A Narrative of Extraction and Foreign Interference

While serving as the capital of Belgium, Brussels also holds the status of the capital of Europe. However, for many Africans, it bears a stain from the late stage of direct European colonial rule.

A legacy of external manipulation, exploitation, and colonial brutality taints the history of Belgium in Africa and its engagement with the Congo. Central to this narrative is the infamous King Leopold II of Belgium, whose actions, characterised by ruthless ambition and naked greed to maximise the exploitation of rubber and ivory resources, reverberate through history. Leopold II treated the Congo as his fiefdom despite never visiting the territory himself. Under his reign, a harrowing era of terror unfolded, marked by forced labour, mutilations, and mass killings. This oppressive phase was epitomised by the activities of the Force Publique, a paramilitary force directly controlled by Leopold II, which committed numerous atrocities against the Congolese population (Nzongola-Ntalaja, 2007).

Leopold II’s Congo Free State became a crucible of untold suffering for its inhabitants. Villages endured gruesome punishments for failing to meet rubber production quotas, with the infamous practice of hand severing becoming a haunting symbol of the brutal regime. The scale of this cruelty was staggering, resulting in a catastrophic loss of life. Historians estimate that the Congolese population may have been decimated during this period, with conservative estimates suggesting a death toll ranging from 10 to 15 million individuals due to a combination of violence, forced labour, and diseases exacerbated by the appalling working conditions (Hochschild, 1999).

The saga of Leopold II and his legacy in the Congo is a stark testament to the depths of inhumanity that unchecked power and insatiable pursuit of profit can precipitate, foregrounding the urgent need for historical reckoning and critical reflection.

As a result of international condemnation and outcry, Leopold II was eventually forced to transfer ownership of the Congo to the Belgian state in 1908. However, this ‘transaction’ did little to ameliorate the profound scars left by his exploitative regime, especially as the eulogising of Leopold II’s role persisted, even as evidence mounted against his exploitative regime (Hochschild, 1999). Formal colonial rule set the tone for continued interference by foreign powers in the region despite the fact that, unlike the French in Algeria, Belgium’s presence in Congo never amounted to significant settlement by Belgians. A mere 3000 Belgians were living in the colony in 1906 (Crawford Young, 1965).

The Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) formally gained its independence on June 30, 1960, but its complex post-colonial historical trajectory was beset with crises that underscored Belgium’s persistent interference. Four events stand out. First, the assassination of popular Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba and the secession of Katanga post-independence showcased the limited impact of formal sovereignty on Congolese destiny (Trefon, 2004). Subsequently, the 1970s witnessed foreign-led military interventions during the ‘Shaba wars’ (De Witte, 2002). The third crisis culminated in 1996–1997, resulting in the fall of the Mobutu regime. Lastly, the 1998–2003 ‘Great War of Africa’, exacerbated by foreign involvement, left an indelible mark, claiming an estimated 5.4 million lives due to war-induced effects (Reyntjens, 2009).

Belgium distanced itself from Mobutu’s regime at the end of the Cold War. This paradigm shift stemmed from the Flemish Socialist Party’s disengagement decision, marked by a hands-off approach (Trefon, 2004). However, pivotal moments like the police raid on students in Lubumbashi in 1990 and subsequent evacuations exhibited the continuing complex Belgian-Congolese interactions (Van Reybrouck, 2014).

To comprehend the intricate paradox that defines the DRC to this day, one must acknowledge the consistent presence of Western involvement and the ceaseless exploitation of its remarkable mineral wealth.

The challenges the Congo faced following its independence led to a sequence of UN interventions ostensibly focused on bringing security and stability to the region. These interventions persist within the DRC, justified by concerns over ‘threats to international security’, and have, regrettably, come to symbolise the inability to catalyse positive change within one of Africa’s most resource-endowed nations.

In the wake of Congo’s post-independence struggles, a striking narrative unfolds, underscoring the enduring pursuit of Belgian and French interests in the vast wealth of the DRC. Against this backdrop of colonial exploitation, the contemporary story of cobalt is instructive. DRC-born Belgian journalist Erik Bruyland crafts a compelling narrative in his book Cobalt Blues (2021) that unearths the economic and industrial tragedy that unfolded in the DRC between 1960 and 2020. The focus is on the copper belt, an expansive region abundant in cobalt, copper, manganese, and other minerals vital for technologies like rechargeable batteries, smartphones, and electric vehicles.

