, yet upheld, including by external observers. There is an undesirable tolerance for substandard electoral procedures and outcomes, which, he fears, puts the future of Africa’s democracies at risk. 15 Similarly, analysing the processes and outcomes of the Mexican municipal elections, Moreno-James (2007) disputes the electoral accountability theory, which claims that ‘elections allow voters to punish or reward the performance of incumbent politicians at the ballot box’.

26  Relational Accountability Party allegiance might partially explain the tendency among voters to overlook sometimes the most abysmal government performance. This may be secured through patronage, a proven tool for ensuring that electors are so personally accountable to the politicians who buy their votes that they pay scant regard to the issues. However, this is but one dimension to the relationship. Voters may have a strong role in cultivating relationships of patronage, sometimes despite the politicians’ intent. Three years ago, I was part of a research team that conducted a comparative analysis of power relations, identities and poverty across and within ethnic groups, particularly the Nubians and Baganda in Bombo (Luweero District) who generally co-exist peacefully, though with a degree of mutual ambivalence; and in Nakaseke District, the Barundi, Baganda, Banyarwanda, Banyankore, Lugbara and Bakenyi, whose interactions are characterized by a mixture of mutual respect, suspicion and, in some cases, tensions. Fieldwork was conducted in two districts: Nakaseke and Luweero. In Nakaseke, the respondents were drawn from all over the district; however, in Luweero, they were drawn from the Bombo area. This was because Bombo has a diversity of ethnic groups, including an enclave of immigrants from southern Sudan, referred to by local people as Nubians. There is also a recent influx of Congolese women who came to the area alongside Ugandan soldiers returning from war in the Democratic Republic of Congo, and who are based at the local military base. In addition to these two groups, there are immigrants from Rwanda, Burundi, as well as from other regions in Uganda, with their descendants. For decades, these immigrants have lived and intermingled with the indigenous Baganda. Some of them have ‘disappeared’ into the Baganda, while the Nubians continue to stand out because of their physical features (usually very dark complexion) and Islamic religion. Unlike Bombo, there are no areas in Nakaseke District with concentrations of immigrant communities. On the contrary, there are various ethnic groups, some originally from Rwanda and Burundi and others from other regions of Uganda, who are scattered throughout the district. The Nubians from Bombo District claimed to have fairly good relations with other ethnic groups, except for the Acholi and the Rwandese. They described the Acholi as their sworn enemies since, from their interpretation of events: ‘During the 1979 war, the Nubians were robbed and looted by the Acholi when they were going back. The Acholis went away with their property’.The discord with the Rwandese was more recent and still emerging:

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  27 QUESTION: How do people of different ethnic groups relate? RESPONSE: There are no problems. Maybe except the Rwandese

who come to ride boda bodas (motorbikes). You hear the Nubians telling customers not to board their motorcycles. ‘These are Hutu from Rwanda; they can go with our money. You should not board’.

QUESTION: Why do they call them Bahutu and when did it begin? RESPONSE: They call them Bahutu because they are from Rwanda.

They think they came to collect money and take it to Rwanda. It began when the Town Council removed the tax collection of 300/= from the boda boda. Before that they were ok. But now these Nubians are saying ‘why are you not going to your country and work there? They take our jobs’. There is serious jealousy.

Early in the discussions, religion was presented as the only factor that disturbed ethnic relations with the majority of groups for Nubians were expressly forbidden from marrying non-Muslims and could be summarily booted from the community if they breached this rule. Later, however, elections were presented as a serious polarizing factor; ethnic relations took an entirely different flavour during this period. QUESTION: When

it comes to elections, how do the different ethnic groups vote? RESPONSE: During elections, people vote for their own ethnic groups. Each group wants to compete. The Baganda want their candidate to win so they vote their own people. Likewise, the Nubians also compete with the Baganda. The council is made up of 20 local councillors. Ten are Baganda and ten Nubians. During elections, even those who intermarried will vote according to ethnic lines. A Muganda Moslem married to Nubian Moslem will vote a Moslem Muganda. Even if somebody wronged you before when it comes to elections, the wrangles will be put aside and vote for you because he wants his ethnic group to win. QUESTION: So

how does this affect people’s access to opportunities, resources or services? RESPONSE: If there is something good in the Town Council, people will pull resources towards their ethnic groups. For example, when a mayor is a Nubian, the Nubians will get opportunities first.

28  Relational Accountability Patronage, then, satisfies a more direct and visible form of accountability. The manner in which people subsequently vote may be entirely inconsistent with the public’s interests but the representative would have been duly rewarded for serving individual and/or group interests. Such are the informal relationships that can distort electoral mechanisms. There are many authors who approach these informal relationships with a ready disparaging judgment. This is levied particularly at African societies, which are frequently castigated for sustaining a distasteful level of patronage that is entirely foreign to the West. Chabal and Daloz’s (1999) study, Africa Works: Disorder as Political Instrument presents a different perspective. It rejects Western notions of what does and should constitute rationality and favours an anthropological and historical approach to understanding the meanings of rationality within African societies. What all Africans societies share … is a generalized system of patrimonialism and an acute degree of apparent disorder, as evidenced by a high level of governmental and administrative inefficiency, a lack of institutionalization, a general disregard for the rules of the formal political and economic sectors, and a universal resort to personalized and vertical solutions to societal problems. Chabal and Daloz, 1999: xix Rationality, in the midst of this rampant disorder, requires negotiating a highly ‘informal, uncodified and unpoliced’ system. Within such contexts, politics is decidedly particularistic in order to maximize gains. Depending on elections to facilitate fair distributions and public accountability seems almost foolhardy and decidedly irrational. Voters make seemingly ‘irrational’ choices for other subjective reasons: they may not allow incumbents adequate opportunity to execute policies; they may prefer a change of government to economic wellbeing; they may have inadequate information or simply make incorrect judgments. Furthermore, the vast information gap between the politicians and the electorate, the large number of different issues or decisions on which one vote only can pronounce, and the passage of time between elections, are all perpetual problems that highlight the limitations to the elections– accountability relationship. Simply put: elections are not failsafe mechanisms for securing accountability. There is some contention that electoral accountability is better assured within presidential systems, where the ‘degree and means by which elected policymakers are electorally responsible to citizens’ and the ‘voter’s ability to make an informed choice before elections based on their ability to assess the likely range of postelection governments’ (Shugart and Mainwaring,

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  29 1997: 33) is, supposedly, optimized. In principle, electoral accountability is more effective within presidential arrangements since presidents are directly elected. Voters can make an easier connection between their preferred candidates, the composition of the executive and subsequent policy. In parliamentary arrangements, it is suggested, electoral accountability is compromised at the outset because the executive is not directly elected and the exact composition of the executive cannot be determined as easily. Parliamentary democracy is popular, although increasing numbers of countries are combining parliamentary and presidential systems or engrafting particular presidential-type processes and institutions in order to address the gaps in accountability that appear to typify parliamentary arrangements. Originally, largely through accident rather than deliberate institutional design, parliamentary government actually meant parliamentary supremacy; the legislature controlled the executive (Lijphart, 1984, 1992;Verney, 1992). In contemporary politics, parliaments have had more restricted roles, particularly in drafting budgets and legislation. In parliamentary systems, the chains of delegation are more indirect than in presidential systems (fewer agencies are directly elected by the citizens) and the difficulty is with ensuring that agents perform acceptably in the absence of direct oversight. Presidential systems include more competing agents (who are able to monitor each other) and institutional checks and balances than do parliamentary arrangements. Parliamentary democracies emphasize prior screening/ex-ante control (such as in the recruitment of Cabinet members). Political parties enjoy a stronger role in screening than obtains in presidential systems. Ex-post controls, such as the vote of no confidence and impeachment, rarely occur and parliamentary committees often do not have the oversight capacity required. Presidential systems, with more effective oversight mechanisms, have a better record at ex-post control.The problem, Strom (2000) suggests,‘is not that parliamentary systems lack the opportunity to sanction, but rather that they do not have the monitoring capacity necessary to determine when such sanctions might be appropriate’. Despite these broad categorizations, the vast variations in constitutional structures and outcomes among all the regime types suggest that, in practice, the distinctions proposed are hardly straightforward. The limitations of constitutional safeguards Given the inherent and contingent limitations of elections, constitutionalists insist that additional safeguards are required to protect human dignity and liberty by limiting the scope of government activity. As was discussed

30  Relational Accountability above, Pettit (1997) recommends that these safeguards must be crafted in ways that preclude manipulation by any one party, majority or individual, which means that executive, legislative and judicial powers ought to be separated. It also means that the laws should apply to all in society and be executed fairly, the goal being what Harrington (1992) described as ‘an empire of laws, not of men’. This is the ideal. In reality, while it is true that there are established democracies in which constitutional limitations ‘seem’ less subject to personal manipulation, powerful interests can exert their influence from behind the scenes. Furthermore, where constitutions do not actively challenge discrimination and injustice, they may, tacitly, facilitate tyrannies within democracies. This is not uncommon. In many countries, and despite constitutional safeguards, people’s rights are wantonly infringed, particularly where vast sections of the electorate have insufficient leverage such that appeals against substandard administration may be cumbersome, expensive and, perhaps, inherently biased processes. This is why O’Donnell (1999) is adamant that accountability requires horizontal monitoring mechanisms: In the conditions that prevail in many new polyarchies (inchoate party systems, high volality of voters and parties, poorly defined public policy issues, and sudden policy reversals), the effectiveness of electoral-accountability tends to further diminish. On the other hand, the impact of social demands and of the media, insofar as they denounce and/or demand restitution or punishment for allegedly wrongful actions by public authorities, depends to a large extent on the actions that properly authorized state agencies may undertake in order to investigate and eventually sanction wrong doings. O’Donnell, 1999: 3 Yet, ‘horizontal accountability’ – that is, monitoring and sanctioning by independent state agencies – depends on what O’Donnell describes as ‘historically textured variations in the kinds of existing polyarchies’. In the United States, the physical structure was such that it allowed large populations to have ample access to land, preventing – particularly in the North – the vast inequality that would otherwise have existed. Furthermore, the early American class structure differed from that of the French or the English. For de Tocqueville (1994), the early immigrants to the United States were, in large measure, of similar economic backgrounds. Unlike many European societies, there was a comparably higher level of equality (in terms of access to resources), which was later reflected in the institutions and social mores developed. However, with access to land, powerful economic groups had begun to emerge and these groups were interested

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  31 in forming separate state governments. These sectional pursuits often conflicted with the national purpose. It is rather unsurprising, then, that the Federalists aimed for institutions that would minimize factional power. Thus, America emphasized republican and liberal principles, with relatively less accent on democratic inclusion. In fact, the distinct goal was not democracy per se but a form of representative government that would secure accountability through extensive checks and balances. Given this fundamental distrust of power, the United States’ constitution forces a precautionary separation of the legislature, judiciary and executive. Judges are, ideally, politically independent; the president is elected indirectly; and elections for the legislature are staggered. Power is diffused even further through federalism. All these safeguards are designed to weaken the authority of the political directorate and that of organized private interests. Sunstein (1988: 331) suggests: one of the Federalists’ principal goals was to cabin the reach of normal politics, which they understood in terms of faction, whether based on interest or ideology … public officials would be accountable to the public, and they would neither conduct their deliberations in a vacuum nor be subject to the sway of well-organized private groups. However, the histories, social development and institutional arrangements within many developing countries cause them to traverse a different, though not necessarily irreversible, trajectory (David, 1992; 1994). Economic fortunes were distributed inequitably, at the outset; the class structures and relations were polarized and for most previously colonised countries, the institutional arrangements were not designed to counteract and re-direct the growing incursions on democratic rights, corruption and other improper practices. Instead, institutions were prescribed by the colonial powers and were more appropriate for the empires they belonged to, thus responding inadequately to the particular contexts in which they were implemented. The result, as O’Donnell and scores of other theorists have identified, is the ‘visible gap between the pays legal and the pays reel’. The problem is that these contorted arrangements have proven difficult to change. In many of these countries, liberal and republican values are weak and while democratic principles may be stronger, they may yet be defective and deficient. Again, there is a view that horizontal accountability mechanisms fare better in presidential systems. However, whilst structurally or in principle, the presidential system is more supportive of the emphasis on fracturing the concentration of power, the outcomes are by no means conclusive, as they depend on internal relations of power, electoral laws

32  Relational Accountability and other formal and informal institutions. Crisp’s (1997) discussion of ‘Presidential Behaviour in … Venezuela’ and Philip’s (1998) description of ‘The Lawless Presidency’ in Mexico show that presidents can exert more power than they are allowed under the constitution, and that powerful financial and political interests are able to influence policy, despite the safeguards. Therefore, the manner in which political and economic power are distributed influence the character and scope of the institutions, both formal (those enforced by the state) and informal (behavioural norms and conventions). Depending on the context, institutions may work well or poorly. Similar institutions can produce very different outcomes in different environments.

Multi-linked chains of accountability In summary, political accountability requires ‘positive’ actions (including fair and just representation of interests; providing explanations; and facilitating deliberation) on the part of the government and effective ex-post mechanisms so that representatives can be held to account. However, as the relationships between government and the electorate are also indirect, the status of accountability and, indeed, the overall quality of government’s performance depend on what transpires within intermediary institutions, such as parliament, as well as among those agencies and actors that are contracted to serve the public’s interests on the state’s behalf. It is prudent to consider these intermediary institutions independently, as this circumvents the problem of confusing different types of relationships of accountability and varying methods of securing it. Specifically, it is important to distinguish political accountability from the more legalistic vertical accountability that occurs within public administration (such as within bureaucracies and contracted agencies below), although there are linkages between them. A considerable amount of literature is available on systems and processes of accountability within intermediary institutions, such as parliament, the bureaucracy and contracted agencies. I do not focus on that literature here but simply provide a synopsis in order to demonstrate the crucial linkages within and across agencies as well as the challenges that the multi-linked nature of accountability present. Parliament The essence of parliamentary democracy is that governments are accountable through ministers to the legislature. For an effective legislature, ex-ante accountability principles require that members engage in rigorous

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  33 deliberation and that ministers are subject to interrogation, even by party affiliates. Consequently, government members should provide required and sufficient information to parliament and ministers should be broadly familiar with the operations within their departments, although civil servants and technical staff are relied upon for more detailed and specialist knowledge. Members of parliament are expected to take account of their constituents’ interests – not just those represented by party affiliates – and weigh them fairly; consult with constituency members about issues that affect them; explain when policies do not correspond with expressed interests; and act in a manner that would allow the constituents to assess the quality of their representation. Ex-post accountability mechanisms include the vote of ‘no confidence’, which should pose a credible threat to errant executives; the use of funding, which may be withdrawn from irresponsible departments; the law, which can be used to censure members; and independent monitoring agencies, such as the Auditor General and Ombudsman, which should keep a constant and effective watch on performance. Parliamentary accountability is crucial, as ineffective parliaments are likely to compromise the objective of representing the citizens’ best interests. For the purpose of accountability, the chain of delegation within parliamentary systems is simpler than that in presidential arrangements. Strom (2000: 268) describes it as ‘a single chain of delegation with multiple links’. Voters delegate to elected representatives; representatives who comprise the legislature delegate responsibilities to the heads of government; the head of government delegates to the respective heads of varying departments, who then delegates to the civil servants under their charge. Agents (parties and persons to whom responsibilities are delegated) are, in turn, accountable to the principals (parties and persons who delegate responsibilities). In principle, the chain of accountability is clear: under parliamentary democracy, agents are accountable to a single (though not necessarily individual or unique) principal. Cabinet ministers, for example, report to a single master (the prime minister), and ultimately to a parliament in which a single committee controls their jurisdiction. Likewise, civil servants have a single principal, their respective cabinet minister. Strom, 2000: 267 In practice, agents may consider themselves to be accountable to different principals; for example, the prime minister may adjust performance depending on perceptions of accountability to both the ‘parliamentary majority’ and the ‘popular majority’.

34  Relational Accountability While the agents within parliamentary democracies are, in the main, non-competitive, voters (principals) within presidential systems normally elect competing agents: the president, the upper chamber and the lower chamber. These competing agents, in their own functions as principals (acting on the voters’ behalf), then elect multiple competing agents, for example, civil servants. Accountability is complex as is delegation, as agents are required to respond to multiple principals: ‘Civil servants, for example, may have to report to the president as well as to one or several legislative chambers, and they may also be overseen by the courts or subnational principals’ (2000: 269). Accountability is compromised when agents do not act in the principals’ interest, either through omission (shirking) or commission (sabotage) (Strom, 2000). Acts of omission and commission are more likely where there are information gaps, such as on the inclinations, intentions and preferences of agents and/or lack of knowledge of expectations. They are also likely to occur where there is inadequate oversight, such that ‘agents, once selected, have incentives and opportunities to take unobservable action that is contrary to the interests of the principal’ (Strom, 2000: 270–1). In order to protect against agency losses, principals oversee their agents in various ways: ‘(1) contract design, (2) screening and selection mechanisms, (3) monitoring and reporting requirements, and (4) institutional checks’. Bureaucratic accountability Weber (1946, 1994) thought that bureaucratic power would inevitably increase given the demands of modern politics. The bureaucracy was superior for its technical expertise and its observance of rules and procedures; however, it could hardly be considered neutral, since it often represented particular class interests. Furthermore, it tended to exceed its role, traversing what should properly be the responsibilities of the politician. In fact, it was the very qualities which made it such a technically effective form of administration – knowledge and expertise protected by secrecy, the confidence of its own superior competence and partiality … [that] also gave it the means and the impetus to wield power beyond its inherent limitations. Beetham, 1985: 78 Bureaucratic power often undermined political power, with secrecy, for example, being used to withhold vital information from parliament. Therefore, the bureaucracy had to be contained, with the political

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  35 directorate posing a ‘countervailing power’. Ideally, employees should be selected based on merit and there should be effective rules, procedures and incentives to ensure acceptable performance.16 There are some well-known problems with bureaucratic accountability. The common complaints are that bureaucracies display excessive adherence to procedures, insensitivity to consumer demands and secrecy (Dwivedi, 1994). (Some agents of government bureaucracies are notorious for their poor treatment – which, in some cases, is tantamount to oppression – of different categories of citizens.) These can allow for corruption, compromise policy and programme objectives, as well as abuse fundamental human and civil rights. Bureaucracies can be forceful power structures, which are intent on observing their own norms. Efforts to curb performance might prove difficult since, under most systems, civil servants are protected from immediate dismissal and the processes required to effect sanctions are excessively arduous. Professional accountability The professional accountability that is anticipated from the bureaucracy is also an ideal for those associations that consider their members to be primarily accountable to the codes of their professions and, accordingly, maintain their own internal accounting procedures. This may not prove problematic, particularly where professional groups are expressly committed to serving the public interests. However, governments, in the public’s interests, will nevertheless need to set boundaries to prevent or minimize some of the contraventions that may occur. For example, internal accounting procedures may be inadequate and some groups, given their loyalty to their colleagues, may not properly sanction their members. Therefore, citizens and governments should be able to define expected standards and providers ought to be held accountable through the media, independent monitoring agencies and, ultimately, through the courts. Contracted organizations Governments frequently contract out public services, which they cannot provide effectively or efficiently, to other organizations. Some of these may be private sector entities, which do not necessarily observe the norms that apply within the public service. Such contracted organizations must be regulated: 16 See, for example, Beetham (1985, 1987), Guy Peters (1995), Bovens (1998) and Turner and Hulme (1997) for relevant discussions on bureaucratic accountability.

36  Relational Accountability appropriate fiscal records must be kept; a fair value must be rendered the contracting government agency; some rules of thumb to measure performance are important and, in an overall sense, the process of letting contracts must remain firmly in the hands of government officials. Smith, 1971: 4 Arguably, more attention is paid to improving financial and managerial accountability through circumspect accounting and financial procedures so as to reduce waste (financial accountability) and to proper task and individual performance management (managerial accountability), than to relational accountability.The latter would require, for example, tackling the persistent influence of class, status, gender and other differences on organizational processes and outcomes as well as recognizing and addressing the power dynamics and relations that allow for or prevent necessary synergies within agencies as well as across government and departments or organizations, and among organizations. Non-governmental organizations NGOs have gained the reputation, albeit in some circles more than others, of being more effective than many national governments at promoting democracy and reaching the poor and most marginalized. A considerable amount of funds has been invested, particularly in some of the more visible NGOs, and this has facilitated their involvement and influence in high level public policy debates, advocacy and action locally, nationally and internationally. Given their prominence and influence at all levels, questions are being raised about NGO accountability: Which constituencies do NGOs actually serve? How do conflicting obligations influence accountability, given their public service mandates? NGO accountability has been understood in different ways, as conceptualizations of their roles and purposes shift and change. Jordan and van Tuijl (2006) highlight key features of the transitions. Between 1980 and 1989, NGOs were broadly conceived as providing more effective service delivery since they operated at levels that were closer to the public. NGO accountability, then, was weighed against the objectives of ‘financial accountability, organizational capacity, efficiency and performance’. From 1989 to 1995, that is, in the period following the fall of the Berlin Wall, NGOs – as part of civil society – were thought to have a critical role in promoting democracy. NGO accountability was then assessed by the ‘quality of internal governance’ and by the formalization of appropriate codes of conduct and statements of intent. The emphasis on good governance in the 1995– 2002 period required that NGOs institute mechanisms for self-regulation

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  37 and independent accreditation; these now formed important markers of accountability. Since 2002, and with revived emphasis on the central role of governments in development, concerns have been raised about NGO credibility, the need for their screening and for independent state control. Since that period, too, NGOs are increasingly accepted as having a critical role in promoting human rights. Conceptualizations of accountability are now focusing on responsibilities to varieties of stakeholders, using diverse mechanisms, including those for ‘downward’ accountability. Peruzzotti (2006) makes the noteworthy point that NGOs cannot be subject to the same measures of accountability that pertain to elected representatives. This is because NGOs are constituent parts of civil society and function, largely, in this capacity; citizens do not have the authority that they do with officials who are elected to represent their interests. Nevertheless, various NGOs, particularly those that claim to be committed to development, have adopted their own ex-post and ex-ante mechanisms for accountability, especially in the aftermath of criticisms of loose performance standards in the sector. The principles that underpin the concept of ex-ante accountability, such as the importance of deliberation and consultation and the need for information and explanations, are also embedded in understandings of ‘downward’ accountability, which is now fairly common terminology, particularly among NGOs. Keystone (2006: 3) describes it as how ‘an organization engages with its “beneficiaries”, builds relationships, and is accountable for results in ways that enable learning and improvement towards the achievement of its mission.’ However, its study of twenty organizations and 404 individuals representing them discovered that, characteristically, agencies prioritize various planning tools and reporting mechanisms, such as participatory evaluations, rather than meaningful dialogue. The survey reflects a general conflation, amongst NGOs and donors alike, of ‘participatory evaluation’ and ‘accountability to “beneficiaries” ’. Whilst learning from ‘beneficiaries’ in order to enhance an organization’s strategy for change is essential, this is different from being accountable to them. Accountability has to do with how one manages the unequal distribution of power in place when those that are meant to benefit from one’s work have weak political and economic voice. In the complex context of social change, much of the time accountability also implies the building of confidence in those constituencies. Few practitioners would disagree that building the confidence and capability in disempowered communities to hold others more powerful to account is the essential cornerstone of social change. In all cases, this will not be achieved with current planning and reporting tools and systems, but rather through enhancing

38  Relational Accountability the quality of accountability in dialogue and relationships as the key driver of development practice. Keystone, 2006: 4–5 External accountability It is important to name the quality of external–domestic relations as part of the multi-linked chain of accountability since governments are at once accountable to the electorate and to a variety of international agencies and actors.The consequences for domestic public accountability depend on the terms of the obligations. For example, as the economic histories of many developing countries show, financial accountability to donor agencies can conflict with and preclude domestic political accountability; similarly, technical support from lending agencies can prove advantageous or disadvantageous. Broadly, the prospects for holding governments accountable are circumscribed where dependent states have obligations to donor agencies and countries. Options may be restricted under these arrangements and alternative mechanisms, which could better enhance accountability, may remain unexplored. Of course, external accountability can have the opposing effect. For instance, governments that are signatories to particular human rights conventions may find it more difficult to commit abuses against certain categories of persons, since this may incur substantial political costs both domestically and internationally. Similarly, globalized networks may insist on appropriate representation of interests that may have, otherwise, remained ignored. In sum, there are differing dimensions to accountability; I have made a modest attempt at presenting a rudimentary map. Ideally, in order to properly represent the public’s interests or to secure public accountability, governments should be politically accountable. This requires responsive and responsible, including proactive (democracy and justice promoting), actions on the part of governments and effective ex-post mechanisms so that representatives can be held to account. However, since governments are also indirectly accountable to the electorate, intermediary institutions, such as parliament, should have effective mechanisms for securing the accountability of the ministers, the executive and departments under their charge. This raises the importance of parliamentary accountability, as well as of bureaucratic and professional accountability. Notably, the latter is also required of independent organizations that are contracted to provide services on the government’s behalf. Of course, governments cannot merely be concerned with the accountability of contracted organizations; they are required to institute adequate safeguards in order

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  39 to ensure that non-contracted organizations do not perpetuate rights abuses within the state. In this multi-linked web of accountability, both intra- and inter-institutional accountability are important. In principle, these entail financial accountability (in order to ensure circumspect accounting and financial procedures so as to reduce waste) and managerial accountability (which aims for proper task and individual performance management). I have suggested that while technical approaches to accountability have substantial merit, they provide an incomplete rendition of the dimensions of accountability. Correspondingly, in various parts of this chapter, I have taken care to stress the importance of a more explicit focus on the relational dimensions to accountability. In the section below, I summarize the main tenets of the thoughts expressed and outline the conceptual approach that will be explored in subsequent chapters.

Understanding relational accountability It is worth reiterating that relational approaches to understanding accountability do not underestimate the worth and significance of broad procedures and processes for regulating power, such that office holders can be persuaded to equip themselves responsibly and effectively. Conversely, they acknowledge that, in principle, the varying and interlinked mechanisms for securing accountability ex-ante and ex-post are designed to cultivate relations of accountability that are in the public’s interests. This chapter describes the dialogic relationships that are anticipated of ex-ante accountability and the relations of answerability and enforceability that are critical to ex-post accountability. However, it goes further and underscores that the quality of these relations of accountability depends on power and capacity, including of differing segments of the electorate to represent claims and interests, engage meaningfully in dialogic processes, and enforce sanctions on the persons elected to represent. In this section, I outline the value of relational approaches to conceptualizing and building accountability. The merit of a human- and society-centred lens to understanding accountability I have hinted throughout this chapter that relational approaches supply a critical human- and society-centred lens to interpretations of accountability while, in contrast, conventional approaches are predominantly macro-institutional, asocial and, to some extent, apolitical (such as in cases where they overlook the roles of power in struggles for

40  Relational Accountability accountability). Relational approaches start from the premise that people are, primarily, social creatures and actors; therefore, their wellbeing, freedoms, capacities, willingness to act as well as the quality of their political involvement also depend on their social relationships. As cultures are fundamental to social relationships, relational approaches are, necessarily, concerned with how they (cultures) help to mould the ways people live with each other, become a constitutive part of human and political development and influence accountability processes and outcomes. The 2008 UNFPA State of World Population Report draws from various theories to provide a definition of culture that is markedly unlike some traditional conceptualizations, which tend to depict it ‘as bounded and static and belonging to particular sets of people’:17 Cultures are the inherited patterns of meanings that people share within particular contexts.18 Through processes of socialization, people develop common understandings of what is more and less significant. These common understandings, which may be reflected in symbols, values, norms, beliefs, relationships and different forms of creative expression, influence how people ‘manage their daily worlds, large and small’;19 they ‘shape the way things are done and understandings of why they should be done so’;20 they provide the lens through which people interpret actions and through which they understand the actions of others.21 UNFPA, 2008: 12

17 Understandings of culture have changed over time. Within the field of anthropology, the concept was originally used in reference to societies that were considered ‘primitive’, where people lived in ‘integrated, harmonious, consensual and largely unchanging contexts’. These contexts were entirely different from ‘civilized’ European environments, with its contestations and progress. With later developments – such as the expansion of cultural studies; the emergence of world systems theory; Foucauldian studies on discourse and power; and analyses of globalization – the conceptualization of culture as bounded and static and belonging to particular sets of people is no longer tenable. Culture is now understood as ‘historically produced; unbounded; contested; incorporated within structures of power such as the construction of hegemony; rooted in practices, symbols, habits, patterns of practical mastery and practical rationality within cultural categories of meaning’ (Merry, 2001: 41–2). 18 Geertz (1973). 19 Ross (1997: 42). 20 Schalkwyk (2000: 1). 21 See, for example, Kimmel (2006: 627) and Knutsson (2005:3).

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  41 However, this does not mean that people who share the same cultures manage their daily worlds in identical ways for though cultures ‘affect how people line up and how they act on a wide range of matters’ (Ross, 1997) they do not cause uniform thoughts or behaviours. ‘Individuals who live within the same cultural setting can hold antagonistic convictions, based on different values’ (Chabal and Daloz, 1988). Groups and subgroups among them may interact differently – both horizontally and vertically – with various power structures. However, these varied values and interactions are part of a system, and culture provides the ‘language that makes understanding [the ways of life within it] possible’ (Chabal and Daloz, 1988). One key limitation of some of the common approaches to accountability is that they do not dig sufficiently beneath democratic institutions and a presumed democratic culture to examine the multiplicity of cultures that actually help to shape political systems in different ways, even within the same country context. These underlying cultures and/or patterns of meanings do not simply emerge. Rather, they hinge on the availability of resources; levels and types of technology and knowledge; modes of production and the structures and relationships of power that are generated to manage them; inherited philosophies, including religion; people’s perceptions of their and [others’] place and space in society and the world; and mechanisms and types of socialization. UNFPA, 2008: 12 As these factors and forces are not uniform across or within societies, patterns of meanings inevitably differ; they can also shift and change. Patterns of meanings are also entirely consequential for whether and how people engage as citizens. They develop out of people’s varied experiences of citizenship and, in turn, provide a lens for interpreting these experiences. Earlier in this chapter, I used snippets from conversations among ethnic groups in Nakaseke and Luweero districts in Uganda to demonstrate that social and cultural ties influence electoral performance: people tend to vote based on their ethnic allegiances. As in other contexts, ethnicity and the associated cultural obligations are still key to how people consider their roles as citizens in very many African societies, despite concerted strategies to subsume them beneath a greater loyalty to the state and to what are conceived as the attending functions and duties of ‘political’ citizens. However, relations of accountability are rarely that straightforward; there are always synergies between the

42  Relational Accountability social and the political. To illustrate this, I have elsewhere22 presented an interesting case study of conflicting accountabilities among Baganda23 (the Ganda people) in Uganda. Buganda is the largest remaining traditional kingdom in Uganda. The Kingdom has managed to maintain strong systems of governance, which, at varying periods in history, appear to parallel and sometimes challenge those of the state. There are substantial intra-group inequalities among Baganda – the largest and, arguably, most prominent ethnic group – which started from the colonial period. These inequalities have translated into disaffection and power struggles. One Muganda, a prominent academic, explained why she had withdrawn her support for officials who represent the Kingdom of Buganda: ‘The Lukiko [Buganda parliament] has transformed the progressive dynamic interest into self-interest. People are only there to rule, gain and to utilize us without acknowledging the resource’ (Personal interview, July 2003). Despite sentiments such as these, the officials who represent the Kingdom of Buganda still retain sturdy support across social classes and age groups. There are many persons who place great value on traditional norms and expectations and are willing to sacrifice their incomes and skills for the Kingdom and their Kabaka (king), despite their economic status. In 2003, the Kingdom of Buganda re-presented its long-standing desire for self-government, under a proposed federal arrangement: Federo. In one interview, the Prime Minister of Buganda, the Katikkiro, explained: If effective steps are not taken now to protect a culture of Baganda, as more and more people settle in Buganda, Buganda culture may well become extinct while the cultures of other areas that are not exposed to mass migration are preserved. Some areas of Uganda have resorted to other and more drastic methods of ejecting non-natives from their areas. Buganda, since 700 years ago, has always welcomed, and will continue to welcome with open arms all other people. But it is important that this will not mean other people overwhelming Buganda’s cultural heritage to the extent of making Buganda culture and its culture institutions extinct. Personal interview with Katikkiro of Buganda, July 2003 In promoting Federo, Baganda officials built a strong support base among the people. When the Cabinet decided not to grant Federo, 22 See Moncrieffe (2004a) and Bebbington et al. (2008: 73–102). 23 Muganda is the singular form, referring to one person among the Ganda. Baganda is the plural form, meaning the Ganda people.

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  43 the Kabaka cancelled his 10th coronation anniversary celebrations and proclaimed, with magnificent flourish, that his people will be mourning, not celebrating: ‘The Baganda shall wear black cloth around their waists as a sign of mourning. [Further], the mourning will be marked by prayers in all mosques this Friday, and in the churches on Saturday and Sunday’. Many pro-Federo demonstrations and study sessions were convened, with wide support from among the young and old. ‘The need for selfgovernment was so effectively politicized that ‘angry mothers threatened to undress and bare their breasts before President Museveni, which is a curse in Buganda, and people [demanded] that the Kabaka go into exile so that they can launch another liberation struggle’ (quoted in Moncrieffe, 2004a: 17). Loyalty to the Kingdom and to the acknowledged cultural principles is displayed in other ways. Some of these expressions involve enormous selfsacrifices. One commentator described how these patterns of meanings affected early poverty reduction programmes. When the poverty alleviation programme was first implemented, it was passed by the Kabaka and through him to the people. The people felt bad that the Kabaka was giving to them and so gave the money back to the Kabaka. This is because there is a principle that if you get some money, you should return it to the pool. Personal interview, ministry official, July 2003 For our purposes, the important point to note is that as ‘interdependent social agents’, people develop norms – whether they accept these willingly or are coerced – for mutual accountability, which involves mutual susceptibility, and, with these, standards and processes for approval and disapproval. These norms and expectations, although they are not inflexible, may result in practices and behaviours that are not entirely consistent with those considered important for optimal civic engagement, including those thought to be supportive of accountability ex-ante and ex-post. I have emphasized that patterns of meanings may be fraught with tensions and considerable internal dissent. This is more likely to obtain where it is recognized that historic inequalities and injustices are at the root of existing cultures, which, in turn, sustain them. Relational approaches are, necessarily, concerned with the processes and power relations that prop up cultures of inequalities.These cultures of inequalities and injustices are not restricted to small communal pockets; instead, they permeate institutional frameworks, such that even the most carefully planned arrangements for checks and balances can carry histories and cultures in ways that warp the desired intent. The assumption that democratic institutions will, through

44  Relational Accountability rules, regulations and reporting mechanisms, inevitably harness the partial passions and interests of public servants, who bring with them their own socially constructed belief systems, is inherently flawed. On the contrary, historic inequalities and injustices persist, not only because the institutions are not appropriately designed to address them but also because people, in and through their relationships, uphold them. Injustices, as very many practitioners are aware, can obtain at varying and overlapping levels; they may be embedded in public policies, institutions, laws and cultures in such ‘natural’ ways that they remain unnoticed. Additionally, and significantly, Lonsdale (1986) and Dunn (1986) highlight the pervasive oppressions that can occur in everyday life, those multifaceted harms that can abound in communities, within homes, in other private and not so private spaces, affecting processes and mechanisms for accountability.The political consequences of these ‘on the ground’ relationships are not represented, as well as they ought, either in conceptualizations of accountability or, correspondingly, in the proposed solutions to problems of accountability; relational approaches can address this gap. The merit of a human- and society-centred lens to building more equitable relations of accountability I have argued that, in actuality, enduring injustices and inequalities can warp power relationships and produce and sustain partial and skewed relations of accountability. Like Spinner-Halev (2007), Hayward (2009) and Jung (2009) above, I endorse demands for proactive representation, particularly of the sort that deals, convincingly, with the enduring and evolving injustices that impair active and productive citizenship. This is where relational approaches are invaluable for it is only through understanding the roots to unequal citizenships that it then becomes feasible to build more equitable relations of accountability from the core and, more precisely, to genuinely improve the capacities of varying segments of the population to engage meaningfully as citizens. I have suggested that more equitable relations of accountability ought to be a significant democracypromoting priority. I have contended, too, that while pervasive inequalities of accountability can provoke the sort of resistance that improves the quality of democracy, they can also provoke resistance that generates and cements profoundly anti-democratic politics. By now, the bareness and restricted potential of exclusive technical approaches ought to be clear for, in contrast to relational perspectives, technical apolitical approaches portray accountability as a fixed state of affairs that can be aimed for and achieved through conjuring and deploying the right mix of performance inducing, reporting and

Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints  45 sanctioning mechanisms. Thus, I am accountable if I report, observe checks and balances and engage in deliberation. However, all these can transpire, with mechanical precision, without fundamental changes in the life chances of the most disaffected populations and sometimes because of the lack of such changes. Accountability mechanisms can exist and function while relations of accountability remain destructively unequal. Accountability, when interpreted solely in a technical sense, can thrive comfortably with injustice. Further, accountability mechanisms can exacerbate unequal relations by adding inequalities of accountability to the original imbalance of power. Przeworski (1991) roots differentiated relations of accountability in the very nature of existing democracies: Democracy is a system which grants citizenship rights to most individuals but it does not automatically generate the social and economic conditions necessary for an effective exercise of these rights. Hence, to the extent that social and economic inequalities limit access to the political system, even well designed accountability mechanisms may end up merely perpetuating class relations.Widespread participation and also better distribution of assets to facilitate the exercise of citizenship are, therefore, necessary for accountability mechanisms to work. Even so, participation is not enough. Unless participants can effectively monitor the performance of the bodies they supervise, and unless they have instruments with which to reward and punish government, participation will remain merely symbolic. Therefore, relational approaches are concerned with what transpires in the underbelly of societies and political institutions. To that end, they require techniques and methodologies that borrow from anthropology and political sociology and that incorporate institutional analysis, power analysis and culture-sensitive approaches. It is with these techniques and methodologies that it becomes possible to delve beneath broad technical frameworks in order to understand the deep factors that differentiate citizenship experiences and skew relations of accountability. These factors may include social, political and economic inequalities; various forms of oppressions and injustices; differing socialization processes; and the power dynamics and relations surrounding these. Relational approaches are equally pertinent for analysing the politics of accountability at other levels and in other dimensions, such as within and across agencies, where, as one could describe it, the ‘character of citizenship’ within and across agencies helps to define the quality of horizontal, vertical, intra- and interinstitutional accountability.

46  Relational Accountability Operating at these micro levels, relational approaches are able to recommend: context-specific actions that may be required for rectifying the injustices that exist deep within societies and which may be legitimized in and through cultures; solutions that are critical for bridging the social and political gaps that come from systemic prejudice, discrimination and various forms of inequalities; and actions to improve the effectiveness of existing accountability processes and mechanisms. Here, one key benchmark of ‘effectiveness’ must be greater equality in relations of accountability, with the aim of reducing injustice in outcomes. In subsequent chapters, I continue to demonstrate the significance of relational approaches. In Chapter 2, I revisit literature on citizenship, with the aim of exploring how unequal experiences help to condition unequal relations of accountability. In Chapter 3, I review concepts of power and expand on the links between power relations and accountability. In Chapter 4, I use a case study to show how inequalities of accountability generate the kind of resistance that warps democratic processes and outcomes.

2 ‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability ‘Cultures are always in the making’, Marilyn Strathern (2000) argues, and ‘the cultural stamp of accountability’ is assessments, specifically audits. Perhaps the ‘audit culture’ she describes has tempered somewhat since that time, for with the re-invigoration of citizenship studies (particularly, the emphasis on differentiated citizenships), the current interest in relationships and in the power dynamics that help to shape them, accountability is increasingly being seen through a broader, less mechanical and quantifiable, lens. However, to the extent that there is a comparatively less hardedged approach, this should not be misjudged as constituting a revolution since solutions to problems of accountability still focus, predominantly, on technical interventions: designing and implementing effective checks and balances, facilitating monitoring and evaluation, and establishing the institutional channels that are necessary for dialogue. Even more ‘participatory’ conceptualizations, such as mutual accountability and downward accountability, tend to concentrate on the design and use of institutions and mechanisms that would make accountability work. Relational approaches do not negate the importance of crafting the appropriate mechanisms; they acknowledge that institutions are important for regulating and mediating relationships between representatives and the represented, development actors and constituents, consumers and clients. However, relational approaches recognize that when analyses of accountability are fixed primarily on institutions, substantial issues are overlooked, including the histories, cultures, structures and substructures, social relationships and power dynamics that, together, influence how institutions perform and what accountability means in practice. Relational approaches are concerned with how people perform in their roles as social actors, why they perform the way they do, and how the quality of relationships influences the character of accountability. Relational approaches force consideration of questions such as these: How do people experience accountability? How are the varied ‘meanings’ of accountability shaped

48  Relational Accountability within different contexts? How do the relationships that are cultivated produce ‘inequalities of accountability’, and with what effects? Such questions are concerned with the very substance of democracy, which Lonsdale (1986) refers to as ‘deep politics’. They are also intricately related to people’s understandings and experiences of citizenship.This is because it is through active citizenship that rulers and the ruled are meant to engage in ‘dialogue’ – direct and indirect – on matters of public affairs, including the incumbent’s performance. However, citizenship is not straightforward and it can be Janus-faced; while it is suggestive of equality and fairness,‘citizenship’ can entrench inequalities and injustice and facilitate the conditions for transmitting these across generations (I will expand on this subject in subsequent chapters). The first section of this chapter provides a synopsis of developments in citizenship theory, focusing particularly on the nature of and roots of inequalities of citizenship. The second section assesses the implications of these inequalities for relationships of accountability, considering, particularly, the conditions under which carefully crafted accountability mechanisms can perpetuate the inequalities of citizenship that distort relationships of accountability.

