A Better India: A Better World by N.R. Narayana Murthy
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a refreshing book by an important business leader. When an Indian colleague first lent it to me, I wasn’t thrilled to read it but felt obliged. I was very much positively surprised. N.R. Narayana Murthy, the founder and chairman of Infosys presents a rather coherent and positive vision to the world according to himself. If only many more business leaders thought like him, one might even feel tempted by this thing called ‘compassionate capitalism.’  Narayana Murthy has thought much about India, his homeland, and its contradictions. In the introduction to his book, he outlines these:

“The enigma of India is that our progress in higher education and in science and technology has not been sufficient to take 350 million Indians out of illiteracy. It is difficult to imagine that 318 million people in the country do not have access to safe drinking water and 250 million people do not have access to basic medical care. Why should 630 million people not have access to acceptable sanitation facilities even in 2009? When you see world-class supermarkets and food chains in our towns, and when our urban youngsters gloat over the choice of toppings on their pizzas, why should 51 per cent of the children in the country be undernourished? When India is among the largest producers of engineers and scientists in the world, why should 52 per cent of the primary schools have only one teacher for every two classes? When our politicians and bureaucrats live in huge houses in Lutyens’ Delhi and the state capitals, our corporate leaders splurge money on mansions, yachts and planes, and our urban youth revel in their latest sport shoes, why should 300 million Indians live on hardly Rs 545 per month (US$10 at current exchange rate), barely sufficient to manage two meals a day, with little or no money left for schooling, clothes, shelter and medicine?” (pp. xiii-xiv).

His starting point is Franklin D. Roosevelt’s ‘four freedoms’—freedom of speech and expression, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear (p. xiii). He later elaborates on what a ‘civilized society’ entails: “a society where everybody has equal opportunity to better his or her life; where every child has food, shelter, health care and education; a society where duties come before rights; where each generation makes sacrifices to make life better for the next generation” (p. 11). Obviously, many of these tenets are increasingly not present in today’s USA and, worse, many Americans on the right would dispute these principles as smacking of socialism.

Narayana Murthy is a well-read and well-travelled, learned man who clearly thinks a lot about societal issues. In the introduction his acknowledged three books that have influenced him deeply: The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Weber; My Experiments with Truth by Mahatma Gandhi; and Peau Noire, Masques Blancs by Franz Fanon (p. xiv). This rather eclectic selection shows the breadth of his reading and attests to an open mind. He builds his own philosophy on these disparate strains of thought, emphasizing the importance of values and leadership. He sets out early in the book that, “I do not know of any community—a company, an institution or a nation—that has achieved success without a long journey of aspiration, hard work, commitment, focus, hope, confidence, humility and sacrifice” (p. xxiii).

His student years in France in the 1970s were very important in forming his thinking. In the first chapter, a lecture to students, he compares France to India for its civil-mindedness: “In France, everybody acted as if it was their job to discuss, debate and quickly act on improving public facilities. In India, we discuss, debate and behave as if the improvement of any public facility is not our task, and consequently, do not act at all” (p. 11). His conclusion: being a developing country is a mindset. Here he breaks clear of the Left, placing the onus on the individual, as well as the society as a whole, to take responsibility for its own destiny. He tells a story of how he lost any sympathy for the Left after having been incarcerated by Bulgarian authorities when traveling back from Paris to India in 1974 (pp. 4-5).

This is a collection of 37 essays and speeches given at a variety of fora during the 2000s and selected for the book by the author himself. They are divided into sections: Address to students; Values; Important national issues; Education; Leadership challenges; Corporate and public governance; Corporate social responsibility and philanthropy; Entrepreneurship; Globalization; and, finally, three short chapters on Infosys. In such a collection it is inevitable that there are overlaps between the chapters and many recurrent themes. I’ll pick a few themes that I found interesting here below.

He addresses students in a variety of schools, ranging from prestigious institutions like INSEAD, Indian Institute of Technology, IESE Business School in Barcelona and NYU, to various other universities in India. He exhorts his values: “You must believe in and act according to the principle that putting public interest ahead of private interest in the short term will be better for your private concerns in the long run.” … “Ego, vanity and contempt for other people have clouded our minds for thousands of years and impeded our progress. Humility is scarce in this country.” … “No county that has shunned merit has succeeded in solving its problems.” … “The reason for the lack of progress in many developing nations is not the paucity of resources but the lack of management talent and professionalism” (pp. 14-15).