Paradoxically, although the DRC is the world’s largest producer of cobalt, the nation remains impoverished, with a GDP per capita that scarcely reflects its mineral wealth. The root of this paradox lies in the intricate web of interests forged in the colonial era that still lingers as Belgian and French interests maintain their foothold in mineral markets and strategic partnerships.

Bruyland’s (2021) inquiry illuminates the roles of Congolese and Belgian leaders, foreign corporations, and end consumers, who unknowingly consume products forged from minerals extracted under inhumane conditions. The tale extends back to Mobutu’s era. Although Mobutu sought to assert Congolese control over resources, Belgian influence remained entrenched. Unyielding agreements thwarted Mobutu’s attempts at renegotiation, ultimately leaving the country indebted and economically compromised.

Unfortunately, this narrative of extraction is not confined to history. The battle for DRC sovereignty is ongoing. President Félix Tshisekedi’s pledges to revise contracts with China reflect a desire to regain control. However, each new president has fallen prey to the dynamics of the same extractive model based on giving external actors access in exchange for support to retain power and for their regimes to be treated with a sympathetic eye. As a result, the DRC’s abundant mineral discoveries have not benefited its people. Instead, foreign corporations that exploit offshore structures and tax havens divert wealth from the nation, a lamentable continuum from the days of King Leopold II. The story of the DRC aptly illustrates the complexity of global power dynamics and the challenges facing African countries.

Late Colonialism Is Not that Old

While the story of the DRC exemplifies the rent-seeking and extractive approach of foreign interests in Africa, such examples of late colonialism are, sadly, widespread across the continent.

The Republic of Djibouti, nestled in East Africa, is Africa’s smallest nation. With an area of 23,200 square kilometres and a population of 830,000, this tiny nation has been indelibly shaped by foreign interests. Its origins trace back to French engagement in the region during the mid-nineteenth century, driven by the rivalry between France and Britain for control over the entrance to the Red Sea.

While Djibouti achieved independence only in 1977, the presence of a French military base in the country underscores the complex relationship between the two countries. Djibouti’s strategic location at the entrance to the Red Sea and its proximity to critical maritime routes made it a region of continued interest to France, leading them to establish the Djibouti Armed Forces (Forces Armées à Djibouti, FAD) that remains operational to this day. This base has served various purposes, including supporting French military operations in the region and contributing to regional stability.

The French presence in the Indian Ocean has deep historical roots. From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, France held maritime dominance, overseeing territories like the Comoros, Madagascar, and Reunion. Even today, France retains considerable regional influence, with Reunion and Mayotte remaining under French jurisdiction.

France’s enduring presence in the Indian Ocean aligns with its maritime heritage and modern geopolitical interests. Firstly, France maintains exclusive maritime rights and access to seabed resources due to its island territories. Additionally, the Indian Ocean is a vital maritime route between China and Europe, crucial for securing Europe’s energy demands and facilitating oil imports as global energy demands surge. This strategy involves nurturing diplomatic ties with African nations to bolster France’s influence and secure its regional economic and security interests.

Security is also paramount. French defence activities primarily focus on countering piracy, necessitating naval bases for patrolling and response. The French Island of La Reunion’s Pointe des Galets houses vessels and a frigate. At the same time, Mayotte Island (which was separated from the Comoros Union at independence and was kept French) accommodates a Foreign Legion unit for maritime surveillance.

Late colonialism was also present in Portuguese colonies until 1975. Portugal clung to its African territories of Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Cape Verde, and S. Tomé & Principe, bolstered by its dictator leader António de Oliveira Salazar. The ‘Salazar Doctrine’ upheld the colonies as integral to Portugal’s national identity. Supported by European allies that shared similar ideologies, economic interests, and Cold War considerations, Portugal resisted decolonisation and diplomatic pressure for independence. At the same time, economic investments by European companies in Portuguese colonies and the fear that decolonisation would push Portugal towards the communist bloc also played a role. Only mounting international pressure, liberation movements, and internal shifts eventually compelled Portugal to relinquish its colonies, leading to independence for its former colonial holdings.