On citizenship Citizenship is an old subject. There is a tendency to locate its origin in Western scholarship and to refer, specifically, to the practice of citizenship in fifth to fourth century Athenian city-states; Rome, from the first century bc to first century ad; Florence, in the late medieval period and to America and France in the late eighteenth century (Heater, 1999: 1). There is comparatively less scholarship on citizenship experiences among ‘other’ civilizations, such as those in Africa, China, India and the Middle East; few accounts note the influences of the East on Europe; neither do many acknowledge ‘that civilizations [can have] a different conception of political membership and status and, thus, a different conception of citizenship’ (Isin and Wood 1999: 5). Problematically, such can be the nature of hegemony; understandings of citizenship have been left poorer as a consequence. Since the 1990s, citizenship has re-emerged in Western scholarship, although it had long been a preoccupation of Southern countries, particularly in the aftermath of their independence. Heater (1999) suggests that the following interrelated factors account for this revival: the emergence of the New Right in the United States and United Kingdom, who raised questions about citizens’ rights to welfare provisions; issues raised by international migration; increased awareness of ethnic, cultural

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  49 and other sites of difference; the politicization of national differences and disintegration of nation-states. This latter development has resulted in two broad sets of responses. First, some governments have been insisting on a national civic identity, in order to assimilate differences. For example, France has developed a tradition of cultural and political homogeneity. This approach has better prospects in culturally homogeneous societies, where citizens share common historical bonds; however, it has proven to be a testing prospect in countries with politically salient cultural and/ or linguistic diversity’. In response, multiculturalists have been emphasizing the importance of recognizing the diversities within nation-states and of addressing the exclusions that citizenship brings. Here, Linz et al. (2003) intentionally reverse the approach.They suggest that ‘state-nations’, as opposed to nation-states, ‘respect the legitimate political expression of active socio-cultural cleavages; try to accommodate these without privileging any one claim; and seek to build a sense of political community by emphasizing multiple identities’. The premise for this stance is that identities are not fixed or primordial; that even seemingly disparate groups may share common interests and objectives; that emphasizing these common bonds is critical for building tolerant societies; and that the more restrictive nation-state mindset may no longer be feasible in divided societies, where the issue of identity is being increasingly politicized. However, structural reforms may fail to bridge divisions, particularly in highly unequal societies. In ideal circumstances, governments would opt for constitutional arrangements that accommodate and respect diversity and, importantly, aim for socially just policies that preclude individual and group discrimination and deprivations.

Three traditions in citizenship thought It is usual to distinguish among civic republican, liberal and communitarian approaches to citizenship, though these are not sufficient to represent the diversities of experiences. The civic republican tradition The civic republican tradition is normally linked to Sparta and Athens in the sixth to fourth centuries bc, to republican Rome from the first century bc to the first century ad and to the city-states of central Italy from the eleventh century. The citizen, as these ancient republics defined him, both ruled in the assemblies and was, in turn, ruled. Citizens were to collaborate in decision-making, which entailed making decisions, respecting the authority of other citizens, and obeying the agreed

50  Relational Accountability laws and rules. Citizenship required equality, although this equality was restricted only to those appropriately qualified: ‘a male of known genealogy, a patriarch, a warrior, and the master of the labour of others (normally slaves)’ (Pocock, 1992: 36). For those fortunate to be classified as citizens, their participation in decision-making was not merely seen as contributing to the public good but rather as actually embodying the public good. Citizenship signified ‘freedom/liberty’ to become involved in public decisions: ‘Citizenship is not just a means of being free; it is the way of being free itself ’ (Pocock, 1992: 37). Here, Isaiah Berlin’s (2002: 169) definition is useful: I am normally said to be free … to the degree to which no man or body of men interferes with my activity. Political liberty in this sense is simply the area within which a man can act unobstructed by others. If I am prevented by others from doing what I could otherwise do, I am to that degree unfree. Thus, the citizens in these republics were to remain unencumbered, such that they could invest their energies into the polis instead of the material infrastructure. Meanwhile ‘others’, including slaves and women, were destined to remain as functionaries within the material infrastructure, either as instruments that were managed by others (slaves) or the managers of these instruments (women). In other terms, citizenship, in the active sense described, required equality among those privileged to be members but this had to be buttressed by the inequality of non-members. While these specific prerequisites of citizenship are described as unpalatable now, citizenship – where this is taken to mean participation in decision-making – maintains a veneer of equality (although some would contend that in some contexts it lacks even this) but sustains and even appears to thrive on inequalities. Since the 1960s, feminist scholars have lamented the partialities of democracy, including the inherent gendered inequalities of citizenship.1 There is ample literature on how class and race inequalities can colour the character of citizenship.2 In many previously colonized countries, the legacies of constructed and manipulated inequalities have distorted the lived meanings of citizenship, with harsh social, economic and political consequences. ‘Is it possible’, Pocock asks, ‘to eliminate race, class and gender as prerequisites to the condition of 1 See, for example, Phillips (2007); Young (1989); Pateman (1990); Rowbotham (1986); Phillips (1991). 2 See Mann (1987).

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  51 ruling and being ruled, to participate as equals in the taking of public decisions?’ To this, there appears to be reluctant resignation: although equality in citizenship is not feasible, it remains a necessary and moral objective. The ancient conception of the politically engaged and virtuous citizen did not and could not remain static. As the size, social composition and methods of bureaucratic administration changed, it became increasingly difficult to sustain the level of political engagement that was expected under the Socratic tradition. Political commitment to the polis declined and greater weight was placed on ‘individual autonomy and moral development’ (Turner, 2010: 202). Such were the transitions that Gaius, a Roman jurist who lived some five centuries after Aristotle, helped to redefine conceptualizations of the citizen, rendering him a legal rather than political being. For Gaius, people’s relations with each other revolved around their actions upon things, particularly the taking and giving possession of them; these relations required regulation. Over time, the citizen became an individual who was part of a community that was regulated by the law; accordingly, he had the right to ask for and expect legal protection. One consequence of this definition is that, in some measure, it broke down the original distinctions between citizen and subject; the subject could now claim membership in a legal community. Another consequence, as Pocock portrays it, is that ‘possession, rather than the emancipation from possession, became the formal centre of his citizenship, and the problem of freedom became, increasingly, a problem of property’ (Pocock, 1992: 45). The citizen, redefined as a legal rather than a political being, found himself connected to a world of things which he possessed and rights to things which the law would also treat as his possessions. He could define himself as a citizen (or bourgeois) of a community of laws defining his rights to things, and go so far as to believe in the global universe as such a community, in which the laws of nature defined his natural rights and made him, as it were, a citizen of nature. The enormous importance of possessive individualism was that it made possession and right the constituent links between personality and reality, in which framework action became increasingly action legis ... action according to law. Pocock, 1992: 45 In modern political thought, theorists on liberal democracy and legal scholars have attempted to resolve the distinctions between these

52  Relational Accountability two concepts of citizenship (Aristotelian and Gaian). In contemporary language, citizens are persons with rights; they are rights-bearers. These are modes of interaction between the person and the world of things, and with other persons through the medium of things; persons recognize one another as human, and so recognize themselves as human, through recognizing one another’s rights in a universe of shared law. Pocock, 1992: 47 The rights-bearer (citizen) now has both legal and political presence, for in the exercise of citizenship s/he has the responsibility to demand accountability for her/his rights. Contemporary civic republicans attempt to integrate the liberal (self-interested individual) and communitarian (society-embedded individual) positions, while infusing these with the notion of individual obligation to participate in the political process. People do not merely have the right to participate; they ought to be supplied with the resources, such as deliberative processes, that would enable effective participation. The idea of a common civic culture/ identity is central to civic republican theory. However, this can only be secured where persons are committed to surmounting their particularistic interests and to seeking fairness for the differing segments of the community in the interest of common goals (Miller, 1995; Beiner, 1995; Habermas, 1998). The liberal tradition The liberal tradition is rooted in political developments, principally in Great Britain and the United States, in the aftermath of the English Civil War and the American War of Independence respectively. It is encapsulated in Locke’s Two Treatises of Civil Government, which makes it clear that each individual should have the equal right to ‘preserve … his life, liberty and estate’.3 According to the liberal approach, citizenship is a status that affords to all individuals state protection of defined universal rights. Equality of citizenship is secured through granting all persons the same rights, irrespective of their standing and status. The French Declaration and the American Bill of Rights (both concluded in 1789) prioritized the legal rights to ‘freedom of speech and conscience, equality before the law, the presumption of innocence and to trial by jury’ (Heater, 1999: 6). Consistent with the Gaian emphasis on possessive individualism, Locke 3 Also see Dunn (1969).

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  53 (1988: s. 94) emphasized the importance of the right to property, declaring that ‘government has no other end’ but its preservation. The American Declaration of Rights was even more insistent, establishing that the right to property is ‘inviolable and sacred’ (American Declaration of Rights, Article 17). Heater (1999: 6) neatly encapsulates the main tenets of the liberal approach: First, the individual remains an individual. The acquisition of citizenly status does not necessitate the abandonment of the pursuit of self-interest. Public and private spheres are kept distinct, and citizens are under no obligation to participate in the public arena if they have no inclination to do so. Nor have citizens any defined responsibilities vis-à-vis their fellow citizens. All are equal, autonomous beings, so that there is no sense that the state has any organic existence, bonding the citizens to it and to each other. Citizens have the odd duty to perform, it is true – mainly the payment of taxes – in return for the protection of their rights by the state … Citizenship largely means the pursuit of one’s private life and interests more comfortably because that private life is insured by state protected rights. The citizen’s primary private pursuit is wealth The liberal approach to citizenship grew with solid support from capitalism and with budding synergies between them. However, there were – and are – areas of discord and mutual hostilities as well. Citizenship can, and has been used to, temper the thrust of capitalism, such as through market regulations and social security provisions. Capitalism, in turn, prioritizes economic relationships, which can undermine the presumed equality of status that citizenship promises. At the end of this struggle, according to the Marxist explanation, citizenship is uncovered for what it is: merely imaginary political power that proves incompetent when it stands in opposition to the market. T.H. Marshall’s influential essay, Citizenship and Social Class, was concerned with these very tensions between capitalism and citizenship. His study, which concentrated on the historical development of citizenship (civil, political and social) rights in Great Britain, revisited a subject that Alfred Marshall had begun to explore; that is, how ‘equality’ of citizenship could coexist with political and social inequalities and, to such an extent, that ‘citizenship has itself become, in certain respects, the architect of social inequality’. T.H. Marshall and T. Bottomore (1992) highlighted the following specific questions:

54  Relational Accountability The basic human equality of membership has been enriched with new substance and invested with a formidable array of rights. ... Is it still true that basic equality, when enriched in substance and embodied in the formal rights of citizenship, is consistent with the inequalities of social class? Further, is it still true that basic equality can be created and preserved without invading the freedom of the competitive market? What is the effect of the marked shift in emphasis from duties to rights? Are there limits beyond which the modern drive towards social equality cannot, or is unlikely to, pass? (These remain critical questions in any society.) In addressing these questions, Marshall provided an evolutionary account of the development of civil, political and social citizenship in Britain, with the intention of describing how potentially explosive social inequalities existed under the rubric of equality in citizenship, as well as of tracing the ‘progress’ towards social equality. In Marshall’s account, civil rights developed throughout the eighteenth century in Britain. These comprised ‘rights necessary for individual freedom – liberty of the person, freedom of speech, thought and faith, the right to own property and to conclude valid contracts, and the right to justice.’ In some cases, the civil rights that were introduced reflected genuine and fairly widespread changes in attitudes; thus, they updated parachronistic laws. At other times, the ‘new’ civil rights stood in contradistinction to custom and to the preferences of the classes that had profited from their absence. Political citizenship rights were then provided and/or extended in the nineteenth century. These included the ‘right to participate in the exercise of political power, as a member of a body invested with political authority or as an elector of the members of such a body’. Originally, these rights were restricted to particular categories and, though citizenship rights attempted to bridge some boundaries, political inequalities remained up to the twentieth century. It was not until 1918 – in the aftermath of even violent protests from women who demanded the suffrage (most notably, the Suffragettes) – that the Representation of the People Act gave women of property, over the age of 30, the right to vote. At the time, this Act was regarded as a noteworthy achievement but, in actuality, it made conservative provisions, as it excluded the non-propertied women (of which there were significant numbers) and women who did not fall within the stipulated age limit. Women did not achieve full political equality until 1928. Social citizenship rights developed in the twentieth century, and this involved:

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  55 the whole range from the right to a modicum of economic welfare and security to the right to share to the full in the social heritage and to live the life of a civilized being according to the standards prevailing in the society. Marshall’s account of the development of social citizenship rights is of particular relevance to the thesis that is being developed in this book and, accordingly, is recounted now in some detail. In the nineteenth century, he notes, social citizenship rights were ‘in the doldrums’. The Poor Law was originally designed to be the ‘aggressive champion of the social rights of citizenship’ but this position changed so that by the Act of 1834, the Poor Law ‘offered relief only to those who, through age or sickness, were incapable of continuing the battle, and to those other weaklings who gave up the struggle, admitted defeat and cried for mercy’. The Poor Law was no longer meant to provide social security; instead, its minimal provisions were allotted to persons who were no longer regarded as ‘proper citizens’. The Poor Law treated the claims of the poor, not as an integral part of the rights of the citizen, but as an alternative to them – as claims which could only be met if the claimants ceased to be citizens in any true sense of the word. For paupers forfeited in practice the civil rights of personal liberty, by internment in the workhouse, and they forfeited by law any political rights they might possess. Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 15 Long after this effective ‘disenfranchisement’ was removed (1918), Marshall contended that the legacies remained: ‘The stigma which clung to poor relief expressed the deep feelings of a people who understood that those who accepted relief must cross the road that separated the community of citizens from the outcast company of the destitute’ (Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 15). He notes a similar tendency with the early Factory Acts for though these Acts resulted in general improvement in working conditions, they offered protection only to women and children: noncitizens. Those afforded the respectable status of citizens, the adult males, were not to be laden with the ignominy of protection, since this would prevent them from freely arranging contracts for employment. It was not until the end of the nineteenth century, he suggests, that the factory code was accepted as important for the social rights of all citizens. The history of education provision bore some similarities to the Poor Law and early Factories Acts but was distinct in some ways. Education had – and needed to have – broader coverage. The state recognized that

56  Relational Accountability children had a right to education and that this was consequential for citizenship: The right to education is a genuine social right of citizenship, because the aim of education during childhood is to shape the future adult. Fundamentally, it should be regarded, not as the right of the child to go to school, but as the right of the adult citizen to have been educated … Education is a necessary prerequisite of civil freedom. Therefore, elementary education was both free and compulsory by the end of the nineteenth century. As political citizenship extended, it also became clear that democracy required an educated citizenry and that citizens had a duty to pursue it (Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 16). However, while elementary education was freely provided, it was done in such a way that ‘it increased the value of the worker without educating him above his station’ (Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 21). Therefore, the extension of citizenship rights did not necessarily facilitate equality; this was not the intent. Citizenship was socially constructed in ways that suited the inequalities inherent in capitalism. At this point, Marshall arrives at conclusions that are practical and poignant: A property right is not a right to possess property, but a right to acquire it, if you can get it. But if you use these arguments to explain to a pauper that his property rights are the same as those of a millionaire, he would probably accuse you of quibbling. Similarly, the right to freedom of speech has little real substance if, from lack of education, you have nothing to say that is worth saying, and no means to make yourself heard if you say it. But these blatant inequalities are not due to defects in civil rights, but to lack of social rights … Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 21 T.H. Marshall has been described as a civic liberal. Having accepted that inequalities would always persist, his central thesis was that citizens require a certain level of social and economic provisions – social security – that would minimize the risks that the most vulnerable within the British society encounter. In comparison, John Rawls is described as a utilitarian liberal. Rawls was not content with the minimal safety net approach and, therefore, argued that redistribution was necessary, in order that the profits of the better off could improve the welfare of the worse off. According to Rawls, the ‘good society’ maximizes the interests of the greatest number of individuals.While all citizens had the right to participate, they were not obliged to do so. The constitutional process should define generally applicable laws; individuals should, otherwise, be left unrestricted to pursue

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  57 their interests; political debates should exclude matters that could not be settled therein, such as religious and philosophical issues. Therefore, the citizen’s political role was set apart from issues of identities and loyalties. Marshall’s text has, since its publication, catapulted research into new directions, although his work has drawn praise and criticism. For example, his categorization of citizenship rights has proven very useful for political analysis, as has his core argument that social rights are necessary for upholding civil and political rights. However, various theorists have highlighted gaps in his analysis. Michael Mann criticizes Marshall’s ‘myopic’ focus on Great Britain, while acknowledging the novelty of his ideas. Mann (2010) uses a comparative historical analysis of select industrial societies to argue that there are, at minimum, five practicable strategies for institutionalizing class conflict: liberal, reformist, authoritarian monarchist, fascist and authoritarian socialist. Anthony Giddens (1982) is concerned about Marshall’s evolutionary account of the emergence of citizenship, which makes social rights appear to be the inevitable outcome of development within society. He likens Marshall’s approach to traditional Marxist renditions of the development of capitalist society (that is, in terms of the process rather than specific views) and notes that both regard the working classes as subject to those in power. Conversely, instead of rights being granted to the less powerful, these have always been the outcomes of resistance and struggle: ‘The extension of citizenship rights in Britain, as in other societies, was in substantial degree the result of the efforts of the underprivileged to improve their lot’ (Giddens, 1982: 171).This struggle often entailed considerable resistance from those in positions of rule who, from Marshall’s account, were responsible for supplying these rights. For example, the right to vote, for both the working classes and women, was fraught with opposition.The First World War helped to break down some of the traditional barriers, which proves that social change is also dependent on what obtains in the wider external context. Turner (2010) expands on this critique. Observing that Marshall’s theory of the state is the most underdeveloped aspect of his thesis, he argues that while Marshall holds the state as the ‘principal element in the maintenance and development of social rights’, he does not pay sufficient attention to how the resources for social welfare are to be procured. Furthermore, he agrees with Giddens that Marshall does not emphasize the role of social struggles in the drive for citizenship. Therefore, Turner advises: it is necessary to have a broader notion of struggle as a critical aspect of the historic growth of citizenship. This emphasis provides the context within which we can begin to see the real importance of new social movements for social change. Turner, 2010: 194

58  Relational Accountability Giddens has another objection. He contends that social rights are neither homogeneous nor unified; therefore, the liberal rights that resulted from bourgeois struggles cannot be compared with socialist-inspired welfare rights. For example, while liberal rights to the parliamentary process, in many respects, confirmed the dominance of the propertied class over labour, welfare rights could threaten capitalism. Various theorists have objected to Marshall’s preoccupation with ‘male citizenship rights’ and concomitant exclusion of women’s plights and struggles, as well as of the distinct disadvantage of particular ethnic groups. In response, to these and other criticisms, there have been a number of publications that, effectively, critique the critiques, arguing that some of the counterarguments to Marshall’s thesis are neither reasonable nor well founded.4 My concern in this chapter is not with revisiting these arguments but with highlighting the strategies that Marshall identified as being influential in cultivating and sustaining inequalities of citizenship as well as those that, over time, began to rectify these. Marshall acknowledged that the civil rights that were extended throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries ‘were not without defects’. Rights existed ‘but the remed[ies] might frequently prove to be out of reach’ (1992: 22). There were two principal barriers to realizing civil rights: the unequal distribution of wealth and class prejudice. Initially, only the wealthy could afford to defend their legal rights and it was the establishment of the county courts in 1846 that began to dismantle this barrier. County courts, as Marshall described them, provided ‘cheap justice for the common people’, although there was a limit to the services they offered. Class prejudice and the desire to maintain the unequal economic structure were even more intractable. These ‘coloured the whole administration of justice in the eighteenth century’ and were manifested, for example, in the ways in which rights were extended; that is, to befit the person’s perceived station. It was through this process that social classes and relations were cemented, to the extent that they could be. Beyond class, as defined by hereditary status: 4 For example, Heater (1999) objects to the charge that Marshall’s thesis was too myopic, for there is no proof that Marshall had ever intended to ‘frame a universally valid typology’ (Heater, 1999: 23). Second, he argues that the scope of Marshall’s work was, understandably, limited, as its origin was a series of lectures, which allowed little room for extensive details. Third, Heater suggests that Marshall’s ‘inadequate attention’ to women as well as to other marginalized groups reflected the social realities of the period. These groups have only recently gained visibility and some existed in only in very small numbers in 1949 Great Britain. Fourth, he refutes the accusation of excessive optimism, suggesting instead the author had made it clear that the relationship between citizenship and capitalism was tenuous. Fifth, he maintains that Marshall was neither simplistic nor lacking in historical understanding, although he does acknowledge that the most ‘powerful criticism’ is of the lack of attention to the role of struggle.

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  59 Class differences emerge from the interplay of a variety of factors related to the institutions of property and education and the structure of the national economy. … The working classes, instead of inheriting a distinctive though simple culture, are provided with a cheap and shoddy imitation of a civilization that has become national. Social inequality is regarded as necessary and purposeful. It provides the incentive to effort and designs the distribution of power. Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 19 Thus, Marshall described some of the techniques that were used by the ruling classes. He went beyond this to explore the citizens’ responses, although he paid more attention to their acquiescence than to their struggle. Marshall emphasized the weight and role of stigma (such as that associated with poor relief), which persisted long after the institutions and/or rules of the game were changed.This stigma affected the ways in which citizens treated each other, people’s self-perceptions as well as how they then exercised ‘agency’. However, this, as some of his critics identify, was not the entire story. Pocock’s (1992) historical overview identifies the seeds of discontent among women, who were able to name and eventually respond to the prejudices underpinning the social provisions that were extended to them. The significant point, which will be dealt with in more detail later, is that partial and skewed experiences of rights caused and are, in turn, caused by different forms of citizenship. Recognition of unequal citizenships can trigger diverse, including unpredictable, responses. While it is true that those who consider themselves the natural citizens often guard their entitlement and privilege, there is no uniform ‘ruling class’ response. Elites may be inclined to greater equality for strategic, moral or other reasons. Similarly, those who are considered (and consider themselves) to be beneficiaries of unexpected privilege – even where this privilege is but a shoddy imitation – may retain their station even when formal boundaries are removed; attempt to change their station, though with some selfdoubt that is manifested only when ‘they and a mirror are about’ (Goffman, 1963); carve ‘safe spaces’ and ‘indigenize citizenship’ in ways that may or may not sit easily with expected norms; or learn the arts of those they deem the natural citizens. To deal with inequalities and the attitudes and relations that sustain them, Marshall is convinced that something more is required beyond civil, political and social rights. He refers in various parts of the text to a ‘change in the mental climate’, a civic virtue that transcends social classes. Marshall notes that in the legal field: the decline of class prejudice as a barrier to the full enjoyment of rights [was] due less to the dilution of class monopoly … than to

60  Relational Accountability the spread in all classes of a more humane and realistic sense of social equality. …   Class prejudice … cannot be eliminated by law, but only by social education and the building of a tradition of impartiality.This is a slow and difficult process, which presupposes a change in the climate of thought throughout the upper ranks of society. Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 22 Similarly, with respect to political rights: Class prejudice, expressed through the intimidation of the lower classes by the upper, prevented the free exercise of the right to vote by the newly enfranchised. In this case, a practical remedy was available in the secret ballot. But that was not enough. Social education and a change of mental climate were needed as well. And, even when voters felt free from undue influence, it still took some time to break down the idea, prevalent in the working as well as other classes, that the representatives of the people, and still more the members of government, should be drawn from among the elites who were born, bred and educated for leadership. Marshall and Bottomore, 1992: 22 It is important not to overlook these elements in Marshall’s thesis because within them lie indications of how power works to cultivate citizenships and to colour accountability. It is true that Marshall could have paid more attention to the history of struggle. Eventually, people protest (for people may act, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable boundaries to action (Hayward, 2000; Scott, 1985)); in many cases, their intention is to ensure that rights are just and ‘equalizing’. However, not all groups and the subgroups within them are equipped to resist, claim space and demand accountability, especially in ways that do not further distort citizenship and thrust democracy in peril. Long after the offending institutions have been removed, their effects may remain, lending credence to Pocock’s analysis that ‘the “citizen” and the “freedman” find it difficult to become equals’. The communitarian tradition Some of the issues raised above are more consistent with the communitarian rather than liberal tradition because they give primacy to social relations. Communitarians challenge the liberals’ unnatural segregation of the parts of the individual, based on restricted and faulty assumptions of self-interest,

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  61 self-aggrandizement and independence. ‘Communitarians’ – which, like liberals and civic republicans, is a loose label that encompasses substantial variations and that incorporates some theorists who do not accept the categorization – emphasize that individuals’ identities are shaped by and through social relations. People are embedded within societies and can only realize their interests by first prioritizing the common good. Barnes (2000) explains that people are social creatures and actors. As ‘interdependent social agents’, they expect mutual accountability – which involves mutual susceptibility – and, accordingly, develop standards and processes for approval and disapproval. It may, therefore, be sensible, judicious – that is, perfectly ‘rational’ – for persons to act in ways that uphold shared ways of living, even where these actions do not serve individual interests.Therefore, communitarians pay attention to group rights, as they regard the group as the hub of people’s identities. For many African societies, where clans and ethnic groups still have important roles despite economic, social and political changes, the idea that individuals could, possibly, proceed with their lives without reference to their kin and/or group obligations is simply preposterous and disrespectful. (Neither is this asocial notion an appropriate description of Western practice, though societies are comparatively more individualized: Ethnicity, John Lonsdale (1994) commented, ‘is what makes us all human’.) Halisi et al. (1998) emphasize that the tendency to devalue and dismiss the communitarian tradition has precluded engagement with the meanings of citizenship in Africa, how these meanings are constructed and the necessary ‘identity-based’ approaches to addressing them. However, is the group approach sufficient for understanding citizenship experiences? Nussbaum (2003) urges caution and provides three noteworthy reasons: 1 2 3

Groups [can] contain hierarchies of power. Therefore, giving legal privileges to a group is usually tantamount to giving more power to those already in power within the group; Groups have unclear and changing boundaries of membership; group rights often reify the current definition of a group and militate against change; There are dispersed groups that may be more important to people’s identities that do not figure in the usual discussions of group ethnocultural rights … Such groups are unlikely to win legal privileges but then, giving legal privileges to [recognized/mainstream] groups makes them more salient by contrast with the ‘dispersed groups’.

It is because of qualifications such as these that Banda and Chinkin (2004: 11) pay close attention to intersectionalities. They explain that

62  Relational Accountability ‘what is now called intersectional discrimination seeks to capture both the structural and dynamic consequences of the interaction between two or more forms of discrimination or systems of subordination’. It exposes how discriminatory systems such as racism, patriarchy and economic disadvantage create ‘layers of inequality that structure the relative positions of women and men, races and other groups’. Intersectionality has been explained through the metaphor of a traffic intersection. Race, gender, class and other forms of discrimination or subordination are the roads that structure the social, economic or political terrain. ‘It is through these thoroughfares that the dynamics of disempowerment travel.’ These roads are seen as separate and unconnected but in fact they meet, cross over and overlap, forming complex intersections. People who are marginalized by their sex, race, ethnicity or other factors [such as cultures and religion/faith] are located at these intersections. The intersections are dangerous places for [persons] who must negotiate the constant traffic through them to avoid injury and to obtain resources for the normal activities of life. Where systems of race, gender and class domination converge ... intervention strategies based solely on the experiences of [children] who do not share the same class or race backgrounds will be of limited help to [those] who because of [factors such as] race and class face different obstacles. Crenshaw 1991: 1241, quoted in Banda and Chinkin, 2004 Therefore, the relationship between citizenship and identity is complex. Isin and Wood (1999) acknowledge the dangers of a singular group approach and opt for a plural approach that examines ‘citizenship from multiple, intersecting and overlapping perspectives’ (Isin and Wood, 1999: vii). Correspondingly, although they start their analysis by referring to T.H. Marshall’s Citizenship and Social Class, they expand beyond this to focus on ethnic, sexual, technological, ecological and cultural forms of citizenship. In addition, they emphasize how contemporary political struggles, now conducted in new – technologically aided – spaces, cultivate multiple citizenships and varied methods of claiming rights. The authors support the view that group rights should be taken very seriously indeed; however, they conceptualize citizenship as the right to claim rights (rather than merely right to status) and focus on the process of claiming rights rather than the contents of these rights. Their aim is for an analytical framework that is capable of addressing ‘group rights and their just distribution’, particularly under advanced capitalism:

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  63 Liberal democracy … has brought Western nation-states closer to justice than previous polities through its emphasis on equality, its commitment to the participation of the citizen, its appeal to due process and rule of law. [However], these ideas have served as masks to disguise forms of discrimination, oppression and misrecognition based on class, gender, race, ethnicity, age and ability. Similarly, Iris Marion Young advances the notion of ‘differentiated citizenships’, using the following line of reasoning: ‘Equal’ political and civil rights, as many excluded and disadvantaged ‘citizens’ have come to discover, have not translated to equal citizenship experiences and to social justice. This is for two principal reasons: First, ‘those social activities that most determine the status of individuals and groups are anarchic and oligarchic; economic life is not sufficiently under the control of citizens to affect the unequal status and treatment of groups’. Second, ‘the assumed link between citizenship for everyone, on the one hand, and the other two senses of citizenship – having a common life with and being treated in the same way as the other citizens – on the other, is itself a problem’ (Young, 1989: 208). In actuality, then, citizenship is ‘differentiated’. Young argues that it is important to acknowledge this reality and work from this premise since the assumption of universal citizenship has had unintended and costly consequences. For example, the universal position anticipates that citizenship activities will foster a ‘general will’ that supersedes group differences; however, this approach effectively forces homogeneity, which may involve excluding groups that do not share the accepted perspectives. Second, groups commonly have different cultures, capacities, values and behaviour styles. The principle of equal treatment overlooks these; it does not deal with the privileges and disadvantages that may occur, as a consequence of these differences. Strategies for exclusion or assimilation may, in places, be subtler now than they were, for example, in Europe, the early American Republics5 and those countries subject to colonial rule; however, the effects are still divisive. Assimilation, Young shows, is required of some participatory models, which present solidarity and commonality as critical components: ‘In exercising their citizenship, all citizens should assume the same impartial, general point of view transcending all particular interests, perspectives and 5 In Europe, as Marshall’s account identifies, the universal conception of citizenship was combined with the exclusion of the poor and of wageworkers in more and less explicit ways. Early American republicans were convinced that citizenship required homogeneity amongst its citizens. As persons from other races – Chinese, blacks, Mexicans, Indians – could present a threat, they had to be assimilated or otherwise dealt with.

64  Relational Accountability experiences’ (Young, 1989: 214). However, this level of commonality and impartiality is improbable since ‘people necessarily and properly consider public issues in terms influenced by their situated experiences and perception of social relations’ (Young, 1989: 214). Therefore, how people are incorporated shapes their understandings of their roles and performance as political actors. Young suggests that special rights may be required to check oppressions and disadvantage.

Contemporary citizenship theories: linking three traditions Contemporary citizenship theories concentrate on linking these three traditions. Correspondingly, citizens have status as individuals, which affords them certain universal rights (liberal) but also imposes obligations (civic republican) to active participation (Lister, 1997; Kymlicka and Norman, 1994; Mouffe, 1992). There is a distinction between the citizen who has the rights necessary for agency and social and political participation and the citizen who actively participates and/or fulfils her obligations. Non-action and/or non-participation does not negate the citizen’s legal status. In order to correct fundamental inequalities of citizenship, theorists also focus on advancing the right to participate (Cornwall and Gaventa 2000; Hausermann, 1998; Lister 1997, Gould 1988). In doing so, they expand classical citizenship rights to political participation to include the citizen’s right to participate in social and economic life. Correspondingly, citizenship is also conceptualized in terms of agency; meaning that citizens are actively involved in creating the services they receive, instead of being mere beneficiaries. Further, citizenship is also linked with accountability, which is itself linked with agency – as it was in the ancient city-states.

Beyond the three traditions and ‘muddying’ them a bit Earlier, I made the point that our conceptual understanding of citizenship could be enhanced should we pay equal regard to experiences within nonWestern regions. Peter Ekeh’s (1975) ‘Colonialism and the Two Publics’, is one of the more lucid and influential expositions on the development of ‘citizenships’ in Africa. Though not his intent, the article also helps to explain some of perplexing political and social dynamics in other postcolonial societies, such as those in the Caribbean. The article is presented at some length here because of the substantial value it lends to key themes in this and the following chapters.

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  65 Ekeh explains that Africa’s colonial development has led to the development of a unique configuration: the emergence of two publics (as opposed to one in many Western countries). He characterizes the first as a primordial ‘moral’ public, which is linked to groupings, ties and cultures (systems of meanings). The second is a civic public, which originated with the intrusion of the colonial administrations and is currently associated with popular politics. The civic public – which is also based on civil structures, including the military, civil service and the police – lacks the moral obligations that are prevalent in the primordial public and the private realm. However, the same public actors operate in both realms – primordial and civic – with ‘special’ consequences for African politics. How did these two publics emerge? While pre-colonial political and social structures had a role in shaping how traditional authorities responded to the colonialists, it was colonialism that had the more considerable role in what now obtains in modern politics. In Ekeh’s account, two bourgeois groups emerged in colonial Africa: the bourgeois colonial administrators and the African bourgeois class, which is itself a product of colonialism. He uses the term ‘bourgeois’ with a specific purpose: to describe ‘the newness of a privileged class which may wield much power but have little authority; which may have a lot of economic influence but enjoy little political acceptance’ (Ekeh, 1975: 93) Correspondingly, he regards other terms as less applicable. Had he used the term ‘middle class’, he argues, this would suggest that there are value linkages with other layers within a stratified social system. Conversely, the ‘bourgeois’ classes, he describes, do not fit comfortably within a stratified system, which, in any event, does not have an upper class or aristocracy. Had he used the term ‘elite’, this – for him – would have connoted a class of rulers who enjoyed autonomy in decision-making, which neither reflects what obtained throughout the colonial period nor current circumstances. In contrast, colonialism’s success depended not merely on the superior technology of the colonizers, but more so on their ideological warfare and/or their power to use colonial ideologies to define decision-making and actions. Ekeh defines ideologies as ‘unconscious distortions or perversions of truth by intellectuals in advancing points of view that favour or benefit the interests of particular groups for which the intellectuals act as spokesmen’ (1975: 94). Colonial ideologies spoke to the ‘backwardness of the African past’, thereby summarily discounting the accomplishments of state civilizations and magnifying the aspects of the present that could, indeed, be classified as retrogressive. (Ekeh does not deny that such aspects existed and asserts that it is because they existed that the ideologies were that influential.)

66  Relational Accountability This ideology also introduced distinctions between Western-educated Africans – who later occupied the ruling classes – and the natives, the backward. Colonial ideologies also denied that Africans were engaged in building Africa; instead, they celebrated the massive European contributions and, over time, cultivated perceptions of Africans by Africans that were just as denigrating as those through European eyes. Colonial ideologies magnified, distorted and encouraged inter-ethnic feuds through divide and rule strategies. They also spoke of the advantages of European rule and the benevolence of the colonizers, despite the costs to the taxpayers within the imperial country. Ekeh underscores that it ‘may well be the case that in the long run the crushing psychological and social implications of colonialism have disadvantages that far outweigh the heralded advantages’ (Ekeh, 1975: 99). The effects of these colonial ideologies were more damaging for the emergent African bourgeois class, which then propounded its own ideologies in order to challenge and replace the colonial rulers and legitimize their rule among their own people. The African bourgeois utilized two types of ideologies: ‘anti-colonial’ and ‘post-colonial ideologies of legitimation’. Crucially, anti-colonial strategies did not mean opposition to European ideals and principles; they conformed to these and attempted to prove that the African bourgeois was as good as the colonizers in both education and administration. As Ekeh (1975: 101) sees it, there is logic to these over-zealous attempts by the African bourgeois class to prove the equal, but never the better, of the former colonizers. They are a message addressed to the masses that educated Africans have attained the level of the colonizers and therefore can replace them permanently. This, then, was the claim that was made at independence. Although the colonial bourgeois class desired to extend their rule, the African bourgeois were able to persuade the people that they possessed similar competencies.They also encouraged different forms of rebellion against the colonial state: tax evasion; reporting late for work; physical abuse against white employers. All these tendencies bred a lack of duty to the state, which was transferred to the post-independence period. Other unfortunate attitudes were cultivated. For example, the people were promised significant benefits upon independence, which could be amassed without substantial effort. As Ekeh puts it, ‘the rights of the ordinary man were abundant while his duties were meager’ (1975: 103). Towards the end of the colonial period, the colonizers attempted to reinstate traditional authorities,

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  67 thus providing alternative ‘legitimate’ leaders. They also fomented discord among the African bourgeois classes, along primordial ethnic lines. Among the African bourgeois, there were two resulting ideologies: the educated African was to be guaranteed of success (thus assuming primacy over traditional leaders) and politics and influence were determined by primordial attachments. What do these all mean for citizenship? Ekeh provides interesting contrasts between Western notions of citizenship and those that arose across African countries. In the former, as T. H. Marshall describes, rights needed to be secured for citizenship. Furthermore, rights and duties became closely intertwined under the influence of liberal and civic republican traditions. In Africa, by contrast, he notes that various forms of citizenship have emerged. In the primordial public, citizens have duties, such as towards their ethnic groups, which they largely maintain without expectation of reward: ‘Although the African gives materially as part of his duties to the primordial public, what he gains back is not material. He gains back intangible, immaterial benefits in the form of identity or psychological security’ (1975: 107). Within the amoral civic public, the emphasis is on economic value, although while the individual seeks to gain from the civic public, there is no moral urge on him to give back to the civic public in return for his benefits. Duties, that is, are de-emphasized while rights are squeezed out of the civic public with the amorality of an artful dodger. Ekeh, 1975: 107 Educated Africans are citizens of both publics. He/she reaps no material rewards from the primordial public but is expected to give to it; he/she gives sparingly to the civic public but expects to reap from it. Thus, Ekeh (1975: 111) concludes: if we are to capture the spirit of African politics we must seek what is unique in them. I am persuaded that the colonial experience provides that uniqueness. Our post-colonial present has been fashioned by our colonial past. It is that colonial past that has defined for us the spheres of morality that have come to dominate our politics. Our problems may be partially understood and hopefully solved by the realization that the civic public and the primordial public are rivals, that in fact the civic public is starved of badly needed morality. Of course, ‘morality’ has an old-fashioned ring about it; but any politics without morality is destructive. And the destructive results of African

68  Relational Accountability politics in the post-colonial era owes something to the amorality of the civic public.6 There are some – not altogether unpredictable – similarities between the evolution of the meanings of citizenships in Africa, at least as Ekeh (1975) depicts it, and developments in the Caribbean.7 The Caribbean’s history of slavery, colonialism and indentureship has produced an especially complex region. Effectively, Caribbean countries are reconstructed societies in which indigenous populations were largely exterminated and groups of immigrants (forced and enticed) were required to co-exist in order to produce for European markets and for profit. These artificial arrangements were sustained through heinous forms of subjugation, themselves justified by ideologies of white racial superiority. Historically, people of colour within the Caribbean have been subject to multiple forms of injustice, not to the same degree or in the same forms, for a diversity of approaches was important to maintain stratified systems. (In this sense, stratification occurred even within the white groups. There was no homogeneity there. Poor whites, the unskilled and those considered socially inferior were still excluded from the circles of the nobility (Wolfe, 1995)). Among the workers, mixed groups received more favours. Their colour alone disqualified them from the more strenuous occupations. Mixed groups, in turn, considered themselves superior to Indians and Africans.8 Indians, who were allowed to retain their cultural practices, were thought to be socially and culturally superior to the Africans. In most countries, Africans were at the base of the societies but this was not the case in all countries. Indigenous peoples, ‘most of whom expired because they could not endure the rigors of plantation life’ were displaced from their lands, marginalized to reservations and excluded from political participation. It is difficult to gauge the depth of poverty and despair that still persists within these communities, as statistical records are normally outdated and inadequate.

6 A number of scholars on Africa also root the uniqueness of that continent’s citizenship experiences within the colonial experience; see, for example, Mamdani (1997) and Herbst (2000). Also see Bayart (2009) and Chabal and Daloz (1999). 7 This section was first printed in Moncrieffe (2004b). 8 Edward Long’s description of the lower class whites is that ‘they have commonly more vices, and much fewer good qualities, than the slaves over whom they are set in authority ... ’ (cited in Gibbons, n.d.: 4).