Narayana Murthy is a fan of globalization and refers to the ‘global bazaar’ and Thomas Friedman’s ‘flat world’ in several places. In this context, he calls for “an environment of tolerance and respect for multi-culturalism” (p. 19). He sees global warming and environmental degradation as major threats and sees that the answers must lie in global cooperation: “The solution is not to force developing nations to forgo what the developed world has enjoyed for over a century. It is to come together as one planet and use innovation in technology to produce alternate energy solutions and reduction of carbon emissions.” His thinking reflects the intergenerational equity perspective embedded in the original definition of sustainable development: “After all, this is the only planet we have. Conduct yourself as if you have borrowed it from the next generation. Remember that you will have to give it back to them in good shape” (pp. 20-21).

He is also very critical of laissez-faire capitalism, a theme that resonates throughout the book: “Unfortunately, the greed of several corporate leaders, the meltdown of Wall Street, the increasing differences between the salaries of CEOs and ordinary workers, and the unbelievable severance compensation paid to failed CEOs have called into question whether capitalism is indeed a solution for the benefit of all, or if it is an instrument for a few cunning people to hoodwink a large mass of gullible middle-class and poor people. Never before in the history of capitalism have so few people brought so much misery to so many.” His views of how to manage a company are in line with his broader beliefs: “The only way you can save capitalism and bring it back to its shining glory is by conducting yourselves as decent, honest, fair, diligent and socially conscious business leaders. In every action of yours, you have to ask how it will make the lowest level worker in your corporation and the poorest person in your society better. You have to learn to put the interest of the community—your corporation, your society, your nation and this planet—before your own interest.” Again emphasizing the need for sacrifice, he states that, “(T)o succeed in these days of globalization, global warming and laissez-faire capitalism, every worker in your corporation will have to accept tremendous sacrifices in the short term and hope that goodness will, indeed, succeed in the long term and make life better for every one of them” (pp. 21-22). Certainly not the thinking en vogue on this continent!

Naryana Murthy is also rather harsh on India. In a chapter entitled ‘What Can We Learn from the West?’ he chastises his own nation for faulty values: “Indian society has, for over a thousand years, put loyalty to family ahead of loyalty to society.” … “Unfortunately, our attitude towards family life is not reflected in our attitude towards the community. From littering the streets to corruption to violating contractual obligations, we are apathetic to the community good.” … “Apathy in addressing community matters has held us back from making progress which is otherwise within our reach. We see serious problems around us but do not try to solve them. We behave as if the problems do not exist or as if they belong to someone else” (pp. 47-49). He continues, “our intellectual arrogance has also not helped our society. I have travelled extensively and, in my experience, have not come across another society where people are as contemptuous of better societies as we are, with as little progress as we have achieved.” He identifies things that India should learn from the West, including accountability, dignity of labour (“everybody in India wants to be a thinker and not a doer”), and professionalism (punctuality, respect for other people’s time, respecting contractual obligations), concluding that “the most important attribute of a progressive society is respect for others who have accomplished more than they themselves have, and the willingness to learn from them” (pp. 50-51)

Elaborating on individual responsibilities, he adds one more: discipline. “There are several ingredients for national development—natural resources, human resources, leadership, and finally, discipline.” … “The utter lack of discipline exhibited by our people is rendering these other three powerful factors ineffective for fast-paced economic growth. We see umpteen examples of undisciplined behaviour around us every day. What is even sadder is that this behaviour has become the norm even among the powerful and the elite.” … “Discipline is about complying with the agreed protocols, norms, desirable practices, regulations and the laws of the land designed to improve the performance of individuals and societies. Discipline is the bedrock of individual development, community development, and national development” (p. 57). In this category, Narayana Murthy includes aspects, such as lack of discipline in thought, or intellectual dishonesty (objectivity to focus on outcomes and results, rather than politics or focus on caste and religion; corruption). To achieve discipline, India needs role models (honest, accountable, disciplined leaders committed to change), swift and harsh punishment of offenders, transparency, political reform, and an improved bureaucracy (p. 65).

