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Fair enough?

March 12, 2019

Inclusive peace processes are all the rage, but is fairness a better metric than inclusiveness? Yes, because it reflects people’s own metric of improvement, and their own agency.

One of the currently in-vogue concepts in peacebuilding is ‘inclusion’. This is not without controversy: there’s a wide spectrum of opinions about how inclusive peace processes ought to be, with some arguing that short-term stability means focusing on an exclusive deal or settlement; while others maintain it’s important to broaden the number of voices and perspectives at the table right from the start – even if that means risking short-term stability. Like many, I fall somewhere in between, and would argue for a pragmatic approach that nevertheless seeks to encourage and promote diverse engagement from as early as possible, without losing sight of the short-term stability goal. This means seeking opportunities for wider inclusion in local, or perhaps thematic parts of the peace process, if it’s too risky to do so in more central parts of the process.

In any case, ‘inclusion’ needs to be considered not only in terms of ‘peace processes’, but also – and equally or even more importantly – in the outcomes. Hence, as long as – say – a constitutional assembly clearly legislates for universal adult suffrage, it may not matter so much if the assembly itself wasn’t fully representative of society. Ideally, of course, one seeks both inclusive processes and outcomes, and – other things being equal – the former will usually make the latter more likely anyway.

But, in messy and risky circumstances, how do we judge when ‘enough’ inclusion has been achieved? Numbers are one way to do this: assessing the proportion of women, men, young people, members of particular castes or ethnicities, people from different religions or regions, or sexual identities in political and administrative roles, in jobs, obtaining justice, attending school and accessing health care, able to vote, and so on.

But numbers can mask underlying truths: for example the number of men and women have for several years been at parity in Rwanda’s parliament; but that doesn’t necessarily indicate that either wield a great deal of power in the political scheme of things there. And reports from Nepal are that despite places being reserved for women, including low caste women, in national government and local village councils, these tend to be determined by male party leaders who allocate them to women of their choice.

The more I consider questions of inclusion, the more often I find myself coming back to the deeper, more important question of fairness. Although it’s not an absolute concept and therefore may be harder to measure than numerical inclusion, it seems to me that it’s the right chalk to use, on this issue. I can think of at least four reasons for that.

First, fairness is a core issue in peace and conflict. While equality may be the holy grail of peacebuilding, I think fairness matters more. Societies less susceptible to fight are those in which access to livelihoods, justice, services, opportunities for advancement, and political voice is fairly available across different segments of society. And by the same token, it’s notions of unfairness which all too often drive people to undermine stability and take up arms. Surely, as a new status quo evolves in Syria, and the war comes to an end, most Syrians will judge the outcome not only by the degree of security it entails, but by how fair their own situation is, and whether they had a fair role in defining it?

Second, while inclusion is an abstract notion emerging from academia and top-down agendas, fairness is something that everyone understands, and it’s commonly one of the criteria we all use to judge the situation we find ourselves in – whether in relation to a seat on the bus, access to housing, water or farmland, or a myriad of other goods. Every child grows up with a sense of what’s fair and unfair. It’s a familiar metric.

Third, fairness is – almost by definition – a comparative concept, rather than a binary one. Most people, I would contend, see fairness as something they have ‘enough’ or ‘not enough’ of, in relation to the issue at hand. This means that one can engage in a discussion about making things ‘fairer’, and thus reducing friction and restoring stability. This means it is eminently suitable for finding compromise: if I am angry at not having enough access to river water to irrigate my farm, it is possible to seek a solution in which I have a bit more water – or find some other way of improving my livelihood, to make my situation fairer, vis-à-vis that of others.

Fourth, fairness is unpatronizing. It’s harder to treat people as objects through the fairness lens, than through the inclusion lens. Inclusion is a passive idea: people can be included, whereas fairness is something they can achieve themselves. Fairness not only meets grievance holders on their own terms, but it also ensures that any conversation about their situation is meaningfully political. Why? Because any discussion of fairness requires a discussion of the resources available, and the trade-offs required if any adjustment is to be made to give one group or another, a fairer crack of the whip. Making sure the conversation is explicitly political in this way reflects the agency of all concerned.

An obvious problem with this approach is the slipperiness and subjectivity of fairness. But that too is an advantage, really, as it means it’s essential to engage with the stakeholders concerned – those who might gain, and those who might lose out, in any proposed change of circumstances – to understand how fair they think it is.

The unhidden thread

March 10, 2019

Grey sunlight glances off wet tarmac, boats
and barges surf and plough the wind and tide.

Planes fly above the cloud; from suburb, coast
and weald, the trains and buses flow in lines,

converge, and spill their riders who divide
and follow bridges, belts and stairways spread

about the city, movements synchronised –
all held in balance by a hidden thread.