The case of Zimbabwe, a modern saga of European domination, began in 1889 when the British South Africa Company (BSAC) received a Royal Charter to administer the territory North of the Limpopo River. Named Rhodesia after BSAC’s founder, Cecil Rhodes, this early act of white dominance set the tone for the future of southern Africa. White settlers were attracted by mining, particularly gold, and commercial activities such as agriculture. The settler government, which eventually became the Republic of Rhodesia following the Unilateral Declaration of Independence in 1965, established white rule and institutionalised colonial nationalism.

However, native Zimbabweans fought back, leading to the Rhodesian Bush War in the early 1970s. The Lancaster House Constitutional Agreement ended the war in 1979–1980, but the new constitution’s compromises regarding land reform postponed a resolution, perpetuating land inequality. The constitution protected white property rights and neglected the plight of victims of the colonial system, contributing to later tensions. Meanwhile, in South Africa, European banks like Belgium’s Kredietbank and its subsidiary in Luxembourg supported this government by facilitating illicit money flows that enabled weapon purchases despite UN arms sanctions. These banks profited from these transactions, yet they have evaded accountability for their complicity in crimes against humanity despite efforts to bring evidence to international accountability frameworks (OECD, 2018).

In a similar vein, the historical backdrop of South Africa’s apartheid era illustrates how European powers leveraged and shielded the apartheid regime to serve their geopolitical ambitions and interests, even as they condemned its human rights abuses. This exploitation extended to strategic alliances during World War II, when the British, for example, leaned on South Africa’s resources and support. The strategic location and resources of the region made it a critical asset for the war effort.

As a result of these dynamics, the UK, France, and others hesitated to impose comprehensive sanctions in the post-war period, fearing disruption to their trade and strategic partnerships. Europe’s strategic calculations often muted the calls for decisive action against apartheid. While the United Nations voiced condemnation and initiated arms embargoes, key European players strategically refrained from fully endorsing these measures. With its historical ties and economic interests, the UK continued to engage with South Africa through trade agreements despite mounting international pressure to sever such links.

In essence, the exploitation of apartheid for geopolitical and economic gain underscores a complex moral dilemma. Driven by their interests, European powers sometimes indirectly sustained the apartheid regime by prioritising alliances and strategic interests over human rights and justice. This historical perspective is a stark reminder of how global politics can shape and distort responses to grave social injustices.

Structural Adjustment: New Face, Same Old Ideas

Numerous scholars and researchers have put forward the idea that there are intricate linkages connecting Africa’s history of late colonialism and its experiences during the era of neocolonialism to the global oil crisis of the 1970s (Nkrumah, 1970; Rajhi et al., 2005; Smith, 2005). This crisis had far-reaching impacts on economies across the globe. In the aftermath, Africa became enmeshed in a narrative that obscured the universal nature of the crisis.

The crisis, triggered by geopolitical tensions and supply disruptions, sent shockwaves through the global economy. The subsequent oil price hikes and supply shortages impacted both oil-producing and oil-consuming nations. While the oil crisis was a universal phenomenon, the portrayal of Africa’s plight as a symptom of inherent inadequacies conveniently sidelined the broader global factors.

As Western powers grappled with the consequences of diminished energy resources and heightened inflation, Africa’s role in the crisis narrative became paradoxically amplified. Academic discourse on this subject underscores the inherent complexity of this distortion, which wrongly blamed the continent’s seemingly vulnerable economic and political frameworks (Killick, 1980; Rodney, 1972). One of the ways this manifested was through the notion that Africa’s debt was insurmountable unless significant structural adjustments were made to their economies (Amin, 1973; Ferguson, 1990). This misrepresentation positioned African countries as architects of their economic turmoil, often obscuring the broader structural issues ingrained in the global economic system. This was not accidental.

In 1979, governors of the World Bank directed a memorandum to the Bank’s president, ostensibly expressing concern over the economic prospects of sub-Saharan African nations. However, it became apparent that this gesture was nothing more than a prelude to a carefully orchestrated endeavour to advance a shift in how the region was treated (McNamara & Berg, 1981). The “Accelerated Development in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Agenda for Action” memorandum emerged as a calculated tool to establish a period of substantial influence over the formulation of policies for African economies. The document delineated factors that accounted for Africa’s sluggish economic growth while concurrently endorsing policy alterations that conveniently aligned with the World Bank’s inclinations. Furthermore, the report advocated for an augmentation in aid while advocating adherence to principles rooted in monetarist neoliberal ideologies (World Bank, 1981).