The part focusing on important national issues considers a wide range, including the role of population in economic development in India. Talking about population growth as a strain to development risks getting attacked from both the Left and the Right these days, but Narayana Murthy barges right into the issues. He highlights the need for ‘good human capital’ (p. 94) but also warns that “a failure to stabilize India’s population will have significant implications for the future of India’s economy” and that “high population densities have also led to overloaded systems and infrastructure in urban areas” (p. 95). He links the population debate to environment and resources, in particular energy demand, noting how the combined demands from India and China will put pressure on world resources: “The rapid growth in emerging economies cannot be sustained in the face of mounting environmental deterioration and resource depletion” (pp. 96-97). He sees a clear role for the government, which must “focus on conservation-friendly policies. For example, subsidies on conventional fuel make it difficult for renewable energy sources to compete and should be removed at least for rich and middle-class people.” … “The government can play a key role as a regulator in making Indian industry environmentally responsible” (pp. 99-100). Would someone please tell that to the politicians in Washington, DC?

So, how to deal with the issue of excessive population growth? Well, there’s the need to meet unmet need of contraception and the issue of how Indian states have failed to implement family planning programs. Narayana Murthy recognizes that there’s been a significant decrease in population growth in certain southern states, such as Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, where “state governments here focussed on human development, opened up local economies, and improved social services … Rising female literacy in these states contributed to the success of family planning … A focus on women’s and children’s health also contribute to population control.” He concludes, in line with what is also known from empirical literature: “human development goes hand in hand with lower population growth” (pp. 98-99). What he doesn’t mention is that states like Kerala have for decades been run by parties from the Left.

His ‘Framework for Urban Planning in Modern India’ also recognizes the importance of planning but calls for “radical, immediate reform in the planning and management of our cities” that “must adequately address the shortage of low-cost housing” (pp. 104-105).

Moving to corporate governance, he extols the virtues of good corporate governance to enhance corporate performance while ensuring that corporations conform with the interests of investors and society by “creating fairness, transparency and accountability in business activities among employees, management and the board” (p. 174). “The abuse of corporate power results from incentives within firms that encourage a culture of corruption. … Clearly, good governance requires a mindset within the corporation which integrates the corporate code of ethics into the day-to-day activities of its managers and workers” (p. 181). “Corporate leaders have to create a climate of opinion that values respectability in addition to wealth” (p. 184).

So what is this ‘compassionate capitalism’ that Narayana Murthy longs for?  According to him it is about “bringing the power of capitalism to the benefit of large masses. It is about combining the power of mind and heart, the good of capitalism and socialism … The benefits of growth have to be distributed widely” (p. 215). While this does not exist anywhere, Narayana Murthy does pay some respect to what he calls the ‘Swedish model.’

He returns to the theme of the lack of credibility of capitalism today: “Greedy behaviour from corporate leaders has strengthened public conviction that free markets are tools for the rich to get richer at the expense of the welfare of the general public” (p. 216). Lest capitalism is rejected as the most accepted model for growth in developing countries and by the alienated poor, the business leaders have to regain the trust of society and abide the value system of the community where they operate. Touching on a debate that rages both in America and Europe, Narayana Murthy weighs in on executive compensation: “Business leaders should shun excessive managerial compensation. Managerial remuneration should be based on three principles—fairness with respect to the compensation of other employees; transparency with respect to shareholders and employees; and accountability with respect to linking compensation with corporate performance … We have to create a climate of opinion which says respect is more important than wealth” (pp. 216-217). Indeed.

At the end, this rather visionary and socially aware business leader sees globalization in an almost exclusively favourable light, concluding that “we need a flat world because is spreads the American beliefs in free trade to the rest of the world; it benefits consumers from all over the globe; it helps create a world with better opportunities for everyone; and, finally, it brings global trade into focus, shunning terrorism and creating a more peaceful world” (p. 256). The self-confessed admirer of the United States would be bitterly disappointed with the level of political discourse here today.


