Sierra Leone. Photo: Richard Mallett
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“But they have a space programme!”: untangling the foreign aid debate

Mainstream narratives about aid are clumsy and confused: here's how to talk about international development.

Aid is one of the great political footballs of our time. Certainly, it’s one of those issues that gets some pretty strong reactions on a fairly frequent basis.

But most of the time, the way it’s talked about is unhelpful. Whatever your stance, engaging productively in the public debate on aid is really hard because of the clumsy and confused nature of mainstream narratives. To me, a lot of what people say conflates several different aspects of what is quite a large and complex debate.

The next time you hear someone important (a politician, an op-ed writer, Bono) talking about “the big question” – whether we should give aid overseas – observe the way they are actually talking about a number of different things at the same time, mixing up issues which should really be treated quite separately. Many people’s positions on aid are grounded in a horribly distorted logic, which takes some effort to untangle. Here is one attempt to start doing that: below are five separate strands of argument that are quite often thrown together when stating or defending a position.

Whether aid should be given in principle

In making a case for or against aid, people often reflect on whether it should be given in the first place. Many will argue that there is a moral imperative to help others because of the disgusting injustice of many millions of people being born into absolute poverty. Others will ask why on earth the UK has any obligation (or right) to address these problems, however awful they might be.

This line of reasoning is in many ways distinct from the issue of whether aid is good or bad at what it’s meant to do. The point here is instead far more about whether one believes there is a fundamental case for helping out less well-off people living in a different country. My sense is that most people believe in the principle of giving aid, but that this is conditional on a number of factors. Many argue that the UK, as a relatively wealthy country, has some sort of responsibility in principle to help out our less well-off counterparts, but that this obligation can be made void if, for example, the UK is going through tough times (“charity begins at home”).

Whether aid should be given as long as we get something out of it

Then there’s the argument that we should be giving aid because it’s in our self-interest. Returns of various kinds are cited: a safer world and quieter UK borders are two popular ones. Whether aid actually generates these effects doesn’t appear to be all that important. When David Cameron assures the electorate that his aid policy is helping to reduce immigration to the UK and make our country safer, he presumably hasn’t seen the research suggesting that aid can induce migration or that there is no causal link between poverty and participation in terrorism.

Whether aid is allocated and spent appropriately

Those making impassioned arguments against aid usually make the point: “I just cannot understand why we are lavishing millions on a country with more dollar billionaires than us/a space programme/legions of government officials with an insatiable appetite for sunglasses and sports cars”. There are a few dimensions to this. One is whether aid should be given to countries that are technically not “low income” (and which are presumably, therefore, not deemed deserving). Andy Sumner’s extensive research into the geographical distribution of absolute poverty is a must read on this point. Another part of this is people’s concern that our aid money is being misspent on booze and lap dancers. These kinds of arguments, however, tend to be based on hearsay, anecdotal evidence or isolated events. I don’t think anyone working in the aid industry is denying that aid has never been misused or diverted. But hopefully some of us would argue that this is a reason to make the system work better, rather than a reason to scrap it altogether.

Whether aid works

This is the most frustrating part of the whole aid debate, because it is an evidence-based question.  Plenty of research has been done, and the published outputs are available to read. Granted, it might not always be openly accessible – a problem, for sure – but if people are mounting public critiques of aid on the basis that it doesn’t do what it’s meant to, then the least they can do is a bit of reading. Much of the evidence is positive. But not all of it is – and people should be open about this. That said, the biggest problem I see with this part of the debate is that the question is framed too broadly. Researcher Lee Crawfurd puts it well: “Next time you hear ‘does aid work?’ think ‘does policy work?’. It's a silly question, and obvious when you put it like that.”

Whether aid is the best way to support development

“We shouldn’t be giving these countries aid, we should be looking at more sustainable solutions.” The sense I get is that many who talk about “why aid is bad” feel they’ve stumbled across something those working in the industry have never realized: that aid is not the best option, that there are better ways of addressing poverty. Promote the international mobility of labour, tackle inequality, remove protectionist trade policies, and so on. Not only would most people agree with this, but it’s actually what many aid folk are working on – and have been for years. Arguing for structural change does not mean having to argue against aid.

Rich Mallett is a researcher in international development. He tweets @rich_mallett

Felipe Araujo
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Manchester's Muslim community under siege: "We are part of the fabric of this nation"

As the investigation into last week's bombing continues, familiar media narratives about Islam conflict with the city's support for its Muslim population.

“You guys only come when something like this happens,” said one of the worshippers at Manchester's Victoria Park Mosque, visibly annoyed at the unusual commotion. Four days after the attack that killed 22 people, this congregation, along with many others around the city, is under a microscope.

During Friday prayers, some of the world’s media came looking for answers. On the eve of Ramadan, the dark shadow of terrorism looms large over most mosques in Manchester and beyond.

“People who do this kind of thing are no Muslims,” one man tells me.

It’s a routine that has become all too familiar to mosque goers in the immediate aftermath of a major terror attack. In spite of reassurances from authorities and the government, Muslims in this city of 600,000 feel under siege. 

“The media likes to portray us as an add-on, an addition to society,” Imam Irfan Christi tells me. “I would like to remind people that in World War I and World War II Muslims fought for this nation. We are part of the fabric of this great nation that we are.”

On Wednesday, soon after it was revealed the perpetrator of last Monday’s attack, Salman Ramadan Abedi, worshipped at the Manchester Islamic Centre in the affluent area of Didsbury, the centre was under police guard, with very few people allowed in. Outside, with the media was impatiently waiting, a young man was giving interviews to whoever was interested.

“Tell me, what is the difference between a British plane dropping bombs on a school in Syria and a young man going into a concert and blowing himself up,” he asked rhetorically. “Do you support terrorists, then?” one female reporter retorted. 

When mosque officials finally came out, they read from a written statement. No questions were allowed. 

“Some media reports have reported that the bomber worked at the Manchester Islamic Centre. This is not true,” said the director of the centre’s trustees, Mohammad el-Khayat. “We express concern that a very small section of the media are manufacturing stories.”

Annoyed by the lack of information and under pressure from pushy editors, eager for a sexy headline, the desperation on the reporters’ faces was visible. They wanted something, from anyone, who had  even if a flimsy connection to the local Muslim community or the mosque. 

Two of them turned to me. With curly hair and black skin, in their heads I was the perfect fit for what a Muslim was supposed to look like.

"Excuse me, mate, are you from the mosque, can I ask you a couple of questions,” they asked. “What about?,” I said. "Well, you are a Muslim, right?" I laughed. The reporter walked away.

At the Victoria Park Mosque on Friday, Imam Christi dedicated a large portion of his sermon condemning last Monday’s tragedy. But he was also forced to once again defend his religion and its followers, saying Islam is about peace and that nowhere in the Koran it says Muslims should pursue jihad.

“The Koran has come to cure people. It has come to guide people. It has come to give harmony in society,” he said. “And yet that same Koran is being described as blood thirsty? Yet that same Koran is being abused to justify terror and violence. Who de we take our Islam from?”

In spite of opening its doors to the world’s media, mosques in Britain’s major cities know they can do very little to change a narrative they believe discriminates against Muslims. They seem to feel that the very presence of reporters in these places every time a terror attack happens reveals an agenda.

Despite this, on the streets of Manchester it has proved difficult to find anyone who had a bad thing to say about Islam and the city’s Muslim community. Messages of unity were visible all over town. One taxi driver, a white working-class British man, warned me to not believe anything I read in the media.

“Half of my friends are British Muslims,” he said even before asked. “ These people that say Islam is about terrorism have no idea what they are talking about.”

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.

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