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  69 This long history of exploitation and racial subjugation produces certain unique features. Robotham (1996) compares the effects of transnationalism in Central and Eastern Europe and the Caribbean and suggests that the Caribbean differs in marked ways. First, in the emerging market-oriented Central European democracies, global capitalism must effectively rupture conventional relations of power and property. The task in the Caribbean is somewhat simpler. Here, in the majority of countries, the project is to realign structures and processes, for the Caribbean has ‘experienced some of the deepest capitalist penetration for over 500 years’. Second, in the Caribbean the white and Anglo-American/European identities have established self-definitions much more deeply driven by the historical experience of plantation slavery and the slave trade. These experiences have shaped the definition of whiteness and white hegemonies in deep contrast and contradistinction to blackness and black subordination, as an entire hegemonic complex and structure. Robotham, 1996 Colonialism provoked white–black conflicts but it also inflamed ethnic dissent. The British, in particular, were the grand masters of ‘divide and rule’; in all parts, they provoked and manipulated existing tensions. The ‘colonized’ were not entirely unwise to this and many of the personalities that dominated Caribbean politics in the 1940s and 1950s built their campaigns for independence on their countries’ right to self-government and promised that this would lead to better political and social conditions, including inclusion and tolerance. The problem for the Caribbean is that in most parts these original dreams never materialized. It is true that global and domestic factors and forces played a role in ‘redefining the course’ but some political leaders have been irresponsible; charisma has too often been misused, with costly consequences. In countries such as Guyana and Trinidad and Tobago, for example, ethnic affiliation has been used as one of the pawns for political mobilization and leaders have, to varying degrees, reinforced forms and methods of colonial racial segregation. Trinidad and Tobago, despite its racial divisions and conflicts, still does not have the record of extreme polarization and frequent social and political explosion that Guyana does. Arguably, Trinidad and Tobago has had a somewhat more conciliatory political history and its more favourable economic position has, in part, helped to temper racial mobilization. Nevertheless, there is the lurking fear that without careful management, ‘Guyana-style politics’ could become commonplace in Trinidad and Tobago. Malcolm Cross (1996) explains that

70  Relational Accountability the differences in East Indian–Creole relations in both countries started from indentureship. Arguably, Trinidadian planters were no less disposed to stirring racial animosities. Indeed, in Trinidad too, planters capitalized on existing stereotypes, including the view that Indians were the more adept at industry. Yet, there were definite differences in policy administration that raised the level of conflict and competition in Guyana. For example, Cross argues that though the government in British Guiana did not favour land settlement schemes, the schemes that existed were ‘for the sole benefit of Indians’ and may have been ‘a policy which aggravated the sense of frustration and bitterness felt by the dispossessed Creoles’. In Trinidad and Tobago, by contrast, land was not distributed along racial lines. Most squatters were granted legal rights, and land was much less costly (and less cumbersome) to acquire. This allowed both Africans and Indians to establish an economic base. Though Indians seemed to favour farming, and blacks more urban-based occupations, the group of independent smallholders that emerged after 1898 comprised both Indians and Africans. In addition, Trinidad’s economy was more diverse and offered opportunities in both sugar and cocoa. In British Guiana, by contrast, Africans considered themselves ‘a race in decline’, rendered landless and without acceptable social provisions. Consequently, more particularistic – race based – relations of accountability developed in British Guiana, based in structural injustices. Various scholars argue that Trinidad and Tobago’s more favourable economic position has allowed both Africans and Indians to profit in ways that groups in Guyana have not. Petroleum was discovered early in the twentieth century and became the dominant export earner, replacing sugar, coffee and cocoa. In many respects, oil production became associated with Africans, and though they did not remain on the estates, sugar production was considered the Indians’ domain. French Creoles managed the multinational businesses (Cross, 1996).While both Africans and Indians have protested about the ways in which economic gains were, and are, managed, there is little doubt that Trinidad and Tobago and Guyana have long had starkly different levels of cross-group economic welfare, with different consequences for citizenship. By comparison with these two countries, Belize, though it has an even more diverse population, does not have similar levels of political and ethnic conflict. Tensions exist and racism pervades private circles but dominant and opposing groups tend to be ‘broadly flexible in their partisan loyalties and choices’ (Thorndike, 1983). In many respects, the threat of Guatemalan occupation is a unifying factor, as are some common cultural practices. Premdas observes that though Creoles

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  71 continue to claim cultural superiority, the Mayas feel historically disadvantaged and there is higher poverty incidence in some ethnic groups than others; people generally believe that they can improve their circumstances through education and training. As Premdas (2002) sees it, ‘there is no overt system of closure that creates rigid ethnoeconomic compartments; there is more “classism” than “ethnicism” at some levels of life in Belize; there is little consistent correlative coincidence between colour and economic well being in Belize’. Consequently, ethnic identities do not assume the salience that they do in Guyana; there are other issues that influence political choice. This is not to minimize the significant challenges in Belize and the reforms required to contain racial tensions and class divisions. Rather, experiences in Belize confirm that tensions may be more manageable where they are not politicized, and where the governing structures offer fair chances to all segments of the society. Frances Stewart’s (1998) study of horizontal inequalities arrives at similar conclusions: ethnic tensions are more likely to escalate in conditions of low material security; high levels of inter-group inequality; political exclusion of (or preferential access to) select groups; where there are low levels of political and national consensus, and where, according to O’Donnell, societies have weak liberal and republican values. Therefore, Stewart recommends inclusive political, social and economic policies, with the following governing principles: • • •

All major groups in society [should] participate in political power, the administration, the army and police; Horizontal inequality in economic aspects (assets, employment and income) should be moderate; Horizontal inequality in social participation and achieved well-being [should] also be moderate.

The objective, Stewart maintains, should be equality rather than moderation in all these aspects. Political inclusivity is the prime (though more difficult) goal since monopolization of power normally produces other forms of inequality. Yet, as Stewart admits, these are formidable objectives, which is hardly the priority within many developing countries. Even where governments are inclined to promote fairness and equity, donor agencies and governments, which can themselves (overtly or covertly) provoke conflict, may resist or prevent positive state actions. This is one outcome of ‘multiple accountabilities’. I suggest two qualifications to Stewart’s position. First, policies that promote horizontal ‘group’ equality can trigger intra-group class or other

72  Relational Accountability divisions, which may be no less potent. For example, South Africa’s affirmative action policies have created a widening gulf between an upwardly mobile black middle class and a significant black lower class. These new inequalities also present serious problems. Second, the horizontal inequality approach prioritizes a categorical (as opposed to relational) understanding of inequality and poverty. The categorical interpretation concentrates, for example, on the proportion of Muslims, Hindus and Christians who have political positions or access to employment. The relational interpretation attends to the deeper underlying power relations that sustain discrimination and inequalities, recognizing that structural reforms alone may not resolve these. For example, there is a view that racial and other such constructions are, primarily, ways of regulating relationships in resource allocation. Consequently, if growth and redistribution are improved, social – including racial – divisions would subside. Using this argument, the post-revolution Cuban government invested in structural reforms and prohibited discussions of race, believing that racial divisions persisted in contexts of low levels of material welfare (McKnight, 1996). As in France, structural reforms have had advantages but they have not eliminated racial discrimination. This is because ideas on race can become deeply embedded within cultures and can persist, stubbornly, across generations. Correspondingly (Moncrieffe, 2004b), in Bermuda, where racial segregation was enforced up to 1959, the Human Rights Commission recorded high levels of racial complaints decades later (Dill, 2001). In Barbados, where discussions of racial tensions remained muted for some time, the 2001 National Committee on Reconciliation reported that all communities feel aggrieved, despite their economic advancement: ‘whites feel that they are constantly attacked for their ancestors’ roles in the country’s history; blacks complain that they are still denied equal access to employment; Indians maintain that their culture is not recognized and accommodated’ (Babb, 2002). Such deep patterns of meanings influence how people conceptualize and perform as citizens; they help to shape ‘agency’ as well as the character of accountability.

Differentiated citizenships, differentiated accountability I have reviewed concepts of citizenship, at some length, in order to emphasize two points: 1

Citizenship experiences are differentiated across and within societies. Diversities in conceptualizations and experiences of citizenship have direct bearing on understandings of accountability and its exercise.

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  73 2

Accountability, like citizenship, is relational; that is, it is contingent on the relationships that are cultivated among state and non-state actors, among non-state actors as well as within groups. The nature of these relationships depends, in turn, on history, cultures, structures, space, inequalities, perceptions of inequalities and the forms of engagement that are ‘legitimized’ as a consequence; critically, it is also dependent on power dynamics and relations.

Empirical studies supply numerous examples of the connections and disconnections between citizenships and accountability. Kabeer’s (2005) collection of case studies is among the more recent. These case studies demonstrate some of the ways in which people’s understandings of citizenship – their lived experiences – influence whether and how they demand accountability, as well as how they perceive their roles – and actually exercise their duties and/or civic responsibilities – as ‘accountable’ actors. For example, Pant (2005) explains that nomadic communities in Rajasthan are, in principle, named as citizens with ‘universal rights and responsibilities’; however, they cannot claim to have equality of voice, access to or influence on state actors. Pant describes the legacies of being classified among the lower castes, which the Fundamental Rights, Fundamental Duties and Directive Principles of State Policy (established at independence) have been unable to reverse. Nomadic communities, despite the diversities among them, are labelled as a group and subject to discrimination from state officials and local power brokers: From colonial times, the peripatetic lifestyle of nomads has been regarded as backward. Colonial legislation branded numerous categories of nomads, such as Banjara and Bawariya, as potential criminals. These stereotypes persist: nomads are not merely seen as thieves and criminals, but as born that way. Pant, 2005: 91 So denigrated are these communities and so deprived of fair access to essential social provisions and to effective political and civil rights, that they have to be aided to exercise voice. The Muktidhara Sansthan (MDS) stands in their place and attempts to demand accountability on their behalf.Yet, this process is fraught with difficulties. Both the MDS and the communities they represent often encounter the wrath of state officials, such that particular groups of nomads try to distance themselves from the MDS as a means of ensuring their own protection. Wheeler’s (2005) ‘Rights Without Citizenship?’ provides another interesting commentary. Throughout Brazil’s political history, various

74  Relational Accountability governments (including populist authoritarian, military dictatorship and formal democracy) have helped to construct differing forms and meanings of citizenship, formal and informal. With such a history, it is not surprising that vestiges of older forms of administration continue to influence how people perceive themselves as citizens, as well as how they are perceived; formal democracy did not negate autocratic approaches, which have severely disadvantaged some groups. For those who occupy Brazil’s favelas, citizenship experiences are both constrained and shaped by restrictions on space (geographic, political, economic and social). As Wheeler describes, ‘a confluence of different factors in Rio de Janeiro has worked to dislodge the poor from their “place in the world” and increase their distance from the political and economic mechanisms of power’. These include vast income inequalities, neoliberal reforms that pose added burdens on the family structure; and the power of drug traffickers and the violence that this enterprise generates. Drug traffickers present a parallel authority, warping the legitimacy of the state. What does accountability mean in this context? Among the families Wheeler interviewed, citizenship did not mean a national identity; it was defined in terms of relations with the family and immediate community. It was to these ‘more trusted’ associations that people considered themselves accountable. In other terms, in response to their marginalization, people had begun to reconstitute the public; that is, to form the boundaries that made their notion of citizenship feasible. Abah and Okwori (2005) note that citizenship and accountability are especially complex in countries such as Nigeria, where the geographic boundaries drawn by the colonizers lumped together diverse ethnic groups with different customs and languages. In addition, there are other variables that are important to people’s identities, including religion, gender, status and wealth. All these mediate relationships: As a nation, Nigeria would like to promote the sense of oneness for all Nigerians. Yet, through its political practices, it has not only retained the original differentiated identities that have characterized the area since the colonial period, but has added to the sense of divided identities in its citizens. Abah and Okwori, 2005: 73 Men and women observe informal boundaries; they recognize that their power to demand accountability depends on their actual and perceived positions. Abah and Okwori note that many of the community members who participated in their group discussions recognized that the political class was manipulating ethnicity and religion for their own ends. However,

‘Citizenships’ and relational accountability  75 it was the researchers who translated their messages to the policy-makers, as residents did not feel that the local government would respond to them. Their relations to date were discouraging. As Abah and Okwori’s story highlights, relations of accountability are not only affected by what transpires between representatives and the represented (vertical relationships); they also have much to do with the quality of horizontal relationships, where considerable inequalities, perceptions of inequalities, and oppressions of various sorts may reside. Moreover, communities – and the kin groups and families within them – develop social mores, cultures, obligations and differentiated accountabilities, which socialize, politicize and indigenize democratic accountability in very complex ways.

3 Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability Beneath the institutional mechanics of accountability are diverse citizenship experiences that give relations of accountability their substance and form. These citizenship experiences are rooted in diverse, though likely interrelated, factors including history, cultures, status and wealth, ideologies and power relations in their diverse forms. These conspire together to influence how people conceptualize their positions and potential as citizens, where and how they opt to form obligatory relationships and how they exercise ‘agency’. Structural injustices, the earlier chapter notes, can distort relations of accountability. Only the unseasoned would imagine that the existence of institutions for accountability necessarily means that there will be equality of access to them or that persons experience and make use of these institutions in the very same ways. In the real world, one has to make allowance for differing levels of accountability. However, there is a lurking danger in this acceptance: it can mask superficial and/or profoundly unjust forms and experiences of accountability. Unequal citizenship experiences and inequalities of accountability are not inflexible or necessarily ‘path-dependent’ conditions. There are many successful participatory initiatives that appear to bridge divides, for example, through participatory budgeting, citizen monitoring of electoral processes and citizen evaluation of public services (see, for example, Goetz and Jenkins, 2005). The value of these initiatives should not be understated but neither should they be used to divert focus from the weight of structural injustices on participation and relations of accountability. Who gets to participate and on what terms? How effectively do these initiatives challenge injustices and lead to more equitable relations over the long term? It is important to be careful that the exuberance surrounding new participatory mechanisms does not so celebrate the innovativeness of these mechanisms that their actual transformative potential is not rigorously assessed. Are new accountability mechanisms producing more equitable

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  77 conditions for accountability? Do they disrupt ‘the unequal distributions of power’ that pervert the quality of accountability? What is required for them to do so and why is this critical? In this chapter, I use case examples to delve further into the complex roles of power in cultivating and sustaining inequalities of citizenship and colouring relations of accountability. I include some consideration of the implications for children and argue that inequalities of citizenship and accountability can be transmitted across generations where there is inadequate attention to uprooting and reversing the effects of structural injustices. Structural injustices, as the case examples will show, may be strikingly obvious, particularly in those instances where the offences constitute serious human rights infringements. However, there are also those silent injustices that affect the life chances of different classes and categories of people. These may not be framed within debates; they may be viewed as natural and unavoidable outcomes of policy and politics. Yet, they also reflect on power, particularly the capacity to label who and what issues are significant, and whether and how specific issues should be represented in policy-making circles (Moncrieffe and Eyben, 2007).

Some brief notes on power In this section, I present an entirely simplified and condensed but, for the purposes of this analysis, adequate overview of some of the key theories on power. My aim is to provide a broad understanding of how power works, since this is essential for explaining the linkages among power, agency and relations of accountability. Power is complex. There is a wide array of perspectives that reflects different disciplinary positions (including normative and conceptual/ analytical political theory, non-conceptual political theory, modern and post-modern social theory), context-specific experiences and understandings and distinct ideological persuasions (Haugaard, 2002; Eyben 2004). Some of the more long-standing debates in the literature are among theorists who endorse either consensual or conflictual understandings of power, believing that power cannot be defined in both ways. Parsons (1963) explains that power describes the ‘capacity of persons or collectivities to get things done effectively, particularly when their goals are obstructed by some kind of human resistance or opposition’. His is a consensual view of power. Other theorists have emphasized a more conflictual perspective on power, which demonstrates the capacity of one actor to compel another to act in ways that he or she would choose not to (Lukes, 1974; Bachrach and Baratz 1962; 1970; Bourdieu 1980). The more common understanding of power is that it is essentially negative: power compels people to do what

78  Relational Accountability they would not choose to, distorts knowledge and truth, and relies on repression and violence. Broader frameworks encompass both perspectives, contending that while power can be overtly conflictual and coercive, it is also instrumental in covertly building consensus and acquiring legitimacy, though with both positive and negative outcomes. It is normally assumed that persons who have material resources also have and wield power. For example, in a critique of American democracy in the 1950s, community power theorists (Hunter, 1953; Wright Mills, 1956) argued that power was highly unequal in distribution and – following Max Weber – controlled by a small group of interdependent local elites. These elites influenced the significant decisions. Dahl objected to this description of American democracy, contending that: (1) Resources should be distinguished from power; while resources are potential sources of power, the manner in which they are used depends on their possessors’ skill and motivation, as well as the opportunity costs of certain actions. (2) Though there is inequality of power, the scope of power across individuals and élite groups differs considerably. Those who are powerful in one respect may be relatively weak in another. (3) Power must be analysed by examining behaviour, both of those who hold resources and those affected by its exercise. These are noteworthy qualifications. Dahl suggests that access to resources is not a sufficient predictor of power. This corresponds with research that shows that elites can be persuaded – some are actually inclined – to work in the interests of those less advantaged (Hossain and Moore, 2002). However, unequal access to resources is correlated to the use of ‘authoritative resources’. Therefore, inequality can undermine agency, and redistribution of resources is crucial to empowerment (Giddens, 1984). However, power can be and is exercised by persons who lack material, social and political advantages. Every day, there are people who resist in the ways they can, including through creating solutions in the ways they can. With support, such everyday forms of resistance can eventually challenge and change systems. Here, Foucault has been especially influential. For him, power is diffuse and unbounded: ‘Power is not an institution, and not a structure; neither is it a certain strength that we are endowed with; it is the name that one attributes to a complex strategical situation in a particular society’ (Foucault, 1990). It is this interpretation of power that underpins Clarissa Hayward’s (2000) De-Facing Power and Scott’s (1985) Weapons of the Weak, which also conceptualize power as fluid, multifaceted and complex, such that persons who are often regarded as subjected and powerless are able to act even when they encounter boundaries to action. Foucauldian interpretations do not accept conceptualizations of power as zero-sum; meaning that the more one party has, the less is available for

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  79 the other. Rather, they agree with Parsons (1963), that power is created by society; it is not fixed and predetermined. Therefore, one’s gain does not have to entail another’s loss. These positions have varying policy implications. For example, Parsons offers a dynamic perspective of power (power is created by society), which suggests that there is continual space for contestation; yet, he also tends to downplay conflict and the potential adverse outcomes of unequal power distribution. The same sort of imbalance typifies popular understandings of agency, perhaps with the same strategic – ‘consensus-building’ – motive. Agency is normally defined in warm and expectant terms. In much of the literature, ‘agency’ denotes the capacity to make purposive choice.There is an assumption that people who are adequately empowered and facilitated will exercise their power and act to improve their welfare. Consequently, popular approaches to constructing political agency focus on designing the institutional arrangements and establishing the overarching policies to facilitate this. With respect to accountability, for example, the emphasis is on ensuring that electoral and other constitutional mechanisms are intact, as well as institutionalized deliberative processes (though this obtains more in some contexts than others). The assumption is that people will demand accountability if they are provided with the mechanisms and opportunities. A more thorough understanding of how power performs appropriately tempers this enthusiasm. Earlier perspectives on power tended to concentrate on its visible dimension. However, Bachrach and Baratz (1962, 1970) went beyond this, arguing that power is not only displayed in open decision-making circles; instead, the powerful may also exert influence behind the scenes, preventing ‘unfavourable’ issues from even reaching the agenda. They contend that this second, hidden, dimension of power is equally potent and often under-investigated. Yet, beyond this, invisible power is, arguably, the most intractable form of power to curb. Probably the most insidious of the three dimensions of power, invisible power shapes the psychological and ideological boundaries of participation. Significant problems and issues are not only kept from the decision-making table but also from the minds and consciousness of the different players involved, even those directly affected by the problem. By influencing how individuals think about their place in the world, this level of power shapes people’s beliefs, sense of self and acceptance of the status quo – even their own superiority and inferiority (adapted by Just Associates from VeneKlasen and Miller, 2002, and quoted in Gaventa, 2006: 29.) Negative perceptions, which become internalized, can limit their power; that is, their capacity for agency. Bourdieu’s concept of internalized power, habitus, is useful in this regard, as is Foucault’s treatise in Discipline and Punish (Foucault, 1977).

80  Relational Accountability Bourdieu (1980) explains that individuals ‘do not exist in apposition to the social; rather, societies become deposited in persons in the form of lasting dispositions, or trained capacities and structured propensities to think, feel and act in determinate ways’. This ‘habitus’, he notes, is socially acquired and varies across contexts and across distributions of power. Therefore, Bourdieu uses the concept of ‘habitus’ to describe the route through which internalized power becomes culture. As Bourdieu explains, habitus is not fixed, though it has lasting influence; habitus – and cultures – can be changed when there are ‘effective external counteracting influences’.1 However, while Bourdieu focuses on the importance of external stimuli for change, it is known that internal changes may occur without this outside influence. This is because cultures are not inflexible; there are contestations within them, for although cultures ‘affect how people line up and how they act on a wide range of matters’ (Ross, 1997), they do not cause uniform thoughts or behaviours. ‘Individuals who live within the same cultural setting can hold antagonistic convictions, based on different values’ (Chabal and Daloz, 1988). In the same way, people within the most oppressive circumstances can, nevertheless, find ways of resisting their domination; as Hayward (2000) describes it, they are capable of acting even in the face of boundaries to action (see also Scott, 1985). This is important for understanding the dynamics of ‘social action’. Habitus has what Wacquant (2005) describes as inbuilt inertia: ‘there is a tendency to reproduce practices that are patterned off the social structures that spawned them’. Therefore, while people may actively resist boundaries, their choices will likely be shaped by the knowledge that is gained from their contexts: The tools chosen for action and the mechanisms for action normally follow what people know and are accustomed to. Choosing alternate routes requires knowledge of alternate routes, which comes through exposure and interactions. Foucault (1980) has contributed substantially to our understanding of the relation between power and knowledge. He disagrees with views of the objective truth and suggests, instead, that knowledge and truth reflect ‘particular existences and social relations’. People derive meaning from classifying objects and persons in ways that reflect their own interpretation of the truth.The objects of these categorizations may come to believe these external perceptions of themselves. This is not only important for understanding policy-making processes; it also explains how discriminatory discourses are developed, transmitted and, eventually, take root. The power to classify is at the root of horizontal inequalities; it can have 1 See Wacquant (2005).

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  81 disastrous psychological and social consequences. Foucault’s Discipline and Punish provides a good analogy. In this text, the author presents Damines, who is sentenced to be hanged and quartered, a vivid reminder of the repressive potential of power. However, is there such an advantage to the person who is imprisoned for a very lengthy period of time? Foucault suggests that while imprisonment may appear to be the more civilized method, it involves a more torturous and deliberate use of power: one which slowly disciplines and/or transforms the soul rather than punishes the body. Prisoners are taught to see themselves in the way they are categorized by the dominant discourse or system; that is, as miscreants and deviants. Labels, Eyben and I have suggested elsewhere (Moncrieffe and Eyben, 2007: 1), are instrumental in imposing boundaries and defining categories: ‘They are a means to construct our social world; to define norms in relations to others who bear similar or different labels’. As Foucault depicts, labelling processes involve power relationships since more powerful actors utilize frames and labels to influence how certain issues and different categories of people are treated. Framing refers to how we understand something to be a problem, which may reflect how issues are represented (or not represented) in policy debates and discourse. Labeling refers to how people are named/categorized (by themselves and others) to reflect these frames. It reveals subjective perceptions of how people fit into different spaces in the social order and of the terms on which society should engage with them in varying contexts and a different points in time. Moncrieffe and Eyben, 2007: 2 Democracy does not protect against harmful forms of labelling; neither does it automatically generate conditions for self-empowerment. Indeed, the purported objectivity and inclusivity of democratic institutions can provide a ready and unsuspecting mask for the profound disempowerment that obtains within and across very many contexts. Knowledge – which may include (self) misrepresentation – is a source of power, which may eventually define both formal and informal institutions, characterize organizational cultures and social relations – in more and less democratic ways. Four points are worth reiterating: 1

As social actors, people may observe social and cultural norms and rules that perpetuate their own inequality. Contrary to common perspectives on agency, people may accept hierarchical group

82  Relational Accountability

2

3

4

structures, where the elite have a clear material, social and political advantage; women may both accept and actively defend unequal relations; persons may not demand accountability despite the apparent injustice of their condition. Power relations in diverse forms – coercive and non-coercive; visible and hidden; agreed and imposed – can hold inequalities and injustices in place. Power has a critical role in sustaining structural injustices not only through the boundaries that the more powerful impose but also through the boundaries that people accept – either through constraints or willingly – for themselves.Therefore, a realistic approach to promoting political accountability must seriously consider and confront the multiple ways in which power can constrain people’s choices and capacity for action. Collective action and political agency may help to change institutions and policies in important ways; however, it is risky to assume that they will necessarily produce equitable benefits for all the people that associations claim to represent. Stratifications occur even among people who appear to share the same disadvantages. The bases for stratification and exclusions might include social, cultural, political or ideological differences. There are significant intra-group inequalities and injustices that suggest a cautionary approach to designing group-based solutions.

Therefore, inequalities and injustices can be sustained in multiple domains, including in state and local level institutions; customs, standards and expectations within households and communities; and even by the disadvantaged themselves. The case studies below demonstrate that these are consequential for whether and how people perform as social and political actors.

Power, citizenships and accountability: Batwa2 Batwa (described in many parts as ‘pygmy peoples’) live in southwestern Uganda, eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Rwanda and Burundi. The total Batwa population across all four countries is currently estimated at between 70,000 and 87,000. In each country, 2 This case study was originally conducted as part of a British Academy funded research project on Labeling and Categorization among ethnic groups in Uganda. At the request of the World Bank, it was published as Moncrieffe (2004a) and as a book chapter in Bebbington et al., Institutional Pathways to Equity: Addressing Inequality Traps, Washington, DC: World Bank, though with the understanding that the case study would be subsequently included in this book.

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  83 Batwa account for between 0.02 and 0.7 percent of the population and, as Lewis concludes, ‘do not constitute a political force or constituency of any significance’ (Lewis, 2000: 5). Despite some disputes, the Batwa are widely identified as the indigenous peoples in these areas and, accordingly, are entitled to rights under the United Nations’ human rights framework. However, the Batwa view themselves as people who have been colonized by agriculturalists, pastoralists and Europeans and denied fundamental human rights, including to the lifestyle and livelihoods of their choice. Batwa are former hunter-gatherers who, despite having to change their occupations, still retain many of the characteristics of these older societies. Analysts suggest that there is a distinction between agricultural and pastoral societies – where work is often hierarchically organized and people have to invest their labour over a long period before accumulating returns – and hunter-gatherer societies, where people gain immediate return for their labour and place strong emphasis on ‘obligatory nonreciprocal sharing’ (Lewis, 2000 :8). Individuals who have more than they need are required to provide for those who have less, and those in need often enforce their right to claim shares from those better off. As Lewis explains, ‘demand-sharing and other leveling mechanisms ensure the maintenance of relative equality’. Contemporary Batwa tend to classify themselves as foresters, fisherfolk or potters. Of these, the smallest group is the fisherfolk, estimated at between 3,000 and 4,000. The majority of these Batwa live in the DRC, around Lake Kivu and on Idjwi Island; others live around Lakes Tanganika and Rweru (Lewis, 2000: 9). Foresters – known as Impunyu – now approximately 7,000, live in southwestern Uganda, northern and southern Rwanda and throughout the Kivu province of the DRC. These Batwa are semi-nomadic people. They still have regular access to the forests, though local administrators consider this access illegal. Foresters tend to set up small camps, largely comprised of clan members. They hunt small mammals; collect tubers, leaves and honey; use medicinal plants; and trade forest products for food or cash. Foresters rarely engage in farming. It is common practice that when a member of the camp dies, foresters bury their dead and promptly move the site. The largest group of Batwa – some 60,000 to 76,000 – describe themselves as potters.The Batwa resorted to pottery, craftwork and farm labour, largely in an attempt to find different sources of livelihood, as increasing portions of the forests were turned into farmland. Initially, pottery was the women’s occupation but became increasingly popular and, eventually, ‘a symbol of Batwa identity’ (Lewis, 2000: 10).Yet, even pottery has substantially lost its value. Land pressures have forced many farmers to reclaim clay

84  Relational Accountability marshes; some have begun to charge for access to clay. Batwa also have less access to firewood and, in some areas, ‘risk beatings, fines and imprisonment if caught collecting the grasses they require for pot firing’ (Lewis, 2000: 10). Thus, many Batwa – including children as young as four years – have had to resort to begging (demand-sharing) for survival. According to historical records and from oral accounts, Batwa were the first to inhabit the high altitude forests in Kigezi-Bufumbira, southwestern Uganda; that is, up until the mid-sixteenth century when the first Batutsi arrived in the area. (Subsequently, nine Kiga Bahutu clans arrived in 1750; these were on the run from Batutsi rule in Rwanda.) The majority of these Batwa were former hunter-gatherers, though some lived in savannahs and forest lake environments. While the Batutsi recognized Batwa ownership of these forests, they also demanded tributes, as representatives of the Batutsi king in Rwanda. In the 1830s, a Mututsi prince, Mpama, was sent to rule in Bufumbira. His entourage comprised fierce Batwa archers, the ancestors of four of the contemporary Batwa settlements in Bufumbira. The Batutsi established their rule over the Bahutu clans, some of whom resisted, and the Batwa had a crucial role in helping to secure Batutsi command of the area. By the early twentieth century, some Batwa held positions in the royal courts and were rewarded with farmlands. Some of these Batwa – such as Semasaka, a wealthy Mutwa – became famous and influential. There are records of Batwa resistance to Batutsi rule and of such ferocity that the Batutsi rulers required Belgian assistance. In 1912, British colonialists took over the Kigezi-Bufumbira area. With Batwa assistance, the Mututsi prince Nyindo attempted, though unsuccessfully, to resist British incursions. By the 1930s, the Batutsi and Bahutu farmers had greatly depleted the Kigezi-Bufumbira forest areas and the British initiated a policy for protecting some of these as forest reserves. The Batwa were expelled from the forests in order to create the Bwindi, Mgahinga and Echuya Forest Reserves. Forest exploitation still continued under Amin’s rule (1971–1984), largely through non-Batwa led commercial hunting, timber extraction and mining. This expulsion from the forests and persistent denial of Batwa rights to hunt and gather are one dimension of the pervasive discrimination that Batwa encounter at all levels of society. Batwa are subject to negative stereotypyes; they are regarded as sub-human and primitive and are subject to discrimination at all society and state levels. It is easier to understand ‘group inequalities’ when they are manifested in contexts of marked disparities in assets and income. Studies, particularly of the non-economic dimensions of inequality in majority (income

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  85 or asset) poor communities are still fairly rare. Kisoro District, which is located in the southwest of Uganda, borders the DRC and Rwanda. Uganda’s first participatory poverty assessment describes Kisoro as a majority poor area with the highest dependent ratio. There, people are concerned about shortage of food, lack of education and low education levels, inadequate opportunities, helplessness because of old age, sickness, disabilities and widowhood, lack of land, insecurity and lack of markets, among others. The three ethnic groups in the area are the Bafumbira, Bakiga and the Batwa, which is in the minority. The Kisoro site report, Participatory Poverty Appraisal 1 (PPA1), describes the Batwa condition. [Batwa] are a group of people who are despised, have no means of production, such as land, credit and training. They are regarded by other ethnic groups in Kisoro as a people with no rights. The Batwa are exempted from tax. However, instead of this exemption enabling them to accumulate something productive, it is interpreted by other ethnic groups as a symbol of non-recognition by the government. One respondent reported that a Mutwa can be beaten up and told that they have nowhere to report, because ‘in any case they do not pay tax,’ implying that government does not recognise their existence. Researchers were told by some of the Batwa children who had not gone to school at the time of the visit to the community that at times these children absent themselves because of the unfriendly school environment. They are despised by fellow children. When one of these children was asked what they would like to be when they complete school, she replied, ‘a cleaner’. During the exercise of drawing the Resource Map in Kisoro Hill there was a debate about whether their village should be included on the map or not. None of the Batwa, even their chief, came to any of the meetings. They were not mobilised to come. When the researchers probed they were told that, ‘Batwa would never come to such meetings, so there is not point in mobilising them.’ In one community interview (July 2003), Batwa men and women summarised their experiences: How do you live/survive? We live by working for other people in the village and in other communities but if we had our own land, we would work for ourselves. Are you paid in cash or food? Sometimes in food, sometimes soap or other things.

86  Relational Accountability When you’re paid with food, is it enough? It’s not enough and children cry at night. When they pay with money we get 1000 shillings. Why do you think you get 1000 shillings? Because we are Twa. They say the Batwa are weak and because we don’t have our own hoes, we are paid less. Do you have any way of reporting this to the authorities? No, we can’t report this because we are poor and have no money. Only those with money can pay to open their case. How are you treated? During church services, we are welcomed; we don’t have any problem. But outside people say the Batwa are dirty and badly dressed. They won’t share with us. For that reason, we always ask ourselves how do we solve this problem in order to develop like others. Lewis (2000: 14) expands on some of the ways in which the Batwa are alienated by their neighbours: Despite different ideological emphases, the types of segregation practised by the Batwa’s neighbours are similar and equally extreme. Other people will not eat or drink with them, will not marry them, will not allow Batwa to approach too close, to sit with them on the same bench or touch cooking and eating implements. They must live apart from others, collect water downstream from others, remain on the margins of public spaces and, when selling goods in markets, can only sit on the outskirts away from other sellers. These excerpts describe some of the ways in which power can be exercised to enforce inequalities. On the one hand, the examples highlight the significance of group recognition; on the other, they demonstrate clearly that is it important to go beyond easy categories. Policies that are directed at women’s empowerment, for example, will have different consequences for Bafumbira, Bakiga and Batwa women in Kisoro. Presumptions of ‘community’ obscure the deep power relations and processes, which prevent a Mutwa woman from taking advantage of – or even having access to – assets and opportunities. Accordingly, there are numerous examples of how the Batwa are denied services, including by the front-line service providers who should provide for all equally. In Kabananuyke and Wily’s

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  87 1996 assessment, for example, the authors note that the Batwa ‘do not feel welcome’ and that health workers reject the idea of visiting Batwa households: ‘They just want everything free, how could I help a Mutwa’ (cited in Zaninka, 2003: 178). The Batwa have responded in various ways. With external assistance, some have begun to form associations in order to represent their claims and are hopeful that they will obtain the assets that will improve their circumstances. Others have internalized the negative perceptions. Golden and Edgerton (2003) argue that playing the part and/or reflecting the stereotype is also a key survival strategy. By remaining docile and submissive, Batwa evoke pity but also ‘reaffirm the social hierarchies to which other groups have assigned them’ and ‘concretize their marginalized status’. Lewis (2000: 13) notes that ‘some Batwa discriminate between themselves. A Mutwa who has acquired wealth or status may renounce the Batwa identity’. He gives an example from Burundi, where communities that have acquired land are offended at being described as Batwa and insist on being called ‘Abaterambe’, which means ‘people who are developing’. These divergent views and responses limit organization and collective action. Policy-makers, in turn, blame this lack of collective action and/ or failure to exercise political agency as the cause for the Batwa’s poverty. Action-oriented approaches ‘prioritize those ideas and motivations that lead people – and particularly leaders – to persist despite the odds’. In that sense, they can avoid the power structures and relations that lead people to disengage, withdraw and resign themselves to their conditions. Fox (1996) argues that in order to build effective collection action, reformist state officials have an important role: providing incentives and blocking negative societal and state sanctions. However, state officials are not immune to the prejudices and belief systems that marginalize some groups versus others. As a consequence, the decentralized system of government has failed to improve conditions for the Batwa in Uganda and, arguably, has multiplied their experiences of discrimination and neglect. A further excerpt from the community interview demonstrates this. Do you have representation on the local committee? No we have no representative. Why? We don’t have anyone who is educated. It’s because of ignorance. If you have problems, how do you resolve them? We keep quiet like birds who stay in trees. There is no one who can hear us.

88  Relational Accountability During elections, do you vote? Yes. If during elections, you vote, do you expect the politicians to work for you? Yes, but after voting, that’s the end of the story; we don’t have a voice. Sometimes, we hear of assistance at sub-committee level but when we go, we don’t get it. Its distributed to relatives of the representatives. Among your societies, don’t you have anyone to speak on your behalf at sub-committee level? In certain meetings, when we want we go but they don’t hear us. Why don’t you think they don’t hear you? Maybe because they recognize us as people who don’t have any value.

Power, citizenships and accountability: Indigenous Peoples’ Movement in Acre, Brazil There are noteworthy differences between Batwa experiences and Shankland’s (2010) account of the Indigenous Peoples’ Movement in Acre, Brazil. From his description, there are approximately 12,000 indigenous peoples in Acre, comprising less than 3 percent of the total population. There are fourteen different ethnic groups among them, who have had varying levels of association with the non-indigenous populations. However, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, all indigenous ethnic groups were directly affected when rubber barons invaded the forests to take advantage of the rubber boom. Inter-ethnic conflicts developed between those ethnic groups who supported the rubber barons and those who resisted their incursions and subsequently fled, were displaced or enslaved. Despite this fractious history, in the 1980s, rubber tappers were able to construct alliances with the indigenous peoples, as they fought to protect the rubber-rich rainforest against swiftly expanding cattle ranching. The Forest Peoples’ Alliance was formed and this, at least in principle, ‘united’ rubber tappers and indigenous groups in supporting a common goal. Not unpredictably, conflicts eventually resurfaced as the ethnic groups disagreed on the costs and benefits of allying with the rubber barons. Shankland explains that while in the Jurua Valley Region of Western Acre, indigenous groups had, over the years, managed to collaborate with

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  89 the seringueiros (rubber tappers) and mobilize against the rubber barons, the indigenous groups in the Eastern region were not as engaged with the non-indigenous populations and did not form similar alliances. Instead, young educated indigenous leaders formed alliances with pro-indigenous NGOs and created the Union of Indigenous Nations of Acre and Southern Amazonas (UNI). The UNI kept itself distinct from the Forest Peoples’ Alliance, believing that the Alliance’s association with the seringueiros effectively diluted their identity-based claims. Up to 1998, neither the Forest Peoples’ Alliance nor the UNI received much support from successive state governments: they often encountered indifference or hostility. Therefore, both groups relied on alliances with key actors within federal government as well as on associations with NGOs and global networks. In 1998, when Jorge Viana of the Workers’ Party won the state elections, the indigenous groups had an ally within the state.Viana was formerly a forester who worked with the early leader of the seringueiros. Therefore, under this administration, there was space to embrace the notion of florestania – forest citizenship – as opposed to the more common ideology of universal citizenship. Viana claimed to defend the rights of indigenous peoples, a stance supported by sympathetic urban dwellers, international NGOs and external donors. The government’s agenda included a number of projects that were proposed by the indigenous and seringueiro associations. The State Secretary for Indigenous Peoples, which was established in 2003, was in large part a response to critiques that the quality of dialogue with the indigenous movement had been too sporadic during the early years of Viana’s tenure. The State Secretary provided advisory services to government. In addition, posts were created for indigenous peoples within state government. As the two major parties sought to woo representatives from the indigenous associations, the historical ethnic cleavages were exacerbated by new political divisions: in the main, leaders from Jurua Valley who supported the Forest Peoples’ Alliances tended to be represented in one party while leaders from Eastern Acre who backed the UNI were represented in another. Despite these divisions, there were clear and compelling successes in inclusion. However, as Shankland points out, democratic outcomes must also be measured by transformation. Here, achievements were more modest. In spite of the government’s investments in health, indicators among the indigenous populations were lower than anticipated. Similarly, the quality of service delivery was not nearly as progressive as the national health policy envisioned. Shankland notes: A decade after the formal creation of the indigenous health sub-system and the election of the first government of the forest, indigenous

90  Relational Accountability communities could still go for months without receiving a single visit from a health team; indigenous leaders seeking to exercise their constitutional rights to demand accountability from health service managers could still be met with threats and racist abuse; indigenous women could still suffer humiliating experiences at the hands of government doctors and nurses; and indigenous children were still two to three times more likely to die before they reached their first birthday than non-indigenous children. Shankland, 2010: 113–14 Thus, visibility and inclusion within government have not translated to the outcomes expected. First, Shankland contends that inclusion was largely symbolic and masked actual power dynamics, particularly the ability to influence policy. Second, the politics of presence deflected attention from the persistent maldistribution of financial resources and power: attention has been deflected from the fact that the redistribution of resources has had far less impact on both the distribution of wellbeing and the distribution of power than might have been the case had different policy choices been made. Shankland, 2010: 114 Third, the apparent inclusion of indigenous interests obscures intragroup inequalities, both of recognition and of resource distribution. Consequently, it is the more visible indigenous groups who are invited for policy dialogue; the distribution of health infrastructure is skewed towards the groups that are represented in policy-making; given the male dominated leadership of the UNI, spending on women’s health was, at first, restricted to those issues covered by the national programme. However, there was better representation of women’s interests after the UNI collapsed. Fourth, after the UNI disintegrated, the newly decentralized institutional mechanisms may have facilitated representation of a broader range of interests but offered little mediation among competing interests. Therefore, the claims that were eventually heard and responded to were those that were most effectively represented. Inequities in recognition and in resources were reflected in inequalities of accountability. Why are these inequalities not corrected? Shankland concludes that there are few political incentives for the state to [establish socially just criteria for redistribution] and to tackle the invisibility and exclusion of some groups, so long as the hyper-visibility and demonstrable

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  91 inclusion of others continues to be accepted as evidence that florestania is becoming a reality for the original ‘forest peoples’. Shankland, 2010: 115 Such are the workings of power.