I shiver from the beauty of this web,
and cower to foresense its fragile silk cut through –

in every instant see the river surge
with the pace and power of an untamed thoroughbred,

and render towers, gates and gold – and you –
grey-sunlit marshland overflown by birds.


Published in Earlyworks 2018 Anthology


February 22, 2019
What if in fact Potemkin built real towns,
but sailed his empress Catherine instead
past those facades for which he's more renowned,
erected proud along the river’s edge,
and wooed her thus not as befits a queen
but any girl he wanted to impress
with picnics where the Dnieper laps pristine
flood meadows with intent and tenderness,
and beached their boat beneath cascading willows,
served her champagne, caviar and dates,
and lay, caressed by wavelets in the shallows
with her, far removed from cares of state?
For any mighty fool can relocate
a bunch of scurvy settlers from the east –
it takes a rarer talent to create
the perfect backdrop for a royal tryst.
The beauty of Potemkin villages
is you can visit when – with whom – you wish,
and no one’s lurking in the shadows as
a prince and empress steal a real kiss.

First published in This Quieter Shore, a Stickleback micro-collection, 2018


January 13, 2019
Rice crowded terraced heights above
in vivid stripes
as though the world had not
for a long moment paused
while a harsh and violent wind seared the slopes,
and the city they’d for years
led down towards
had not
in that long moment gone

though when you drop a bomb
however powerful
some features randomly remain intact
or recognisable, at least

a chimney stack
a temple arch, a river course, a grid
of curiously uncluttered streets
a simple shed
a jagged obelisk of stones –
the relic corner of a vanished home
in a vanished neighbourhood

I heard you say
your sister’s blood would not stop flowing in
the hot summer sun;
she could not swallow
to replace the blood she lost she was
a child – and so
were you –

it feels like yesterday.

Published in Earlyworks 2018 Anthology

Subsidiarity: le mot du jour for 2019?

January 1, 2019

Subsidiarity is an obscure sounding word, but a simple, intuitive idea with huge resonance for the challenges we face.

Fancy labels obscure simple, intuitive ideas

Sometimes the simplicity of an idea is belied by the complexity of its name. Dialectical Materialism is just a fancy way to say that the interaction between competing economic interests changes societies; Wicked Problems are simply problems so complex we can’t fully grasp them; and Negative Capability simply means that good art does not have to strive for certainty. Ideas removed of their jargon carapace are not just simpler than they sound, they often seem intuitively to be right.

Such is the case for ‘subsidiarity’ – the impenetrably named, yet simple and intuitive idea that decisions should be taken, and tasks undertaken, at the lowest appropriate level, in political systems and large or complex organisations. Over the years, I’ve heard this principle proposed as part of the solution to many diverse challenges, including how to improve harmony across the European Union (EU), how to improve the performance of both a vast global corporation and a relatively small international charity; and I proposed it myself many years ago as part of the discussion about how to improve the international development agenda.

Despite its off-putting name, the subsidiarity principle offers clues to solutions for some of the challenges we currently face, making subsidiarity a strong candidate for political word of the year in 2019 and beyond. Climate change, poverty eradication, holding China together, finding a way forward on migration, addressing the abuse of vulnerable people in the Roman Catholic Church, and softening the harsh politics that have arisen in far too many countries of late: these and countless other challenges can be better understood and better met, if seen through a subsidiarity lens.

Delegating upwards

Subsidiarity is the principle that a central authority should have a subsidiary function, performing only those tasks which cannot or should not be performed more locally. Often confused with decentralization, which is about delegation from the centre, subsidiary can perhaps be better understood as delegation towards the centre. In other words, the central or higher levels of complex organisations are subsidiary to lower levels or peripheries. Subsidiarity is therefore integral to federal states, in which, for example, the federal government leads on foreign and defence policy, and on setting fundamental social norms (citizenship, basic rights and protections, currency, etc.) while states and other entities have primacy over local economic policy.

While it is no doubt a much older idea, the word itself was coined (probably in German as Subsidiarität) in the late Nineteenth Century by Roman Catholic thinkers in respect of Social Thought. In the words of Pope Pius XI, some four decades later:

“Just as it is gravely wrong to take from individuals what they can accomplish by their own initiative and industry and give it to the community, so also it is an injustice and at the same time a grave evil and disturbance of right order to assign to a greater and higher association what lesser and subordinate organizations can do. For every social activity ought of its very nature to furnish help to the members of the body social, and never destroy and absorb them.” (Pope Pius XI, Quadragesimo anno, May 15, 1931,)

Subsidiarity has long been a niche idea, well known mainly to political scientists and the like. But it came to more popular attention in Europe when the EU Maastricht Treaty was being negotiated – and then sold to sometimes sceptical voters – in the early 1990s. The Treaty – then an important step in turning the EU from a primarily economic into a more political union – adopts subsidiarity as a principle of European law, under which the EU’s central institutions may only act where the action of individual countries is insufficient.