Cloaked in the rhetoric of internal structural deficiencies, the report downplays the significant role of external factors in Africa’s economic woes during that era. While it briefly acknowledges external influences, the report focused on blaming supposedly flawed African policies, such as the desire for industrialisation and state intervention. The report conveniently ignored structural inequalities and historical injustices (World Bank, 1994).

Critics pointed out that this shift in priorities signalled a change from the basic needs, or poverty alleviation, priorities of the previous era of development aid. The focus was now on growth-oriented policies that would provoke a trickle-down effect (Daniel, 1983).

Termed the ‘Washington Consensus’, these economic policies encapsulated a certain disregard for the nuanced realities of local contexts. The assertive implementation of measures anchored in the liberalisation of trade, alongside the elimination of price distortions, highlights a notable level of economic self-assuredness on the part of the Washington, D.C.-based institutions behind the manifesto, notably the IMF, World Bank, and US Department of the Treasury. The overt dismissal of the potential for more intricate structural and institutional reforms further underscored the limited comprehension of the intricate challenges faced by African countries (Lopes, 2019).

Within the framework of the Washington Consensus, several distinct economic tenets were promoted. These included pursuing new fiscal policies, often necessitating public expenditure reductions and the reallocation of resources from industrial transformation and social investment endeavours. The push for trade liberalisation aimed to open markets but often failed to consider the vulnerabilities of domestic industries in developing countries. Additionally, the endorsement of privatisation and deregulation further reflected a broader shift towards market-oriented ideologies, with less consideration for potential social and economic ramifications (Williamson, 2004).

The subsequent implementation of these policies in African and later in Latin American countries starkly demonstrated the disconnect between the Bretton Woods institutions’ purported intentions and the dire realities these nations were facing. Sub-Saharan Africa bore the brunt of this ill-conceived approach, with GDP growth stagnating, investments plummeting, and export shares diminishing significantly (Lopes, 2019).

In addition, the reckless push for rapid and unchecked liberalisation in African economies gave rise to volatile capital flows. The 1997 Asian financial crisis, which can be partly attributed to similar unregulated liberalisation efforts, laid bare the devastating effects of these policies on vulnerable economies, further undermining the credibility of the World Bank and IMF’s approaches (Lopes, 2019).

The prevailing power imbalance within the governance structures of these institutions is equally apparent. At ideological, representational, and crisis-response levels, the interests of wealthy countries consistently outweigh those of the poorest. For instance, the preferential treatment extended to European countries during the European debt crisis, compared with the response to African countries facing a similar crisis, is a glaring testament to the inherent inequity underscoring World Bank and IMF policies (Lopes, 2019).

In the annals of African economic history, the lost decades from the 1980s to the early 2000s are a stark reminder of the complexities and challenges inherent in pursuing development. Structural adjustment and SAPs were marketed as panaceas for economic revitalisation. However, a comprehensive analysis of statistical evidence exposes the failure of these programmes to catalyse meaningful progress for African nations.

Persistent Poverty and Widening Inequality

Despite the promises of SAPs to stimulate economic growth and alleviate poverty, the reality on the ground pointed to a different trajectory. A study by Collier and Gunning (1999) investigating the impact of SAPs in sub-Saharan Africa found that poverty rates remained alarmingly high, with only marginal improvements over time. Moreover, SAPs’ focus on reducing government expenditures often translated into cuts in social services, exacerbating inequality and marginalising the most vulnerable segments of society (World Bank, 2000).

Stagnant Industrial Diversification

The aspiration of SAPs to promote export-led growth led to a heavy reliance on primary commodity exports, thereby impeding industrial diversification. According to Ravallion (1997), this limited diversification hindered economic resilience and perpetuated Africa’s vulnerability to international market volatility. The failure of SAPs to spur industrial transformation contributed to an overreliance on external factors, a characteristic antithetical to sustainable development.

Erosion of Food Security

In pursuing market-oriented policies, SAPs often encouraged the cultivation of cash crops for export, sidelining domestic food production. The World Development Report (1988) highlighted this trend, pointing out that SAPs’ focus on agricultural liberalisation led to a decline in food self-sufficiency in many African nations. As a result, these countries became increasingly reliant on imported food, jeopardising their food security and exacerbating vulnerabilities to global price shocks.