Power, citizenships and accountability: intergenerational transmissions and race The case examples above emphasize how perceptions of identity can be enforced and internalized, with consequences for experiences of citizenship, including relations of accountability. I use Sarah White’s (2002) ‘Thinking Race, Thinking Development’ to open further discussions on this theme. White (2002) argued that despite the centrality of race to development, the subject has remained effectively ‘non-framed’, which means that it has been ‘omitted from policy and programme agendas’, remaining ‘unseen and unheard for a variety of reasons’ (Moncrieffe and Eyben, 2007: 3).White explored aspects of the power relations that have perpetuated this ‘determining silence’, as well as some of the covert and overt ways in which the racial power structures and relations that were cultivated throughout colonialism have continued to permeate development thought and practice. ‘The language of development’, she observes, ‘is rooted in the colonial encounter’ (White, 2002: 411) and colonialism has left a massive imprint on race relations and perceptions. She agrees with Mudimbe (1988) that in order to understand colonialism’s power to influence and even ‘invent’ race relations, it is necessary to go beyond the conceptualization of power as domination, for while it is true that colonialism involved ‘the domination of “space” and overt, agonizing exploitation, it also entailed more subtle and, arguably, effective techniques: transforming consciousness and integrating the histories and economies of the colonized countries within a Western “master narrative”’ (White, 2002: 411). Therefore, White maintains that colonialism was not simply ‘a military, political and economic enterprise’; it was also ‘a discursive regime of power/knowledge’ (Foucault, 1972; 1980). White is clear that some of the adverse – colonial – racial meanings still permeate development agencies and are demonstrated in more and less explicit ways, such as in bar talk among expatriates; employment procedures; education programmes and relationships of aid. Her article is, perhaps, better known for its exposure of these well known secrets than for its reference to the unexpected ‘meanings’ of race among those whom she depicts as the objects of racial labelling. However, the latter is an especially

92  Relational Accountability important subject, for development processes are not merely affected by how those who are regarded as more powerful manage to ‘categorize’ but also by how those regarded as adversely categorized come to categorize themselves, particularly how they view themselves in relation to ‘others’. Self-categorization reflects internalized power: resistance, submission, and different forms of agency come from within individuals. Structures and processes of domination are always at risk where persons purpose within themselves to challenge and disrupt them. Conversely, all sorts of inequalities can remain intact and become chronic where people accept unfavourable perceptions of themselves and fail to hold their representatives and service providers to account. The stories below reveal how patterns of meanings (Geertz, 1973) are honed within particular physical, psychological, social and economic boundaries, and the varied consequences of these meanings for the children who are being shaped in these contexts. Young children are vulnerable, particularly to the lessons that are learnt during the primary and secondary phases of their socialization. During these phases, values, norms, customs, messages about their place in the world and the appropriate ways of relating to different types of people in the world can become imprinted in their psyches and may have lasting influence. It is fairly well accepted within anthropology, sociology and psychology that the patterns of meanings that people inherit and share influence how they perform as development actors. Through processes of socialization, people acquire common understandings of what is and what is not significant. They depict these understandings through their use of symbols, the types of relationships they cultivate and through norms, values and customs. However, children are also resilient and do exercise agency, to varied ends and with varied consequences. Greig (2009) and Tadros (2009) make the important point that children and young people are not simply empty vessels awaiting socialization; rather, they also actively construct their social worlds. However, there is something distinct about children’s earliest experiences. As Jenkins (2004: 19) explains, selfhood is not fixed; it is best conceptualized as ‘an ongoing and, in practice, simultaneous synthesis of (internal) self-definition and the (external) definitions of oneself offered by others’.3 As young humans are dependent, the external moment of that dialectic may be more significant during childhood:

3 Across the disciplines, there is a wide range of literature on childhood socialization processes: for example, psychologists focus on the interactions of biology, brain and the environment; social learning theorists emphasize how behaviours are learnt – such as through reward and punishment and imitation – throughout childhood; social psychologists emphasize how social surroundings help to shape children’s psychological development.

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  93 Very young humans are dependent: there is much that they must discover about the world and their place in it. All things being equal, they are hard-wired to be voracious learners, and they must learn who’s who and what’s what … Identities established during infancy and childhood may be less flexible than identities, which are acquired subsequently. On the face of things, identification is neither remorselessly permanent nor frivolously malleable. The most adamantine identity has some leeway in it, if only as a sense of possibility. But the more unilateral the internal-external traffic, the less negotiable the resultant identity is likely to be, the smaller the room for manoeuvre. Identifications entered into early in life are experienced as more authoritative than those acquired subsequently: at most, infants and very young children can only muster weak responses of internal self-definition to modify or reject them. Assumed during the most foundational learning period, they become part of the individual’s axiomatic furniture: the way things are. Jenkins 2004: 19 Therefore, the patterns of meaning that children learn throughout infancy and childhood can have long term influence and are more easily disrupted when they are provided with sound reasons and means to challenge and overturn them; forms of agency are cultivated, as children learn from and negotiate their contexts. This section reinforces the importance of analysing and responding to how citizenships – including relations of accountability – are being cultivated among different categories of children because of the structural conditions, the quality of policy interventions and the actions and inactions of people within and external to their contexts. The strong suggestion is that the patterns of meanings cultivated among children can, subsequently, influence adult conceptions of their place as citizens, particularly when this is reinforced by seemingly persistent structural injustices and intergenerational inequalities. Race perceptions and accountability: Uganda We were in a remote rural village in Uganda, a team of researchers who had been commissioned to evaluate one agency’s child sponsorship programmes.The discussion had taken a surprising turn. I asked one group of parents about their perceptions of the child sponsors and this triggered a discussion of race. We decided to continue the inquiry in the other villages that were selected for study. The findings were fairly consistent: The majority of respondents, children to adults, identified the mzungu

94  Relational Accountability (white person) as the sponsor because he/she was racially superior, either for material reasons or his/her inherent goodness or morality; there were only few dissenting voices. I was disturbed by the pervasiveness of these responses and was keen to explore why these ‘self-restricting’ ways of thinking were so prevalent in these villages. Question: Why do you think that Mzungu is the sponsor?

MAN: Because white people are kinder than black people. WOMAN: White people are born blessed. MAN: White people are better than black people.

Question: Why?

MAN: White people love black children, especially orphans.

[Immediately, some people complained … not only orphans, they love other people as well] MAN: To me, even Africans are kind. That’s why we have received you. But somehow, white people out of whatever they get, put something aside to help those in need. Some Africans do the same but some don’t. WOMAN: This does not mean that they are a higher race. MAN: White people have knowledge and economic power over us. Question: Are you suggesting that one race is superior to the other? [Here, there was some disagreement over whether whites were superior to blacks. An albinistic man stands – All laugh disparagingly.4 The man perseveres:] 

Whites and blacks are not the same. White people’s economic resources are different from ours.

MAN: We

are not the same. Whites are in developed countries; we blacks are developing. That’s why they have come to assist us. MAN: We are not the same. They colonised and ruled us and left us behind. WOMAN: We are the same. These white people come and do research; this means there is something we know that they don’t. WOMAN: There are rich whites and rich blacks; we are the same. 4 Here, it was important to note the prejudices and stratifications that exist within groups, even those who consider themselves commonly disadvantaged. This reinforces the importance of studying intersectionalities, as they expose the non-uniformity of poverty and inequalities.

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  95 MAN: White

people come in big vehicles; blacks are on foot. Even poor whites are not the same as poor blacks. MAN: [This sponsorship organisation’s] programs sanction whites. It is white people who are helping them. Question: What do your children think about this issue? children also think white people are better than them. The way parents think is the way children think.

MAN: Our

As the parents predicted, interviews among the children revealed similar patterns. For example, in one parish, children reasoned that no black persons could become doctors; yet, white persons could simply glance at individuals and immediately diagnose their illnesses. One boy pointed to a chair that was made of iron and wood and noted that while black persons are able to carve wood, only white persons can work with iron, which requires much more skill. The vast majority of teachers in that parish offered similar opinions. They had no doubt about white superiority, stating clearly that while white people have abundant resources, black people could not even feed their children. The conversations above underscore that there are disparities of views within a common culture. They display the unpredictability of cultures and/or patterns of meanings and show that people can hold opposing views despite the commonalities of their experiences. Correspondingly, there were children in the study who demonstrated remarkable resilience despite their constraints. One girl, Sarah, recounted her life story. She told us that there are eight children in her family and that she is the first-born. All the children go to school, apart from one who is not yet in school because he is ‘under age’. Her parents are farmers. They grow enough food to eat and then sell the remainder. Sarah told us that the major problem her family experienced was lack of money to facilitate her studies. She says that she dreams of becoming an electrical engineer and works hard at school to achieve this. Sarah’s perceptions of her racial disadvantage did not stifle her personal ambition. Such stories show the limits of an interpretation of intergenerational transmissions that overlooks the challenges and transitions that are occurring on the ground, including among children. However, there is also a tendency to overestimate resilience and such exhibitions of agency and, in the process, to ignore its complexity: people can choose to exercise agency in profoundly negative ways; they may opt not to act at all; moreover, people can exercise agency in one context (such as in public spaces) and refuse to challenge their disadvantage in another (such as in private and intimate spaces).

96  Relational Accountability Many children who are growing up in the remote villages that we visited in Uganda are disappointed by what appears to be the permanence of their poverty. Their parents and teachers lack vision of change and transmit messages of futility to their children.These lessons help to undermine children’s agency, particularly where lack of progress is associated with their skin colour. However, interviews with the children revealed that the widespread sentiments in these villages are rooted, not only in lessons learnt about the colonial period; demonstrations of ‘white wealth’ and ‘black poverty’; and lack of exposure to other societies, but also in what is considered to be persistent abuse from ‘people like them’ as opposed to instances of kindness from ‘people not like them’. Children in all parishes reported gross abuse, even from family members, and lack of responsiveness from public officials. In these contexts, the notion of accountability is farcical; furthermore, the futility of political participation, expressing interests and claiming rights becomes ingrained from childhood. The following synopsis presents a picture of some of the deep reasons for children’s distrust of their own race and lack of faith in the political system. Question: Are children in America the same as you? Some say yes; most say no Question: To those who say they are not the same, why do you think this? We are black they are white Our blood is black; theirs is red In America or UK parents take good care of their children. They eat good food; we eat leftovers. Question: What do you think of the sponsors? They are white They are rich They have more technology than us All of them speak English They are not corrupt Question: Can you give us some examples of corruption? Traffic policemen take bribes from taxi drivers When one commits a crime, he gives the police money and he is released Someone can be given money to construct a school and he eats the money

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  97 An aunt to an orphan can send money to that orphan but the caretakers eat the money Question: What sorts of problems do children face at home? Stepmothers sometimes deny children food and instead pour it away Some parents defile us – both boys and girls Some parents burn children’s hands Question: Where do children report cases of abuse? To local councillors To police and prisons To the nearest adult Question: Who abuses children? The youth Sugar mummies and sugar daddies HIV infected people The drunkards Those who smoke opium Question: What sorts of children are abused? School children Babies Girls Street children Question: Whom do you fear the most? My father, because he is rude Our brothers, because they beat us My grandfather, because he takes alcohol and, when he does, it causes him to defile me (boy). These conversations highlight how relationships within communities and families can provoke feelings of fear, distrust and even hatred among children. These relationships have a particularly perverse effect where the limited messages that children receive about and from other races lead many of them to believe the association that they have learnt from their parents; that is, of black skin with evil and white skin with purity. Such is the quality of the indoctrination that children in this study were unable to appreciate the salutary aspects of their own cultures. For example, when questioned, they paid scant regard to the family networks within their

98  Relational Accountability villages, which were often key to the survival of the growing numbers of orphans. They did not appreciate how these networks functioned as valuable assets. Similarly, children did not accept examples of black success, preferring to regard the personalities mentioned as people who were ‘not fully black’. (Notably, all the persons mentioned resided overseas.) As one official explained, families did not expect, nor were they enthusiastic about, local sponsorship: ‘Children would be much less excited if the sponsors were [of national origin]’; ‘There’s a sponsor in the UK. She sent a letter and the family located her. They told me that they were surprised that there are [nationals of this country] who are donors’. These long-standing perceptions may lead to resignation with one’s lot – habitus – but can also generate antagonisms and conflicts. However, frustrations with perceived race and class inequalities can be channelled not at the source of the oppression but at compatriots in oppression, for while persons may endure ‘disrespect’ from other races, they are much less tolerant of being disrespected by their own and this, as Gilligan (2001) explains in other contexts, is among the reasons for intra- and intercommunity violence. Notably, Fanon (1963: 42) had observed this pattern of response in colonial Algeria. He described it ‘as a type of suicidal behaviour’, a ‘collective auto-destruction’: While the settler or the policeman has the right the live-long day to strike the native, to insult him and to make him crawl to them, you will see the ‘native’ reaching for his knife at the slightest hostile or aggressive glance cast on him by another native; for the last resort of the native is to defend his personality vis-à-vis a brother. ... By throwing himself with all his force into the vendetta, the ‘native’ tries to persuade himself that colonialism does not exist, that everything is going on as before, that history continues. Here, on the level of communal organizations, we clearly discern the well-known behavior patterns of avoidance. Fanon acknowledges that this type of conduct ‘proves to the settler (whose existence and domination is by them all justified) that these men are not reasonable human beings’. However, Fanon observed another tendency, where the ‘native manages to by-pass the settler’: A belief in fatality removes all blame from the oppressor; the cause of misfortunes and of poverty is attributed to God; He is fate. In this way, the individual accepts the disintegration ordained by God, bows down before the settler and his lot, and by a kind of interior stabilization acquires a stony calm. Fanon, 1963: 42

Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability  99 Acceptance of fate is not uncommon: it can obtain despite public bravado; it may occur in some matters and not in others. Democracy does not necessarily protect against the oppressive conditions that may culminate in resignation to fate. Indeed, much oppression can become inured within democracies, precisely because it is non-labelled. In other terms, since democracies are often framed in ways that suggest justice, fairness and equity, deep-seated injustices, unfairness and inequities may remain pervasive though unacknowledged. However, acceptance of fate is inimical to the power, presence and agency required for more equitable relations of accountability. Both oppressive and coercive forms of power deny citizens of their effective rights to participate equally and actively in political affairs, and to make demands and claims of their representatives and service providers. Moreover, they can shift the focus of discontent from the true rights abusers to persons who are within more ready reach. Communal and family violence may result, which can threaten democracy or perpetuate putrid political systems (I expand on this theme in Chapter 4). The power dynamics and relations that are described in these case studies are not uncommon. They are deep-rooted in societies and cultures and can become so institutionalized that their weight on relations of accountability, that is, the extent to which these social inequalities translate to inequalities of voice and of accountability, is overlooked. It is important to elucidate the important implications for accountability. Significantly, Batliwala (1994) suggests that empowerment strategies must tackle the ideologies that justify inequalities; the prevailing patterns of access to and control over economic, natural and intellectual resources; and the institutions and structures that reinforce and sustain existing power structures. Significantly, empowerment strategies – or, more specifically, building capacities for accountability – must also respond to some of the ingrained perceptions that limit the exercise of accountability and/or that skew the exercise of accountability in very unproductive ways, such as by holding one group to account as opposed to others on the basis of class, race and other points of seemingly favourable or unfavourable differences.

4 Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities In the earlier chapters, I reinforced the view that structural injustices can produce far-reaching inequalities of citizenship and of accountability. I noted two other dimensions of this unfortunate spiral: (1) inequalities of citizenship and of accountability can distort power relations and worsen the human condition; the latter, in turn, deepens the original imbalances in citizenship and accountability; (2) at the same time, distorted power relations are often manifest in and feed inequalities of citizenship and accountability. In this chapter, I expand on these themes, thus reinforcing the roles of power in shaping citizenship experiences. However, my principal concern is to emphasize the point that inequalities of citizenships and of accountability can eventually threaten the quality and stability of democracy.While this is known in principle, there is a tendency to underestimate how the lack of meaningful relations of accountability (relations that have the potential and vision to redress the inequities deep within societies) can generate cultures and conditions that rupture democracies, particularly fragile ones. Using a selection of life stories, principally from young men and children who live within the boundaries of politically cultivated violent communities in Jamaica, I personalize the dynamics and dangers of structural injustices and reinforce the potentially challenging consequences for relations of accountability. I rely on these voices, too, to suggest the multipronged interventions that are critical for building more equitable relations of accountability from the ground and then expand on this latter subject in Chapter 5.

A brief history of the context Much has been written on the progressive ‘garrisoning’ of poor urban areas in Jamaica; the social and political conditions that have allowed for these processes are well known. In 1938, the West India Royal (Moyne)

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  101 Commission highlighted the injustices and severe social, economic and political inequalities that existed at that time. As in other parts of the Caribbean, the white population (then comprising 1 per cent of the population) owned and controlled the vast proportion of the resources at the expense of the majority black (78 per cent) and coloured (17.5) populations (Munroe 1972 :5; see also Brown, 1954). However, between 1944 (when universal adult suffrage was granted) and 1962 (independence), there were significant social changes: the capitalist class expanded to include the immigrant Afro-Europeans, Lebanese and Chinese and a now multi-racial dominant upper middle class challenged white hegemony. The economic boom of the 1950s and 1960s resulted in further changes to the class structure. During this period, a growing group of merchantmanufacturers gained ascendancy over the planters. The upper class now comprised some twenty-one families who, without entering politics, dominated the private sector and influenced government policy. The economic boom also favoured the business sectors and the middle class grew to approximately 22 per cent of the labour force. In contrast, the majority of the population was largely excluded from these social and economic gains. By 1958, ‘the lowest two deciles of households in the country had a 2.2 percent share of total income, whereas the wealthiest 5 percent … had a 30.2 percent share’ (Wellisz and Findlay, 1993: 172). Procedural democracy (introduced in 1944) did not curb race and class inequalities and conflicts. With respect to race, the ‘privileged white and light-skinned elite was [still] assumed to be inherently superior both racially and culturally and this assumption was reinforced by a white, racist social ideology and dependence on Great Britain’ (Stone, 1985: 15). In terms of class, ‘the dominant … ideology assumed that landowners, the wealthy and the highly educated [regardless of race] had a natural claim to national leadership, pre-eminent political influence, and social wisdom’. Importantly, many among the black population accepted these notions of superiority and inferiority. Palmer (1989: 114) notes that one of the more harmful by-products of European domination was the effect of that rule on the minds of sections of the Jamaican populace: ‘A white bias had come to prevail and, with it, a concomitant devaluation of the sense of self of the citizens of African descent’. In response to these race and class inequalities, the Rastafarian movement, which began in the 1930s, and the Black Power movement of the late 1960s, called for fundamental social changes in favour of the majority black population.The most visible improvements occurred in the 1970s, when Michael Manley implemented a radical social reform programme, building on Rastafari and Black Power messages (Keith and Keith, 1992; Davies and Witter, 1989; Kaufman, 1988; Polyani Levitt, 1991).

102  Relational Accountability Anthony Payne (1991, 1993 and 1994) suggests that the political system has been able to contain the ‘explosive implications’ of the social structure precisely because ‘party, rather than race or class was developed as the primary frame of reference for the politically conscious in Jamaica’ (see also Edie, 1991, and Harrigan, 1995). Even before its independence in 1962, Jamaica, particularly West Kingston, had begun to acquire a reputation for patronage, ‘donmanship’ and political violence, which, over subsequent decades, mushroomed into the fearsome new forms and levels of aggression that now traumatize the society. In the aftermath of the 1930s labour revolts, two prominent trades union and later political party leaders, Alexander Bustamante and Norman Manley, committed themselves to nation building. In 1944, Bustamante ran for and won political office in West Kingston, an area that then, as now, was among the most depressed constituencies of the Corporate Area. There, workers – many were migrants from the rural areas – subsisted in conditions of squalor, in very sharp contrast to the thriving middle and upper class communities in north and east Kingston. It was from that period that political leaders began to recruit foot soldiers from among ‘the poor’ to secure their political territory. In return for petty benefits and spoils, recruits ‘fought bloody battles in the name of their respective parties, with a passion and zeal resembling commitment to a messianic cause’. Many political leaders were personally involved in these conflicts. Bustamante himself never shirked from a brawl and was known to brandish a gun when he believed the occasion warranted. Similarly, prominent People’s National Party (PNP) activists did not merely rely on ‘bad men’ recruited from areas such as Matthews Lane in West Kingston, some threw themselves into this ‘battle for the streets’, perhaps reasoning as Will Isaacs, a leading PNP politician, did when he was convicted for incitement to riot in 1949: ‘What are a few broken skulls in the making of a nation?’ (Gray, 2004: 27; see also Gray, 1991). Political divisions hardened considerably in the 1960s and 1970s and, with them, party patronage and violence escalated. In the 1960s, Walter Rodney was expelled from Jamaica for his ‘communist and Black Power teachings’ and, perhaps more importantly, his massively growing popularity among the youth. In the 1970s, Michael Manley based his platform on ‘giving the poor a chance’ and garnered substantial support, including from among ‘die-hard’ youth activists. Political divisions escalated between Manley’s socialist PNP and Edward Seaga’s capitalist JLP and culminated in over 800 murders in the 1980 elections. This violent approach to ‘building democracy’ culminated in the creation of garrison constituencies. Originally, Stone (1985) used the label ‘garrison’ to refer to political constituencies or strongholds, which were

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  103 or are located in inner-city areas of Kingston, St Andrew, Clarendon and St Catherine. Garrisons originated in the 1960s and 1970s, when political representatives allotted houses to their supporters in order to build a solid base of support within designated geographical areas (Figueroa and Sives, 2002: 83). The main political parties maintained control of these areas through patronage relationships and through ‘bogus voting and electioneering’ (National Committee on Political Tribalism, 1997). Key local supporters – headed by the political don – were responsible for securing the territory, which meant guaranteeing the vote, including through coercion. In exchange, the community got access to housing, jobs and other scarce benefits and spoils and the appointed ‘big man’ received his special concessions (Moncrieffe, 2001: 40). These constituencies were distinct because of their homogeneous voting patterns and the comparatively high levels of violence that plagued them. Recently, Figueroa and Sives (2002: 86) suggested a more dynamic interpretation, in order to reflect the ongoing ‘outreach activities’ from these areas and their influence on national politics, economics and society. They refer to garrison processes, which describe the ‘activities associated with establishing, strengthening and extending the influence of the garrisons’, and of spreading what these authors characterize as the ‘garrison psychology’. Figueroa and Sives maintain that while there are few garrison constituencies, there are many garrison communities. For example, some garrison communities are located next to and between opposition areas; some have the capacity to co-opt non-garrisoned areas; in some communities, garrison-style politics appears to be receding over the course of elections but, in many, turf warfare – which now encompasses politics, extortion and drugs – is a deliberate strategy.1 1 Not all inner-city areas are classified as garrisons. There are ‘non-garrison’ inner-city communities that are affected by crime and violence and depressed social conditions. Yet, as they are not subject to political control, they are not defined as garrisons. It is also important to underscore that not all persons within the garrisons, specifically, and the inner cities, broadly, regard themselves or are regarded as income poor. Some households benefit from remittances from relatives; there are people who are legally employed in the formal and informal sectors; and others who have alternate means of getting access to resources. Garrison communities are diverse and the people living within them are diverse. This, in part, explains why the label ‘garrison’ is contentious. First, it is an external categorization that some people do not accept, particularly because – unlike the meanings Stone (1985) and Figueroa and Sives (2002), among others, intended, the term ‘garrison’ is often used in pejorative ways, such as to characterize all residents within these areas as violent, thieves, untrustworthy, ‘lower class’, poor. Second, while there are a number of studies that aim to reveal the real stories beneath the label (see, for example, Levy, 1996), ‘garrison areas’ are often framed in ways that minimize the deep politics within them, the consequences of living within these physical, psychological and social boundaries, including the power relationships

104  Relational Accountability Though careful to refute their own involvement in the process, a number of politicians have acknowledged the dire folly of arming unemployed, principally male, youth in select constituencies in order to secure blocks of support. Up to the 1980s, local ‘political’ dons maintained fairly close relationships with respective MPs, acting as a medium between them (MPs) and the communities. However, since then, dons have become much more independent. A few have profited from the burgeoning cocaine trade (Headley, 2002, 2005), while some are involved in the extortion racket (one security official explained that relatively few dons have the resources to become involved in the expensive cocaine trade; many more are involved in extortion). Extortion is now quite pervasive in Jamaica. It has expanded beyond building sites, where local dons demand control of work projects in exchange for providing protection, and now involves a wide cross-section of businesses and local community members. There are dons who fight for the right to extort taxes from the populace and use the profits from these enterprises in diverse money laundering activities. With the ability and capacity to import their own firepower, dons can – to varying degrees – maintain control over the communities, with little reference to the politician. However, the local don’s power over an area is not absolute; he is constantly on the lookout for challenges to his leadership and, in some cases, multiple dons inhabit one ‘community’, each exerting control over nothing more than a lane. Dons are now facing other constraints. As the government has intensified security operations, some of the more prominent among them have been ‘removed’.Therefore, the ‘position’ has lost some attraction. The more guarded commentators suggest that the country has merely been afforded some breathing space and that what transpires during the current period – particularly the government’s interpretation and exercise of responsibilities to the citizens within these communities – will have substantial weight on the direction of this democracy. It is important to qualify that not all who are classified as dons are involved in violence and criminality. Some politicians are careful to assert that they work only with area leaders – who have a political leadership role and are responsible for providing social welfare and informal justice in their communities – and not with dons, who are involved in illegal activities. Hope (2006: 92) explains the distinction: The area leader is hierarchically related to but different from the don. The area leader becomes prominent and influential in the community and social conditionings that can lead to the reproduction of violence and to behaviours that appear consistent with the negative labels.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  105 because of his or her hard work and the respect engendered as a facilitator of community development. The area leader may subsequently acquire enough social, political and economic resources to accede to the higher position of don. … While some women become area leaders, there are no female dons in Jamaica.Therefore, there is a hierarchical and gendered relationship between dons and area leaders. All dons are area leaders but not all area leaders become dons and all dons are male while there are a few female area leaders. Nevertheless, it is widely acknowledged that there are political leaders who have, historically, encouraged a culture of lawlessness and utilized violence and criminality to defend their own turf and positions and, in that sense, legitimized violence within society. As Harrison (personal communication) describes it, they have used ‘illegitimate means to legitimate their aspirations’. Now that inner-city violence has spiralled, seemingly out of control, there is a tendency to blame the ‘thugs’ who are ‘progressively taking over the society’ and to downplay various political leaders’ roles in cultivating these blurred boundaries between the legitimate and illegitimate, inciting and encouraging violence as a route to problem solving and promoting a now pervasive culture of ‘badness’ and intolerance; however, there are many who resent and regret this calamitous political legacy and maintain that politicians deserve very painful retribution for these tragic outcomes.

History and the preconditions for accountability: a summary Jamaica’s history of political, social and economic inequalities has, in large part, polluted relations of accountability. As described, wealth, perceptions of social standing and party alliances have had substantial weight on policy and politics, such that these appear accepted and expected against a background of adverse terms of engagement for the poorer classes, manipulation of the most vulnerable for political gain, spatial inequalities, and the inbreeding of violence and poverty. It is crucial to emphasize that violence presents formidable boundaries, particularly within contexts of democracy, where its perpetuation, especially by reputedly responsible state agents, can have profound, inestimable effects – seriously undermining the credibility of the democratic process, sullying efforts to build a consultative and deliberative culture and creating, instead, warped and partial arrangements where freedom, voice, participation and what it means to be a democratic citizen have very different meanings for different people. This type of politics, which

106  Relational Accountability transpires beneath the veneer of democracy, may lead to fragility – of the sort that results in coups and dictatorial regimes – but, and as is the case in Jamaica, ‘democratic’ states may endure substandard political arrangements for very long periods, harbouring pockets of authoritarianism and breeding destructive forms of power while paying mild allegiance to select procedures, such as regime change by vote. The selection of conversations and life stories that are presented in this chapter exposes the effects of deep-rooted economic and social inequalities: relentless ‘structural violence’. Structural violence, as Gilligan (2000: 192) describes it, refers to the increased rates of death and disability suffered by those who occupy the bottom rungs of society.They are a function of class structure and that structure is itself a product of society’s collective human choices concerning how to distribute the collective wealth of the society. There are stories about social conditioning and manhood, the role of families and peers and of how children are forced to grow in contexts where there are little or no opportunities for exit and restricted spaces for change. Our commentators tell of how some young men are attempting to contest the physical, material and socio-psychological boundaries within and outside of their immediate communities, through what Hayward (2000) describes as ‘actions upon boundaries to action’. However, contestation does not always comprise those productive social actions that are considered crucial for participation and vibrant citizenship; it is often much more complex, combining non-violent and violent actions, ‘legal’ and ‘illegal’ measures. Such are the lessons learnt from these social contexts about the most persuasive ways of establishing presence, pressing claims and demanding personalized and immediate forms of accountability to fill the perceived vacuum in relations with the state.

Social inequalities, social conditionings The personal stories that are presented in this section reflect some of the ways in which boundaries are cultivated from childhood and transmitted across generations. Usually, considerations of intergenerational transmissions concentrate on poverty and, specifically, on asset transfers. Bird (2007) expanded this to include qualitative factors, such as the transmission of adverse terms of incorporation in the market. Similarly, Kabeer and Mahmud (2009) contend that ‘the transference of poverty across generations occurs through the transmission of various kinds

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  107 of deficits’ and can only be addressed if appropriate investments are made in human capital. The deficits they identify include relational and subjective factors; they thereby confirm that the transmission of knowledge, values, perceptions and experiences have a role in the reproduction of poverty. Yet, intergenerational transmissions involve more than poverty, and the transference of relational and subjective factors is critical to a range of outcomes, including the reproduction of citizenship experiences across generations. The accounts presented below bring considerations of relations of accountability to human conditions, reinforcing how and why, in particular contexts, structural injustices spawn and transfer seeds that eventually threaten the quality and stability of democracy. In this chapter, as far as is feasible, I present rather than interpret people’s actual voices, translating words from Jamaica’s local dialect that readers may have difficulty understanding. I insert commentaries throughout the text in order to analyse the key themes. This section begins with one mother’s story, recounted in the words in which she told it. One Mother’s Story I met Maureen, quite accidentally. She attended a meeting that was intended for fifteen- to seventeen-year-old girls, as she had not known of the age limitations. Maureen was older, thirty-six years with eight children and a grandchild. She told me that two of her children live with her; the eldest daughter now lives with her own baby’s father; and the other children live with their respective fathers. Maureen was eager to talk, particularly about her nineyear-old son, who she fears is being recruited by the gangsters on the corner. This mother had seen conclusive signs: he would stay out late, not venturing in until two in the mornings; besides, all his friends were big men with bad reputations who had already begun to send him on ‘small errands’. This is how it all starts, she told me. From small errands, which may involve trading marijuana, children normally graduate to becoming gun carriers and from there, it was only a matter of time before they, themselves, begin to ‘bus’ [fire] the gun’. Within these closed and violent spaces, she tells me that she is involved in constant psychological combat with those men on the corner, who now have undue influence on her son. She contemplates giving her son away rather than allowing him to be raised by the garrison. Sometimes me [I] have to go down the road to beat him. It’s like him have [he has] something a boil up inna [boiling in him] him. Him [He

108  Relational Accountability is] not responding to me but him [he] might respond to someone else. Where we usually live, he had no friends but since we moved here, him no deal with fi him size [he does not associate with his own age group]; him deal with 18 and 19 year olds. If they say ‘Come Richard’ and he’s doing something for me, he leaves it and I don’t see him until late in the evening. What do you use to beat him? I prodded. Anything mi ketch, mi beat him wid [I beat him with anything I find]: sometimes belt or board. Sometimes mi [I] beat him in vexation. When mi [I] calm down; mi hush him back [I comfort him]. Sometimes when I look back and see that his father is not helping with nothing, I get frustrated. Sometimes, I think I take it out on him. How does he relate to the man you live with? When my son comes in late, he beats him, often with a belt. Sometimes, my son’s skin is black and blue. Sometimes he kicks him. Sometimes he hits him to the floor. The last time he beat him, his hands swell until it looked as if water was around them. I told him I’d report him to the police if he beats my son again. Last night, he beat all the children but not too much. He box [slapped] my son in his face because he didn’t want to go and bathe. What about his own father? His father lives way in Spanish Town. If his father calls, he doesn’t talk to him like a father. My son prefers the previous man I was with. This man wants him because my son told him about the beatings he’s getting. I’m considering sending him. Does this help to explain why he likes the boys on the corner? My son is attracted to the guys on the corner. They treat him well. They play football and cricket with him. He sees them as father figures. They give him lunch money to go to school. If I am not here, they tell him to bathe, put on his uniform, etc. They encourage him to go to school. My son respects the guys, not his stepfather. Sometimes when his stepfather gets paid, he doesn’t give him any lunch money. If he even buys grocery, he doesn’t give to my children. When I get money, though, I give to his children as well; everybody eats. My son doesn’t want me to marry this man. Every time he gets beaten, he says if he has a gun he will shoot him. The other man, the one who wants him, treats him well and doesn’t beat him.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  109 For the many boys who are growing up in conditions like Maureen’s son, Richard, the young men on the corner are not the hardened or potential gangsters they are depicted as by some within and outside of the community; they have the roles of fathers and bigger brothers, replacing absent or abusive stepfathers and fathers (even though some do not have an equally protective relationship with their own children). In such situations, boys soon perceive themselves as obligated to these youth and to the ‘generals’ who direct many of them. Similar obligatory relationships develop between girls, corner youth and sometimes men who are many years their senior. Maureen explained that many young girls get involved in these relationships because they are in need: The mother cannot afford to give them things and they turn to the men for help. They have schoolbooks to buy and the mother cannot afford it and sometimes they have no father so they turn to the man who can give them. Sometimes, the mothers encourage them to go to the men for help. The bigger men then go to the schools, demand girls and have sex with them. They give them the money and leave them. The guys even have sex with girls on school buses. Not all corner youth and ‘bigger heads’ [more senior persons] deliberately attempt to entice and groom children, and principally boys, into criminality and violence and not all are involved in these cash for sex arrangements with school aged girls. Some see themselves as community leaders, with responsibility for encouraging children’s education.These are the personalities that can gain the allegiance of communities, which then protects them when they are being hunted by the police. Conversely, those who wreak havoc in the communities are more easily betrayed, either to the police or to contenders to his leadership. Within the boundaries of these volatile inner cities, Maureen and Richard’s stories are commonplace. Conversations among groups of primary school children underscored that poverty, in various forms, compounded by intra-household violence may not merely produce perpetrators of violence but also long term victims: persons who are conditioned to accept suffering and to shun the types of engagement that promote resistance and change. From the children’s accounts, there are inner-city households without these levels of violence and whose primary experiences of violence come from the daily activities within the community. No household is spared these experiences. Across the schools, students were randomly selected

110  Relational Accountability for participation in the conversations, yet the majority provided details of close and personal loss. In one primary school, I asked the six- to eightyear-old students about their day-to-day encounters with violence. There were stories of family quarrels, sexual exploitation, gang warfare, police brutality and community retributions. (SIX-YEAR-OLD GIRL): Miss,

my mother and my father died (sobbing). My mother dead by gunshots. (Children in Jamaica commonly address older women as Miss and older men as Sir. Some adults, principally from among the poorer classes also address those they perceive as above their station in that way.) When did it happen? From I was two years old, Miss, and me [I] don’t know her. How did your father die? I don’t know; they don’t tell me about him. Who do you live with? With my grandmother and my uncle and aunts, all in one yard. How do they manage? They don’t have enough money to send me to school. Today mi neva was gwine come [I was not going to come] because mi grandmother neva have no money [because my grandmother had no money].

(BOY, EIGHT YEARS): Miss,

my two brothers died. One went off with my father and someone shoot him off in the water and him drown [someone shot him and he drowned]. The other one, it’s the police who shoot him. (I was later told that members of this boy’s family are associated with gangs). Why did it happen? I don’t know why it happened. I was sleeping and my mother woke me and told me that my brother died. He was sixteen.

(GIRL, EIGHT YEARS): Miss,

last week.

two persons died in my community. They died

How did they die? Police shoot them, Miss.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  111 A little boy was eager to continue the story: Miss, I know the two persons she was telling you about. Miss, one neva have on no shirt and one had on a shirt [one was wearing a shirt and the other wasn’t]. They go [went] down to their mother’s house and ask for $50 buy bulla [bulla is a local cake] and on their way, they see a Police car, so they stood at the wall. The police searched them. Miss, in the news it say that the police didn’t find any guns on them. The police shoot them: X get 4 shots, two in his head and two in his chest; you could see his tripe [intestines]. Did you see the bodies? Yes Miss. The dead truck [hearse] neva want teck im up [didn’t want to pick up the body] and they call a next one and the next one teck him up [they called another and this second one picked him up]. And one police woman shot X2 inna him [in his] head. The same boy then told a story about the effects of gang wars. Miss, people always die in my community. We had a war between my community and another one and them [they] give mi [my] uncle ten shots in his head and mi next uncle say him can’t teck it no more [my other uncle said he couldn’t bear conditions any more] and go country and one youth go country and shot him. [Followed him to the country to execute him]. The six-year-old, who had earlier recounted her parents’ deaths explained that her house is still a target. Gunmen walk in the yard with guns and when mi [my] grandmother talk [when my grandmother protest], they come like [behave as if] they want to bait up the yard. What does this mean, bait up the yard? Someone explained that it is a common tactic in gang warfare. Gunmen make it appear that they are based in certain rival locations (yards). The police are alerted, raid these houses and may kill, often the male occupants, without question. Gunmen bait up di [the] yard, the little girl continued. Every night time them deh inna di yard [every night, they are in the yard]. Every night they come. That makes me sad. There were many similar stories. One boy described how community violence had affected him personally, revealing some of the outcomes for children whose family relations are involved in gang warfare. His account clarified that the other residents in his yard had refused to help his grandmother (above) because of a longstanding vendetta.

112  Relational Accountability Miss, the people in the community don’t like my madda [don’t like my mother]. Dem gas mi madda house and mi two sister dem dead and mi niece dem dead [they poured gas on my mother’s house and my two sisters and niece died]. Every time mi madda moves, them burn down the house [Each time my mother moves, they burn the house down]. He described how family quarrels can spill over into community violence. Miss, my aunty tell lie pon her say she want to run di yard [My aunt lied about my mother; she said my mother wanted to control the yard]. What do you mean by run the yard? Just because them no want to [they didn’t want to] sweep the yard and she talk about it [complained about it] and sweep it, them [they] quarrel with her and run her out of the yard and burn down her houses. It’s three houses now dem [they] burn down. Do you have brothers and sisters? I have one brother in jail. Another in school here and one go to another school. House burnings are common punishment in some of these communities. Many students had lost multiple members of their close and extended families. However, there were marked differences between the conversations with the younger and older children. For example, while many sixto eight-year-old children huddled around and were visibly concerned about each others’ suffering, there were a number of children in the older age groups who laughed while a member of their group cried, even though they had similar stories of grief. I vividly recall that one child who had lost her mother, father and uncle and who had witnessed her mother’s murder was one of those who laughed when someone else told her story but this laughter was interrupted by periodic crying. Throughout much of the remainder of the interview, she remained silent and refused to talk about her loss. Her cousin later reported that this child’s father had reputedly organized her mother’s slaying and was then killed in retribution. Second, while younger children expressed fear of the violence, there were some older children who seemed to accept it, resolving that everyone had to die and, as a consequence, they were not afraid. However, this apparent acceptance was not universal. A group of ten- to thirteenyear-old boys explained.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  113 Miss, we cope with it because we are used to it. I am used to it but I am still afraid. When you hear gunshots, you fret [worry] but not as much as when you just start to hear it. From the time you wake up you hear gunshots and people dead. It’s scary. I hide under the bed when I hear gunshots. Anytime we hear gunshots we have to hide under the bed. Normally, when I hear gunshots, I turn on the tv so I can’t hear and pretend I am sleeping. Miss, I try to block out all the noise. When I am sleeping I don’t hear anything. One boy pointed to another. Miss, him [he is] very very ‘fraid of gunshots. I asked the boy he singled out why he was so afraid and his response depicted the fragility of life in this garrison. Miss, when me [I] hear gunshots, it come like it’s me next [it’s as if I will be next]. Nuff people for me dead [Many people I know have died]: cousin, fren’ [friends], nuff [many] people (crying). The last time they kill one of my friends, he had just come into the yard to buy something from my mother. In a subsequent interview, I asked one adult about the extent to which violence had become the norm within their communities and the differences they perceive between the levels of violence uptown and downtown. Miss, down here, the gunshots are like water; they are the norm. Everyday you hear them. Robbery is also the norm. In our communities, everyday somebody robs somebody. Uptown it’s not so heavy. Uptown families do not experience the number of deaths we experience. Every day they kill somebody down here. If the violence is so normal, what do people find shocking? We don’t find gunshots and deaths shocking but if you know somebody personally and know they are innocent, then that’s shocking. For example, I know a young man who works in a bank. A bad man strangled him and killed him and threw him in the rubbish pan. This was shocking to the community because we knew he was innocent. I understand that the guy owned a gun and didn’t want to give it up to the badman who demanded it, so he was killed. Also, people are still shocked by children’s deaths. They mourn children’s deaths.