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Some Small Countries Do It Better: Rapid Growth and Its Causes in Singapore, Finland, and Ireland by Shahid Yusuf
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This excellent small book of just 169 pages provides a systematic analysis of evidence pertaining to a particular development path that a group of three small countries—Singapore, Finland and Ireland—followed.  I read the book with special curiosity, not only due to a general interest in economic and social development, but because I was born and grew up in one of the countries, Finland, and wanted to know whether I would recognize my home country from their analysis. I can now confirm that I mostly did.

Collectively termed Sifire, they experienced strong growth and transformed their economies from middle-income countries to some of the richest in the world in the period since the mid-1980s. The authors’ premise is that: “The path followed by these three countries offers a different perspective on growth. Their approach may be of greater relevance than the well-worn East Asian model in the highly competitive global environment of the early 21st century because it does not necessarily assume heroic levels of investment” (p. 3). Moreover, they suggest that “it may be better tailored to the opportunities available to a heterogeneous group of middle- and lower-middle-income economies …, as well as to late-starting, low-income countries that, because of their youthful, rapidly increasing populations, need to grow at high single-digit rates to create enough jobs and to double per capita income in 10 years” (p. 3).

The authors provide a number of reasons for their focus on these particular three countries. Firstly, they acknowledge that “between 1985 and 2005, the three Sifire countries demonstrated a remarkable capacity to learn and, by improving the quality of learning, to achieve technological catch-up, develop manufacturing capabilities of the first rank, and increase their ability to innovate.” Demographically they are of comparable size. Ireland, the smallest, had a population of 4.4 million in 2008, as compared with 5.3 million for Finland, the largest of the three countries. In 1985, Sifire were all middle-income countries, with per capita GDPs ranging from US$6,000 to US$11,000. By 2008, they were among the countries with the highest incomes as a result of steady rates of growth. Singapore’s economy grew the fastest (5.0-6.4% p.a.) on average, followed by Ireland’s, with Finland’s economy in third place (2.9-4.6% p.a.). The authors assert that the Sifire growth was closely linked to “competitiveness, derived in large part from institutional factors and the quality of the countries’ human resources.” (pp. 21-22)

The authors are both economists with no discernible bias for anything but rather classical economics. Shahid Yusuf has a history in the World Bank and is now Chief Economist of Growth Dialogue at the George Washington University School of Business in Washington, DC. Kaoru Nabeshima is Director of Technological Innovation and Economic Growth Studies Group in the Institute of Developing Economies of Japan External Trade Organization (IDE-JETRO). Chapter 1 of the book – Looking for Growth – reviews the conventional wisdom on economic growth before turning more specifically – and more interestingly – to the Sifire group. In this context, they acknowledge the key role governments played in promoting the development strategies in each of these three countries. They recognize how the three countries devised consultative arrangements involving key segments of the business community, labour unions or other influential representatives able to communicate the concerns of workers and exercise a degree of discipline over their constituencies, the financial community, and the education sector (or, more broadly, the learning economy, which includes preschooling and vocational training). This has enabled the governments to “achieve a workable consensus on economic objectives and strategies, and to agree on emergency remedial policies when the nation faces crisis” (p. 16).

Turning specifically to Finland, the authors say it “demonstrates the workings of an advanced democratic system that has perfected the political and labour market institutions for consensus building around key economic objectives and the capacity to arrive at significant macroeconomic results by coordinating the initiatives of a number of small urban centres” (pp. 23-24). When I grew up in the country, ‘consensus’ was the key word. The frequently tough negotiations between the labour unions and central employers’ and industry organizations were a perennial feature. Despite some hard rhetoric, they all eventually ended up in both sides making concessions for the common good. The government played a key role in facilitating these. One feature of the multiparty democracy in Finland is the emphasis on the qualifier ‘multi.’ There have long been many parties active on the national political scene and none of the 3-4 big ones ever reached anything even remotely resembling an absolute majority (in the latest parliamentary elections, the conservatives were the largest party with 20.4% of the vote, while the second, the social democrats, got 19.1%). This forced the country always to have coalition governments, which together with a general consensus regarding the overall development goals guaranteed that there’d never been major disruptions or changes in the chartered course.

