In this week's New Statesman: Europe's most dangerous leader

Plus a special report: can we afford foreign aid?

Can we afford foreign aid?

At the centre of the New Statesman’s aid package this week, the economist Dambisa Moyo, and the Liberal Democrat peer Paddy Ashdown debate the fundamental question: does aid work?

Moyo argues that much international aid to Africa has been ineffective in “combating poverty and spurring economic growth in a sustained way” because the majority is given without effective conditions attached – and that aid can negatively impact on an economy.

Moreover, foreign aid leads governments to spend more time “courting and catering to their donors than on their constituents”. Moyo questions why the world continues with its aid-based approach in Africa “when we know that trade, investment (domestic and foreign) as well as transparent and effective capital markets are essential for economic success”: 

There is a sense in which there is one set of policies designed for Africa, and another for the rest of the world.

Ashdown, meanwhile, argues that providing long-term aid is a practical as well as moral thing for the UK to do: 

The right type of development aid not only helps countries grow and gives children a better future but is also hugely important in helping to prevent great humanitarian crises. In the future, poverty and lack of access to resources will be two of the greatest drivers of conflict. Aid, which lifts countries out of hopelessness and poverty, is one of the best ways to prevent these conflicts. If you think aid is expensive, try war as an alternative. 

Also in the aid package, Imran Khan tells Mehdi Hasan that in Pakistan, “aid finances a lavish lifestyle” for politicians. Asked what damage international aid has done to the country, the chairman of the Movement for Justice party responds:

First, it stops us making the reforms to restructure our economy. If you have a fiscal deficit, you will be forced to cut your expenditure and you will do everything to raise your revenues. This important development did not take place, because of aid. Second, IMF loans. These two things have propped up crooked governments who have used the poor to service the debt through indirect taxation. The poor subsidise the rich in Pakistan. 

Elsewhere, the NS asks a number of campaigners and opinion-formers – from Jock Stirrup to Annie Lennox – a simple question: can aid end aid?

Tony Blair, who founded the Africa Governance Initiative, responds:

I believe in aid. That’s why, as prime minister, I negotiated the doubling of aid to Africa at the Gleneagles Summit in 2005 . . . But aid alone is not enough. Ultimately, development depends on two things: governance and growth . . . For our part, the rich world has to open up its markets and ensure that global trade rules are fair . . . [T]he of dependence on aid can be achieved within a generation.

Mo Farah, the British athlete and founder of the Mo Farah Foundation, argues “aid is vital in times of emergency – when famine struck Somalia last year UK aid kept people alive.” However, Farah points out: 

Drought is inevitable but famine is not, if we invest in the right solutions such as water wells, crop storage and support for farmers . . . We should be proud of our aid: it saves lives. And when the day comes when aid is no longer needed, we should be proud of that, too.

And in the NS interview, the model and charity ambassador Erin O’Connor tells Alice Gribbin how she thinks she can help Save the Children in their work with those suffering from preventable diseases in India:

“It’s about awareness. I’ve existed in 2D form for the past 15 years as a fashion model, but if that engages people who may recognise me here in the UK, that’s got to help in some way.”

Andrew Mitchell: “Midterm has arrived with a vengeance”

In the Politics interview, Rafael Behr discusses foreign spending in the age of recession with Andrew Mitchell, the Secretary of State for International Development. Mitchell rebuts criticisms aimed at the Tories that their commitment to aid is part of attempts to “decontaminate” the party brand. “It’s really insulting to say this is just about detoxifying the Conservative Party,” he tells Behr.

Mitchell also refutes complaints by some in the party that other “modernising” fixations – such as gay marriage – distract from the mainstream Conservative agenda. However, as Behr notes, the issue is a cause of grief for Tory MPs at the grass-roots level: some complain that gay marriage cost them seats in the May local elections. Mitchell instead blames economic uncertainty and the normal political cycle for the government’s difficulties, telling Behr:

“Midterm has arrived with a vengeance. It took a long time. Many of us couldn’t really understand why it was taking so long; it was like pulling a brick on an elastic.”

As an aside, Behr spots a telling piece of iconography in the cabinet minister’s office:

I notice, among the exotic souvenirs on a coffee table in the corner, a nutcracker that doubles as a Margaret Thatcher action figure.

Elsewhere in the New Statesman

  • John Burnside, the poet, novelist and NS nature columnist contributes a new short story, “Perfect and private things”, written exclusively for the New Statesman
  • Mehdi Hasan argues Angela Merkel’s mania for austerity is destroying Europe
  • Rachel Shabi reports on the need to question the accepted narrative on Syria
  • Conor Mark Jameson investigates what is causing the strange disappearance of our songbirds
  • Rafael Behr reveals Labour’s divisions over House of Lords reform
  • In Critics: Julia Copus explores the role of time in art and litearture; Toby Litt reviews the new book on Blondie, Parallel Lives; Alec MacGillis considers David Maraniss's biography of the young Barack Obama and Will Self's Madness of Crowds

 

Alice Gribbin is a Teaching-Writing Fellow at the Iowa Writers' Workshop. She was formerly the editorial assistant at the New Statesman.