114  Relational Accountability

Norms and accountability Many children – not merely those who are growing up in communities such as these – become accustomed from their formative stages to pervasive injustice within their homes, communities and from the state. They learn lasting lessons about the vast divergences that frequently exist between the language of rights and rights in action; they know that experiences of rights are likely to differ with social positions. Community norms – although they are diverse since the norms one observes in one area may be uncommon in the next – may inculcate responses and practices that conflict, quite glaringly, with visions of active and responsible citizen engagement. Across the majority of inner-city communities, people – and particularly the more powerful – have set rules and procedures, which govern the communities’ conduct. Rules, regulations and norms are not permanent; they do shift and change as people find ways of testing the boundaries; however, change can be slow and the methods of testing the boundaries may exacerbate conditions. For example, as the children explained, the communities sanction retribution and it was expected that if you could not reach the person who wronged you, you should punish his kin and kindred. Many slayings, including of and by children, are purportedly carried out in the name of this principle. Furthermore, persons are expected to ‘match badness with badness’ and this means that fighting is a way of life from childhood. Most children confirmed that they fight at school and that this is necessary since any other action would be considered soft and persons would then label you an ‘idiot’. Children, particularly boys, resist labels such as soft and idiot; many claim that they fight in order to save face. This, of course, is not unusual. Gilligan (2000, 2001) reports that such labels cause tremendous shame and can easily lead to violence among men who feel the need to prove their masculinity. Miss, you haffi [have to] beat a one man so man can know not to trouble you. Most times, this is why children go into gangs. The gangs sign a contract, saying any man who dis’ [disrespects] you dis’ me. Miss, a pure crew crew inna school [there are many crews in school]. Mi get involved inna one gang and mi shoulda know betta [I got involved in one gang and I should have known better]. A nuff man get stab up inna di school [Many boys get stabbed in school]. At my last school, they wanted to transfer me but mi madda [my mother] say she had no money to waste on me so I spent three years out, working on building sites and hustling.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  115 Miss, part of my family bad and I feel good about that because when somebody disrespects you, you know you have backative [support]. Most times, people don’t trouble me cause them know mi have backative but if you family dead now, it’s a big problem in your life. You feel angry and you want to go back and kill. Children are growing up with limited examples of success. Often, the majority of adults in these communities are unskilled and unemployed. Some of them believe that searching for jobs is futile since employers discriminate against persons from the inner cities. Others seem content not to make an attempt. In place of the desired constructive exercise of agency, there is dependence on ‘bigger heads’, an expectation of minimal benefits in return for allegiance, a reluctance and perceived incapacity to transform personal conditions. One teacher explained how, in her perception, this culture conditioned the students: These children are victims of their environments. They have no role model. They go home and nobody has a plan. Everybody sits on the corner.The normal way of life is to ‘beg a money’. At Christmas, ‘people get a work’, not a career. They have no problem with simply getting a work and buying pretty things for Christmas.They don’t attempt to build a future. Our students must live within all sorts of boundaries. There are spatial boundaries caused by the violence. This means that mothers and fathers have not been anywhere and don’t realize that the child needs experience.They can’t bring the child where they have not been. This teacher’s comments are not representative of all families within the garrisons but many interviewees confirmed that the communities actively stymied their progress. Children report being discouraged by people within the community: ‘The community just pulls you down, Miss.’ Other respondents described the visible envy that occurs across and within families, particularly where one child is perceived as having more potential than the next. Similar sentiments occur across all social classes but the closed spaces and ‘yard-style’ living within the garrisons makes this more palpable. Maureen, if you were born in a different environment, say in an upper class area in Jamaica, would you have made the same choices? If I was [were] born in a different environment, my life would be better. The people who surround you would be better. You wouldn’t see men walking on the roads with guns; you wouldn’t hear a lot of

116  Relational Accountability gunshots, perhaps just one or two; you would see people going to work and coming back in. You would see how the people live and would have to fit in, adopt the principle ... you know. You would also have to raise your children that way. I would say Richard, don’t you see that there are no children on the road, you can’t go outside … and he would observe that.

Structural violence The excerpts presented above supply a vivid picture of the multifaceted constraints that children and, indeed, successive generations are exposed to in these inner cities. The complicity of various state authorities in promoting inequalities and injustice for personal gain discredits the worth of political participation and renders the notion of political accountability practically preposterous. Within these enclaves, some of the more dubious obligatory relationships that develop for survival may fill some poverty gaps but yet perpetuate adverse terms of engagement with the state. Even more significantly, they may impair life chances irremediably. For example, Maureen is correct that Richard’s involvement with the youth on the corner is unlikely to end with buying and selling marijuana. Children, principally boys, are introduced to guns from an early age. In one group interview, each boy save one recounted his experience of holding and, on occasion, firing a gun. Miss one of my big fren dem [one of my big friends], a bad man, give [gave] me gun to hold. Mi just feel nice when mi hold it [I felt nice when I held it]. I hol’ [held] it two times. A very little boy puts up his hand. What kind of gun did you hold? Certainly, it was not a big one? He frowns and boasts: Miss, me find [I found] a big gun already over car park and mi give the man dem inna mi yard [I gave it to the men in my yard]. Dem time deh mi neva know nutten (Those times, I didn’t know anything) ‘bout gun but me [I] know now. He continues: Miss, me hold gun nuff time [I have held guns many times]. Big man give me gun to hol, middle size man give me gun to whole, lickle [little] youth give me gun to hold. Miss me even fire gun [I have even fired a gun]. How did that happen? Miss, the same man that give [gave] him the gun also give me one and mi run go over to the car park with it [I ran over to the car park

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  117 with it]. Him say, you bus none out of it yet? [He said, have you shot one as yet?] Mi start laugh and him say you want to bus one? [I started to laugh and he asked me if I wanted to fire a shot]. Mi say yes and im hol mi up and meck me squeeze the trigger [I said yes and he held me up and made me squeeze the trigger]. Did you like that? Not really, Miss (smiling sheepishly) Another child: Miss, a man give me a gun to hold. He had just killed somebody and the police was looking for him. He gave me the gun and say I must run and hide it and him wash off him han’ [he washed his hands]. When the police gone, mi give him back [When the police left, I gave it back to him]. Miss, if the police did see me [had seen me] with it, they would kill me. Miss, the first time me hol [I held] gun I was about five. One man give me and say, yow you know a wah dis [ Do you know what this is?] and me say no [I said no] and him [he said] say point it pon dat man deh and mi point it and him say ‘you lickle bwoy, you is a bad boy’ [point it to that man. I pointed it and he said, you little boy … you are a bad boy]. Are you a bad boy? Not now, Miss, but mi did feel [I felt] so at the time. What makes someone a bad boy? All the boys tried to explain it to me Miss, it’s when you have a weapon and have power over somebody. Miss, it’s when you can give people rules. Miss, when you a bad man you kill whole heap of people [you kill a lot of people] and you feel pumped up inna [in] your head, Miss. Bad men profile. Dem talk ‘bout how much duppy dem meck [They talk about how many ghosts they have made; meaning people they have killed]. You see if a man dead, them say ‘you know say a me meck dah duppy deh’ [If you notice that a man has died, they brag that they made that ghost].

Shaping anti-democratic cultures Messages learnt within these contexts throughout childhood can have long-term influence on self-perceptions and how children, as they grow into adulthood, opt to negotiate their socio-political contexts. This does

118  Relational Accountability not necessarily mean path dependence for, as Chapter 3 shows, people exercise power in diverse ways, even when they are honed within the same boundaries. However, the direction of agency is not predictable. Although conventional definitions of social action concentrate, almost exclusively, on the desired productive and peaceful citizen engagement that allows actors to challenge boundaries and instigate transformation, social action can be an entirely murky affair. In this section, I record my conversation with a group of young men: the corner youth who often sit on the wall, some of whom are labelled ‘young shottas’. The conversations, which are recorded verbatim, demonstrate the weight of social conditioning: habitus. They emphasize the importance of understanding the processes through which individuals reproduce practices that are ‘patterned off the social structures that spawned them’; they also demonstrate the value of effective counteracting external influences. Habitus, as the accounts below suggest, is not necessarily manifested in subjective, docile behaviour. Contestation of boundaries may involve illegitimate activities, which perpetrators justify. Encounter with the ‘shottas’ (shooters) I met with a group of young men in an inner city home they selected. Nine attended. For their protection, they gave fake names but recorded their true ages. The group comprised: Leo, 22 years; Marvin, 21 years; Flower, 35 years; Omi, 26 years; Flava, 20 years; Bulla, 22 years; Eva, 25 years; Tevin, 19 years and Prince, 20 years. When I arrived, the young men were waiting; they offered me a chair. Many were smoking marijuana. I learnt that all the respondents were born and grew up in the community. I suggested that we first speak about each individual’s most positive life experience. Many started to list their dreams rather than positive experiences and it took quite a bit of prompting for them to recall and report positive experiences. In any event, these were quite few; most quickly resorted to negative experiences and the conversation had to be controlled to have them focus on the positive aspects of their lives. PRINCE (THE MOST EDUCATED OF THE GROUP): Camp

really helped me a lot; I learnt to read there. LEO: I wanted to be a footballer; I loved the game. (Aspiration) MARVIN: In my lickle [little] youth days, I wanted to be a soldier; I just liked the rough road. (Aspiration) FLAVA: I wanted to be a dancer; I wanted to dance all over the world. However, I got shot inna mi foot and can’t dance anymore. (Aspiration)

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  119 PRINCE: I

passed my exams for Wolmers (one of the most prestigious schools in Jamaica). That built up my confidence. I wanted to be a pilot. BULLA: As a child, I used to beg on the road, Miss … Okay, we will come back to that; think positive experiences. (Here, I had immediately labelled begging as a negative experience but for this young man, begging was his business and, as explained below, was an experience he did not regret.) TEVIN: I liked going around and playing with friends. FLAVA: I loved football; I was also a good table tennis player. I played for

the Social Development Commission. a youth, I wanted to become a rich businessman. But in my family, I went through nuff sufferation [a lot of suffering]. I wanted to help my family, that’s why I wanted to be rich. (Negative experiences and aspiration) PRINCE: Another positive thing is that my mother and father always urged me to do good. LEO: I wanted to pass some CXCs. Circumstances made it didn’t work out. I would have become an important businessman and go for anything I want. (Negative experiences and how these undermined dreams) BULLA: (who without listing any positive experiences, quickly raised the issue of begging again) As a child, my brother and I would go to school, come home from school, take off clothes and go on the road to beg. My mother had little money. Sometimes she did not have it and father worse. We had to beg. My mother and father had four boys. (Negative experiences and response) EVA: As

Therefore, of the group, only three were able to report positive experiences and Prince, who was careful to note that he had had better life chances than many within the group and unlike others was not a ‘gangsta’, reported on how his parents’ strong influence and opportunities at school and camp had been beneficial to him. Indeed, a number of the young men acknowledged and were strongly appreciative of the positive influences in their lives. These were not boys who had all grown up devoid of good guidance and support and perhaps it was this positive parenting that caused some to appear to sincerely desire better opportunities for the children in the community. PRINCE: My

cousin too, she helped me a lot. She got nine subjects. She is always urging me. I have my education. I can go anywhere

120  Relational Accountability and get work. Onetime, she encouraged me to apply to become a soldier. I passed all the exams but failed the medical. She then suggested other things. She always says, come let’s try something else because something will happen to you if you just deh deh so [if you remain where you are]. MARVIN: My mother ever a lead me inna di right way [is always leading me in the right way]. Every time mi go down, she bring me back up [Every time I go down she brings me back up]. She come in like [She is like] a father and mother to me. Mi tell you, what a mother do fi a youth, a nuff youth haffi respect that [I tell you, what a mother will do for a child, many children have to respect that]. I asked the brothers whether they had any regrets about begging. We have no regrets. People now can’t believe that it is us. How did you use your money? We used to give to our money to the master [the don]. The master was to save our money (As children, we had saved $20,000, which is nuff [plenty] money dem time deh [in those times]). The master used up our money. PRINCE: The

most sensitive thing that happened was when my sister died. I was 14; my sister was 12. I was thinking about revenge for a long time. Gunshots killed her. She died in my hands. It was a drive by shooting at a baby’s party. I don’t know who did it but I feel I have to find out and take revenge. The community expects me to do it; inner-city communities work that way. What do you mean? It’s a natural thing in inner-city communities. When you love someone, you don’t teck [take] things, you prie [consider] revenge. Prince’s response underscores how violence can distort the life-chances, even of children who had the advantage of sound parenting. Community values and peer group pressure encourage actions and a life course that some children did not envision for themselves. While Prince is adamant that he is not a gangster, the choices he is now considering will, if he acts on them, almost inevitably make him so. Marvin explains how and why these patterns are reproduced.

MARVIN: We

grow up inna [in] too much violence. A whole heap of mi fren and family mi see dead [I have seen many of my friends and

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  121



family die]. The violence makes you have negative thinking. For example, you grow up and you want to be a bad man. We all want revenge.  We don’t jus shoot a man so. My friends are not really trouble makers. People pick trouble wid we [with us]. Mi have fren wah lose [I have friends who have lost] mother, father, sister, brother. If we see somebody come teck somebody life, is like a space gone outta life; we haffi prie. [If we see someone take somebody else’s life, it’s like a space has gone out of life and we have to consider revenge].

While recent reports suggest that children are becoming hardened to the violence, in one sense, these young men – among the most violent – express tremendous sensitivity to it and have rationalized that their violence is a necessary safeguard. It is important to note the use of army terminology (these boys actually consider themselves in combat) and the strong bonds of obligation to the ‘general’ and ‘master’ that these boys express. However, their attachment does not mean that they are incapable of distinguishing between more and less acceptable practices. The label, shotta, brings certain rights and responsibilities and the young men consider it their responsibility to confront and change certain trends. In the excerpts below, they establish their standards and indicate how they are using violence to contest certain practices, including the increasing violence against children and the rape of girls and women. However, it is important to qualify that these young men are principally concerned with stemming the violence against their own children. Revenge may include slaying the enemy’s offspring but this, for them, constitutes justified violence.

Justified and unjustified violence BULLA: Certain

things wah gwaan can’t hold down. Gun man a kill lickle pickney wah a go school. Dat can hol down. [Certain things that are happening cannot be allowed to continue. Gunmen are killing little children who are going to school. That cannot be allowed (there must be reprisal)]. PRINCE: Teck mi sista, a eight shot she get inna her head over [Take my sister, for example. She got eight shots in her head]. One six month old get shot inna [in] her belly and a one year old, shot inna [in] her eye. Inna all di inner-city areas, violence teck over. [In all the innercity areas, violence has taken over]. We all have the same experiences. Man kill them family so them haffi teck [so they have to take] revenge.

122  Relational Accountability FLAVA: Mi

brother got a lot of gunshots. Him die in mi hands. Mi watch him bawl and mi caan do nutten [He died in my hands. I watched him cry and I couldn’t do anything]. Man empty [A man emptied] a big automatic gun on him. As far as mi [I am] concerned, the whole of XXX fi dead [should die] for this – everybody!! A two of mi bredda dem kill. [They killed two of my brothers.] In gangsta world, dem kill fi wi; wi kill fi dem [In gangster world, they kill ours and we should kill theirs]. PRINCE: The way mi [I] see it, dem a blame some a di youth wah deh here based on tings wah appen in di past [they are blaming some of the youths that are here now for things that happened in the past]. People inna [in] di [the] past used to be cold hearted. Nobody could walk past here. Now we are being pressured to keep streets safe; we are trying to change the trend. We can do nothing on we [our] own; the boss tell wi wah fi do [us what we should do] and di boss seh fi calm [the boss says we should be calm]. Yes, a we run di streets [we run the streets] around here. People think so. Because wi [we] have the ability to defend wi self, people tink [think] so. MARVIN: Man feel a dem run di whole place [Some men feel that they control the entire area]. Big man have sex with your girl and then sen [send] her back to you; dat [that] can’t work! You can’t report it to the police because if you call police and say man have sex with you girl, man wi [will] come kill you. If you are labelled an informer, you get killed. The rule is that you solve it. Sometimes, police can’t be involved or else it will cause more damage. If you tell police, that makes you feel like an idiot; you must defend your own. The legal ones (police) are the most corrupt. They do the most wrong. I asked them to tell me more about the role of the police. BULLA: Police wickeder than we [are more wicked than we are]. We can’t call police to defend us. Wen [when] mi [my] brother dead, police doan [didn’t] come. Police worse than we. Police a bad man [are bad men]. Dem [They] walk through mi yard and tell mi mother seh dem a look fi wi fi kill we [and told my mother that they are looking for us to kill us]. Police treat us bad; that’s why we label them the way we do. Police say them [they] want peace – not true. Mi inna [I was in] court talking to the judge and the police say him going kill mi wen mi go outside inna di community [said he was going to kill me when I go outside into the community]. Mi lawyer haffi [had to] jump in and say you can’t threaten my client. FLAVA: Police are the greatest threat to us. The man dem wah wi inna war wid, [men we are at war with] we not in dem [their] reach but the police can drive in and invade wi [our] yard.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  123 MARVIN: Middle class communities have tings [things] better. They have

to have search warrants for those communities; here they kick down the doors and use crowbars to mash up wi (damage our) furniture. BULLA: Police tell me fi [told me to] kill somebody and say if I do it, they won’t come and look for me; they will just circle the area. MARVIN: I have reported incidents and they ask me if I can’t defend myself. Police will shoot and kill and nothing will come out of it; the policy is different in the inner-city. Where the law is concerned, if you don’t have money, you lose. Most a wi fren dem, a police kill dem, not gun man [Police have killed most of our friends, not gun men]. Man pay police fi kill dem [Men pay police to kill our friends]. How much crime police solve? Police pick sides. Dem [They] build up crime. Dem no [They do not] split justice. Police no [do not] investigate crime. If dem come yah so, man dead [If they come around here, people die]. One side will give police money to kill the other. If you name call, dem kill you and put gun on you [If your name is called, they will kill you and out a gun on you]. The community knows that the police will put gun on man [people]. Jamaican police a [are] gangstas [gangsters]. Police sell the other side guns and shots. The conversations above demonstrate the marked distrust of the police and the legal institutions. Across all inner-city communities, there are high levels of complaints about police brutality. There are credible reasons for this response to the police. The 2010 United Nations Common Country Assessment notes that: the Jamaican Constabulary Force is responsible for one of the highest rates of killings by police in the Americas. In 2007, 272 persons died as a result of use of force by the police; 224 were killed in 2008 and 253 in 2009.2 In May 2010, during a two-day West Kingston joint police–army operation, sixty-five civilians were confirmed killed. In October 2010, the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture expressed concern about the high number of murders committed each year, including the large number of people who are killed in police operations in circumstances that are not always clear.3

2 http://www.amnesty.org/en/library/info/AMR38/001/2008/en 3 The Special Rapporteur heard accounts of murders as a result of excessive use of force by the Jamaican Constabulary Forces or the Jamaica Defence Forces, which in some cases may amount to extrajudicial executions. He was also concerned that many investigations are not prompt or effective, and that prosecutions in cases involving the security forces are rare.

124  Relational Accountability Below, the young men tell me of their scepticism of the peace building initiatives. MARVIN: Mi

hear dem a talk ‘bout peace but dem not doing it di right way. All dem do is to bring down more police car and sophisticated weapons, dem nat building anything fi give di youth dem something fi do [I hear them talking about peace but they are not doing it the correct way. All they are doing is bringing down more police cars and sophisticated weapons; they are not building anything to give the youths something to do]. FLAVA: I don’t like peace. Peace meck everybody ded [causes everybody to die]. We caan do nutten [cannot do anything without our head approving it] without our head say so and our head say we fi easy [we are to take things easy] but easy meck man ded [easy causes men to die]. Whole heap a wi get dead [Many of us have been killed]; shot up because the other side doesn’t observe the peace. MARVIN: Wen dem say peace, nothing still naw gwaan [They say peace but nothing is happening]. If we have computer classes, etc. FLAVA: Wen we no have nothing [When we have nothing], we haffi [have to] look something BULLA: Wi no wan just bad so. [We do not want to be bad.] Wi waan rich and drive vehicle to. [We would like to be rich and drive our vehicles too.] Co-researcher: But we offer computer classes?

EVA: Yes, but up weh di computer classes deh, wi caan come up deh [We

cannot go where the computer classes are] (as they are in rivalry with dons in the area).

Eva’s comment above describes the boundaries presented by gang warfare: they are unable to access services which are provided only three blocks away from their lane because their rivals are based there. However, the young men were also concerned about other boundaries, such as those that are the products of the adverse ways in which they are labelled. Some people see us as gangsters because of the war, through man kill mi bredda and wanted to kill three of us [because men killed our brothers and wanted to kill three of us]. Our philosophy is that is yah so we create and a yah so we a go die [we were created here and we will die here], nobody can give us talk.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  125 MARVIN: Nuff time, me hear people say that people

inna [gave name of the community] mad but nobody naw talk to wi [Many times, I have heard people say that the residents in this community are mad but no one will speak to us]. Youth no have no help. Them [They] label wi [us] as gangsta but that’s for now. We will show dem [them]. People both outside and inside di [the] community label wi [us] as gangsta [gangsters]. Nobody can be soft. If you look like idiot, man teck set [men will terrorize you]. Man use to come in, rape etc. Now di youth seh, you can’t do this and it stop gwaan [Now the youths say, you cannot do this and so it has stopped]. Mi know youth wah apply fi job and wen dem hear seh a [gave name of the community], dem turn him down [I know youth who have applied for jobs and when they hear that he is from this community, they turn him down]. Do you consider yourselves citizens of Jamaica?

FLAVA: Of course, we belong here; we’re born here but we have not been

treated like citizens – no work, no justice, police brutality. We are not part of society – not recognised as part. If we look on it, nobody on di [the] road knows you. Most inner-city people are not recognised. We go out deh fi look job a di agency. We have bag a recommendations but nobody call wi [We go out to try to find a job at the agency. We have a lot of recommendations but no one calls us]. MARVIN: Di agency dem don’t worth nothing [The agencies are worth nothing]. There is no community infrastructure. Younger youths have nothing. Because of the label, we can’t keep a community centre. People think it’s a base we want to turn it into. But di police gwine stop come inna dis community [The police will stop coming into this community]. They will see the best of us. Cause if we really cause trouble, they wouldn’t like it. We need jobs. Yet, there have been no improvements. The bigger heads don’t want to change tings [things]. It’s just big guns they bringing in, no trade centres. Police drive in and look for you and have three guns. They put one on you. Police carry information. You have to defend yourself. Apart from inter-community violence, there is intra community violence; there is a don pon very corner; dem claim seh dem a di man [there is a don on every corner. They claim that they are the big ones]. The internal violence is worse. Your enemy might be behind a zinc fence. At this point in our conversation, much of which was led by the young men themselves, I began to appreciate the substantial boundaries these

126  Relational Accountability young men grappled with every day and I recognized that they were ill-equipped to deal with them, as many children and adults would be if they were born and raised in such difficult social contexts. I recognized that ‘exiting’ from these contexts would require a process of transformation aimed particularly at the very young. The ‘young shottas’ I met were equally concerned to ensure that younger children had different prospects. This is the type of concern that attracts children such as Maureen’s son, Richard. However, the shottas, by themselves, are unable to change their social worlds. They function in ambivalent ways, perpetrating violence while hoping to change trends. This ambivalence continues across generations. Do any of you have children? have a youth; he’s three. Mi [I] want mi [my] child to grow up to be a wealthy and rich businessman. It means that I have to have a business so I can finance him. Otherwise, him [he] might turn out like me. Already, him start prie that man shot mi father [he has started to talk about the fact that a man shot his father; he wants revenge]. He lives in the community where the man who shot me lives. Right now, mi naw do nothing [I am not doing anything]. Him might haffi adopt [He might have to adopt] that if I am doing nothing.  And so the ‘shottas’ sit on the walls on the corner doing nothing.

FLAVA: I



I asked the young men how they planned to change their circumstances and the responses bore no resemblance to the aspirations they had as children. FLAVA: I

want to have a fowl farm, a bag juice machine and pop corn machine. Co-researcher: But a lot of people have these?

FLAVA: Yes, but them no see the value in it. BULLA: Go town and sell clothes. OMI: Get a block machine. PRINCE: Run taxi. MARVIN: I want to operate a trade centre.

Why are your visions so limited now? We have to start from scratch and from the scratch we know. From we a get di help [as soon as we get help], we will start from scratch.

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  127

Historic injustices, socio-cultural complexities and relations of accountability In this chapter, storytellers convey strong messages about the weight of historic injustices (instigated by particular political leaders and compounded within communities) and the ways in which these come to conflict with and threaten democratic processes and institutions. The children, from their own accounts, are learning very mixed messages about political responsibility and accountability. Children know the history of political violence and they still witness police brutality. Children see the sustained connections between select political leaders and local ‘bad men’; they also recognize the shift in the pendulum: many ‘bad men’ have now assumed authority with politicians forced to observe their command. These experiences of citizenship and brazen representations of unequal relations of accountability are learnt from childhood and can transcend generations. Children and adults, in turn, develop their own personalized relations of accountability with agents and actors who are more immediate and responsive. The conversations with the ‘shottas’ above demonstrate the likely costs of these obligatory relationships. There is a topical example that reinforces the significance of these issues. Michael Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke was, until June 2010, the celebrated don of Tivoli Gardens. Coke’s father, Lester Lloyd Coke, alias Jim Brown, was a reputed drug lord who, allegedly, ‘perished’ in a fire while he was in his prison cell awaiting extradition to the United States to face murder and drug-racketeering charges. Lester Coke (Jim Brown) had a close relationship with Prime Minister Edward Seaga, who was the leader of the Jamaica Labour Party at that time. Prime Minister Seaga, who described Jim Brown as ‘protector of Kingston’s poor’, had a prominent role in his funeral. The Prime Minister’s celebration of the life of a reputed drug lord caused some consternation but was not uncommon. Like other public officials, Prime Minister Seaga was obliged to be present at such public ceremonies; this act of respect was an important acknowledgment of the support that these ‘dons’ played in sustaining a loyal party base. Breaching this informal code of conduct could have costly political consequences. Dudus Coke has been categorized as a privileged child from the inner city. Benefiting from his father’s wealth, Coke attended one of the prominent high schools. However, when his father and then brother died, Coke inherited leadership of Tivoli. Like his father before him, Dudus Coke had a close ‘working’ relationship with the governing Jamaica Labour Party. In 2009, the United States requested his extradition, citing gun and drugrunning charges. The Prime Minister of Jamaica initially refused to grant the request, stating that the United States had obtained evidence through

128  Relational Accountability illegal wiretapping. The government’s stance caused disquiet among some segments of the population and the prime minister eventually capitulated to internal and external pressure for Coke’s extradition. Eventually, Dudus was captured and extradited in June 2010, after ‘eluding’ the police for a period of time. There were a number of perplexing events that preceded and followed Dudus’ arrest and extradition. First, when the warrant was issued, the government found it necessary to place the city of Kingston under a state of emergency.This was critical because Dudus’ supporters, which included multiple gangs, including some associated with the opposing party, gangs from other parishes, women who vowed that ‘God came first and Dudus second’, promised that he would never be captured; persons committed to protecting him with their lives. Effectively, Jamaica was caught in state of civil war, involving the state and the criminal gangs it had a part in creating. Seventy persons were killed in the process. Second, subsequent to Dudus’ arrest, the public received a number of conflicting messages about the government’s role in attempting to prevent Coke’s extradition. The government confronted accusations of state involvement with sturdy denials and counter-accusations that the opposition was merely conducting a vengeful smear campaign. However, while lawyers and commentators debated the legality of the US’ request, the evidence, which was gradually leaked through the press, confirmed that the government had misinformed the public and clearly breached the citizens’ trust.Yet, calls for impeachment were summarily ignored. The prime minister provided a melancholy public apology. Over time, the public, well seasoned to a lack of accountability from its political leaders, ‘forgot’ the incident. Calm was restored within a short period. Press footage of the prime minister’s visit to Tivoli months after the community lamented his betrayal (by allowing Dudus’ extradition) and sternly promised that he would never again be allowed in Tivoli showed, contrary to expectations, residents lovingly embracing their leader; seemingly, his visit and recognition of the area was sufficient to settle accounts. This snippet of real politics displays relational dimensions to accountability. Relationships, power dynamics, cultures (inherited patterns of meaning) shape meanings and norms of accountability. Within the communities described, they have ‘institutionalized’ not the abstract and depoliticized accounts of accountability that are common in much of the literature but intensely personalized relations of accountability that satisfy different standards from those accepted as ideal. Our storytellers underscore that strategies to build accountability should engage with people’s conditions and rupture the overlapping spatial, economic, political, social and cultural boundaries that normalize punitively unequal relations of

Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities  129 power. Permeating boundaries is indispensable for supplying ‘effective counteracting influences’. ‘Explanations’, James Gilligan has argued, ‘are not to be confused with exculpations, or justifications; they serve an altogether different set of purposes, namely, causal understanding and primary prevention’ (Gilligan, 2000: 54).

5 Permeating boundaries? Complexities of building accountability The myth of citizenship: summary of the findings Universal citizenship is, in large part, a myth. In actuality, citizenships are differentiated and can be blatantly unequal. There are – long-standing and emerging – inequalities and injustices within societies that influence, in differing and complex ways, how people conceptualize and experience citizenship and, within that, the meanings they attribute to accountability. These inequalities – of recognition, access, resources and capabilities – and injustices are underpinned by and, in turn, spawn particular patterns or cultures of relating. Power functions in diverse and multifaceted ways – coercive and non-coercive, visible and hidden, agreed and imposed – to both uphold and disrupt these patterns. Processes for entrenching and disrupting inequalities and injustice can occur at the same time, in dynamic opposition, and may not have predictable ends. Actions associated with disrupting patterns can produce new inequalities and new forms of injustice; they may deepen democracy or threaten it.Threats to democracy can provide the jolt that is necessary for its deepening but they can lead to its progressive disintegration, which may be marked by increasing disaffection and withdrawal as well as by sporadic political crises. Structural inequalities and injustice – and the power relations that underpin them – can be transferred across generations, as can inequalities of citizenship and accountability. Institutional mechanisms alone are inadequate for resolving inequalities of citizenship and of accountability; yet, the tendency, particularly within liberal democracies, is to focus primarily on designing the appropriate techno-bureaucratic solutions. This is shortsighted, precisely for the reasons that Fung and Wright (2001) underscore: As the tasks of the state have become more complex and the size of polities larger and more heterogeneous, the institutional forms of liberal democracy developed in the nineteenth century

Permeating boundaries?  131 – representative democracy plus techno-bureaucratic administration – seem increasingly ill-suited to the novel problems we face in the twenty-first century … Increasingly, this mechanism of political representation seems ineffective in accomplishing the central ideals of democratic politics: facilitating active political involvement of the citizenry, forging political consensus through dialogue, devising and implementing public policies that ground a productive economy and healthy society and, in a more radical egalitarian version of the democratic ideal, assuring that all citizens benefit from the nation’s wealth. Fung and Wright, 2001: 1 Despite the conventional bent within many liberal democratic arrangements, recent scholarship has documented important non-technical solutions, including the ways in which citizens are claiming accountability through targeted participatory actions and differing forms of social movements. Some of these do not necessarily constitute the ‘new developments and trends’ that some of the literature depicts for citizens who have long been protesting, claiming spaces and re-shaping agendas in more and less overt ways. Perhaps it is more appropriate to state that new empirical research and new ways of understanding citizenships have now caught up with citizen actions in varying contexts.Yet, this would be a partial explanation for there is undeniable novelty in certain places: new participatory agendas; new emphases on citizenship, including, importantly, the realities of globalized citizenships which have prompted citizen responses in hitherto unimagined areas and through hitherto unimagined routes (Goetz and Jenkins, 2005). While some texts view these citizen actions with unrestrained enthusiasm, other accounts show that participatory solutions can be diluted and corrupted; furthermore, the empowerment afforded through participation can add to inequalities – including of accountability – rather than address them.

Boundaries and accountability Inequalities and injustices, Chapters 3 and 4 suggest, can cultivate multiple and overlapping boundaries that shape relations of accountability. Joel Migdal (2004: 5) in Boundaries and Belonging: States and Societies in the Struggle to Shape Identities and Local Practices conceptualized boundaries as more than ‘simple borders, lines dividing spaces as represented on maps’. Consistent with my approach in Chapter 4, Migdal notes that boundaries ‘include symbolic and social dimensions associated with the border divisions that appear on maps or, for that matter, other dividing lines that

132  Relational Accountability cannot be found on any map at all’. He explains that boundaries incorporate ‘check points and mental maps’. Checkpoints are best viewed as monitoring devices, ‘the sites and practices that groups use to differentiate members from others and to enforce separation’ (Migdal, 2004: 6). As these vary across and within groups, they include a wide range of standards and techniques, overt and covert. Mental maps denote the meanings people attach to spatial configurations, the loyalties they hold, the emotions and passions that groupings evoke, and their cognitive ideas about how the world is constructed. All these act to establish and maintain the attachment of people to one another but, in so doing, they also mark the separation between groups. Migdal, 2004: 7 Therefore, manifold boundaries can exist, beyond those associated with state borders. Social groupings construct their own social boundaries through ‘what they think and do’. These boundaries may correspond or collide with those of the state.1 The case studies in this book – and perhaps the ethnographic accounts in inner-city Jamaica more than the others – depict the physical, social, material, cultural and psychological boundaries that affect the active citizenship, which, consistent with the civic republican tradition, is portrayed as ideal for democracies.This includes the capacity and willingness to make claims and to hold representatives to account. The case accounts reinforce the view that solutions to problems of inequalities of citizenship and of accountability cannot be restricted to institutional mechanisms alone or to the supply of social provisions. The relational perspective demands that there be adequate attention to negotiating social relationships for while individualized approaches to development minimize the ways in which people function as social beings within their social contexts, relational approaches to human development underscore that as human beings are social creatures and actors, their wellbeing, freedoms, level and quality of political engagement also depend, and quite critically too, on their social relationships. Consistent with Bourdieu’s emphasis on the value of external counteracting influences, I have argued that more equitable relations of accountability can be cultivated – although inequalities will always exist – but that this depends on exposure. The quality of the exposure is important. There are many examples of persons and groups creating niches for entry and 1 Migdal’s ‘mental maps’ are, in other circles, described as cultures, where this is taken to mean the inherited patterns of meanings that people share within particular contexts.

Permeating boundaries?  133 exit; noteworthy social movements were born from this type of initiative and struggle. In many other cases, external interventions into local spaces have been critical. However, there is always a risk that ‘exposure’ – however it is initiated – can reinforce and/or cultivate new inequalities, as the actors involved in these processes defend their own socially constructed mental maps and checkpoints. Power dynamics and relations – which despite the weight of oppressions do not remain static – have a critical role in defining the shifting consequences for relations of accountability. In this chapter, I use selected examples to elaborate on what relational approaches suggest for building accountability. For the sake of coherence, I focus, primarily, on how state and non-state actors have been responding to the conflicting obligatory relationships and sheer perversities in ‘democratic politics’ in inner-city communities in Jamaica. I interject case examples from other selected contexts in order to elaborate on my observations. My immediate aim is to reflect, candidly, on the complexities involved in building more equitable relations of accountability. I do not intend to supply a ready menu of best practices and recommendations, opting instead to question whether the quality of exposure that is being experienced within these contexts effectively permeates the multiple boundaries emanating from structural injustice. I hope, through this approach, to (1) demonstrate that more comprehensive and suitably contextualized analytical frames can help to dispel the fuzziness surrounding the concept of accountability and (2) expose the limitations of exclusively technobureaucratic solutions, which includes technical approaches to participatory interventions.

Addressing human deficits: dismantling the boundaries? Education and the cultivation of inequalities The evidence is clear: more equitable relations of accountability require improved levels of knowledge, awareness and competence, particularly among the more marginalized and historically disadvantaged populations; improved levels of wellbeing (in other terms, the core functional capabilities that Amartya Sen and Martha Nussbaum, among others, describe); and increased and meaningful opportunities to exercise voice, make claims, deliberate and negotiate. Chapter 1 underscores some of the obstacles to equitable (or equality promoting) attention to the more deprived segments of the population. For example, there are multiple obligatory relationships and accountabilities within democracies that influence whether and

134  Relational Accountability how particular interests are heard and addressed. External relations of accountability can divert attention from or prompt attention to groups and sub-groups who are customarily marginalized. How interests are then balanced in policy is not merely a matter of what is feasible, given the constraints that governments customarily encounter; governments also make strategic decisions that may have much more to do with their own political standing and security than with the welfare of segments of the population, whose interests they can either afford to ignore or have the skill and power to shape in ways that give the appearance of action, although this may produce limited real outcomes. (Note Shankland’s (2010) case study of the indigenous movement in Brazil.) In addition, and importantly, the prospects for cultivating more equitable relations of accountability will be skewed, at the outset, where the interventions that are meant to build core functional capabilities are not equalizing in intent or content and are, in actuality, manifestly unjust. Here, Marshall’s description of the techniques used for constructing or, more appropriately, differentiating citizenships, is instructive (Marshall and Bottomore, 1992). They note (see Chapter 2) that education of the poorer classes was used to satisfy immediate strategic objectives, namely to construct a working class that would provide the brawn required for emerging industries. A similar trend developed in Jamaica. Honed, as it was, by the British, education provision in Jamaica came to reflect and intensify social divisions, with substantial differentiating consequences for relations of accountability. In 1835, Jamaica received financial assistance under the Negro Education Grant, to provide education to former slaves. A number of religious organizations were assigned responsibility for administering the grant, though with direction from the colonial legislature. By 1855, two very different types of schools emerged: elite schools groomed the wealthier classes for professional careers while the public elementary schools prepared the working class for skilled and semi-skilled (artisan) positions.The 2004 Task Force on Education notes: ‘this dualised system became entrenched into the social fabric and, for more than a century, education functioned as the most powerful gatekeeper of the status quo’. There was limited social mobility. The only children who managed to slip out of the working class were those who were exceptionally bright and exceptionally fortunate. Consequently, three streams of education developed: ‘an academic stream for professionals, such as lawyers and doctors; a technical stream for maintenance managers of imported equipment; and a basic stream for cane cutters and other allied non-skilled workers’. By differentiating education in this way, high rates of illiteracy and poverty were transmitted across generations of former slaves and their descendants.

Permeating boundaries?  135 Education reform started in 1953. At Independence, in 1962, the government committed to ‘Education for All’ and, specifically, to providing the best quality of education given the available resources. Within fifteen years, all children had access to primary education; over 80 per cent were enrolled at the lower secondary level and 60 per cent at the upper secondary level. As the government covered the operating costs for high schools, more children from the poorer classes were able to attend traditional elite schools. Through a highly competitive process, the Common Entrance examinations provided a filter to the traditional schools. Students who were not selected were admitted to New Secondary Schools. However, in 1983, UNESCO observed that the two-tiered secondary school system had entrenched inequalities between high schools, which offered the promise of quality postsecondary education, and the others, where children and parents had lower prospects for social mobility. The variety of types of secondary schools appears confusing but, actually, boils down to two: the High Schools and the others. The differences can be seen in admission criteria, type of curriculum, enrolment patterns, future promise, social currency and unit expenditure. The High Schools hold the promise of post-secondary studies, have a much higher social currency, spend more money per student, experience a continually high demand for admission and have an academically oriented programme. By contrast, New Secondary Schools enjoy noticeably lower esteem on the part of pupils and parents, which is reflected in a declining tendency of enrolments and transition rates. The curriculum is heavily biased towards pre-vocational, non-academic subjects. With respect to primary education, the 1983 UNESCO report commended the quantitative achievements, particularly the near universal enrolment rates. However, it emphasized that improvements were required in the quality of education at both primary and secondary levels. One very impressive characteristic of Jamaican education is the great quantitative progress made over the past decade.The country can be proud of achieving close to universal primary education that is continued to grade 9. Just about all primary school leavers received some post-primary or secondary education. However, this rapid and impressive development has not happened without an array of growing pains, which manifest themselves in the qualitative aspects of educational development. The most striking and serious of these is the lack of quality in what is learned in the primary schools together with the inadequacies of large segments of secondary education to meet the needs of the productive sector of the economy as well as the expectations and aspirations of individual students and their parents.