In Chapter 2 – How Sifire Compressed Development – the authors move into analysing the context of the Sifire experience. The Sifire developed against a backdrop of globalization (in the case of Finland and Ireland, the integration with EU provided an important context) and this road was not always smooth. In fact, all of the countries faced crises during the late 20th century. In the authors’ analysis, the advantages of a consensus-based development path became apparent during the crises that helped “crystallize options and prod decision makers to choose among alternatives by systematically gathering and evaluating data and by canvassing the views of market participants.” Further, the crises “highlighted the desirability of mechanisms to reduce investment risks for domestic and foreign investors and thereby raise the level of investment through better coordination of the decisions of key players, of public investments, and of policy incentives. (p. 40)

A major crisis for Finland was the collapse of the Soviet Union, which had been a major market for Finnish products over the past several decades. Entire industries had developed around supplying the seemingly endless and hardly discerning eastern market. Fortunes were made by the so called ‘Red Barons’ who manufactured and sold to the communist market, getting paid in hard currency through the government of Finland that in turn imported oil and other goods at advantageous prices (incidentally, this steady supply of energy from the Soviet Union shielded Finland from the worst impacts of the OPEC-induced energy crises in the 1970s). My uncle was in the garment industry, but never bet his fortunes on the Soviet trade. I remember him telling me in the 1980s how his peers on what was then a garment focused street in Helsinki were mocking him: “Uitto goes to Paris for fashion shows; what a waste of time! We manufacture one-size-fits-all boots and frocks in a single model and colour and the Russkies buy as many as we have time to produce!” Well, the Russian market was suddenly gone overnight and so were all of those who had relied on it. Finnish unemployment shot from negligible to over 20%. This forced a rapid restructuring of the economy.

The authors identify a third success element, which is the “governments’ capability to implement decisions, to follow through with promises, and to ensure that incentives were actually delivered with the minimum of transaction costs. Crises in these small economies underlined the advantages of public organizations with a limited number of clear objectives, a readiness to engage with key stakeholders, streamlined structures with few layers, and strict accountability” (p. 41). The long-term strategy for growth was further centred on technology as a driver, which required building capabilities in the countries (p. 44). They conclude the second chapter by stating that: “Globalization and the pace of technological change served as the enabling conditions for these countries – as they did for others as well – but Sifire’s widening lead over other countries emerged from the forging of domestic consensus in support of long-term-development strategies that were keyed to the quality of human capital, intangible factors, and an open, productively networked system of innovation and learning. The focus on human capital committed these countries to building their education and training assets. The importance attached to intangibles and the soft infrastructure undergirding development meant that institutions were given due attention” (p. 48).

The chapters that follow focus more in detail on these specific success factors. Chapter 3 considers the Elements of a Learning Economy, providing a host of statistics on the major shift in the structure of exports from primary commodities to high-tech products in Sifire. The chapter also provides an overview of the education sector, on the premise that this economic transformation was only made possible by the investment in human capital (p. 65). It focuses on the comprehensiveness and quality of education, as well as research in science, technology, engineering and mathematics. Apart from the broad-based quality education, innovation was spurred by an open economy and the focus on IT and telecommunications industries. The authors conclude that all three countries leveraged “technological advances in key subsectors with the rise of advances in electronics and telecommunications, thereby opening new industrial pathways. Globalization in general – and for Finland and Ireland, integration with the EU – widened market opportunities that were essential for their industrial development. Without access to large external markets, these small countries would not have been able to grow as rapidly and consistently as they have done” (p. 96).

The transition was enabled by an education strategy that responded to the economy’s needs. Sifire focused on providing “universal primary education and expanded secondary and tertiary education as demand for higher skills began rising. High levels of enrolment in the science and engineering fields enabled the Sifire countries to accelerate industrialization and assisted in progressive upgrading of new and traditional industries” (p. 97).

Chapter 4 – Governance and Growth – starts off with recapping some theories of endogenous growth and institutions. Yusuf and Nabeshima then return to the issue of “leadership that forged a consensus on economic objectives and the means for achieving them” (p. 103). They continue that: “A leadership committed to a firm economic agenda that enjoyed broad support could strengthen the economic governance institutions and deepen the organizational capabilities to enforce rules, uphold the law, and frame as well as implement policies” (p. 104).