The beauty of subsidiarity – when it works – is that it implies and integrates:

  • Trust in diverse, local solutions to locally experienced challenges
  • The importance of maintaining and trusting a higher level set of norms, rules and functions which both empower and – where necessary – constrain local actions and solutions
  • The need and utility for issues to be addressed at a higher level or by a more central authority, when they are too large or complex for local solutions alone to suffice.

As such it is indeed a seductive and intuitive concept which when successfully applied, privileges efficiency, effectiveness, fairness and resilience, and nourishes both the individual and the wider society.

Applying subsidiarity to the challenges of today, and the challenges of tomorrow, today

It’s beyond the scope of this short article to explain in detail the mechanisms through which subsidiarity might help us discover solutions to our challenges as a society in 2019. But we can at least explore why it is relevant to a few examples.

Man-made climate change seems an obvious place to begin, since it is an issue which affects the whole world, but does so locally (i.e. where environmental changes impact on local lives), as a result of emissions which are often created in other localities far away. It also encapsulates the importance of intergenerational fairness: the need to heed the voices of the as-yet unborn. Mitigation measures – to reduce carbon and other warming emissions – need to be developed locally, but in a context of global rules. This is the only way to avoid a so-called tragedy of the commons, in which certain interests continue to benefit from polluting while others show restraint, and the global problem remains unresolved. Adaptation to environmental changes meanwhile must be locally designed, so that it takes account of diverse local realities, interests and needs, but within national policies which incorporate fairness and environmental and social sustainability. These policies in their turn need to reflect international agreements which translate fairness into a reasonable, practicable framework of financial transfers from wealthy, historically high-emitting countries, to poorer, lower-carbon economies.

Global poverty eradication took an important step forward with the adoption of the Sustainable Development Goals in 2015. These outline the main fields of endeavour through which poverty can be reduced, so that poorer countries and communities gain improved access to voice, opportunity, services and sustained, sustainable progress. The SDGs represent the first time that we have achieved global agreement on what matters most for humanity, since the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948. But this high level agreement means little unless translated into actions at multiple levels: legislation by national parliaments, actions by national executives, businesses and civil society, and supportive frameworks put in place by international bodies, international donors and philanthropists. These cannot all be coordinated from ‘the centre’ – in any case there is no ‘centre’ from which to do so in this vast and messy world. So what’s needed is continued and increased local and national energy, where necessary delegating upwards with requested for supportive actions and frameworks – rather than a delegation downwards of the targets included in the SDGs, as some see it. In this context, the global framework, in the hand of the UN, remains a tool through which to measure and publicise the progress being made in different countries, and thus enable decision-makers to be held to account for their contribution.

Migration offers another interesting example of international action, in the recently agreed, and somewhat controversial Global Compact for Migration. This vast and sprawling document, agreed in Morocco last month, was the result of many months of international negotiation, facilitated by the UN and the International Organisation for Migration (IoM), in response to a sense of impotence and frustration felt by the citizens and governments of wealthy destination countries and poorer ‘sending’ countries alike. In a sense, through their frustration and recognition that no single state could fully address the issue, they ‘delegated upwards’ the task of articulating a new framework for migration. Despite the fact that some countries quit the process because they claimed it undermined state sovereignty, the Compact is in fact a fairly toothless declaration. But it sets out the principles of a global approach to migration that is fair to all: that respects the anxieties of citizens in destination countries and the aspirations of potential migrants, and treats everyone with dignity and protects vulnerable people. The next stage is to put this new Compact into action. But ‘implementing the Compact’ is probably an oxymoron, as it is not a plan, merely a framework. Nevertheless, it contains principles as well as practical suggestions for how communities, governments and international organisations can now proceed, and over time it is hoped that its guidelines will begin to shape doctrines and underpin a new set of accepted practices, much as the 1951 Refugee Convention did many years ago.

For the Chinese Communist Party success is ultimately defined in terms of maintaining its hold on power, as it believes that is the only way to achieve stability in such a vast and complex country, at least for now. One way it has done so, has been through the phenomenal leap forward of the past forty years. This has allowed hundreds of millions of citizens to emerge out of poverty, and has transformed China’s international status. But this has been at huge environmental and social cost. China has already begun the task of reversing the environmental degradation, not least as a way to reduce social discontent due to pollution and poor living conditions. But it still faces a herculean challenge keeping the country together, as demographic change, improved education and access to heterodox ideas threaten the social and economic models that have worked so far, and threaten to undermine citizens’ confidence in a governance over which they have limited influence. The scandalous mistreatment of millions of Muslim Uighurs in north-western China is but the latest high profile example of how the state is willing to trample over local and individual rights and preferences, for the greater good of the nation as defined by the state. Sooner or later, this will surely become unsustainable, and it is hard to seen any sustainable solution which does not move towards the principle of subsidiarity, and an environment of increased trust. A governance imbued with subsidiarity is by nature resilient, able to absorb pressures and tensions, and bounce back. Governance without subsidiarity, by contrast, is brittle, fragile, and liable to self-destruct.