Getty
Show Hide image

Overlooking the effect of Brexit on Northern Ireland is dangerous for the whole UK

We voted to remain in the European Union. The tensions caused by the referendum outcome, and ignoring its effect on us, will cause utter carnage in Northern Ireland.

I’ve been from Northern Ireland all my life. Having spent many years living in Dublin, and now London, I’m quite used to that very fact making people uncomfortable. I get it. From a glance at the news, it would seem we fight each other about flags and anthems and are inexcusably proud of throwing glass at people in bowler hats, or daubing on our own homes the worst paintings ever committed to brickwork. Our tiny little protectorate has generated such disproportionate levels of confusing violence, most people are terrified of saying the wrong thing about any of it. We’re the celiac vegans of nationalities; the worry is that almost anything you offer will offend.

Most people avoid such worries by – whisper it – simply never acknowledging that we exist. This reflexive forgetfulness is, of course, a happy state of affairs compared to what went before. I refer, of course, to the period named, with that Ulster-tinged strain of sardonic understatement, the Troubles, when some 3,600 people were killed and ten times that injured. By some estimates, as many as 115,000 people lost a close relative to violence in this time, and many more a good friend, a colleague or an old school pal. Taken as a portion of 1.5m people, this means a startlingly high percentage of Northern Irish citizens have been directly affected by the conflict, certainly a higher percentage than that of, say, the English electorate who have ever voted for Ukip.

Northern Ireland also contains Britain’s only fully open border with the EU. I know because I grew up on it, specifically between Derry and Donegal, where my dad's back fence demarked an invisible boundary, a small hop from the UK to the Republic, and back. From a migration point of view, this poses a problem, so when Brexit was being deliberated, it did seem odd that Northern Ireland was barely mentioned at all, that the one border that exists in the entire country was given such scant reference during the campaign’s interminable duration. A dreaded EU migrant, travelling freely through Ireland toward my father’s house will not be subject to border checks once he has passed it quietly behind him. No machine guns, no "papers please", none of the fortified rigour mandated by the Leave campaign. Implementing such fortifications would, of course, be a practical nightmare, since so many live in Ireland but work in the UK, and vice versa. But the psychological effect of such a move would be infinitely worse.


Much of the Good Friday Agreement was predicated on free movement between north and south, and cross-border bodies that reinforced a soft-union of the two states; just enough to ameliorate nationalists, but nothing so resembling a united Ireland as to antagonise unionists. Making Irish-identifying Northern Irish citizens undergo any form of border checkpoint between the two countries would not just be a bureaucratic hassle, it would massively inhibit the self-determination nearly half of Northern Ireland's population takes from both countries’ status within a wider European state.

The peace that exists rests largely on this status quo, the acceptance of people who reject violent means and see little injustice in being allowed to live their lives within a British state that dignifies their close connection to their southern neighbours. It is hard to overstate how different this situation would be were armed checkpoints to re-emerge. I remember checkpoints as a child. I remember machine guns and dogs and my dad making sure we weren't nervous while he was being interrogated by armed men inspecting his driving license and checking under our car for explosives. This was every day. Rather than some novel development, this will be a direct, unbidden return to something we worked very, very hard to get away from, something we were promised was over, and something for which thousands of very stubborn, dangerous people struck what many considered a highly improbable truce.

It is this effort to which thousands of Northern Irish people now owe their lives, to which tens, perhaps hundreds, of thousands more can count among the living and healthy their siblings, their friends, their colleagues. This may not be at the forefront of minds in Carlisle or Cornwall or aboard the statesmanlike grandeur of a battlebus, but it is the lived reality of Northern Irish people. To stoke up these tensions risks sleepwalking out of a peace that was hard-fought and long considered unthinkable. To do so as a side effect of what appears to be, on its face, little more than a tussle for the leadership of a single political party with little-to-no presence in Northern Ireland seems distasteful in the extreme.

Having stating these facts to friends here in London, I’ve been touched by their sorrow for our plight but, for all their sympathy, it might still not have registered that our problems have a tradition of travelling to people in London and Dublin, in Birmingham and in Monaghan. If greater care is not given to the thoughts, aspirations and fears of Northern Irish people, and those still-present agents of chaos who would seek to use such discontent to their own violent ends, we risk losing a lot more than free use of bagpipes or pleasingly bendy bananas.

Westminster must listen to those who would bear the burden of Fortress Britain’s turrets near their homes or else, to borrow a phrase, Brexit will be a threat to our national security, our economic security and your family's security.

Séamas O'Reilly is a writer and musician. He tweets @shockproofbeats. His website is shocko.info.