Escalating Debt Burdens

SAPs were introduced to reduce debt burdens and foster economic stability. However, statistical data reveals a contrary outcome. According to World Bank figures, external debt as a percentage of gross national income (GNI) in sub-Saharan Africa increased from 45 per cent in 1980 to a staggering 190 per cent in 2000 (World Bank, 2000). This alarming rise in debt levels reflected the failure of SAPs to achieve sustainable debt reduction and highlighted the detrimental impact of their policy prescriptions on fiscal stability.

Social Interest and Political Turmoil

The implications of SAP failures extended beyond economic indicators to encompass social and political unrest. A comprehensive study by Bates and Collier (1995) linked the implementation of SAPs to heightened levels of civil conflict in Africa. The exacerbation of inequality and reduced public services contributed to a volatile environment conducive to protests and political upheavals. This dimension underscores the broader repercussions of failed economic policies on a nation’s social fabric and political stability.

As we navigate the complex landscape of Africa’s lost decades, it becomes clear that the indicators of SAP failures were not isolated occurrences. They were interconnected manifestations of a flawed policy approach. The process of straight-jacketing Africa, characterised by restrictive policy options and hindered development, can be understood by examining the intricate dynamics that unfolded.

SAPs emerged as a significant channel through which external influence constrained African economies. European countries, particularly those with colonial African histories, played a substantial role in shaping these programmes. Conditions tied to aid packages formulated by international financial institutions narrowed the policy autonomy, compelling African countries to adhere to pre-defined economic restructuring paths.

Export-oriented growth strategies added another layer of constraint. The dependency on primary commodity exports exposed African economies to the volatility of global markets. This dependence hindered diversification efforts and curtailed the ability to control critical sectors, intensifying the straight-jacketing effect.

Mounting debt burdens induced by SAPs and compounded by external borrowing further constrained African nations. The obligation to service these debts diverted resources away from crucial developmental investments. Consequently, the capacity of African governments to pursue policies aligned with their developmental priorities was shelved, contributing to the perpetuation of economic straight-jacketing.

Technological disparities and established intellectual property asymmetries further exacerbated the constraints facing African economies. Uneven access to technological advancements limited the competitiveness of African industries on the global stage. Additionally, unequal trade relationships entrenched neocolonial dynamics, favouring the interests of Western economies.

The European Union (EU) has consistently supported conditionality SAPs as instruments for shaping African economic policies. This position reflects a complex interplay between economic rationalisation, diplomatic influence, and policy prescription, rooted in the belief that these mechanisms could foster stability. The EU aimed to address fiscal imbalances, mitigate inflation, and stimulate market-oriented growth by linking financial assistance to specific policy reforms.

The EU’s steadfast support for conditionality and SAPs established a prevailing narrative and unified European approach, restraining critical evaluations of the multifaceted consequences of those strategies. As a result, the EU’s stance has inadvertently hindered the exploration of diverse economic frameworks and innovative policy solutions.

The EU has exhibited a discernible reluctance to engage critically with concerns directed towards its conditionality policies applied to African countries, opting instead to defend its strategies and adhere to established objectives, economic considerations, and institutional structures. While some modifications have been introduced over time, the EU has consistently upheld the efficacy of its policies in the face of valid concerns and is reluctant to embrace alternative perspectives or fundamentally reconfigure its approach. Three examples serve to illustrate this stance.

First, the EU’s steadfast commitment to austerity measures and macroeconomic stability embedded within its conditionality framework has drawn censure for perpetuating social inequities and impeding economic expansion. Critics contend that these measures disproportionately impact marginalised segments of society. Despite this, the EU remains resolute, asserting the necessity of fiscal prudence and macroeconomic equilibrium. References to the potential long-term dividends stemming from these measures continue to underscore the EU’s adherence to its policy paradigm (Bandeira et al., 2022).

Second, the EU’s conditionality directives have attracted reproach for potentially fostering aid dependency and eroding the autonomy of African nations in shaping their development trajectories. Sceptics posit that such policies may undermine the sense of national ownership over developmental priorities. While the EU acknowledges these concerns, its responses pivot around the imperative of accountability and harmonisation with globally recognised norms, occasionally tempering concerns regarding sovereignty and self-determination (Mustapha, 2002).