Applying subsidiary to the Roman Catholic Church – the institution whence it emerged – is also instructive. The Church is reeling from the consequences of its failure to prevent and hold people accountable for the abuse of vulnerable people, often children, by priests and other office holders across the world. For years, it resisted internal and external pressure to change. More recently, the current Pope has made it clear that this must change. This problem demands a response that reflects subsidiarity. The Church leadership needs to set out in clear, unambiguous detail, the need for all its agents around the world to prevent further abuse as an absolute priority, and to collaborate humbly and completely with national law enforcement agencies, so that all people suspected of abuse are investigated without bias or prejudice, and held to account under the law if found guilty. To this end, it needs also to make available the necessary support and tools to its provinces around the world, reward church leaders who do the right thing, and sanction those who do not. Local action, supported by a global framework of norms and guidance: subsidiarity.

And finally – since I am writing this in Brexit Britain – to the question of how to respond to pernicious, populist politics. The EU project provides a neat scapegoat for the anxieties and concerns of many European citizens, for their own and their children’s futures. Brexit is a textbook example. Personally, I voted for the UK to remain in the EU. But that doesn’t mean I think the Brexiteers don’t have a point. Brexit – along with other currents of nationalism, nativism and populism being whipped up by often shrewd political entrepreneurs like Steve Bannon – does genuinely illustrate the need for our governance arrangements to be reviewed using a subsidiarity lens. During my lifetime, governments in Western Europe, as elsewhere, have signed up to an increasing number of international frameworks which constrain their ability to act politically at home. Mostly, these have been a good thing, whether taken individually or as a whole. Nevertheless, little by little, power and authority have seeped from where they once lay, to places further away, where citizen-voters can no longer see nor smell them. The cumulative effect over time has been to undermine subsidiarity: the combination of mutual trust in diverse, local solutions to locally experienced challenges, a higher level set of norms and functions which both empower and – where necessary – constrain local actions and solutions, and need for some issues to be addressed at a higher level or by a more central authority, when they are too large or complex for local solutions alone to suffice. Somehow or other, across the USA, Europe, Mexico, Brazil and elsewhere, there’s a need to take another look at how to re-energise the social contract through a rebalancing of the subsidiarity web, ensuring that political acts are effected no further away from where citizens live and experience them, than they ought to be.

But it’s no panacea

In these examples I’ve tried to show why subsidiarity matters – perhaps more than ever – today. I don’t mean to imply any of this is easy. After all, subsidiarity has long been used by people on both the left and the right to justify their particular points of view. For libertarians and Tea Party activists, subsidiarity means limiting the power of government; for some on the Left, it means preventing local decision-making with which they might disagree. Pope Pius XI’s words quoted earlier should be understood in part as the Roman Catholic Church’s attempt to find a kind of third way, in response to the conflict stirred up by the powerful and various torrents of Nazism, Fascism, Communism, Liberalism and Capitalism meeting each other head-on in an already unstable political environment.

Applying a subsidiarity lens does not automatically provide a solution. What it does provide, however, is a lens through which to analyse the challenges we face, and a framework within which to discuss which kinds of actions and decision are needed, and will continue to be needed in the future. This, I hope, can help us develop or reinforce locally empowering competency and capability, within clearly articulated and enforced norms and protections for current and future generations.

The bridge

December 18, 2018
I come each day to clean the marble plaque,
place flowers beneath Azadin’s face, and pray
he rests in peace. The eve of the attack,
he begged my blessing which I proudly gave –
a mother's leave to die.
                         Low sunlight bathes
the bridge, the road, the bracken-covered hills
in warmth and welcome; piebald peaks arrayed
Against the sky stand friendly guard.
                                     War steals
our children but it spares them all the ills
of longer life, and us from saving them.
I sit in simple silence simply filled
with comfort by his being near.
                                She spends
her evenings at the bridge contentedly;
the sunlight dissolves gently in the sea.

First published in Pennine Platform no. 84


December 10, 2018
for Barbara Hepworth

How did you know
before you reached inside and opened it,
the surfaces within a solid sphere would be 
                                            so vast
that light would brush their grain like fingertips
and never die?

How did you know
the only place to tilt and tap the blade;
how did you dare to make 
the first – the final – cut? 

How did you know 
what we did not –
and would not, still: 
our fear of seeing space unfolding endlessly?

First published in Pennine Platform no. 84 and The Ekphrastic Review