136  Relational Accountability The fact that about one of every two primary school leavers is considered illiterate is alarming. It suggests massive inefficiencies in the delivery of primary education that have serious ramifications in secondary education, vocational training and in the labour market itself. It also means that a good deal of effort as well as public funds invested in primary education have gone for naught. The All-Age Schools go only to grade 9, after which many of the students leave education altogether without necessarily having acquired any particular skills except, hopefully, those of basic literacy and numeracy. One wonders if the All-Age School provides mainly the illusion of a postprimary education with a faint hope of continuing on. These schools are, basically, an extension of the primary schools in both physical and pedagogical terms. The Government of Jamaica’s Five-Year Development Plan (1990– 95) aimed to address the gap between enrolment and attendance at the primary level (although 97 per cent of children were enrolled, attendance rates at the primary and All-Age Schools were 72 and 65 per cent respectively); low attendance rates (of approximately 50 per cent in some parts) in the rural areas; literacy and numeracy gaps at the primary level, as well as mastery of the skills required for entry to the secondary level. The 1990–95 plan also aimed to address inequality of provision at the lower secondary level. Correspondingly, a number of programmes were launched or strengthened in order to meet these objectives. In 2004, an appointed Task Force on Educational Reform conducted a comprehensive review of the sector and noted important achievements since Independence. These included ‘national curricula and standardized testing programmes at the primary and secondary levels’; ‘the provision of a space in public primary level schools for every Jamaican child 6–11 years’; the expansion in the number of teachers and volunteers; school feeding programmes; and the provision of textbooks. However, the Task Force also concluded that despite the achievements, there were still significant gaps in retention and in the quality of education provision at all levels. In 2009, when the Government of Jamaica presented the country’s first long term (thirty-year) development plan,Vision 2030 Jamaica, education again featured as a key development challenge. The education sector plan outlined the persistent problems with education quality, particularly in the poor rural areas and in urban inner-city communities. It also recognized that the quality of education provision at all levels is compromised by profound and long-standing inequalities. Various evaluations have dissected the underlying and root causes of the variable education quality at the early childhood level. These include a lack of acceptable infrastructure, low standard of services and inadequate

Permeating boundaries?  137 numbers of trained practitioners. In some areas, education settings are overcrowded and children receive inadequate care. In addition, there are disparities in provision across different categories of children (children living with or affected by HIV; children with disabilities and children from the most stigmatized inner-city communities suffer particularly severe disadvantages); disparities in rural–urban provisions; poor nutritional support and absence of adequate parenting support for the children and the schools. Not only is there limited financing for early childhood institutions but also an inability to allocate resources in ways that can promote equality in education across institutions. As described in Chapter 4, many inner-city communities have inadequate community governance structures; weak communal relations; feelings of disempowerment and perceptions that they lack capacity to demand accountability for quality education. At the primary level, there are qualitative differences among the Primary, Primary and Junior High, All-Age and Preparatory Schools; the better-resourced preparatory schools achieve the best results.There are stark performance gaps between girls and boys, which persist in almost all subject areas and the government is now concerned about the apparent inability to reach and teach boys, which leaves many within the inner cities at risk of violence. The causes for the deficiencies in the quality of provision include improper and inflexible teaching methods; disparities in provision across communities and schools, as at the early childhood level; poor disciplinary practices within select (predominantly poorer) schools, including verbal and physical abuse; lack of parental involvement and unacceptable work conditions in the poorest and most vulnerable areas. Similar problems exist at the secondary level although, at this stage, teaching and learning conditions are made more complex. A number of problems become even more pronounced at the secondary level: boys lag even further in scholastic achievements and many drop out of school; the conventional inequalities across better resourced ‘traditional’ schools and the ‘others’ remain; there are clear gaps in rural and urban achievement and there is underachievement in the more vulnerable and volatile communities within urban areas. The particular challenges facing adolescents are manifested within the schools, including teenage pregnancies, which affect retention rates, gang violence and exposure to drugs. At the tertiary level, the progressive problems with male education are especially stark; the majority of registered students are female. Successive governments have had problems with regulating and standardizing the quality of education offered, as there is inadequate monitoring and evaluation. At the root of these are ineffective governance systems and mechanisms, which are common across all sectors. The class imbalance

138  Relational Accountability persists within tertiary institutions, where the costs of education effectively de-select substantial segments of the poor, sustaining socio-economic inequities and education injustice. In addition, there are limited provisions for the adult working population; lack of innovative methodologies for assessing capability; inadequate alternative routes of entry for those who have not gained the required pre-qualifications; and inadequate opportunities after graduation. Technical and vocational programmes There are a number of institutions that provide technical and vocational programmes, many of which are accredited by the HEART Trust, a statutory training agency within the Ministry of Education. HEART (Human Employment and Resource Training) was established in 1982 and provides competency-based education, using the National Vocational Qualification (NVQ) framework. Although enrolment rates in HEART-accredited programmes are high, the latest (2010) estimates indicate that approximately 68,000 young people – those considered most at risk – still have no access to skills training programmes.Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET) is now being introduced into secondary education programmes; approximately 51 TVET laboratories have been introduced in 27 high schools and staff in 14 high schools have received professional training. In recent Jamaica Business Development Corporation/Inter-American Development Bank (JBDC/IADB, 2010) programme evaluations, residents in two inner-city communities highlighted the value of skills training to individuals and the community. Elder residents expressed relief that ‘some youth have started to go to school, are no longer idle on the streets and go to bed early’ and ‘there is less violence in the community due to the youth training provisions’. However, people have begun to question the extent to which training programmes facilitate genuine social mobility and address social disparities (Moncrieffe, 2010b).They point, specifically, to particular course offerings, such as housekeeping, welding and plumbing, which can offer satisfactory incomes but do not necessarily facilitate the class mobility they envision. They suggest, too, that some courses were designed to suit external perceptions of ‘poor people’s station and potential’ and to satisfy gaps in the lower segments of the economy. There were other practical constraints: HEART Level 1 certification provides basic training and is not accepted as adequate qualification for most jobs. Many interventions fund Level 1 certification only; youth are expected to find their own resources to further their studies. There is growing frustration, particularly in poorer communities: How valuable is HEART Level 1 certification? How many youth will be able to fund Level 2 (and beyond) certification? What is the

Permeating boundaries?  139 likely outcome where youth (whose expectations have now been raised) are unable to pursue studies or find employment? It is noteworthy that residents also recognized that young people’s social conditioning and their resulting preferences and choices presented some of the most dogged obstacles to programming. There is too much negativity in the community. Not a lot of persons are exposed to what is out there. I grew up in this community. A lot of things happen outside that do not happen here. We do not wake up and see neighbours going out to work and coming in. Therefore, people become used to the community and their minds stop here. Some people do not go outside … When you go out and associate with people and see their example, you want more out of life. If you are sweeping the streets and see a better life, you will try to emulate it. The problem is that the community fights you down and you have to go back to begging to survive. Within these boundaries – physical, social and psychological – it is not surprising that some of the young people who participate in the programmes do so for immediate material, although invariably petty, profits (the stipend that some agencies provide to encourage attendance) rather than for long-term self-advancement. Respondents were clear that these outcomes have much to do with the quality of provision at the foundational level: ‘Many youth are poorly positioned by the time they get to high schools; have low skill levels and poor job prospects. The cycle starts in the early years’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b). With limited education, children and young people are inadequately prepared for active citizenship. Much of the evidence they witness and the messages they hear and believe suggest their inferiority and, as a consequence, incapacity to represent their interests and make claims via institutionalized channels. Therefore, cultivating cultures of accountability will require concentrated – child-, teacher- and community-centred – interventions that aim, in earnest, to tackle the ‘dehumanizing aggressions’ that are part of the educative experience, both within schools and communities. Freire (1970, 2005) is invaluable here. Reminiscent of the previous chapter’s discussions on the dynamics of ingrained power, dehumanization, he explains, is the product of an unjust social order that breeds oppressors and oppressed peoples. Through processes of dehumanization, certain groups and individuals are placed, figuratively, beyond the boundaries of the moral community, however it is conceived. This act of repulsion is then used to “legitimize” multiple forms of aggression.

140  Relational Accountability Conditions of oppression may be marked by violence, rape, torture, differing forms of exploitation and by indoctrination; however, as described in Chapter 3, oppression is not always visible or evidently coercive. Furthermore, oppression does not necessarily produce people who are aware that they are being dehumanized and, even if they are aware, they may not see the need to reflect on their conditions and resist. Dehumanization affects citizenship experiences and relations of accountability, although the profundity of the interconnections are not necessarily recognized by those who oppress, by those who are oppressed (and who may, in turn, oppress) or by those who, in principle, commit themselves to transform conditions of oppression. Freire’s (1970) suggestions for ‘humanization’ and empowerment are poignant. For Freire, ‘humanization is a matter of countering these effects, of recognizing the inherent dignity and inalienable rights of all members of the human family.’ Tackling oppressions, Freire notes, requires reflection and action by those who are dehumanized: The oppressed must recognize how they host their oppressors within them and/or how they perpetuate their own oppression – including through self-deprecation and fatalism – in order to begin to reverse their dehumanization. Therefore, education must be an instrument for self-discovery. Yet, the challenges to transformative education may not only reside within the oppressed but also within the oppressor since: ‘The oppressor knows full well that this intervention would not be to his interest.What is to his interest is for the people to continue in a state of submersion, impotent in the face of oppressive reality’ (Freire, 1970: 34). There are other, fairly common, obstacles to effective interventions. These are critical for how practitioners intervene in contexts, particularly where the goal is building more equitable relations of accountability: No pedagogy which is truly liberating, can remain distant from those who are oppressed by treating them as unfortunates and by presenting for their emulation models from among the oppressors … Pedagogy which begins with the egoistic interests of the oppressors (an egoism cloaked in the false generosity of paternal- ism) and makes the oppressed the objects of its humanitarianism, itself maintains and embodies oppression. Freire, 1970: 36 With specific reference to educating in conditions of oppression, there is, therefore, clear fault in the assumption that our roles must be to teach – to ‘bank knowledge’ at a distance from the lived experiences of the children we encounter. Instead, it is more empowering and liberating to see ourselves as co-learners. In other terms, maintaining the traditional

Permeating boundaries?  141 methods of educating may serve partial – but oppressive – interests, such that educators themselves become complicit in extending the very forms of oppression they claim to abhor: ‘To alienate human beings from their own decision making is to change them into objects’ (Freire, 1970: 66). There are many accounts of the inequalities, injustices and oppressions within the education system. In one focus group (Moncrieffe, 2010a), mothers explained: When my children go to school, they are called anything. We are poor and we cannot afford a certain level of service. The Ministry of Education does not support corporal punishment but down here the teachers beat our children. These children are being cultured in a particular, disadvantageous, way. School is the only way out for children; however, they [schools] are not effective. Children are being called very derogatory names. The system is failing our children. Early childhood is an important period when children should develop confidence to function in society. Yet, our children are afraid of the teachers. They are intimidated in social contexts because both children and adults are taught to fear. Therefore, there is a huge difference between children downtown and those uptown. Upper class children are the more fortunate; they have the most opportunities. If a child from the lower class attended school with one from the upper class and obtained the same results, most likely, it is the upper class child who would be employed. In sum, then, the methods of and approaches to teaching are consequential not merely for the quality of education that is provided but for the quality of citizen that is produced. Breeding inequalities in education distorts core functional capabilities; it is among the bedrocks of unequal social and political relations. Children and adults who are uneducated, under-educated or improperly educated are disadvantaged at the outset in arenas where they are required to assess and evaluate, represent claims, press for demands and exercise voice. Policy-making, power and accountability There are other significant factors, including some inter- and intra-agency relational issues, which affect the quality of education and the corresponding social and political outcomes. The Ministry of Education recognizes the costs of inequalities in service provision, including the certain link between education and variable levels of human and economic

142  Relational Accountability development, crime and violence and the quality of political participation. Correspondingly, its Education System Transformation Programme aims to realize the following: (1) Create a world class education system in Jamaica; (2) Enable Jamaica to compete in the global economy; (3) Raise educational standards for all; (4) Enable access and equity for all; and (5) Produce disciplined, ethical and culturally aware Jamaican citizens.2 The Ministry has, over time, drafted or finalized a fairly extensive range of policies and programmes that, in principle, are meant to improve the quality of education that is provided.3 The Education Transformation Programme also seeks to improve accountability in and for education through modernizing its governance and management systems and making them more effective. For example, the Jamaica Teaching Council is mandated to ‘raise and regulate the standards of the teaching profession in Jamaica, as well as provide support to 2 Ministry of Education, Education Transformation – Cabinet Briefing, 18 January, 2008 3 Among them is the National Compulsory Education Policy, which stipulates that all children between the ages of 3 and 18 years should be enrolled and kept in regular attendance in a ‘meaningful, structured and regulated learning setting’. Other policies and programmes include the Competency Based Literacy Transition Policy, which aims to ensure that all children who are entering secondary level education are literate; the Alternate Secondary Education Programme (ASEP), which supports students who need special assistance to advance from the primary to secondary level; and the Text Book Programme provides free or subsidized textbooks to students attending public primary and secondary schools. Additionally, the e-Learning Jamaica project is designed to improve the educational environment through provision of information and communication technology (ICT) equipment and teacher training island-wide. The High School Equivalency Programme allows ‘unattached youth’ to obtain high school qualifications in order to access another level of the education system or to find employment.The Jamaica Foundation for Life Long Learning provides for both children and adults. With respect to children, it provides an intermediary programme for those who are preparing to start the High School Equivalency Programme. The new Career Advancement Programme is designed to reduce drop-out rates and improve student readiness for work. The National Policy for HIV/AIDS Management in Schools intends to prevent discrimination against children and employees who are infected with and otherwise affected by HIV/AIDS. Discrimination is addressed through guidance and counselling and, ultimately, re-placement in other, more accommodating, educational institutions. The Security and Safety Policy Guidelines (2008) are considered an important initiative for building a culture of security and safety, especially within those schools that are thought to lack it. The standards and guidelines pertain to a variety of issues, including bullying, gang culture, the presence of drugs and weapons and the inappropriate use of information and communication technologies. There are other policies, such as the National Library Policy; the Language Policy (now under revision); Health and Wellness Policy (ECC); a Screening Policy – Special Education; a Cultural Policy (in collaboration with the Ministry of Culture). Some of these are in draft form and, therefore, have not been sent for Cabinet approval. Two of these draft policies are the National Policy on Play and the National Parenting Policy.

Permeating boundaries?  143 achieve excellence in teaching’ (Sectoral Debate Presentation, 21 July, 2009: 13). A licensing framework for teachers was developed in 2009 and there are plans for continuous professional development through Quality Education Circles. There is a National Education Inspectorate (NEI), whose purpose is to monitor the quality of provision and promote ‘a culture of excellence and system of accountability’. The NEI now has an operational framework and has recruited forty-five school inspectors. The Government of Jamaica (GoJ) intends, through the regional education agencies (REAs) that operate under the NEI, to ‘improve the management of education affairs by devolving authority for operations to smaller local agencies, and provide support for school improvement’ (Minister of Education, Sectoral Debate Presentation, 21 July, 2009: 14). A submission has been made to Cabinet for the establishment of the Jamaica Tertiary Education Commission (J-TEC). J-TEC would oversee tertiary institutions and would have regulatory, planning and coordination responsibilities (Economic and Social Survey, 2009: 22.1). Yet the education sector, like others, is adversely affected by resource constraints, suboptimal capacity levels and by inadequate compliance, monitoring and accountability. Evaluations across the sectors note common problems with translating policies into effective actions. Some of the most challenging, although underestimated, problems are the outcomes of power plays within and across institutions. As a consequence: policy formulation processes may involve wide stakeholder consultation; however, these do not necessarily involve the critical policy implementers, especially in ways that promote ownership. …   Implementing agencies and key stakeholders may know but not accept their roles in implementation; [they may work ‘behindthe-scenes’] at times in distinct contradiction to stated policies. While‘progress has been made in involving non-state actors in policy formulation and implementation processes, the level of collaboration desired is still impaired by territorialism, competition for funds and latent suspicions across agencies. …   Monitoring and evaluation processes and procedures exist; however, these are not adequately institutionalized. There needs to be more effective mechanisms for enforcing compliance. Caribbean Child Development Centre, 2010: 73–5 The GoJ is now seeking technical assistance to improve the translation of policies into concrete actions, the quality of stakeholder involvement

144  Relational Accountability and of programme monitoring and accountability (Caribbean Child Development Centre, 2010). As is common, there has been considerably more attention to the technical dimension of accountability, particularly ensuring that checks and balances exist. Focusing on the quality of relationships among the actors who make these checks and balances work (or not) is a less familiar matter. There are substantive gaps in understanding the history of the power plays within and across agencies, as well as their effects on policy and practice. Furthermore, there is simply inadequate know-how of the culture-sensitive approaches that are required to permeate institutions and build internal organizational relations which better support accountability to all, not just some, citizens. From life skills to citizenship education; from citizenship education to accountability There is a necessary qualification: in contexts where vast inequalities and injustices are embedded, ensuring acceptable living standards and building core functional capabilities are essential for more equitable political participation. However, these are unlikely to be sufficient for populations who are unschooled about their rights and about the mutual relationships of accountability that they should, ideally, expect and contribute to as citizens within democracies. State and non-state actors intervene at different levels and to different degrees. For a variety of reasons, skills training and education may not be linked with direct citizenship education and citizenship education has varying outcomes in different contexts. The former is fairly straightforward both to understand and remedy. However, the constraints to the desired links between citizenship education and active citizenship are more complex and contextual. Throughout the 1990s, for example, donors invested substantially in civil society development in Kenya. There have been marked political changes, including the appointment of various civil society organization (CSO) actors to government since 2002, which has been influencing what Okello (2010: 200) describes as a progressive transforming of the culture of politics at the national level, from a ‘largely regressive, undemocratic, unresponsive and unaccountable’ state of affairs. CSO actors have sought to address the structural causes of poor governance, as well as those relating to agency. In the early 1990s, it was generally thought that improved governance required a change of leadership in Kenya, in order to remove an administration that was regarded as profoundly undemocratic and

Permeating boundaries?  145 unaccountable. In the latter part of the 1990s, the emphasis was on changing the structure, particularly through constitutional reform. The high profile CSOs, from Okello’s account, were instrumental in advancing changes to the Constitution by, among other actions, developing a ‘Model Constitution’, lobbying and providing civic education at both elite and grassroots levels. The CSOs insisted on ‘transparency, accountability, respect for human rights and social justice’ (Okello, 2010: 203, citing Law Society of Kenya et al., 1994: i). They also demanded ‘land reform, devolution of power, equity and respect for ethnic diversity’ (Okello, 2010: 204). These helped to shape the Kenya Review Act of 1997 and the subsequent 2002 draft constitution. The National Rainbow Coalition (NARC) promised to implement these reforms on winning elections and some civil society actors joined the party in order to assist with change. However, Okello notes that NARC reneged on some of these commitments on gaining power. Prominent ex-civil society actors were among those who changed positions, purportedly because of jockeying for power and personal gain. CSOs were influential in other areas, such as promoting the human rights agenda within government. This is a notable accomplishment since Kenya had an egregious human rights record, although it was a signatory to various international human rights conventions. However, CSOs have faced difficult challenges, particularly from the police, who make commitments but do not act on them. Similarly, while they have managed to highlight problems with accountability and corruption, ex-civil society actors within government have faced many practical challenges: how to deal with unfulfilled and sometimes unrealistic public expectations; [the] lack of public cohesion, especially at the operational level; [the] need to have partnerships with other agencies to execute their mandates … and the difficulty in finding such partnerships; [and the] existence of multiple avenues of accountability, which has created a gap between expectations and capability. Okello, 2010: 209 Civil society leaders have, likewise, pushed for electoral reform but ex-civil society actors have been among those cited for poor electoral practice. This, Okello underscores, raises the importance of rethinking assumptions about the ‘legitimacy of CSO actors and their ability to effect instant government wide change’. Not only are there substantive boundaries to action within government but CSO actors are also changed within and by these boundaries.

146  Relational Accountability Musembi (2010) is concerned with political cultures at the ‘grassroots’ level. Delving beneath Okello’s summary and largely salutary analysis of CSO civic education activities, she questions the extent to which civil society organizations’ political empowerment programmes have actually helped to deepen democracy. Musembi’s research questions were formulated using Archon Fung’s (2003) categorizations of the contributions that civil associations make to enhancing democracy as the reference. These are: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Intrinsic value: that the very existence of associative life enhances democracy by expressing the freedom of association; Fostering civic virtue and teaching political skills; Offering resistance to power and checking government; Improving the quality and equality of representation of interests; Facilitating public deliberation; Creating opportunities for citizens and groups to participate directly in governance.

Musembi et al. selected 500 respondents, half of whom had been trained through CSO political empowerment programmes; the other half (who were selected in such a way that they could be represented as peers of the original group) had not benefited from training. The study found no correspondence between participation in training and sustainability of association, which was measured by the regularity of meetings. The non-trained category, which largely comprised groups that focused on improving livelihoods, met more regularly. While CSOs helped to ‘pluralize associational life at the grassroots level’ (Musembi, 2010: 31), introducing, in the process, terminologies such as political empowerment, rights and social justice, the groups had developed minimal capacity for ‘autonomous political action’. For example, they had limited involvement in demanding accountability, despite their awareness of lapses in the management and use of community funds. Musembi (2010: 31) concludes: ‘outside the context of a project, local groups on the whole find it difficult to sustain their energy to respond to new challenges without the injection of resources by CSOs.’ Trained respondents were more likely to challenge abuses of power, although, fearing reprisals, the majority among them were reluctant to engage in struggles without support from the CSOs. Furthermore, while trained groups were more likely to participate in elections and in community life, they were no less susceptible to political patronage; trained groups were keen to place ‘their own’ in office. Neither was ‘political empowerment’ sufficient to protect against

Permeating boundaries?  147 political appointments; ‘political loyalty (rather than competence) is what informs the process’ (Musembi, 2010: 35). These patronagebased relations, Musembi suggests, prevent equality in representation of diverse interests, since it is the politically connected who are likely to have their voices heard. Correspondingly, the study found that the creation of institutional spaces for citizen participation (which, in principle, includes equal access of all citizens) has not reversed client-based personalistic politics, although the trained respondents were more likely to know about and use these institutional spaces. In effect, trained groups used these spaces to further their personal interests: ‘trained respondents have simply multiplied their options for representation of their interests, rather than transformed them … It is clear that a larger investment in transforming the culture of politics is necessary before improvement in quality and equality of representation can be realised’ (Musembi, 2010: 35). Finally, the institutional mechanisms that exist do not remedy the familiar systems of governance that allow MPs to act without accountability. Trained groups were able to interact more frequently with government officials but this increased association did not transform the institutional cultures. The Kenyan case may differ in detail from other contexts but it presents an interesting account of the interplay of institutions and actors, as well as the historical legacies, cultures and/or systems of meaning and power dynamics that colour them. Jamaica has an active non-state actor (NSA) sector and, like Kenya, various agencies and actors have brought poignant issues to the agenda; they have invaded policy spaces in order to press for representation of particular interests, exposed actions that would, otherwise, have been hidden from public discourse and ‘made requests’ for government accountability in areas where there are rights infringements or corruption.Yet, there is a palpable fear of reprisals that places boundaries on NSA activities. The potential for reprisals is not imagined. The system of patronage is so deeply entrenched that ‘voice’ and ‘presence’ can result in threats to livelihood and, depending on the subject and the dexterity with which it is explored, loss of life. Reprisals can come from multiple directions.The open display of repressive state power, which is much more frequently directed against the classes who cannot afford to ‘purchase’ their protection (including through intangible avenues such as personal relations with well positioned state actors), imposes an uneasy limit on civic activity. NSAs must tread cautiously, too, through diverse communities with their parallel forms of governance for the levels of authority that these fiefdoms wield are, as described earlier, not necessarily subordinate to that from the state and are, in cases, buttressed by the state. Therefore, NSAs are generally cautious about ‘political empowerment’, since discussions on political,

148  Relational Accountability human and civil rights can provoke a backlash, including from the parties who are being taught about their rights. Yet, there are perceived gradations in status among NSAs that lead to differential consequences for voice, visibility and impact. For example, many of the more influential NGOs are led by well-positioned personalities from the middle and upper classes. Their social standing and social relations afford them the resources and space to represent interests in ways that the citizens from the poorest classes are often denied. Jamaicans for Justice (JFJ) has a high profile and speaks fearlessly about human rights abuses. It is a non-profit, voluntary, citizens’ rights organization, which was established after the 1999 gas riots. Its aim is to act as a conduit through which citizens can make claims for social justice and hold their representatives to account. JFJ describes its mandate in this way: ‘Through the works of our action group we will bring about fundamental change in Jamaica’s judicial, economic, social and political systems, in order to improve the present and future lives of all Jamaicans.’4 Much of JFJ’s work involves advocacy, principally against police brutality, and awareness raising. There are also specific programmes for providing human rights education in schools (this is designed to equip children to hold their service providers accountable) and for holding state and non-state actors accountable for childcare and protection. With regard to its monitoring role, JFJ’s persistent and sometimes virulent critique of the quality of these services provided has led to notable improvements. However, in opting to expose police brutalities against all segments of the population, which may include perpetrators of violence, JFJ is, in some circles, considered an enemy of the police and a friend of criminals. There is a view that it is the social positioning of its leadership that allows the organization to continue its operation; a less advantageously placed leadership would find it considerably more arduous to occupy space in national debates. There are clear differences between the visibility and effectiveness of JFJ and those of the Jamaica Chamber of Commerce (JCC). The JCC was initiated in the 1990s. One of its key objectives is to build good relations between the police and inner-city communities by providing joint training sessions that allow the police to gain a better understanding of inner-city residents and for inner-city residents to better appreciate the police. There is special emphasis on ‘humanizing’ both inner-city residents and police, in order to facilitate more peaceful relations. The JCC developed a code of conduct for police–citizen relations, which is meant to inform citizens of the laws that affect them daily and their recourse 4 http://www.jamaicansforjustice.org/nmcms.php?content=about us

Permeating boundaries?  149 where there are contraventions. There are also skills training and employment programmes that are designed to increase the livelihood options, particularly for youth. However, while the skills training programmes are ongoing, the programmes on civic and human rights have faltered, largely because of inadequate financial and political support. Regarding political support, various interviews expressed similar opinions, though in different ways: ‘Politicians were not interested in the programme; politicians know how to keep people unlearned’. Added to these resource constraints, the police are continually shifted across communities, which presents challenges to building police–civilian relations. In the absence of rights training such as this, the JCC notes that police brutality has increased in areas where they had earlier managed to encourage tolerance. This level of police brutality, respondents underscored, ‘turns people into criminals’. The lack of knowledge of rights, the failure of accountability mechanisms and, more significantly, the inability to cultivate the relations that are necessary for institutionalizing accountability, have created the – not unfounded – perception that the law is unfair: ‘There is one law for uptown and one for downtown’. Further, the JCC observes that the ‘people representing the poor do not educate them in how to rise up.’5 Consequently, while there are inadequate didactic lessons on rights, participation and accountability, there are ample informal messages on how ingrained inequalities and long-standing injustices shape them (rights, participation and accountability), in practice. Feelings of exclusion, unequal and unjust incorporation feed allegiances and accountabilities to the alternate forms of government within the communities, which may be no less abusive of human rights but extend more ready and personal justice.

Human security for accountability: working within the boundaries? Ensuring human security is a fundamental government responsibility for which officials must be held to account. Citizens are also mutually accountable – and accountable, too, to the state – for preserving the lives and wellbeing of other members of society. Chapter 4 depicts the unruly politics that exist in some of the more volatile inner-city communities in Jamaica and notes that these were politically cultivated. Particular politicians have shown disregard for citizens’ lives and wellbeing in ways that make sheer mockery of accountability. Dismantling the complex social, political and spatial boundaries that violence presents requires effective 5 Interviews, JCC, November 17, 2009

150  Relational Accountability and sustained interventions. The enormous difficulty, practitioners note, is that the actors who intervene in these contexts can entrench inequalities and injustice through their approach and through their continued particularistic, rather than democracy-promoting, intent. Ferreira and Roque (2010) make a similar observation: efforts to promote active citizenship and build more equitable relations of accountability, they suggest, can be compromised, at the very outset, by methods of and approaches to intervention that are based in and sustain historically constructed social and political hierarchies.6 In the case of Angola, this country’s history of strong political and social control has had lasting impact on relations between the state and citizens, despite the recent transition to democracy. They describe the emergence and role of one local NGO (Action for Rural Development, ADRA) in boosting rural development, strengthening local associations and facilitating increased autonomy among small farmers in one small town, Dombe Grande. ADRA, they note, initially had a hierarchical, controlling approach, ‘issuing directives but seldom [sharing] responsibilities or decision-making power with communities’. Further, it was the more powerful local personalities who comprised the community commissions (Ferreira and Roque, 2010: 84). ADRA became more effective when it changed its approach: providing training sessions and encouraging the development of local autonomous associations, such as the Núcleo Representativo das Associações do Dombe Grande (NRA). Importantly, training sessions also involved local state administrators, which helped to change the tone of engagement between local representatives and citizens from one of acrimony and conflict to greater collaboration. Of course, more horizontal relations between local representatives and citizens may not be sufficient if old systems of relating and operating are maintained in other critical areas. Ferreira and Roque explain that while debate and dialogue between local state officials and citizens have improved, citizens still have limited opportunities for implementing decisions and improving service delivery. At the local level, citizens have some presence in local governance but decision-making is centralized at the provincial level. Neither ADRA nor the NRA has managed to improve relations of accountability between citizens and the state; rather, the authors suggest: ‘while local associations may be acclaimed when they support the state in providing social services, their demands for rights and state accountability might not be quite so welcome’ (Ferreira and Roque, 2010: 94). In 6 Mauss in The Gift explains that all gift relationships bring their obligations and expectations. Both the giver and the recipient expect some reciprocity, and the less able one is to reciprocate, the more one feels inferior (Mauss, 2002).

Permeating boundaries?  151 other terms, despite the existence of new democratic institutions, there are historically constructed mental maps and virtual checkpoints that embed authoritarian patterns of relating within formal democratic arrangements. The levels and forms of accountability that develop have much more to do with long-standing perceptions of the (in)equalities of different categories of persons as well as the relationships and boundaries that are cultivated as a consequence. Where these old patterns of relating are sustained in very fragile, and particularly fractious, contexts – or where new inequalities and divisions are introduced – albeit under the guise of transformation, the resulting distrust in the new institutions of accountability can provoke undesired and messy politics. Inner-city Jamaica What are the effects of these legacies in inner-city Jamaica? Non-state actors – some through partnerships with the state – facilitate the majority of ‘development’ initiatives in the inner-city areas. The non-state sector comprises non-governmental organizations (NGOs), community-based organizations (CBOs), various advocacy groups and faith-based groups. One review of the quality of NSA interventions within volatile and vulnerable inner-city communities describe them as ‘experiencing cycles of effectiveness, depending on a range of external and internal factors, including: the quality of leadership, the character of the communities, the specific issues being confronted, the wider political and social climate and the availability of funding’. Within that, agencies have various levels or degrees of effectiveness (Moncrieffe, 2010b). Among the more durable challenges that non-state actors encounter is persistent interference from some politicians, who are intent to sustain their traditional power bases in these areas. Grace and Staff Community Development Foundation started in 1979. At that time, the Central Kingston area was a difficult place to do business: robbery was rampant and businesses started to pull out of the area. However, prominent actors within the Foundation promoted a company vision of helping to solve the economic and social inequalities in the area. Initially, the company focused on economic empowerment using microcredit programmes, particularly small loans and grants. People were engaged in sheet making, in making jeans and in opening small shops.The company wanted to find a way to foster good relations and encouraged its staff to voluntarily offer courses in interview training and small business management. From microcredit, Grace Kennedy moved to education, recognizing that there was a high level of high-school drop-out, which presented a particular danger to boys. The parenting programme started

152  Relational Accountability out of that, as well as the homework centre. Grace Kennedy’s employees volunteered to work in the centre. Currently, 400 students are enrolled, with approximately 100 attending each day. Grace Kennedy receives school reports and is, therefore, able to modify its programmes in order to fill identified gaps. Other services include educational and social support, financial services to pay school fees and counselling. The company paid much attention to building relations with the community and to fostering a culture of corporate social responsibility within its organization: When Grace Kennedy started, it was something staff had to understand and embrace. Every staff member contributed $1 from his/her salary and the company matched it 2 to 1. This has been the main source of funding. It is part of the Grace Kennedy culture. Similarly, in our homework centres, most of the tutors are staff members. This is a way of building relations with the community. Interview, December 2009 However, Grace Kennedy has gone much further. When people within the communities in Central Kingston began to request the company’s assistance in quelling the violence, representatives from the corporation started to converse with the influential persons, including the dons. The Central Kingston Task Team was set up, comprising a male and, subsequently, a female arm. People from across boundaries – political gangs and other demarcations – would sit together in one room. Issues would often get explosive, although there was no physical violence. However, gradually, what were often simple misunderstandings were resolved. Community police were also involved in the meetings. Within the team, systems were developed to resolve conflicts before they escalated; often, calls were made across borders. After these conversations started, there was free movement across boundaries, although mistrust remained. Between 2003 and 2006, there was a 79 per cent reduction in violent crimes in Central Kingston. Community persons had developed their own, effective, participatory processes for reducing violence and holding different parties to their homegrown contracts to account. In community interviews in Central Kingston (November 2009), respondents indicated that the task teams were disbanded during the election period in 2007 and cited political pressure and threats as a major cause.They lamented its demise and suggested that violence had increased as a consequence. Consequently, community leaders were adamant that they are themselves powerless to foster the security that is necessary for expanding civil liberties, while influential people and interests appear to profit from the inequalities and human rights infringements.

Permeating boundaries?  153 Political interference is very frequently mentioned as a detractor to programming. For example, St Patrick’s Foundation aims to ‘alleviate human suffering and offer support to people in poor communities in an effort to empower them to become self reliant and responsible citizens’. It offers a variety of skills training and remedial education programmes and considers itself to be fulfilling what ought to have been the politicians’ responsibilities to the communities. However, rather than collaborate with the organization, politicians have the dubious record of attempting to manipulate the programme for their own advantage: Politicians come in and don’t do a feasibility study to see what people need. They establish programmes that people do not want. They also re-invent the wheels.We have schools established and going bankrupt; yet, the politicians build new schools to compete.   We have to fight to maintain St. Patrick’s apolitical stance. Politicians come in and ask us to pick party members’ children for the summer programmes.   We have to see the purpose of working together. The top-down attitude from political leaders is not helping. Their approach is: We are helping you.   They are not breaking down boundaries; politicians are satisfying every corner in their power struggle. Moncrieffe, 2010b: 25 Therefore, despite the fragility of conditions in the inner-cities and the titanic challenges that must be surmounted, there are politicians who continue to corrupt interventions in order to satisfy their own power struggles.There is a sentiment that citizens are now less tied to the politicians; however, citizens are still easily manipulated, as they remain trapped in contexts of low quality education, poor quality of basic provisions and imagined borders that they cannot infringe because of the violence. The approach of some politicians to these communities reflects the disparaging ways in which they label the citizens; that is, as not fully citizens. There are other ‘helpful’ agencies that maintain a similar impression and this influences the manner in which they intervene as well as the processes and outcomes.Yet, this is not a one-sided arrangement, for there are some community members who also label politicians and external donors in ways that perpetuate their inequality: for example, as bearing gifts to which they (community members) are entitled or as holding the solutions that they themselves are incapable of conceiving and executing.The subjectivity displayed towards these ‘bigger heads’ both belies the poor self-perceptions that have been carved through their skewed experiences of citizenship and

154  Relational Accountability prejudices their capacity to hold service providers to account. Consequently, tackling deep-rooted labels (including self-labels) is critical to cultivating more equitable relations of accountability.

Working within the boundaries Confronting the labels The Ministry of National Security has labelled select urban inner-city communities as ‘hot spots’, in order to indicate that these are the most volatile pockets within the corporate area. This label has had social repercussions: it has influenced how community members themselves are categorized and treated. Residents from ‘hot spot communities’ are often thought to embody all the behaviours that are associated with these communities and this has implications for employment prospects and fundamental human rights since ‘the discrimination and stigmatization that residents may encounter perpetuate the harmful social inequalities that contribute to individual and community experiences of poverty’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b).This labelling also influences how various individuals and groups respond. Particularly among the youth, the ‘negative’ labels are, at times, used to justify and/or ‘legitimize’ the behaviours that policies and programmes are meant to tackle, as persons see the advantage (which may include the attention they receive or the ‘respect’ they are able to command) of conducting themselves in ways that befit their assigned categories. In response to community protests against this categorization, the Ministry has resorted to changing the designation and to identifying communities as vulnerable or volatile, depending on the risk of violence and other insecurities (vulnerability) and the degree of ‘activity’ (volatility) that is common. This change in ascription brings its own technical problems. First, the distinction can obscure the vulnerabilities within volatile communities; it can also mask the volatilities within vulnerable communities. Second, one of the aims of these categorizations is to identify the communities that would most benefit from social interventions as opposed to those that may immediately require paramilitary interventions. This may be somewhat useful for the Ministry’s prioritization purposes but can bring new stratifications among inner-city communities, as persons (both external to the inner cities and within them) begin to rank communities and, significantly, the individuals who occupy them as more and less ‘reachable’. The resulting stigmatization can add further injustices and inequalities to the already contorted citizenship experiences, including relations of accountability.

Permeating boundaries?  155 There are a number of NSAs that recognize the importance of tackling the ways in which communities and the people within them are labelled. Their programming strategies go beyond skills training and education; confronting labels is regarded as a distinct mandate that influences their approach. For the Stella Maris Foundation, Peace Management Initiative, S-Corner Clinic and Community Development Agency and Sistren Theatre Collective among others, efforts to engage in dialogue with the most marginalized groups within society, including perpetrators of violence, have been producing mixed results. On the one hand, while inclusion, participation, recognition of and active respect for the fundamental political rights of all citizens help to shape the character of engagement with and within communities, exclusion and disrespect continues at other levels of society and this impairs the level of progression that is required for social and political change. Second, where equality of inclusion and participation is taken to mean the involvement of violent contenders and ‘other social misfits’, conflicts ensue at all levels of the society; the morality of engaging with certain categories of persons becomes a topical and divisive issue. Stella Maris is a Catholic foundation. When the organization first started operations in the Grants Pen area, Monsignor Richard Albert, who led it, made a commitment to develop personal relationships with the people. Therefore, residents saw the Foundation as the first and legitimate organized response to the problems in Grants Pen. The programmes, one interviewee noted, are not just handed out; Stella Maris has a participatory approach.The people get out of their offices, and go into the lanes and avenues and have informal talks. Therefore, people believe that the Foundation is interested in their personal development. Stella Maris has been able to capitalize on the trust and personal relations with community members and to have dialogue and peace negotiations with persons who are normally considered very hard to reach. The organization also hosts successful skills development programmes. It provides training, which leads to accreditation in Data Operations, Garment Construction, Furniture Manufacturing and Early Childhood provision. It brings in motivational speakers from among persons who have been raised in the garrisons and achieved success and public recognition despite, and perhaps because of, it. Our philosophy is that any human being has the potential to make a contribution. Wherever individuals are, our goal is to promote their

156  Relational Accountability skills. When we recruit people for skills training, some are not able to read and to write. Therefore, we start with adult basic literacy programmes and, after that, skills training. There is a sequence, just as there is for any middle class child who goes to a prep school, Ordinary and Advanced level subjects and on to university. We aim to provide a total development package.We do not accept the position that ghetto people are destined to remain where they are. Personal interview, Stella Maris Foundation, cited in Moncrieffe, 2010b Leadership and the content of the founding ideologies have had a strong role in shaping both the organization and its relations with the community. However, there are important contextual realities that distort the impact that Stella Maris aspires to achieve. For example, the socialization, citizenship experiences and compelling obligatory relationships within these volatile boundaries can provide sufficient magnetism to undermine or summarily repel the ‘counteracting influence’ that Stella Maris envisions: You can do well stopping 6 persons but 60 others want to stop those who are being reformed. In order to adequately address failure or success, we need to look at external factors:What makes it difficult for progress to be sustained? For every young man we meet, six already know how to pull down a gun and shoot. For every hour we sit and mentor a child, he has 5 hours grooming from a shotta; in school, he is involved in a constant ‘Gaza-Gully’ battle and some are political scouts. That child gets 1–2 hours of mentorship. How do we test the effectiveness of mentorship, particularly because he may finish here ‘successfully’ but then there is still someone with a vendetta that he may not even know about, who is waiting to kill him? Personal interview, Stella Maris Foundation, cited in Moncrieffe, 2010b There are other practical constraints: When an NGO comes to communities where little boys have guns, the boys are actually part of an international trade. When they sit and think of the trade off between attending a programme at $200 per week and the ability to make huge profits in the short time, they think of what is more profitable. Many ghetto youths are capitalists at heart; they function like businessmen and so might look at us and laugh. Personal interview, Stella Maris Foundation, cited in Moncrieffe, 2010b

Permeating boundaries?  157 Therefore, in order to cultivate or improve the conditions for active (democratic) citizenship, including accountability, Stella Maris must plan strategically and exercise expertise in negotiating the realities of its context. Added to the factors outlined, Stella Maris’ capacity to fulfil its mandate also depends on the power dynamics internal to the organization and on the real, not merely organizational, perceptions that leaders and frontline workers hold of the people they serve. There are other issues, such as financing and the limits caused by external demands and obligations. The latter is especially significant where donor-funded project objectives and methodologies are contrary to those required for effective programming. Representatives from the organization described the costs of some of its external collaborations. They recounted how some donor agencies have entered certain areas and proceeded to tell people what to do and how to go about change. As they had gained access to the community through Stella Maris, given its long-standing relationship with the community, some residents believe that their trust is being abused: ‘they think that we are simply softening them in order to allow the police and external agencies to come in and dominate them’. The Peace Management Initiative The Ministry of National Security established the Peace Management Initiative (PMI) in 2002; it is now a registered NGO. The PMI comprises representatives from civil society, the main political parties, national and local governments. It has a small number of paid staff (four fieldworkers and three office staff) and works through and with community volunteers. The PMI’s mandate at the time it was established was, succinctly, to defuse community violence. Its methodologies and strategies are more involved. In practice, the PMI enters warring communities with the aim of helping community members to develop the kind of dialogue and cooperation necessary for peaceful relations. Initially, it meets with those persons who are interested in peace, who normally comprise older community members and, sometimes, ‘shottas’. It mediates between contending factions, seeks counselling services for persons traumatized by violence and initiates developmental activities, including skills training, economic projects, parenting courses, training in community organization and decision-making. PMI staff emphasize the importance of these developmental activities; they insist that success depends on whether or not and how developmental interventions are sustained. Furthermore, they note that their years of work have underscored the importance of ‘respect’ for inner-city residents. For Levy, ‘this is critical, given that the social exclusion imposed on inner-city people is interpreted as disrespect,

158  Relational Accountability which indeed it is, a profound disregard for and demeaning of their human reality’. Respect is recognized and rewarded in these communities, and both the PMI and select NGOs have been able to secure critical cooperation from contending groups because people believe that they are finally being treated respectfully. ‘They see us as big people from outside who are paying attention to them. Inner-city people want to be acknowledged as people who are worthy of respect’ (Personal interview, 27 November, 2009). Thus, Levy points out that the ‘outside needs to respect the inside’. He also observes that in the process of demanding respect, ‘the inside tends to overestimate – meaning that it accords too much respect to – the outside’ (Personal interview, 27 November 2009, ibid.). Many inner-city community members display private shame despite their public bravado (Goffman, 1959, 1963); it is the product of social conditioning, the internalized power relations that can prove difficult to transform. Therefore, how the agency that, in principle, aims for inner-city transformation engages with the communities is critical: for both the intervening actors and community residents, equality in participation is learnt; it is not automatic. The McLean review (2009: 46) emphasizes that the PMI has been particularly successful in mediation and counselling, and describes the PMI as having ‘the deepest understanding of the dynamics of conflict of any of the programmes assessed’. Key respondents from the PMI explained that necessity, rather than principle, is one of the core reasons for the organization’s ability to reach and relate to persons who are involved in intense conflicts: PMI has never had much staff and has had to rely on partnerships with the people to do things that we couldn’t do. We are limited in finances and manpower and so we depend on others. We have never had the syndrome of believing that we are the great doers. Personal interview, 27 November, 2009 Yet, one of the challenges that the PMI faces – and a potential threat to developing synergies across NSAs – is the ‘moral’ objection across some agencies, as well as within government and communities to developing relationships and providing support for actual and perceived combatants. The PMI works from the premise that social, economic and political inequalities are at the root of much of the violence, social dislocation and skewed citizenships within these communities. For the PMI, rectifying these inequalities must include negotiating with violent or potential offenders, some of whom have been most disadvantaged by the intergenerational transmission of inequalities. They also see working with actual

Permeating boundaries?  159 and potential offenders as indispensable for peaceful social transformation and they regard the fear of working with ‘offenders’ as one of the greatest limitations to NGO effectiveness: ‘Some NGOs are too timid. They do not want to deal with the guys who are giving trouble’ (Personal interview, 27 November, 2009). The PMI also seeks to qualify the category of persons they select for conversations. They note that the persons who come forward do so because they want the shooting to end.They find themselves caught into a pattern that has been established.They don’t hate us. They attack each other and have strong views of the police, given the experiences they have had with some members of the force. We try to calm that threat too. Personal interview, 27 November, 2009 S-Corner Clinic and Community Development Agency S-Corner was first established as a clinic in 1991 but has now evolved into S-Corner Clinic and Community Development Agency, a ‘community-based NGO’. Health is now one part of a larger programme, which includes Youth at Risk, Peace Management and Income Generation. The Bennett Land area is in dire need of interventions, including very basic amenities: street lighting, waste removal, acceptable roads and housing. People feel forgotten in the area. Moreover, there is resentment towards government institutions, politicians and, especially, the security forces: Soldiers will come around the corner and just start shooting, even though children may be in the group. They will come in and kick us and ask how we tek so long fi dead [how we have survived this long]. People come in and say we have rights but we don’t go outside to know. S-Corner’s Youth at Risk programme emphasizes literacy and building self-identity. Currently, the organization is focused on constructing satellite centres, with the intent of using this medium to connect corner youth within and across communities, not only for the purposes of literacy but also for peace management. The centres will also facilitate homework and parenting programmes, which the agency considers to be critical for generational change. S-Corner has worked with the PMI and with various public figures to encourage peace. Like the PMI, S-Corner runs the risk of appearing to be ‘complicit with criminals’. On the one hand, there is undue reliance

160  Relational Accountability on the organization to broker peace and to maintain community safety; on the other, it suffers censure for the ‘associations’ that seem necessary to build peace. Workers within S-Corner also question the morality of their methods: When you are working with gangs and with people who kill people, you compromise your morals and ethics with the state. The state interprets your work as shielding or condoning.You yourself go home and wonder if you are doing the right thing. Interview, 28 November, 2009 Despite its achievements, S-Corner, like the PMI, must be cautious of the divisions that its engagement with perpetrators, which is seen as indispensable for peace and more equal and active citizen engagement, can provoke. Dissent to this type of close contact may not only come from the state but also from persons within the ‘community’, who do not feel that gang members speak for them. For example, there are districts within particular areas that blame the PMI for unleashing new problems through establishing peace building councils, largely comprising combatants who do not have wide approval. By giving authority to these individuals, the PMI has lost standing among some critical subgroups, particularly women’s groups, who are excluded from the male-dominated council. In one focus group, residents declared that the ‘PMI can’t come back to some pockets of the community’. Similarly, during the group discussion with some corner youth in Bennett Land, one woman passed by and enquired about the nature of the discussion. She commented that favouritism is shown to the youth on the corner. A younger woman explained that some persons believe that both S-Corner and the PMI largely collaborate with the General (the resident don) and his men and that financial resources are being provided to them. She insisted that the General was fair and no favour was being shown. Nevertheless, the older woman’s complaint caused an intense argument and cries of disrespect. She was advised by a ‘shotta’ many years her junior that all she said was being recorded and was instructed to leave the discussion. At the end of the meeting, she appeared again and commented that the only reason she was not beaten was because she was related to the General. Certain questions merit critical exploration: • •

What structures of authority are being built in communities through engagement with different groups of citizens? To what extent is there a risk that this type of engagement can lead to violence reduction and new forms of citizen engagement in one sense

Permeating boundaries?  161

•

but provoke intra-group divisions, conflicts and new inequalities? What are the likely consequences for broader citizen engagement? What are the likely outcomes for relationships of accountability? What sorts of interventions are required to build relationships of equality rather than reproduce patterns of dominance that can exacerbate social inequalities and injustice?