Third, critiques directed at the EU’s trade and agricultural policies vis-à-vis Africa highlight their potential to disadvantage African economies and thwart their competitiveness. Such policies have been deemed inconsistent with the overarching objective of cultivating sustainable economic advancement. In response, while acknowledging these complexities, the EU has often underscored its economic imperatives, accentuating the intricate global landscape of trade dynamics. Proposed adjustments have tended to be incremental and partial, sidestepping the fundamental considerations raised (Maertens & Swinnen, 2012).

Good Wishes Are Hardly Convincing

France is frequently cited as a country that sought to extend its influence in Africa by intervening in post-independence economic mechanisms. A notable instance is its pivotal role in the inception of monetary frameworks embraced by many countries, collectively recognised as the CFA Franc system.

The CFA Franc arrangements have drawn criticism for their perceived role in perpetuating an unequal balance of power between France and its former African colonies. One significant shortcoming lies in the limited economic sovereignty member countries retain due to the fixed exchange rate with the euro and the requirement to deposit a significant portion of their foreign reserves with the French Treasury. This framework effectively curtails the ability of these countries to implement independent monetary policies. As a result, their economic decisions remain subject to the influence of external factors, including those stemming from the Eurozone.

Furthermore, the CFA Franc system’s trade dynamics have been flagged as problematic. The fixed exchange rate often leads to an overvaluation of member countries’ currencies, rendering their exports less competitive globally. This situation, in turn, contributes to a reliance on imports, disproportionately benefiting France. The interplay between trade preferences, foreign aid distribution, and adherence to French interests underscores the perpetuation of a lopsided economic relationship. Countries that align with French policies may receive greater economic support, deepening the disparities between compliant nations and those seeking more independent paths.

Central to the CFA Franc system is the requirement for member countries to align with directives set forth by the Bank of France. Moreover, the presence of French experts to aid in the administration of the CFA system deepens this influence. These experts, often dispatched to member countries, provide technical assistance and guidance on currency management and monetary policy matters. While intended to facilitate effective implementation, their presence also reinforces a dynamic of reliance and subordination, where economic decisions continue to be influenced by external forces.

A combination of compliance requirements and advisory support solidifies France’s role in shaping and perpetuating the CFA system to align with its interests. Unfortunately, this is not an isolated example. The list of European well-wishers trying to help Africa is quite long (see Chap. 3 on aid).

In Somalia, a quintessential recipient of foreign aid, the complex relationship between aid and infrastructure development is embodied in the highway connecting the capital, Mogadishu, to the southern port of Kismayo, a segment of which leads to an abrupt precipice. The road’s inception between 1982 and 1983 was made possible through a $100 million contract awarded to a Milanese contractor in an open tender by the EU. Remarkably, however, the burden of repaying the EU’s long-term, low-interest loan fell to the Somalian government. Repayments have extended all the way into 2023 despite the fact that the highway’s deteriorated state since 1988 has rendered it virtually unusable (Achtner, 1993).

Characterised by subpar engineering and inadequate surveying, the road’s deteriorating condition has compelled vehicles to bypass it altogether. This practice then led to deep gullies alongside the road, accelerating erosion and degradation (Achtner, 1993).

Was this an isolated blow? Sadly not. During the period spanning from 1981 to 1990, Italy embarked on a comprehensive endeavour to ‘uplift’ Somalia’s developmental landscape, initiating a total of 114 projects with an expenditure exceeding $1 billion. However, evaluating these projects reveals a disconcerting pattern, marked predominantly by futility and prodigality. Despite a select few instances, notably, the successful execution of a vaccination programme orchestrated by non-governmental organisations, most Italian-sponsored ventures within Somalia proved illogical and were characterised by wastage (Achtner, 1993).

Similarly, European humanitarian interventions in Africa have frequently encountered substantial challenges and limitations, often prompting critical analysis of their effectiveness. One such instance is the NATO-led military intervention in Libya in 2011. While the intervention initially aimed to protect civilians from the repressive forces of Muammar Gaddafi, its outcomes were far from unilaterally positive. Although it managed to prevent an imminent massacre in Benghazi, the intervention also inadvertently contributed to the country’s destabilisation, culminating in a protracted period of internal conflict and political fragmentation.