These are very tough issues. Correcting for historic injustices, as these case examples show, can raise moral questions on one level (such as when this requires involvement with actual and potential combatants), which must be pitted against what ought to constitute justice in responsibility and accountability to severely disadvantaged groups (which may raise other moral questions). Negotiating the labelling and social distancing directed at these groups is challenging; there are real possibilities of political costs. However, the lessons that these case examples provide about the methods required for addressing injustices are clear. Accountability entails more than establishing relations; it requires building relations in democracy promoting and empowering ways. Agencies such as S-Corner and Stella Maris believe that it is only through ‘intimate, personal, in-your-face’ relationships that sustainable change occurs. Failures, one respondent argues, occur because of ‘avoidance’, the fear of coming out of one’s comfort zone and the reliance, instead, on ‘non-risk technical interventions’.

Re-constructing boundaries: intra- and inter-agency relations There are some practical relational issues that ought to be considered: the multifaceted interventions that are required for building more equitable relations of accountability have better prospects where there are effective synergies across implementing agencies. However, in conditions of scarcity, where the agencies must compete for survival, the emphasis may not be on the objective of accountability but on garnering the financial, political and social standing required, simply to maintain an office. In Jamaica, the majority of state and non-state agencies that have responsibility for community development and empowerment are poorly supported. Thus, a hierarchical relationship has developed between the better-funded NGOs and the CBOs, many of which struggle to accumulate the resources required to continue in operation. NGOs and CBOs are necessary partners: NGOs need CBOs in order to reach communities; CBOs need NGOs in order to gain voice at the national level. In part prompted by various donor demands for trickle-down empowerment, NGOs have assumed responsibility for building CBO capacities and ‘empowering them’ to intervene

162  Relational Accountability more effectively within their communities. Accordingly, NGOs provide training sessions on a variety of issues, including parenting, business management, conflict negotiation and proposal writing. Some CBOs have benefited from training more than others. Some resent the assumption that NGOs are sufficiently qualified to teach in community contexts to which they are unaccustomed and on subjects that have varying meanings across communities. One recent study shows that this top-down (often donor supported) approach has two principal ill effects:‘It allows NGOs to maintain an unhelpful distance from work on the ground’ and ‘it precludes serious consideration of the important role that CBOs can play in building NGO capacity’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b: 51). Both state and non-state actors express reservations about the real worth and effectiveness of NGOs. While NGOs insist that they are limited by scarce human and financial resources, commentators suggest that NGOs waste the resources that are available through frivolous expenditure on items such as luxury transportation and equipment. Complaints about NGO effectiveness focus on their inability to ‘cultivate healthy relationships with the grassroots’ and the need for capacity building in that regard (which CBOs are well equipped to provide). As discussed above, building more equitable relations of accountability requires ‘grounded know-how of the trenches’ and, in turn, ‘innovative, contextualized, methods of engagement’. However, engaging deep within communities is risky and can unleash new inequalities and injustices. Knowing how to navigate is critical. Added to these concerns about the true objectives for and methods of engagement, the ways in which organizations representing the ‘grassroots’ are labelled and positioned in policy-making spaces are consequential for the levels and quality of government accountability to these organizations and, ultimately, for government accountability to persons classified as comprising the grassroots. S-Corner Community Development Agency is an NGO that is clear about its commitment to working at the grassroots. There is a political advantage to doing so: S-Corner not only gains credibility among the communities it serves but also it distinguishes itself as an organization that is capable of operating across levels: from the national to the community. The Kingston and St Andrew Action Forum (KSAAF) is attempting the same feat from the opposite angle. KSAAF is an umbrella organization for CBOs. Under the mandate of ‘restoring communities to a better life’, KSAAF deploys zone officers throughout communities.These zone officers work with the CBOs to assess needs and channel these to the KSAAF. The KSAAF then advocates on the communities’ behalf. KSAAF is proud of its heritage. It insists that it is distinct from traditional organizations because its leadership is not comprised of persons from academia – skewed as it is

Permeating boundaries?  163 towards the middle and upper classes – but of persons from ‘ground level’. ‘This organization was born out of civic dialogue among community leaders in deprived neighborhoods. We started from the ordinary and that makes us different’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b: 55). However, it is this very position that causes relative oversight of the KSAAF at national policy level, where there may be, depending on the prevailing – real, not merely stated – ideology within government, less commitment to accountability to the ‘ordinary’. ‘The powers that be do not consult with us. Their consultation is cosmetic. Our composition has much to do with us being ignored’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b: 55). Therefore, while KSAAF has strong presence within the communities, it has considerably less impact within government. KSAAF now considers it strategic to lobby for NGO status in order to obtain the financial resources, technical expertise and political presence it considers critical for sustainability. KSAAF has attempted to build management structures and processes that reflect what it suggests is the ‘ordinary’s desire for genuine democratic representation’. Its leaders are elected every two years and, accordingly, have to compete among members for votes after explaining how they intend to perform in office and, on the part of incumbents, giving an account of stewardship. The KSAAF has also instituted mechanisms that prevent any one member from remaining in office ad infinitum. In this way, it hopes to develop accountability processes that provide solid examples to its membership as well as to the government of how democratic organizations and governments should run, in practice. At the time of the interviews, immediately preceding one such election, the KSAAF was faced with a conundrum, for the intense lobbying for office among actual and potential leaders had begun to adopt some of the sordid traits of national political campaigns. Concerned about the potentially destructive tone of the elections, prominent personalities within KSAAF acknowledged that it was important to hone cultures of political engagement that are contestatory but not tribal. Tribal politics, they recognize, can again lead to patronage-based relations of accountability. The Social Development Commission The Social Development Commission (SDC) is a government organization whose role is to empower citizens ‘in communities [in order to facilitate] their participation in an integrated, equitable, and sustainable national development process’. One evaluation of the SDC’s performance (Moncrieffe, 2010b) describes a number of challenges: lack of financial and human resources; disjuncture between organizational capacities and vision and the more innovative approaches that are considered critical for

164  Relational Accountability community development; lack of political presence and clout, which is in part a consequence of declining confidence in the organization’s capacities. However, the SDC has substantive experience and is one of the few organizations with close knowledge of localized cultures and power dynamics. Given their officers’ experiences at community level, officials from the SDC indicate that there is a wide array of CBOs, with varying levels and degrees of effectiveness. The more effective CBOs are normally those that have the capacities and skills necessary to sustain membership, regular contact and meaningful activities. Since 1998, the SDC has had an instrumental role in encouraging CBOs to collaborate through Community Development Committees (CDCs).These CDCs should assist with prioritizing community needs and then filter these, first, to a Development Area Committee and then to the Parish Development Committee. The Parish Development Committee, comprising both state and non-state actors, should then work to execute the objectives. This type of decentralized system is common and much has been written on how power can contort its intended functions.With respect to Jamaica, commentators both within and outside of the SDC note: Some of these people consider themselves government over the community. Everything should come through them. This is exacerbated by the fact that especially in poor communities, some people tend to look after themselves first. Sometimes the benefits accrue to families.Therefore, governance issues arise as it is important to ensure that ‘MP behaviour’ is not replicated. Moncrieffe, 2010b: 56 The SDC has also found that the establishment of parallel governance structures is impairing CBO accountability to the citizens, on the one hand, and community development, on the other. For example, the Jamaica Social Investment Fund (JSIF) engages in community contracting through benevolent agencies. Agencies are required to be registered and should comprise 15–21 community members. (Some of the community members who become part of the benevolent agencies are also represented in the CDC.) However, registration denies power to the wider communities; citizens have no recourse for poor performance and are sometimes not included in the process of selecting society members. Problems with accountability have resulted in some areas. As in the case studies of Kenya above, there is the view that: ‘Many of the leaders of these organizations used to criticize state government. Now that they have got themselves in position, they exhibit worse behaviour’ (Moncrieffe, 2010b: 57).

Permeating boundaries?  165 To compound these matters, relations among implementing agencies can be divisive and, therefore, unproductive. Research indicates that the power dynamics and relations across agencies, which may be rooted in inequalities in financial and human resources, shape their capacities to hold each to account, to build more equitable relations within communities and to so facilitate community empowerment that citizens are better positioned to participate actively and responsibility in politics, which necessarily includes holding their representatives to account. There are many examples of how people use these spaces to pursue their political struggles. There are examples, too, of some of the hypocrisies within development, such as people claiming to empower those whom they fundamentally believe should remain disempowered or ‘agents of change’ who capitalize on community relations that have been built up over decades and profoundly distorting these, displaying their prejudices and distrust in the ability and capacities of the communities to do anything for themselves. The interviews revealed that there is intense competition across the agencies. In several conversations, people spoke disparagingly about ‘other’ agencies while, in the process, highlighting the unique nature and effectiveness of their own approach. I enquired about the underlying politics. One respondent explained and most others agreed with the position that: Everybody is running for their own chunk of meat. A lot of people keep talking about their aspirations for the country but these aspirations and the way we go about them are influenced by the legacies of class, race and other inequalities that exist.   Furthermore, every single NGO is battling for scarce resources, instead of pooling resources. Even the most sincere worker can yield to the temptation of pretending that he or she is the most efficient and the best at what he does. Too many are preoccupied with public relations rather than with doing what it takes on the ground. Interview, Stella Maris Foundation cited in Moncrieffe, 2010b As noted, the scramble for funds has splintered organizations, as people try to position themselves in ways that they believe are most appealing to donors. Some of these organizations, various respondents told me, have little knowledge of community realities. What annoys me more than anything else are people who otherwise might be genuine, but are dominated by marketing objectives and are not in touch with the issues on the ground.

166  Relational Accountability   When some of these new organisations come in and assume they are doing something new, they go out and undermine everything that has been done before, causing tremendous disaffection. Interview, Stella Maris Foundation, cited in Moncrieffe, 2010b Successful marketing involves displaying achievements and the potential for achievement; however, this can be done in ways that alienate the community. One respondent explained how this posturing was affecting processes and outcomes. The government sets up task forces and talks about inner-city development. However, when they are making decisions and planning, they exclude the people from the grassroots. How can the government be looking at inner-city programmes and exclude men like me, when we are the ones who are born and grown, inhale and exhale, eat and sleep in the garrisons? Moncrieffe, 2008: 43–4

Dismantling and re-constructing boundaries: summary This chapter does not attempt to provide an exhaustive account of strategies for dismantling the profound boundaries to more equitable relations of accountability; neither does it present a menu of best practices. Instead, the aim is to prompt reflection on the quality of engagement in communities and to candidly question whether the interventions are replicating or dismantling patterns of oppression. I have, necessarily, expanded the analysis to highlight the impact of intra- and inter-agency relations, since the power dynamics and relations in these arenas are also consequential for accountability for the public’s interests. The chapter shows how malformations in citizenship experiences evolve because of long-standing distributive injustices and institutionalized oppressions. It displays the effects of labelling (sometimes fuelled by prejudice and stigma) on relations of accountability at varying levels of policy-making and practice. Importantly, there are accounts that demonstrate that the most successful attempts at dismantling and reconstructing boundaries come from efforts to provide a genuine jumpstart to populations that have suffered historic injustices.These initiatives are based in the seemingly rare belief that all citizens, despite their social standing, deserve equal respect and purposefully equalizing opportunities. Relationships

Permeating boundaries?  167 that are steeped in these principles have better prospects for uprooting the power structures beneath unequal citizenships. However, these are not failsafe methods for there are continual challenges from parties who are accustomed to and profit from societies’ injustices. The problem for relations of accountability is that among these ‘parties’ are public actors who are elected to represent the citizens’ interests; indeed, vulgar contraventions can persist despite the procedural trappings of democracy.

6 Conclusion

Democratic decision-making is usually evaluated using two criteria: (a) the quality of the outcomes of the decisions and (b) the quality of the procedures for making the decisions. Unlike ‘instrumentalists’, who consider the quality of outcomes of procedures to be the sole basis for evaluation and pure proceduralists, who prioritize the quality of procedures, Christiano (2004) proposes that democratic decision-making should be evaluated from both distinct and irreducible perspectives: the ends of the decisionmaking process, particularly, the extent to which decision-making ‘makes justice in society possible’ through equal advancement of interests; and second, the quality of procedures. With respect to the first perspective, Christiano holds a welfarist approach, which is based in principles of equality. Justice requires the advancement of individual interests: no one’s interests and good are more significant than those of others. Social justice involves claims that people can make against each other in order to determine whether the ‘balance of benefits and burdens’ is fair. Correspondingly, justice must be seen to be done or, more precisely, persons should recognize that there is reasonable effort to treat them justly: ‘A principle that cannot be seen by individuals to be implemented or one that does not permit individuals to be able to see that it is not implemented is not able to provide the guidance justice provides’ (Christiano, 2004: 8) There are substantive reasons for publicity (public appreciation that efforts are being made to promote just ends). First, controversies and conflicts may occur where citizens believe that their conceptions of justice are not being considered. Second, when people’s views are included in these ways, they develop a sense of belonging. Third, each person has a fundamental interest in being treated as a person with equal moral standing among his fellow citizens. To be treated in a way that entirely ignores one’s way of perceiving how one is treated

Conclusion  169 constitutes a serious loss of status for a person in a society. A person whose judgment about that society is never taken seriously by others is treated in effect like a child or a madman. Such a person is denied recognition of his or her moral personality. Christiano, 2004: 10 Democratic procedures provide the mechanisms for recognizing and addressing conflicts of interests, through deliberation and the vote. They realize a kind of ‘equality in voting power, equality of opportunities to run for office, and, ideally, equality of opportunities to participate in the processes of negotiation and discussion’. Christiano underscores a key element of representation: ‘an authority that fails to take the points of view of citizens into account runs afoul of powerful considerations of justice even when it acts on the basis of a correct view of what ought to be done’ (2004: 17). Similarly, he outlines standards against which democratic governments can be held accountable: 1 2 3 4 5 6

7

Democratic assemblies have legitimate authority only when they publicly realize justice in themselves or they are instrumentally just. Disenfranchisement of part of the sane adult population is a public violation of equality. Democratic assemblies publicly realize justice in themselves only when their decisions do not publicly violate justice. Therefore, when a democratic assembly votes to disenfranchise some of the population, it does not publicly realize justice in itself. When a democratic assembly votes to disenfranchise some of its members, it does not have legitimate authority. Just as disenfranchisement of part of the adult population publicly violates equality, so enslavement or suspension of the core of their basic liberal rights or some form of radical discrimination against a part of the sane adult population publicly violates equality. Therefore, when a democratic assembly votes to enslave or suspend the core liberal rights or radically discriminate against a part of the sane adult population, it does not publicly realize justice and so does not have legitimate authority. Christiano, 2004: 288

It is possible to expand Christiano’s analysis to focus on the conditions for this participation; for example, the equalizing policies that may be required to ensure that citizens – and certain categories more than others – possess the ability to formulate interests, express and channel them appropriately, defend these interests and monitor representatives to

170  Relational Accountability safeguard against faulty representation of their good. Furthermore, it is worthwhile to extend the standards he outlines for a number of reasons. Among them, formal votes for exclusion may be rare but there are many informal avenues for effectively disenfranchising segments of the population. Structural injustice, which may be deeply rooted in history, can perpetuate exclusions in the absence of specific efforts for redress through what Hayward (2009) describes as proactive representation. Institutional remedies alone are entirely inadequate for tackling the injustices that skew relations of accountability. Young (1990) emphasizes that justice must involve more than distribution: ‘Social justice means the elimination of institutional domination and oppression’ (Young, 1990: 15); domination and oppression are not merely or, in most cases, primarily material; domination and oppression are also relational.

Relational accountability: an overview of the main arguments The preceding discussion provides a fitting starting point for summarizing the main themes that this book intends to develop and present. In Chapter 1, ‘Accountability: ideas, ideals, constraints’, I started by contrasting some of the core democratic values of the ancient Athenian republics with those that developed under modern representative governments. I focused, particularly, on the changing meanings of equality, for while only certain categories of citizens were considered fit to participate in public decision-making, the principle of lot, with its ‘deep distrust of political professionalism’ allowed for ‘the equal right to speak in the Assembly’; ‘an equal share in the power exercised by the assembled people’; ‘an equal probability of exercising the functions that were performed by a smaller number of citizens’ (Manin, 1997). In modern representative governments, participation has broadened considerably, in large part the outcome of social movements for inclusion. However, it would scarcely be an exaggeration to conclude that many modern representative governments have lost the spirit of equality in another important sense: as Manin (1997) has emphasized, by the time representative government was established, political equality and citizenship had assumed new meanings. In place of the equal right to hold office, citizens now had the equal right to consent to power. Furthermore, while the ancient republics blatantly excluded some categories of persons on the basis that they were unworthy of citizenship, in modern representative governments, the exclusions and adverse forms of incorporation are less conspicuous. For example, formal procedures, such as elections, may appear to encourage equal voice while, in reality, inequalities and

Conclusion  171 injustice can prejudice voice. Where the focus remains primarily on the technical efficiencies of the formal institutions, it is difficult to grasp and evaluate the real content and effects of the underpinning social and political processes. It is against this background that I proposed to analyse accountability and to stress the value of incorporating relational perspectives. In the first chapter, I reviewed conventional approaches to understanding accountability, ex-ante and ex-post, and discussed some of the familiar inherent and contingent limitations (such as the fallibility of constitutional safeguards, the porosity of electoral procedures and problems resulting from the knowledge gap between the elected and the electorate). I noted that accountability mechanisms and processes are also coloured by their social and cultural contexts – including historic patterns of meanings, power dynamics and relations and ingrained social injustices – and, on this basis, underscored the poverty of procedural and asocial interpretations of the concept. Relational approaches, I concluded, ‘supply a critical human and society-centred lens to interpretations of accountability’. Starting from the basis that people are, primarily, social creatures and actors, relational approaches recognize that wellbeing, freedoms, capacities, willingness to act as well as the quality of political involvement also depend on social relationships. To that end, cultures and/or patterns of meanings are pertinent, as are the differential structures and processes that help to shape them. Among these structures and processes are the availability of resources; levels and types of technology and knowledge; modes of production and the structures and relationships of power that are generated to manage them; inherited philosophies, including religion; people’s perceptions of their and [others’] place and space in society and the world; and mechanisms and types of socialization. UNFPA, 2008: 12 Significantly, these cultivated patterns of meanings influence relations of accountability at all levels. For example, they can provide the lens through which the elected perceives and serves differing categories of the electorate; they can also help to condition how varying segments see their roles and potential as citizens. Democratic institutions may be designed in ways that contain the more harmful dispositions and actions; they may also be shaped in ways that overlook and/or perpetuate injustice, inequalities and punishing experiences of citizenship, perhaps for some as opposed to others. Here, relational approaches are significant for they go beyond interpretations of the concept that focus, predominantly, on checks and balances and on monitoring and evaluation to explore, with a view to

172  Relational Accountability addressing, the processes and power relations that prop up cultures of inequalities and injustice. The second chapter, ‘“Citizenships” and relational accountability’, reviews a selection of key theories on citizenship and interjects some current empirical material on people’s differing experiences of it. It uses this approach to demonstrate the varying cultures and/or patterns of meaning that emerge from and influence citizenship experiences as well as the mixed implications for relations of accountability. The chapter stresses two key points: 1 2

Citizenship experiences are differentiated across and within societies. Diversities in conceptualizations and experiences of citizenship have direct bearing on understandings of accountability and its exercise. Accountability, like citizenship, is relational; it is contingent on the relationships that are cultivated among state and non-state actors, among non-state actors as well as within groups. The nature of these relationships depends, in turn, on history, cultures, structures, space, inequalities, perceptions of inequalities and the forms of engagement that are ‘legitimized’ as a consequence; critically, it is also dependent on power dynamics and relations.

Chapter 3, ‘Power, citizenships and inequalities of accountability’, concentrates, specifically, on the roles of power in defining citizenships and cultivating relations of accountability. Here, theory is combined with case examples in order to bring the dynamics of power to life.This chapter serves as a reminder that cultures/contextual patterns of meaning do not simply materialize; they are, in some part, honed through the overt and covert ways in which power performs, including how people come to conceptualize themselves. Ingrained power has substantial weight on how persons engage as citizens. I have underlined the point that relations of accountability are cultivated from childhood. In sum, it should not, for example, be anticipated that children who are schooled in conditions of injustice and who may have come to accept differing perceptions on their positions and possibilities will then assume that they have equal political rights. The political and the social are not disjointed in this way.The chapter concludes by reinforcing Batliwala’s (1994) position: empowerment strategies must tackle the ideologies that justify inequalities; the prevailing patterns of access to and control over economic, natural and intellectual resources; and the institutions and structures that reinforce and sustain existing power structures. Significantly, empowerment strategies, or – more specifically – building capacity for accountability, must also respond to some of the ingrained perceptions that limit the exercise of accountability and/or skew

Conclusion  173 the exercise of accountability in very unproductive ways, such as by holding one group to account as opposed to others on the basis of class, race and other points of seemingly favourable or unfavourable differences. In Chapter 4, ‘Power, citizenships and distorted accountabilities’, I revisit the critical question of how democratic citizens are cultivated. I note that citizenships, which include relations of accountability, can be fashioned in ways that threaten the very fabric of democracy and that distort the life chances of particular categories of persons; furthermore, such distortions in human development can persist across generations.This is a troubling chapter, which brings into full view some of the perversities that can occur deep within democracies, despite the existence of wellestablished and seemingly functioning institutions. In this chapter, children and youth provide first-hand accounts of how social conditioning and the formal and informal rules of the game shape opportunities and spaces for participation. As Young (1990: 22) puts it, ‘they condition people’s ability to participate in determining their actions and their ability to develop and exercise their capacities.’ Social conditioning also influences how people learn and opt to respond. In that regard, it is worth reiterating here that the life stories point to the dangers of overlooking and/or underestimating routes to power among those categorized as powerless, in this case not only the urban inner-city communities on the whole, but more so the children. They show that the presumed powerless can draw from the lessons (meaning the lived realities) of their contexts to wield power in the niches they know and in the manner they know. Bourdieu’s concept of habitus and Hayward’s (2000) ‘actions upon boundaries to action’ are not necessarily incongruent, though they might first appear so, for while habitus connotes a certain level of addiction to social conditioning, it does not suggest non-action. Rather, Bourdieu leads us to conclude that people act with the tools of their social conditioning. However, contrary to the labels, social conditioning in the inner cities is not uni-directional. Within the spatial boundaries of these ‘communities’ are diverse families with diverse experiences, backgrounds and visions. Correspondingly, the children and young people within these contexts exercise their power in diverse ways. As young people reflect, some have recognized how early socialization within their families helped them to make alternative choices when presented with real opportunities (not merely a chance but a condition of enablement). It is clear that the quality of citizenships, including relations of accountability, is affected by these less tangible but potent factors. Against this background, I use Chapter 5, ‘Permeating boundaries?’, to examine a selection of interventions that are, in principle, designed to improve citizens’ capacities for engagement. I query whether the approaches to the interventions and the actual content of the programmes

174  Relational Accountability are consistent with remedying inequalities and injustice and with promoting more equitable relations of accountability. In other terms: what is the quality of exposure? Further, what sorts of actions and approaches to action are required to permeate and dismantle the multiple and overlapping boundaries to more equitable relations of accountability? With respect to the latter question, there is no attempt to supply a ready menu of solutions; rather, the emphasis is on demonstrating the sorts of issues that relational approaches, using a lens of justice, would raise. Using case examples from Jamaica, the chapter highlights the boundaries of an education system which focuses on distribution and effectively sustains mal-distribution to such an extent that education perpetuates the oppressions of particular classes and reproduces inequalities in relations of accountability across generations. It describes the constraints to accountability that exist within the agencies that are charged with providing education and notes that these are not merely technical in nature; there are also limits that are inherent in the quality of relationships among the actors who make checks and balances work (or not). The chapter notes, too, that there are substantive gaps in understanding the history of the power plays within and across agencies, as well as their effects on policy and practice. Furthermore, there is inadequate know-how of the culturesensitive approaches that are required to permeate institutions and build internal organizational relations which better support accountability to all, not just some, citizens. Education, on its own, is critical for improving relations of accountability. However, it is important for purposes of accountability that this education is linked to building knowledge of citizenship, particularly of ‘the mutual relationships of accountability that people should, ideally, expect and contribute to as citizens within democracies’. On this, the chapter concludes: ‘while there are inadequate didactic lessons on rights, participation and accountability, there are ample informal messages on how ingrained inequalities and long-standing injustices shape them (rights, participation and accountability), in practice.’ Some of these informal messages come from approaches to improving human security, where adverse forms of labelling can prejudice relations of accountability at varying levels of policy-making and practice. Labelling and distancing can build caricatures. The chapter shows that labelling communities as entirely powerless to transform their circumstances is unfortunate because this perception can ‘legitimize’ a top-down approach to building relations of accountability that is dehumanizing both in content and in outcomes. Indeed, denying people the effective capacity

Conclusion  175 to participate in government does not preclude them forming their own governments, with more visible forms of accountability. These parallel governments may involve their own oppressions but some citizens may choose to endure these because these are oppressions that they understand and can negotiate. Thus, multiple accountabilities and obligatory relationships form, which can compete with and confound the ideals of democratic accountability. Invariably, the most successful attempts at intervening in these contexts have resulted from approaches that are genuinely committed to achieving justice in processes of engagement and in outcomes. What does social justice require in these contexts? On this, the introductory discussions above have special significance for, as the practitioners’ accounts attest, social justice (particularly for reversing starkly unequal relations of accountability) involves and requires more than distribution of benefits. As Young (1990: 16) explains: The distributive paradigm defines social justice as the morally proper distribution of social benefits and burdens among society’s members. Paramount among these are wealth, income, and other material resources. The distributive definition of justice often includes, however, non material social goods such as rights, opportunity, power and self respect. The challenging question is how to ‘distribute’ non-material social goods (such as rights, opportunity, power and self-respect) so as to cultivate more equitable relations of accountability. Here, I demonstrate the importance of a relational perspective, which conceives the right to participate, for example, not as a possession but as dependent on relationships and on power; or that regards opportunities, such as for exercising accountability, not simply as ‘chances’ for action but, as Young (1990) defines, ‘a condition[s] of enablement, which usually involve a configuration of social rules and social relations, as well as an individual’s self-conception and skills’. Accordingly, the chapter challenges state and non-state actors who approach citizens – and particular groups more than others – as objects to be taught at a distance rather than engaged in equalizing dialogue. Dialogue, Freire (1970: 69) reminds us is the encounter between men, mediated by the world in order to name the world. Hence, dialogue cannot occur between those who want to name the world and those who do not wish its naming – between those who deny others the right to speak their word and those whose right to speak has been denied them. Those who have

176  Relational Accountability been denied their primordial right to speak their word must first reclaim this right and prevent the continuation of this dehumanizing aggression.

Summary thoughts This book emphasizes what many practitioners already know: a humanand society-centred approach is necessary for improving accountability processes and outcomes. Accountability is a popular concept that is proposed seriously, but not often exactly, as the solution for the ills of government and the remedy for bureaucratic failures. However, when it is subject to deeper evaluation, it loses its apparent simplicity. Accountability will remain abstract and non-transformative until the implications of its relational dimension are understood.Then, we can begin to accept that by conceptualizing citizens as persons with equal right to consent to power rather than equal right to hold office (Manin, 1997), modern representative governments have lost a fundamental overarching equalizing principle. There is no necessary disjuncture between the relational and the technical approaches to building accountability (crafting appropriate institutions and mechanisms for accountability and redistributing resources in order to improve capabilities). Relational approaches do not discount the value of such initiatives but question whether and how institutions and mechanisms are just; whether there is justice in decision-making procedures; justice in education and opportunities and whether the democratic system fosters justice in vision. The principles of justice and equality are key for cultivating more equitable relations of accountability, which are critical for human development and necessary for the stability of democracies. While life is characterized by growth in a structured, functional manner, the necrophilous person loves all that does not grow, all that is mechanical. The necrophilous person is driven by the desire to transform the organic into the inorganic, to approach life mechanically, as if all living persons were things. … Memory, rather than experience; having, rather than being, is what counts. The necrophilous person can relate to an object – a flower or a person – only if he possesses it; hence a threat to his possession is a threat to himself; if he loses possession, he loses contact with the world … He loves control and in the act of control, he kills life. Cited in Freire, 1970: 58

Bibliography

Abah, S. and Okwori, J.Z. (2005) ‘A Nation in Search of Citizens: Problems of Citizenship in the Nigerian Context’, in N. Kabeer (ed.), Inclusive Citizenship: Meanings and Expressions, London and New York: Zed Books. Ake, C. (1993) ‘Rethinking African Democracy’, in L. Diamond and M. Plattner (eds), The Global Resurgence of Democracy, Baltimore, MD and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Babb, K.C. (2002) ‘Overcoming Race Division to Maximize Our Agency: The Caribbean Women’s Movement’, Report for the World Conference Against Racism. Bachrach, P. and Baratz, M.S. (1962) ‘The Two Faces of Power’, American Political Science Review,Vol. 56, pp. 1947–52. Bachrach, P. and Baratz, M.S. (1970) Power and Poverty: Theory and Practice, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Banda, F. and Chinkin, C. (2004) Gender, Minorities and Indigenous Peoples, London: Minority Rights Group International. Barber, B. (1984) Strong Democracy: Participatory Politics for a New Age, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Barnes, B. (2000) Understanding Agency: Social Theory and Responsible Action, London: Sage. Batliwala, S. (1994) ‘The Meaning of Women’s Empowerment: New Concepts from Action’, in G. Sen, A. Germaine and L.C. Chen (eds), Population Policies Reconsidered: Health, Empowerment, and Rights, Cambridge, MA: Harvard Center for Population and Development Studies. Baunrind, D. (1972) ‘An Exploratory Study of Socialization Effects on Black Children’, Child Development,Vol. 72, pp. 261–7. Bayart, J.-F. (2009) The State in Africa: The Politics of the Bell, Cambridge: Polity Press. Bebbington, A.J., Dani, A.A., de Haan, A. and Walton, M. (eds) (2008) Institutional Pathways to Equity: Addressing Inequality Traps, Washington, DC: World Bank. Beetham, D. (1985) Max Weber and the Theory of Modern Politics, Cambridge: Polity Press. Beetham, D. (1987) Bureaucracy, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

178  Relational Accountability Beiner, R. (1995) ‘Why Citizenship Constitutes a Theoretical Problem in the Last Decade of the Twentieth Century’, in R. Beiner (ed.), Theorising Citizenship, Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Bellamy, R. and Palumbo, A. (2010) Political Accountability, Aldershot: Ashgate. Berkman, L.F. (1995) ‘The Role of Social Relations in Health Promotion’, Psychosomatic Research,Vol. 57, p.p 245–54. Berlin, I. (2002) ‘Two Concepts of Liberty’, in H. Hardy (ed.), Liberty, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bessette, J. (1980) ‘Deliberative Democracy:The Majority Principle in Republican Government’, in How Democratic is the Constitution?,Washington, DC: AEI Press. Bessette, J. (1994) The Mild Voice of Reason: Deliberative Democracy and American National Government, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bird, K. (2007) The Integenerational Transmission of Poverty: An Overview, CPRC Working Paper 99, Manchester: Chronic Poverty Research Centre. Blattberg, C. (2003) ‘Patriotic, Not Deliberative, Democracy’, Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy,Vol. 6, No. 1, pp. 155–74. Bourdieu, P. (1980) The Logic of Practice, Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Bovens, M. (1998) The Quest for Responsibility: Accountability and Citizenships in Complex Organisations, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, L. (1954) ‘The Social Differentiation of Jamaica’, American Sociological Review,Vol. 19, No. 2 (April), pp. 115–25. Calhoun, C. (ed.) (1992) Habermas and the Public Sphere, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Caribbean Child Development Centre (2010) ‘Situation of the Promotion and Protection of the Rights of Children and Adolescents in Jamaica’, Unpublished report. Chabal, P. and Daloz, J.P. (1988) Culture Troubles: Politics and the Interpretation of Meaning, London: Hurst and Company. Chabal, P. and Daloz, J.P. (1999) Africa Works: Disorder as Political Instrument, Oxford: James Currey. Cheibub, J.A. and Przeworski, A. (1999) ‘Democracy, Elections and Accountability for Economic Outcomes’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cheru, F. (2001) ‘Overcoming Apartheid’s Legacy: The Ascendancy of Neoliberalism in South Africa’s Anti-Poverty Strategy’, Third World Quarterly, Vol. 22, pp. 505–27. Chevannes, B. (2001) Learning to be a Man: Culture, Socialization and Gender Identity in Five Caribbean Communities, Kingston: The University of the West Indies Press. Christiano, T. (2004) ‘The Authority of Democracy’, Journal of Political Philosophy, Vol. 12, No. 3, pp. 266–90. Cohen, J. (1989) ‘Deliberative Democracy and Democratic Legitimacy’, in A. Hamlin and P. Pettit (eds), The Good Polity, Oxford: Blackwell. Cornwall, A. and Gaventa, J. (2000) ‘From Users and Choosers to Makers and Shapers: Re-positioning Participation in Social Policy’, IDS Bulletin, Vol. 31, No 4, pp. 50–62.

Bibliography  179 Crenshaw, K. (1991) ‘Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics and Violence against Women of Color’, Stanford Law Review,Vol. 43, pp. 1241–79. Crisp, B.F. (1997) ‘Presidential Behavior in a System with Strong Parties:Venezuela 1958–1995’, in S. Mainwaring and M.S. Shugart (eds), Presidentialism and Democracy in Latin America, New York: Cambridge University Press. Cross, M. (1996) ‘East Indian–Creole Relations in Trinidad and Guiana in the Late Nineteenth Century’, in D. Dabydeen and B. Samaroo (eds), Across the Dark Waters: Ethnicity and Indian Identity on the Caribbean, London: Macmillan. Dahl, R. (1971) Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Dasgupta, P. (1993) An Inquiry into Well-Being and Destitution, Oxford: Clarendon Press. David, P. (1992) Path Dependence in Economic Processes: Implications for Policy in Dynamical System Contexts, Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. David, P. (1994) ‘Why are Institutions the Carriers of History? Path Dependence and the Evolution of Conventions, Organisations and Institutions’, Structural Change and Economic Dynamics,Vol. 5, pp. 205–10. Davies, O. and Witter, M. (1989) ‘The Development of the Jamaican Economy since Independence’ in R. Nettleford (ed.), Jamaica in Independence: Essays on the Early Years, London: Heinemann. De la Fuente, A. (2001) ‘The Resurgence of Racism in Cuba’, NACLA Report on the Americas,Vol. 34, No. 6, May–June. Devereux, S. (2002) Conceptualizing Destitution, IDS Working Paper 216, Brighton: IDS. Diamond, L. (1993) ‘Three Paradoxes of Democracy’, in L. Diamond and M. Plattner (eds), The Global Resurgence of Democracy, Baltimore, MD and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Dill, K. (2001) ‘The Role of the Human Rights Commission: The Bermuda Experience’, Paper for the Cayman Islands Human Rights Conference, 10–14 September 2001. Dunn, J. (1969) The Political Thought of John Locke, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dunn, J. (1986) ‘The Politics of Representation and Good Government’, in P. Chabal (ed.), Political Domination in Africa: Reflections on the Limits of Power, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dunn, J. (1999) ‘Situating Democratic Political Accountability’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dwivedi, O.P. (1994) Development Administration, London: Macmillan. Edie, C.J. (1991) Democracy by Default: Dependency and Clientelism in Jamaica, Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers. Ekeh, P.P. (1975) ‘Colonialism and the Two Publics in Africa: A Theoretical Statement’, Comparative Studies in Society and History,Vol. 17, pp. 91–112. Elster, J. (1999) ‘Accountability in Athenian Politics’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

180  Relational Accountability Eyben, R. (2004) ‘Political and Social Inequality: a Review’, Development Bibliography, 20, Brighton: IDS, pp. 32–9. Fabre, C. and Miller, D. (2003) ‘Justice and Culture: Rawls, Sen, Nussbaum and O’Neill’, Political Studies Review,Vol. 1, No. 1, pp. 4–17. Fajnzylber, J. et al. (1999) ‘Inequality and Violent Crime’, Journal of Law and Economics,Vol. 45, No. 1, pp. 1–40. Fanon, F. (1963) The Wretched of the Earth, New York: Grove Press. Farrar, C. (1988) The Origins of Democratic Thinking: The Invention of Politics in Classical Athens, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ferejohn, J. (1999) ‘Accountability and Authority: Toward a Theory of Political Accountability’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ferreira, I. and Roque, R. (2010) ‘Building Democracy and Citizenship at the Local Level: the Núcleo Representativo das Associações do Dombe Grande’ in V. S.P. Coelho and B. von Lieres (eds), Mobilizing for Democracy: Citizen Action and the Politics of Public Participation, London: Zed Books. Figueroa, M. and Sives, A. (2002) ‘Homogenous Voting, Electoral Manipulation and the “Garrison” Process in Post-Independence Jamaica’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics,Vol. 40, No. 1, pp. 81–108. Foucault, M. (1972) The Archeology of Knowledge, transl. A.M.Sheridan-Smith, London: Tavistock. Foucault, M. (1977) Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, New York: Pantheon. Foucault, M. (1980) Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972– 77, ed. C. Gordon, Brighton: Harvester. Foucault, M. (1990) The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1: An Introduction, New York: Vintage. Fox, J. (1996) ‘How Does Civil Society Thicken? The Political Construction of Social Capital in Mexico’, World Development,Vol. 24, No. 6, pp. 1089–103. Fraser, N. (1997) Justice Interruptus, New York: Routledge. Friedrich, C.J. (1996) ‘Public Policy and the Nature of Administrative Responsibility’, in J. Cohen and A. Fung (eds), Constitution, Democracy and State Power:The Institutions of Justice,Volume 4, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Freire, P. (1970) Pedagogy of the Oppressed, London: Penguin Books. Freire, P. (2005) Education for Critical Consciousness, London: Continuum. Fromm, E. (1966) The Heart of Man, New York: Harper and Row. Fung, A. (2003) ‘Associations and Democracy: Between Theories, Hopes and Realities’, Annual Review of Sociology,Vol. 29, pp. 515–39. Fung,A. and Wright, E.O. (2001) ‘Deepening Democracy: Innovations in Empowered Participatory Governance’, Politics and Society,Vol. 29, no. 1, pp. 5–41. Gaventa, J. (2006) ‘Finding the Spaces for Change; a Power Analysis’, IDS Bulletin, Vol. 37, No. 6, pp. 23–33. Geertz, C. (1973) The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, New York: Basic Books. Gibbons,A. (n.d.) ‘Ethnicity and the Democratic Challenge’,The Sixth Walter Rodney Memorial Lecture, Centre for Caribbean Studies, University of Warwick.

Bibliography  181 Giddens, A. (1982) Profiles and Critiques in Social Theory, Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Giddens, A. (1984) The Constitution of Society, Cambridge: Polity Press. Gilbert, P. (1992) Depression:The Evolution of Powerlessness, Hove: Erlbaum. Gilbert, P.S. et al. (1996) ‘Parental Representations, Shame, Interpersonal Problems, and Vulnerability to Psychopathology’, Clinical Psychology and Psychotherapy,Vol. 3, No. 1, pp. 23–34. Gilligan, J. (2000) Violence: Reflections on Our Deadliest Epidemic (Forensic Focus), London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Gilligan, J. (2001) Preventing Violence: Prospects for Tomorrow, New York: Thames & Hudson. Goetz, A. and Jenkins, R. (2005) Reinventing Accountability: Making Democracy Work for Human Development, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Goffman, E. (1959) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, New York: Anchor Books. Goffman, E. (1963) Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity, Engelwood Cliffs: Prentice Hall. Golden, T. and Edgerton, A. (2003) ‘Forgotten People: The Batwa Pygmy of the Great Lakes Region’, Refugees International. Gould, C. (1988) Rethinking Democracy: Freedom and Social Cooperation in Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gray, O. (1991) Radicalism and Social Change in Jamaica 1960–72, Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press. Gray, O. (2004) Demeaned but Empowered: The Social Power of the Urban Poor in Jamaica, Kingston: University of the West Indies Press. Greig, A. (2009) ‘Troublesome Masculinities: Masculinity in Trouble in Practice’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 40, No. 1. Guy Peters, B. (1995) The Politics of Bureaucracy, New York: Longman. Habermas, J. (1998) The Inclusion of the Other, trans. by C. Cronin and P. De Greiff, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Halisi, C.R.D., Kaiser, P.J. and Ndegwa, S.N. (1998) Rethinking Citizenship in Africa, Edited volume of country case studies, special double issue of Africa Today,Vol. 45, Nos. 3 and 4 (December). Harrigan, J. (1995) ‘Jamaica: Mature Democracy but Questionable Accountability’, in J. Healey and W. Tordoff (eds), Votes and Budgets: Comparative Studies in Accountable Governance in the South, London: Macmillan. Harrington, J. (1992) The Commonwealth of Oceana and a System of Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harriot, A. (2000) Police and Crime Control in Jamaica, Kingston: University of the West Indies Press. Haugaard, M. (2002) Power: A Reader, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Hausermann, J. (1998) A Human Rights Approach to Development, London: Rights and Humanity. Hawthorn, G. (1993) ‘How to Ask for Good Government’, IDS Bulletin, Vol. 24, No. 1, pp. 24–30. Hayward, C.R. (2000) De-Facing Power, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

182  Relational Accountability Hayward, C.R. (2009) ‘Making Interest: On Representation and Democratic Legitimacy’, in I. Shapiro, S. Stokes, E.J. Wood and A. Kirshner (eds), Political Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Headley, B. (2002) Essays on Crime and the Politics of Jamaica, Kingston: LMH Publishing. Headley, B. (2005) Deported,Volume 1, Kingston: Stephensons Litho Press. Heater, D. (1999) What is Citizenship? Malden, MA: Polity Press. Held, D. (1987) Models of Democracy, Cambridge: Polity Press/Blackwell. Herbst, J. (2000) States and Power in Africa: Comparative Lessons in Authority and Control, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Hope, D. (2006) Inna di Dancehall: Popular Culture and the Politics of Identity in Jamaica, Kingston: University of the West Indies Press. Hossain, N. and Moore, M. (2002) Arguing for the Poor: Elites and Poverty in Developing Countries, Working Paper 148, Institute for Development Studies, Sussex. Hunter, F. (1953) Community Power Structure: A Study of Decision-makers, Chapel Hill: North Carolina Press. Ikpe, U.B. (2009) ‘The Impact of Manipulated Re-elections on Accountability and Legitimacy of Democratic Regimes in Africa: Observations from Nigeria, Zambia and Kenya’, African Journal of Political Science and International Relations, Vol. 3, No. 7, pp. 300–10. Isin, E. and Wood, P. (1999) Citizenship and Identity, London: Sage Jenkins, R. (2004) Social Identity, London: Routledge. Jenkins, R.S. (1995) ‘Liberal Democracy and the Political Management of Structural Adjustment in India: Conceptual Tensions in the Good Government Agenda’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 26, pp. 37–48. Johnson, N. (1974) ‘Defining Accountability’, Public Administration,Vol. 17, pp. 3–13. Jordan, L. and van Tuijl, P. (eds) (2006) NGO Accountability: Politics, Principles and Innovations, London: Earthscan. Jung, C. (2009) ‘Critical Liberalism’ in I. Shapiro, S. Stokes, E.J. Wood and A. Kirshner (eds), Political Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kabananuyke, K. and Wily, L. (1996) ‘Report on a Study of the Abayanda (Batwa) Pygmies of the Great Lakes of Southwest Uganda’, Prepared for the Mgahinga and Bwindi Impenetrable Forest Conservation Trust, Kampala. Kabeer, N. (ed.) (2005) Inclusive Citizenship: Meanings and Expressions, London and New York: Zed Books. Kabeer, N. and Mahmud, S. (2009) ‘Imagining the Future: Children, Education and Intergenerational Transmissions of Poverty in Urban Bangladesh’, IDS Bulletin, Vol. 40, No. 1, pp. 10–21. Kaufman, M. (1988) ‘Democracy and Social Transformation in Jamaica’, Social and Economic Studies,Vol. 37, pp. 45–71. Keith, N.W. and Keith, N.Z. (1992) The Social Origins of Democratic Socialism in Jamaica, Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Kennedy, B.P. et al. (1997) ‘Disrespect and Black Mortality’, Ethnicity and Disease, Vol. 7, pp. 207–17. Kennedy, B.P et al. (1998) ‘Income Inequality, Social Capital and Firearm Related Violent Crime’, Social Science and Medicine,Vol. 47, pp. 7–17.

Bibliography  183 Keystone (2006) Downward Accountability to ‘Beneficiaries’: NGO and Donor Perspectives, accessed at http://www.hapinternational.org/pool/files/downward-accountability-to-beneficiaries-keystone-study.pdf Kimmel, P. (2006) ‘Culture and Conflict’, in M. Deutsch, P. Coleman and E. Marcus (eds), The Handbook of Conflict Resolution, San Francisco: John Wiley. Knutsson, K.E. (2005) ‘Without Culture, No Sustainable Development: Some Reflections on the Topic for the Stjernsund Semina’. Kymlicka, W. and Norman, W. (2010) ‘Return of the Citizen: A Survey of Recent Work on Citizenship Theory’, in R. Bellamy and A. Palumbo (eds), Citizenship, Aldershot: Ashgate. Lancaster, C. (1992) ‘Governance and Development: The Views from Washington’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 24, pp. 9–15. Leslie, G. (2010) ‘Confronting the Don: The Political Economy of Gang Violence in Jamaica’, Occasional Paper, Small Arms Survey, Graduate Institute of International and Development Studies, Geneva. Leventhal, T. (2000) ‘The Neighbourhoods They Live In’, Psychological Bulletin,Vol. 126, No. 2, pp. 309–37. Levy, H. et al. (1996) They Cry ‘Respect’: Urban Violence and Poverty in Jamaica, Kingston: Centre of Population, Community and Social Change. Lewis, J. (2000) The Batwa Pygmies of the Great Lakes Region, London: Minority Rights Group International. Lijphart, A. (1984). Democracies: Patterns of Majoritarian and Consensus Government in Twenty-one Countries, New Haven:Yale University Press. Lijphart, A. (ed.) (1992) Parliamentary versus Presidential Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Linz, J.J., Stepan, A. and Yadav, Y. (2003) ‘Nation State’ or ‘State Nation’? Conceptual Reflections and Some Spanish, Belgian and Indian Data, Draft Human Development Report, UNDP. Lister, R. (1997) ‘Citizenship: Towards Feminist Synthesis’, Feminist Review,Vol. 57, Autumn, pp. 28–48. Locke, J. (1988) Two Treatises of Civil Government, 3rd Edition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lonsdale, J (1986), ‘Political Accountability in African History’, in P. Chabal (ed.), Political Domination in Africa: Reflections on the Limits of Power, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 126–57. Lonsdale, J. (1994) ‘Moral Ethnicity and Political Tribalism’, in P. Kaarsholm and J. Hultin (eds), Inventions and Boundaries: Historical and Anthropological Approaches to the Study of Ethnicity and Nationalism, Institute for Development Studies, Roskilde University. Lukes, S. (1974) Power: A Radical View, London: Macmillan. MacDonald, M. (1996) ‘Power Politics in the New South Africa’, Journal of Southern African Studies,Vol. 22, pp. 221–3. McKnight, F. (1996) ‘Ethnicity and Social Structure in Contemporary Cuba’, in G. Oostinde (ed.), Ethnicity in the Caribbean, London: Macmillan. McLean, A. with Blake-Lobban, S. (2009) ‘Assessment of Community Security and Transformation Programmes in Jamaica’, Report for UNDP.

184  Relational Accountability Madison, J., Hamilton, A. and Jay, J. (1987) The Federalist Papers, London: Penguin Books. Mamdani, M. (1997) Citizen and Subject:
Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Manin, B. (1997) The Principles of Representative Government, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Manin, B., Przeworski, A. and Stokes, S. (1999) ‘Introduction’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds.), Democracy, Accountability, and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–26. Mann, M. (1987) ‘Ruling Class Strategies and Citizens’, Sociology, Vol. 21, pp. 339–54. Mann, M. (2010) ‘Ruling Class Strategies and Citizenship’, in R. Bellamy and A. Palumbo (eds), Citizenship, Aldershot: Ashgate. Marshall,T.H. and Bottomore,T. (1992) Citizenship and Social Class, London: Pluto Press. Mauss, M. (2002) The Gift, London: Routledge. Merry, S.E. (2001) ‘Changing Rights, Changing Culture’, in J. Cowan (ed.), Culture and Rights: Anthropological Perpectives, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 31–256. Migdal, J. (ed.) (2004) Boundaries and Belonging: States and Societies in the Struggle to Shape Identities and Local Practices, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Miller, D. (1995) ‘Citizenship and Pluralism’, Political Studies,Vol. 64, pp. 432–50. Moncrieffe, J. (1998) ‘Reconceptualizing Political Accountability’, International Political Science Review,Vol. 19, No. 4, pp. 387–406. Moncrieffe, J. (1999) ‘Accountability: Principle, Practice and Implications’, Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Cambridge, UK. Moncrieffe, J. (2001) ‘Accountability: Idea, Ideals, Constraints’, Democratization,Vol. 8, No. 3, pp. 26–50. Moncrieffe, J. (2004a) ‘Beyond Categories: Power, Recognition and the Conditions for Equity’, Background Paper for the World Development Report 2006, London: Overseas Development Institute. Moncrieffe, J. (2004b) ‘Ethnic Diversity and State Response in the Caribbean’, Background Paper for the Human Development Report 2004, London: Overseas Development Institute. Moncrieffe, J. (2008) ‘Making and Unmaking the Shotta (Shooter): Boundaries and Counter-actions in the Garrisons’, IDS Working Paper No. 297, Brighton: IDS. Moncrieffe, J. (2009) ‘Introduction: Intergenerational Transmissions Cultivating Children’s Agency’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 40, No. 1. Moncrieffe, J. (2010a) ‘Final Report, Impact and Sustainability Study for the Kingston Urban Renewal Project (Parade Gardens)’, Commissioned by the Jamaica Business Development Corporation and the World Bank. Moncrieffe, J. (2010b) ‘Poverty Reduction Programme II, Technical Assistance –Non-state Actors Assessment Study’, Final Report for JSIF and the EU, Kingston Jamaica Social Investment Fund.

Bibliography  185 Moncrieffe, J. and Eyben, R. (2007) The Power of Labelling: How People are Categorized and Why it Matters, London: Earthscan. Moore, M. (2001) Types of Political Systems: A Practical Framework for DFID Staff, London: DFID. Moreno-James, C. (2007) ‘Do Competitive Elections Produce Better-Quality Governments? Evidence From Mexican Municipalities, 1990–2000’, Latin American Research Review,Vol. 42, No. 2, pp. 137–53. Mouffe, C. (1992) ‘Feminism, Citizenship and Radical Democratic Politics’, in J. Butler and J.W. Scott (eds), Feminists Theorize the Political, NewYork: Routledge. Mouffe, C. (1993) The Return of the Political, London: Verso. Mudimbe, V.Y. (1988) The Invention of Africa: Gnosis, Philosophy and the Order of Knowledge, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Munroe,T. (1972) The Politics of Constitutional Decolonization, Institute of Social and Economic Research, Kingston, Jamaica. Musembi, C.N. (2010) ‘Have Civil Society Organizations’ Political Empowerment Programmes Contributed to a Deepening of Democracy in Kenya?’, in V.S.P. Coelho and B. von Lieres (eds), Mobilizing for Democracy: Citizen Action and the Politics of Public Participation, London: Zed Books. National Committee on Political Tribalism (1997) Report of the National Committee on Political Tribalism (Under the Chairmanship of Justice James Kerr), July, Kingston Jamaica Nattrass, N. and Seekings, J. (2001) ‘Democracy and Distribution in Highly Unequal Economies: The Case of South Africa’, Journal of Modern African Studies,Vol. 39, pp. 471–98. Navarro, Z. (2006) ‘In Search of a Cultural Interpretation of Power: The Contribution of Pierre Bourdieu’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 37, No. 5, pp. 11–21. Nedelsky, J. (1988) ‘American Constitutionalism and the Paradox of Private Property’, in Elster, J. and Slagstad, R. (eds), Constitutionalism and Democracy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Newell, P. and Wheeler, J. (eds) (2006) Rights, Resources and the Politics of Accountability, London: Zed Books. Nino, C.S. (1996) The Constitution of Deliberative Democracy, New Haven: Yale University Press. Nussbaum, M. (1995) ‘Human Capabilities, Female Human Beings’, in Nussbaum, M. and Glover, J. (eds), Women, Culture and Development: A Study of Human Capabilities, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Nussbaum, M. (2003) ‘The Complexity of Groups: A Comment on Jorge Valadez’, Philosophy and Social Criticism,Vol. 29, No. 1, pp. 57–69. O’Donnell, G. (1999) ‘Horizontal Accountability in New Democracies’ in L. Schedler, L. Diamond and M.F. Plattner (eds), The Self-Restraining State, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. OECD (1994) DAC Orientations on Participatory Development and Good Governance, Volume 2, Paris: OECD. Offe, C. and Preuss, U.K. (1991) Democratic Institutions and Moral Resources in Political Theory Today, Cambridge: Polity Press/Blackwell.

186  Relational Accountability Okello, D. (2010) ‘The Dynamics of Political Change and Transition: Civil Society, Governance and the Culture of Politics in Kenya’, in V.S.P. Coelho and B. von Lieres (eds), Mobilizing for Democracy: Citizen Action and the Politics of Public Participation, London: Zed Books. Palmer, C. (1989) ‘Identity, Race and Black Power in Independent Jamaica’, in F. Knight (ed.), The Modern Caribbean, Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Pant, M. (2005) ‘The Quest for Inclusion: Nomaid Communities and Citizenship Questions in Rajastahn’, in N. Kabeer (ed.), Inclusive Citizenship: Meanings and Expressions, London: Zed Books. Parsons, T. (1963) ‘On the Concept of Political Power’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society,Vol. 107, pp. 232–62. Pateman, C. (1970) Participation and Democratic Theory, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pateman, C. (1990) ‘Feminism and Democracy’, in The Disorder of Women, Cambridge: Polity Press. Payne, A. (1991) ‘Jamaican Society and the Testing of Democracy’, in C. Clarke (ed.), Politics and Society in the Caribbean, London: Macmillan. Payne, A. (1993) ‘Westminster Adapted: The Political Order of the Common­ wealth Caribbean’, in Democracy in the Caribbean: Political, Economic and Social Perspectives, Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Payne, A. (1994) Politics in Jamaica, Kingston: Ian Randle Publishers. Pearce, J. (2007) ‘Violence, Power and Participation: Building Citizenship in Contexts of Chronic Violence’, IDS Working Paper No. 274, Brighton: IDS. Peruzzotti, E. (2006) ‘Civil Society, Representation and Accountability’, in L. Jordan and P. van Tuijl (eds), NGO Accountability: Politics, Principles and Innovations, London: Earthscan. Pettit, P. (1997) Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Philip, G. (1998) ‘The Lawless Presidency: Economic Crisis and Democratic Accountability in Mexico, 1970–94’, Democratization,Vol. 5, No 1, pp. 23–41. Phillips, A. (1991) Engendering Democracy, Cambridge: Polity Press. Phillips, A. (1997) ‘Dealing with Difference: A Politics of Ideas or a Politics of Presence’, in R. Goodin and P. Pettit (eds), Contemporary Political Philosophy: An Anthology, Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Phillips, A. (2007), ‘Must Feminists Give Up on Liberal Democracy?’, Political Studies,Vol. 40, pp. 68–82. Pitkin, H.F. (1972) The Concept of Representation, Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Planning Institute of Jamaica (2009) ‘Vision 2030 Sector Plan: Gender’, Kingston: Planning Institute of Jamaica. Pocock, J.G.A. (1992) ‘The Ideal of Citizenship Since Classical Times’, Queens Quarterly,Vol. 99, pp. 33–55. Polanyi Levitt, K. (1991) The Origins and Consequences of Jamaica’s Debt Crisis 1970– 1990, Kingston: Consortium Graduate School of the Social Sciences.

Bibliography  187 Powers, N. (1995) ‘The Politics of Poverty in Argentina’, Journal of Inter-American Studies and World Affairs,Vol. 37, No. 4, pp. 89–137. Premdas, R. (2002) ‘Belize: Identity and Ethnicity in a Multi-Ethnic State’, accessed at http://www.uwichill.edu.bb/bnccde/belize/conference/papers/ premdas.html Przeworski, A. (1991) Democracy and the Market: Political and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Przeworski, A., Stokes S. and Manin, B. (eds) (1999) Democracy, Accountability, and Representation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robins, S. (2010) ‘How Deep is “Deep Democracy”? Global Citizenship in Local Spaces’, in V. S. Coelho and B. von Lieres (eds), Mobilizing for Democracy: Citizen Action and the Politics of Public Participation, London and New York: Zed Books. Robotham, D. (1996) ‘Transnationalism in the Caribbean: Formal and Informal’, AES distinguished lecture series, American Ethnologist,Vol. 25, No. 2, pp. 307–21. Ross, M.H. (1997) ‘Culture and Identity in Comparative Political Analysis’, in M. Lichbach and A. Zuckerman (eds), Comparative Politics: Rationality, Culture and Structure, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowbotham, S. (1986) ‘Feminism and Democracy’, in D. Held and C. Pollitt (eds), New Models of Democracy, London: Open University and Sage. Schalkwyk, J. (2000) Culture, Gender Equality and Development Cooperation, Prepared for Canadian International Development Agency. Schedler, L., Diamond, L. and Plattner, M.F. (eds) (1999) The Self-Restraining State: Power and Accountability in New Democracies, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Schmitt, C. (1985) The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Schmitt, C. (2007) The Concept of the Political, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, based on 1932 edition. Schumpeter, J.A. (1942) Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, New York: Harper. Scott, J. (1985) Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Sen, A. (1987) The Standard of Living. Symposium, The Tanner Lectures, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sen, A. (1993) ‘Capability and Well-Being’, in M. Nussbaum and A. Sen (eds), The Quality of Life, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Sen, A. (1999) Development as Freedom, New York: Anchor Books. Shankland, A. (2010) ‘The Indigenous Peoples’ Movement, “Forest Citizenship” and Struggles over Health Services in Acre, Brazil’, in V.S.P. Coelho and B. von Lieres (eds), Mobilizing for Democracy, London: Zed Books. Shugart, M.S. and Mainwaring, S. (1997) ‘Presidentialism and Democracy in Latin America: Rethinking the Terms of the Debate’, in S. Mainwaring (ed.), Presidentialism and Democracy in Latin America, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, B. (1971) ‘Accountability and Independence in the Contract State’, in B. Smith and D.C. Hague (eds), The Dilemma of Accountability in Modern Government: Independence versus Control, London: Macmillan.

188  Relational Accountability Spinner-Halev, J. (2007) ‘From Historical to Enduring Injustice’, Political Theory, Vol. 35, No. 5 (October), pp. 574–97. Stewart, F. (1998) ‘The Root Causes of Conflict: Some Conclusions’, QEH Working Paper Series, No. 16. Stokes, S. (1997) ‘Democratic Accountability and Policy Change: Economic Policy in Fujimori’s Peru’, Comparative Politics,Vol. 29, No. 2, pp. 209–26. Stokes, S. (1999) ‘What Do Policy Switches Tell Us About Democracy?’, in A. Przeworski, S. Stokes and B. Manin (eds), Democracy, Accountability and Representation, New York: Cambridge University Press. Stone, C. (1985) Democracy and Clientelism in Jamaica, Piscataway, NJ: Transaction Books. Strathern, M. (1997) ‘From Improvement to Enhancement: An Anthropological Comment on the Audit Culture’, Paper presented at Girton College, Cambridge. Strathern, M. (2000) ‘Introduction. New Accountabilities:Anthropological Studies’, in M. Strathern (ed), Audit Cultures: Anthropological Studies in Accountability, Ethics and the Academy, London: Routledge. Strom, K. (2000) ‘Delegation and Accountability in Parliamentary Democracies’, European Journal of Political Research,Vol. 37, pp. 261–89. Subramaniam,V. (1983) ‘Public Accountability: Context, Career and Confusions of a Concept’, Indian Journal of Public Administration,Vol. 29, pp. 446–56. Sunstein, C.R. (1988) ‘Constitutions and Democracies: an Epilogue’, in J. Elster and R. Slagstad (eds), Constitutionalism and Democracy, University of Chicago and Institute for Social Research, Oslo. Tadros, M. (2009) ‘Disrupting Pathways of Intergenerational Transmissions of Gender Ideology and Practice’, IDS Bulletin,Vol. 40, No. 1, pp. 177–86. Talisse, R. (2004) Democracy after Liberalism, London: Routledge. Thorndike,T. (1983) ‘Belizean Political Parties:The Independence Crisis and After’, Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics,Vol. 21, No. 2, pp. 195–211. Tindigarukayo, J. (2006) ‘Perceptions and Reflections on Sexual Harassment in Jamaica’, Journal of International Women’s Studies,Vol. 7, No. 4, pp. 90–110. de Tocqueville, A. (1994) Democracy in America, London: Fontana. Turner, M. (2010) ‘Outline of a Theory of Citizenship’, in R. Bellamy and A. Palumbo (eds), Citizenship, Aldershot: Ashgate. Turner, M. and Hulme, D. (1997) Governance, Administration and Development, London: Macmillan. UN (2010) Common Country Assessment and United Nations Development Assistance Framework: Guidelines for UN Country Teams, Kingston: UNDP. UNFPA (2008) Reaching Common Ground: Culture, Gender and Human Rights, State of World Population Report, UNFPA. VeneKlasen, L. and Miller, V. (2002) A New Weave of Power, People and Politics: The Action Guide for Advocacy and Citizen Participation, Oklahoma City: World Neighbors. Verney, D. (1992) ‘Parliamentary Government and Presidential Government’, in A. Lijphart (ed.), Parliamentary Versus Presidential Government, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Bibliography  189 Wacquant, L. (2005) ‘Habitus’, in J. Becket and M. Zafiovski (eds), International Encyclopaedia of Economic Sociology, London: Routledge. Weber, M. (1946) From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, New York: Oxford University Press. Weber, M. (1994) Political Writings, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wellisz, S. and Findlay, R. (1993) The Political Economy of Poverty, Equity and Growth: Five Small Open Economies, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wheeler, J. (2005) ‘Rights without Citizenship? Participation, Family and Community in Rio de Janeiro’, in N. Kabeer (ed.), Inclusive Citizenship: Meanings and Expressions, London and New York: Zed Books. White, S. (2002) ‘Thinking Race, Thinking Development’, Third World Quarterly, Vol. 23, No. 3, pp. 407–19. Wilkinson, R. (2006) The Impact of Inequality, New York: The New Press. Wolfe, M. (1995), ‘Globalization and Social Exclusion: Some Paradoxes’, in G. Rodgers, C. Gore and J.B. Figueiredo (eds), Social Exclusion: Rhetoric, Reality, Responses, Geneva: ILO. Wood, G. (2003) ‘Staying Secure, Staying Poor: The “Faustian Bargain”’, World Development,Vol. 31, No. 33, pp. 455–71. World Bank (1992) Governance and Development, Washington DC: World Bank. Wright Mills, C. (1956) The Power Elite, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, I.M. (1989) ‘Polity and Group Difference’, Ethics,Vol. 99, No. 2, pp. 250–74. Young, I.M. (1990) Justice and the Politics of Difference, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Young, I.M. (2002) Inclusion and Democracy, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zaninka, P. (2003) ‘Uganda’, in J. Nelson and L. Hossack (eds), Indigenous Peoples and Protected Areas in Africa, Moreton-in-Marsh: Forest Peoples’ Programme.

Index

Abah, S. and Okwori, J.Z. 74 ADRA (Action for Rural Development) 150 advocacy 148 affirmative action 72 Africa: citizenship as concept 67, 68n6; colonial past 65–6; electoral corruption 25; ethnicity 26-7, 41, 61, 82–8; patronage 28 Africa Works: Disorder as Political Instrument (Chabal and Daloz) 28 African National Congress see ANC aggregation 11–14, 19 Ake, C. 15 Albert, Monsignor Richard 155 Algeria 98 American Bill of Rights (1789) 52 American Declaration of Rights (1948) 53 Amin, Idi 84 ANC (African National Congress) 9n3 Angola 150 ‘answerability’ 10 Anti-Federalism 5, 6 Argentina 9n4 Aristotle 7, 51, 52 Athens, ancient 1, 4, 49 audit 47 authoritarianism 8, 9, 151 Bachrach, P. and Baratz, M.S. 79 Bagehot, Walter 5 Banda, F. and Chinkin, C. 61 Barbados 72 Barnes, B. 61

Batliwala, S. 99, 172 Batwa 82–8 Beetham, D. 34 Belize 70 Bellamy, R. and Palumbo, A. 10 Berlin, Isaiah 50 Bermuda 72 Bird, K. 106 Black Power movement 101, 102 boundaries 131–3, 161–6 Boundaries and Belonging (Migdal) 131 Bourdieu, P. 79, 80, 132, 173 bourgeoisie, African 65–7 Brazil 73, 74, 88–91, 134 British Guiana 70 bureaucratic accountability 34–5, 38 Burundi 26, 82, 87 Bustamante, Alexander 102 capitalism 53–60, 69, 101 Caribbean 68–71, 101 Catholicism 155 CBOs (Community-Based Organizations) 151, 161–6 CDCs (Community Development Committees) 164 Central Kingston Task Team 152 Chabal, P. and Daloz, J.P. 28 Cheibub, J.A. and Przeworski, A. 23, 24, 25 Cheru, Fanta 9 child sponsorship 93–8 children: and accountability 127, 172; demand-sharing 84; discrimination 85; healthcare 90; and norms

Index  191 114–16; poverty 96–7, 109; race perception 95, 98; social mobility 134; socialization 92–3, 106, 173; violence 108, 109, 111, 112, 120–1 see also education Christiano, T. 168–9 citizenship: historical viewpoint 4; and democracy 7; education 144–9; and equality 50; globalized 131; as historical idea 48; and need for education 139; obligations of 64 Citizenship and Social Class (Marshall and Bottomore) 53, 62 citizenship rights 57 civic republicanism 49–52, 132 civil rights 54, 58 civil society organizations see CSOs Coke, ‘Dudus’ 127–8 Coke, Lester Lloyd 127 ‘collapsed states’ 8 colonialism: and citizenship 64–72; and education 134; and human rights 83; and inappropriate institutions 31; and inequalities 42, 50, 63, 84, 91, 98, 101 ‘Colonialism and the Two Publics’ (Ekeh) 64 communitarianism 60–4 Community Development Committees see CDCs Community-Based Organizations see CBOs competition, inter agency 165 ‘consensus building’ 79 constitutional safeguards 29–32 contestation 19–20, 21 contracted organizations 35–6 corruption, electoral 25 county courts 58 Crenshaw, K. 62 Creoles 70 Crisp, B.F. 32 critical liberalism 18 Cross, Malcolm 69 CSOs (civil society organizations) 144–6 Cuba 72 Dahl, R. 78 Dasgupta, P. 17

Declaration of the Rights of Man (1789) 52 ‘deep politics’ 48 De-Facing Power (Hayward) 78 dehumanization 139–40 delegation 33 deliberation 14–17, 19, 22 demand-sharing 83, 84 democracy: as historical idea 1; liberal component 7; limitations 23–4;and presidential systems 29; republican component 7 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) 82, 83 Diamond, L. 14, 24 ‘differentiated citizenships’ 63 Discipline and Punish (Foucault) 79, 81 donmanship 102, 104, 127, 160 ‘downward’ accountability 37 DRC see Democratic Republic of Congo drug trade 74, 104, 116 Dunn, J. 19, 44 education 133–8; accountability 141–4; Africa 67; discrimination 85; dualised system 134; Great Britain 55–6; inequalities 141; male 137, 151; vocational 138–41 Education System Transformation Programme 142 Ekeh, Peter 64–8 elitism 59–60, 78 empowerment 172 ‘enforceability’ 10 England 5 equality: Aristotelan concept 7; restricted 50 ethnicity 41, 61, 69, 71, 74, 88, 89 ex-ante accountability 10, 11–17, 21, 32 ex-post accountability 11, 20–2, 29, 32, 33, 38 external accountability 38–9 extortion 104 Eyben, R. 81 Factory Acts 55 Fanon, F. 98 Farrar, C. 14

192  Relational Accountability Federalism 6, 31 Federo 42–3 Ferreira, I. and Roque, R. 150 Figueroa, M. and Sives, A. 103 financial accountability 36, 39 Five-Year Development Plan 136 Forest People’s Alliance 88, 89 Foucault, Michel 78, 79–81 Fox, J. 87 France 5, 49, 52, 72 freedom, political 8 Freire, P. 140, 175, 176 Fromm, E. 176 Fung, A. 146 Fung, A. and Wright, E.O. 130, 131 Gaius 51, 52 gang warfare 110, 111, 124 ‘garrisoning’ 100, 102–3, 107 gender 1, 50 see also women Giddens, Anthony 57, 58 Gilligan, J. 106, 114, 129 Golden, T. and Edgerton, A. 87 Grace and Staff Community Development Foundation 151 Great Britain 52, 53–60 Greig, A. 92 group accountability 61 group rights 62 Guyana 69–70 habitus 79–80, 98, 118, 173 Halisi , C.R.D., Kaiser, P.J. and Ndegwa, S.N. 61 Harrington, J. 30 Hawthorn, G. 16n12 Hayward, C.R. 18, 19, 78, 80, 106, 170, 173 healthcare 89, 90, 159 HEART (Human Employment and Resource Training) 138 Heater, D. 48, 53, 58n4 Held, D. 15 Hope, D. 104, 105 horizontal accountability 21, 30, 31 horizontal inequalities 71, 72, 75, 80 Human Employment and Resource Training see HEART human rights 16, 18, 38, 39, 83, 145, 148

Human Rights Commission 72 human security 149–54 identity 49, 52, 62, 74, 92–3 Ikpe, U.B. 25 India 14n10, 73 Indigenous People’s Movement 88–91 inner cities 109, 115, 116, 153, 154, 173 institutions 21–2, 47, 130 intergenerational transmission 91–5, 106–7, 158 intersectionalities 61–2, 94n4 Isaacs, Will 102 Isin, E. and Wood, P. 62, 63 issue voting 25 Italy 49 Jamaica 100–29; agencies 161–6; and colonialism 101; economic expansion 101; education 134–44, 174; gas riots (1999) 148; Independence 102, 135; inequality 101; inner city 151–4; introduction of democracy 101; labour revolts 102; NSAs 147; poverty 102, 109; suffrage, universal adult 101; violence 102, 105, 107–14, 116–17, 119–26 Jamaica Labour Party see JLP Jamaica Social Investment Fund see JSIF Jamaica Teaching Council 142 Jamaica Tertiary Education Commission (J-TEC) 143 JCC (Jamaica Chamber of Commerce) 148 Jenkins, R.S. 14n10, 92, 93 JFJ (Jamaicans for Justice) 148 JLP (Jamaica Labour Party) 102, 127 Jordan, I. and van Tuijl, P. 36 JSIF (Jamaica Social Investment Fund) 164 J-TEC see Jamaica Tertiary Education Commission Jung, C. 18 Kabananuyke, K. and Wily, L. 87 Kabeer, N. 73 Kabeer, N. and Mahmud, S. 106 Kenya 144–7, 164

Index  193 Kenya Review Act (1997) 145 Keystone 37 KSAAF (Kingston and St Andrew Action Forum) 162–3 labelling 81, 154–7, 167, 174 Latin America 24 Levy, H. 158 Lewis, J. 83, 86, 87 liberal capitalism 19 liberal tradition 52–3 liberalism 56, 63 Linz, J.J., Stepan A. and Yadav,Y. 49 literacy 136, 156, 159 local representation 87 Locke, J. 52 Long, Edward 68n8 Lonsdale, J. 19, 44, 48, 61 MacDonald, M. 14n10 Madison, J., Hamilton, A., and Jay, J. 6 managerial accountability 36, 39 Manin, B.: and citizenship 5; and equality 6; and representation 4; on representative government 7, 13, 170 Manley, Michael 101, 102 Manley, Norman 102 Mann, Michael 57 Marshall, Alfred 53 Marshall, T.H. 55–60, 62, 63n5, 67 Marshall, T.H. and Bottomore, T. 53, 134 Marxism 53, 57 masculinity 106, 108–9, 114, 116, 119, 121 Mauss, M. 150n7 Mayas 71 McLean review (2009) 158 MDS (Muktidhara Sansthan) 73 Mexico 25n15, 32 Migdal, Joel 131, 132 Ministry of National Security 154 Moncrieffe, J. 81, 153, 164, 165, 166 Montesquieu, Baron de 21 Moore, M. 8 Moreno-James, C. 25n Mouffe, Chantal 19 Mudimbe,V.Y. 91 Muktidhara Sansthan see MDS

Musembi, Nyamu 146 mutual accountability 61 NARC (National Rainbow Coalition) 145 National Committee for Reconciliation 72 National Compulsory Education Policy 142n3 National Education Inspectorate see NEI National Vocational Qualification see NVQ Nattrass, N. and Seekings, J. 8, 9n3 Natural Law 4 Negro Education Grant 134 NEI (National Education Inspectorate) 143 networks 97–8 New Right 48 NGOs (non-governmental organizations) 36–8, 150, 151, 157, 158, 159, 161–6 Nigeria 74 norms 9n5, 114–16 NSA (non-state actor sector) 147, 148, 155, 158 Nussbaum, M. 61, 133 NVQ (National Vocational Qualification) 138 O’Donnell, G. 7, 20, 21, 30, 31 Offe, C. and Preuss, U.K. 7n2 Okello, D. 144–5, 146 Palmer, C. 101 Pant, M. 73 parliamentary accountability 32–4, 38 Parsons, T. 77, 79 participation theory 15, 47, 64, 76 patronage 26, 28, 102, 103, 146–7 Payne, Anthony 102 Peace Management Initiative see PMI People’s National Party see PNP Peruzzotti, E. 37 Pettit, P. 21, 30 Phillips, A. 16, 32 Pitkin, H.F. 13 PMI (Peace Management Initiative) 157–9

194  Relational Accountability PNP (People’s National Party) 102 Pocock, J.G.A. 51, 59, 60 police brutality 123, 148, 149 polis 50, 51 political rights 60 Poor Law 55 poverty: and democracy 8; and race 96; reduction of 43 power 77–82, 100–29, 130 Powers, Nancy 9n4 Premdas, R. 70, 71 presidential systems 28–9, 31, 34 proactive representation 170 professional accountability 35, 38 property, right to 53 Przeworski, A. 14n10, 45 Przeworski, A., Stokes, S. and Manin, B. 16 public services, contracting out 35–6 race perceptions 68–71, 93–8, 101 racial discrimination 68–70, 72, 84–8 Rastafarianism 101 Rawls, John 56 REAs (regional education agencies) 143 relational approaches 40–4 religion 26–7, 72 representation, definition 12–13 Representation of the People Act (1918) 54 resources 78, 90 responsibility, political 17–20 responsiveness 13, 22 Return of the Political (Mouffe) 19 Robotham, D. 69 Rodney, Walter 102 Rome 49 Rwanda 26, 27, 82, 83, 84 Schedler, L., Diamond, L. and Plattner, M.F. 10 Schmitt, Carl 19 Schumpeter, J.A. 12n7, 14, 15 S-Corner Clinic and Community Development Agency 159, 162 SDC (Social Development Commission) 163–6 Seaga, Edward 102, 127 Security and Safety Policy Guidelines (2008) 142n3

self-categorization 92 Sen, Amartya 8, 16n12, 133 sexual exploitation 109 Shankland, A. 88, 89, 90, 91, 134 Smith, B. 36 Social Development Commission see SDC social rights 57, 58 socialization 92 Socratic tradition 51 South Africa 9, 14n10, 72 South America 32 Sparta 49 Spinner-Halev, J. 17 St Patrick’s Foundation 153 State of World Population Report (UNFPA) (2008) 40, 41 ‘state-nations’ 49 Stella Maris Foundation 155–7, 165, 166 Stewart, Frances 71 Stewart, J. 78 stigma 59, 154 Stokes, S. 24 Stone, C. 102 Strathern, M. 21, 47 Strom, K. 29, 33 Subramaniam,V. 5n1 suffrage, universal adult 6, 57 Sustein, C. 31 Tadros, M. 92 Task Force on Education (2004) 134, 136 de Tocqueville, A. 30 transnationalism 69 Trinidad and Tobago 69–70 Turner, M. 57 TVET (Technical and Vocational Education and Training) 138 Two Treatises of Civil Government (Locke) 52 Uganda 26, 41–3, 82–7, 93–8 unemployment 115 UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) 135 UNI (Union of Indigenous Nations of Acre and Southern Amazonas) 89, 90

Index  195

vertical relationships 75 Viana, Jorge 89 violence 74, 106 Vision 2030 Jamaica 136

Weapons of the Weak (Stewart) 78 Weber, M. 34, 78 welfarism 168 West India Royal (Moyne) Commission (1938) 100 Wheeler, J. 73, 74 White, Sarah 91 women: donmanship 105; empowerment 86; exclusion 58; and Factory Acts 55; health resources 90; and PMI 160; suffrage 54 Workers’ Party 89

Wacquant, L. 80

Young, I.M. 12, 63, 64, 170, 173, 175

United Kingdom 48 United Nations 83 United Nations Common Country Assessment (2010) 123 United Nations Special Rapporteur on Torture (2010) 123 United States 5, 6, 30–1, 48, 52

About Zed Books Zed Books is a critical and dynamic publisher, committed to increasing awareness of important international issues and to promoting diversity, alternative voices and progressive social change. We publish on politics, development, gender, the environment and economics for a global audience of students, academics, activist and general readers. Run as a cooperative, we aim to operate in an ethical and environmentally sustainable way. Find out more at: www.zedbooks.co.uk For up-to-date news, articles, reviews and events information visit: http://zed-books.blogspot.com To subscribe to the monthly Zed Books E-Newsletter: send an email headed ‘subscribe’ to [email protected] We can also be found on Facebook, Twitter and Library Thing.