In his work Lords of Poverty, Graham Hancock (1989) delves into the intricate dynamics of aid agencies operating in developing countries and their impact on allocating and utilising aid resources. Hancock critically evaluates the roles of aid agency employees, who are responsible for interpreting the needs of impoverished populations and ensuring efficient and timely assistance. He highlights that whether aid originates from charitable donations or government taxes, the presence of foreign expertise, particularly from Americans and Europeans, is often central in disaster relief efforts in the Third World.

Hancock cites a comprehensive study of refugee relief in Southeast Asia to underscore aid agencies’ vast and complex operating costs. These costs, encompassing personnel expenses and miscellaneous expenditures, frequently contribute to an imbalanced distribution of resources. The book illustrates mismanagement and wastage within aid agencies, such as recruiting inexperienced and ill-equipped personnel to manage refugee camps in Somalia. These personnel needed to gain more training and often prioritise evangelism over effective administration, leading to wasteful decisions and inadequate aid delivery.

Furthermore, Hancock details the repercussions of these misjudgements, including failed construction projects and cancelled immunisation campaigns. The book underscores how intertwining religious agendas with aid operations can lead to detrimental outcomes for vulnerable populations. Through such narratives, Hancock (1989) paints a vivid picture of the challenges and shortcomings within aid systems, emphasising the need for more effective and conscientious management practices to address the needs of the impoverished effectively.

Even a global body like the UNHCR is not exempt from these failures. The UNHCR does not directly execute operational activities; instead, it procures funding from member states of the United Nations, which is then channelled to contracted charitable entities from the Global North responsible for executing on-the-ground initiatives. Consequently, the oversight mechanisms exhibit patterns of laxity or complete absence that can facilitate misconduct.

Regrettably, instances arise where the allocated finances from UNHCR fail to reach the host country of refugees, let alone the refugees themselves. Inexperienced personnel often assume camp management responsibilities over hundreds of thousands of vulnerable refugees, some of whom may possess unused or discounted qualifications.

Humanitarian assistance frequently harbours imprudence, irrelevance, and occasionally perilous ignorance, an aspect that aid organisations understandably mostly choose not to publicise. But these organisations project a relentlessly optimistic facade through their press releases while disaster-stricken populations are left to grapple with the practical realities of the aid provided.

Furthermore, the practices of European charity organisations in fundraising and implementation have raised ethical concerns, challenging the alignment between their proclaimed compassion and the competitive nature of their endeavours. The compelling appeals often used by these organisations, featuring distressing imagery of suffering individuals and populations, may not always reflect a genuine concern for the welfare of those in need. Instead, these appeals can be seen as manifestations of a “capitalism of mercy”, where aid organisations vie for recognition, growth, and prestige, potentially overshadowing the primary objective of aiding the vulnerable (Smith, 2005). This situation introduces ethical considerations regarding the integrity of the organisations’ intentions and actions.

The transformation of fundraising methods into ends in themselves is a troubling phenomenon observed in European charity practices, incentivised by the EU requirements for sub-contracting. The emphasis on organisational expansion and reputation underscores the complexities of charitable efforts. While the debate over whether the ends justify the means persists, the perpetuation of organisational growth and prominence often remains a central concern (Jones, 2011).

In 1984, a French television company organised a humanitarian convoy called ‘Trucks for Hope’. The convoy aimed to deliver vital supplies to West African Sahel countries, yet a significant portion of funds was allocated to maintaining live satellite communication with France. Additionally, the quest for dramatic footage to engage viewers led to the destruction of medical equipment due to the prioritisation of visual impact over aid efficiency (Brown, 1995).

The triumph of Live Aid in 1985 showcased the effectiveness of utilising negative media imagery to mobilise support. However, this strategic approach had unintended repercussions in subsequent initiatives, exemplified by Spon Aid’s efforts. Spon Aid, launched to foster self-help development, paradoxically regressed into employing distressing media imagery, echoing stereotypes of helplessness. The infamous promotional video, created in a controlled studio setting, depicted famine victims in dire circumstances, inadvertently reinforcing preconceived notions of helplessness. These disaster appeals, whether intentional or not, perpetuated the perception that disadvantaged populations in the Third World were inherently incapable. This narrative implied their reliance on external intervention from more affluent and influential nations. These cases underscore the careful equilibrium required in humanitarian communication, emphasising the importance of avoiding the perpetuation of dependency narratives and prioritising empowerment and agency among marginalised communities.

In too many cases, these narratives reflect a concerning transformation in the nature of aid from impartial material support to a dynamic where the wealthy impose their will upon the less fortunate, a shift that fails to recognise the deep knowledge and resilience inherent in the very communities it seeks to assist.

This patronising perspective was succinctly articulated by Britain’s Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who commented on Ethiopian peasant farmers, suggesting the need to educate them about fundamental agricultural practices: “I think we have to do quite a lot of teaching about what we know: about husbandry—in that kind of land, in that kind of soil. We have quite a lot of knowledge” (Thatcher, 1985).

The reality, of course, is quite different. Ethiopian farmers are resilient and resourceful and possess a profound understanding of their craft. Over millennia, they have honed their expertise in cultivating sustenance, and even surplus, from the challenging and eroded mountainsides of their homeland.

In the face of growing ecological challenges, if any assistance is provided to these individuals, it could be channelled towards sustaining their productivity.

The Setting of Universal Goals Inaugurates a New Millennium

The 1990s witnessed a surge in global conferences, exemplified by key gatherings like the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro, the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development, and the 1995 World Summit for Social Development, among others. These conferences were pivotal in setting the global agenda, fostering collaboration, and nurturing a shared commitment towards addressing multifaceted challenges.

In this context, the MDGs introduced at the dawn of the new millennium aimed to provide a comprehensive roadmap for global development. The MDGs were a prominent endeavour to structure a comprehensive framework centred around eight goals. Yet, an intriguing dichotomy arose in the accountability mechanisms embedded within these goals. While most of the MDGs were subjected to rigorous scrutiny and tracking, Goal 8, focusing on global partnerships, notably evaded comparable levels of accountability. This asymmetrical approach inadvertently underscored a recurring narrative wherein recipient nations bear the burden of accountability while their wealthier counterparts remain less scrutinised.

In the realm of global development goals, Africa’s complex journey was obscured by the imposition of uniform indicators. A misleading narrative emerged when universal benchmarks, such as halving poverty rates, were uniformly applied without consideration for the continent’s diverse contexts and stages of development. Beneath this facade, the measurement focused not on gauging the effort relative to individual starting points but on a uniform standard. This approach underscored the importance of a more nuanced evaluation that appreciates universal aspirations and distinct developmental trajectories, offering a more accurate representation of progress.

Africa’s developmental diversity clashed with the use of standardised indicators. The uniform translation of globally applicable goals could have encapsulated the varying socio-economic contexts across the continent. This oversight led to the misperception of a collective lag in achieving development objectives. Crucially, this narrative should have accounted for the incremental strides made by nations on distinct developmental paths.

The EU played a crucial role in shaping the various development strategies. Its endorsement of conditionality, followed by a shift towards goal-centred policies, reflects a dynamic evolution that considers the need to bury failures and engender new interpretations that justify its interventionism. Nevertheless, adopting uniform evaluation criteria presents a quandary wherein historical context is overlooked, raising questions about the EU’s commitment to nuanced and contextually sensitive approaches. This departure from tailored strategies resonates as a potential attempt to disassociate from colonial legacies despite their lively resonance due to the late colonial era’s ramifications and disregard for Africa’s political-economy landscape. These historical echoes contribute to Africa’s persistent calls for decoloniality and a paradigm shift in perspectives, urging the exploration of Africa’s development within a comprehensive historical continuum.

According to the Nigerian political scientist Claude Ake, “We are never going to understand the current crisis in Africa … as long as we continue to think of it as an economic crisis” (Taylor, 2013).

In many instances, Brussels has refused to acknowledge that many policies it has pushed under the ‘good governance’ agenda have been nothing but development rhetoric. As Claude Ake noted, “One of the most amazing things about the literature on development in Africa is how readily it assumes that everyone is interested in development and that when [African] leaders proclaim their commitment to development and fashion their impressive development plans and negotiate with international organisations for development assistance, they are ready for development and for getting on with it” (Ake, 1991).