A large part of this chapter focuses on coordinators that helped the countries en route to a knowledge-intensive economy. In the case of Finland, the system involved a host of actors from the public and private sectors. The government’s Science and Technology Policy Council set policy that individual ministries implemented. Financing for both the private companies and academic institutions was channelled through the Academy of Finland, Tekes (a unit under the Ministry of Trade and Industry) and the Finnish Innovation Fund, Sitra, directly under the parliament. Universities, research institutes, business R&D, industry and academic societies were all harnessed to the task (pp. 105-107). Some of the more hard-core free-marketers in the USA today might condemn such public-private partnerships as unfair competition, but this has been the practice in virtually all successful countries.

The authors also underscore the importance of urban networks, which facilitated the creation of social capital. Admittedly, Sifire benefited from a small number of dominant cities (in Singapore’s case just one) where the people and activities are centred.

The next chapter deals with Delivering Quality Education, the million dollar question that has eluded educators and policy-makers in many countries, not least in the United States. Yusuf and Nabeshima boil the Sifire success to six factors, which they elaborate on and which I quote in an abbreviated form here: (1) Raising and sustaining student performance at high levels are inseparable from non-school factors, such as family circumstances, the value a society attached to education, and the conviction that excellence is necessary for progress toward a better, innovative and more prosperous society. (2) Quality needs to be pervasive, extending from the primary all the way to vocational and tertiary levels. (3) Student performance and the pursuit of excellence must continually be reinforced by family and social environments. (4) Teacher qualifications. (5) Pay and prestige. (6) Teacher autonomy in fine-tuning the curriculum and pedagogical techniques and in evaluating students (pp. 119-123). Several of these factors fly in the face of what educators elsewhere are trying. In the US, the focus is distinctly on the stick rather than the carrot. Standardized testing is seen as a solution and schools that fall below the averages risk having their funds withdrawn. Parents blame teachers for failing their kids, without taking responsibility themselves.

Allowing teachers the freedom to design their own curricula for learning, rather than answering tests, obviously hinges upon having quality teachers. In America, teaching is not a respected profession and the pay is poor. Consequently, statistics show that those graduating from teachers’ colleges have lower than average academic grades. In Finland, all teachers are required to have master’s degrees and the competition to enter teacher training in the University of Helsinki is harder than getting into the medical school. I for one credit my high school teachers in geography, history and languages for my lifelong interest in world affairs. A perverse conclusion of market thinking in America has devalued this most important of professions, which now is seen as not producing direct economic value and therefore doomed to low pay and prestige in the public sector.

The sixth and final chapter attempts to distil the Message from Sifire, condensing it under three main headings: (1) Pragmatic governance; (2) Leveraging global markets and general-purpose technologies; and (3) Quality of human capital. In this summary, I had the feeling that, despite their own evidence to the contrary, the authors seemed to downplay the importance of the public sector and the government. Perhaps this was not fully in line with the ideology of the economists or the World Bank that published the book.

They then draw implications for African countries, while identifying differences in the situations. Yusuf and Nabeshima acknowledge that all is not rosy for Sifire and, especially, Ireland and Finland have later again faced crises. However, they affirm that this “cannot diminish the remarkable economic progress by the three countries against considerable odds. Nor does the postcrisis slowdown detract from the relevance of their experience for ambitious low- and middle-income countries” (p. 132). They conclude: “Whether countries hew to a Sifire-type strategy or choose a different approach, the outcome will be crucially linked to design, planning, institutional architecture, and implementation. The efficacy of these elements will be affected by governance mechanisms” (p. 144). I would argue that the relevance goes beyond the middle- and low-income countries that are explicitly targeted. In fact, many of the lessons are directly relevant to the debates currently raging in the United States.


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UNDP evaluates its work on the poverty-environment nexus

This piece appeared on Climate-Eval blog a few days ago.

Juha Uitto, Deputy Director of the Evaluation Office at UNDP, outlines the conclusions of the recently published Evaluation of UNDP Contribution to Environmental Management for Poverty Reduction.

Environment and poverty are inextricably interlinked; people who depend directly on natural resources for their livelihoods tend to be poorer in material terms. Whether working in agriculture, forestry or fisheries—or relying on small scale extraction to eke out a living—the returns from their labor are subject to environmental factors. Even relatively small fluctuations in climate can make the difference between a high yield and crop failure. Because of this direct dependency, small farmers everywhere in the world have become masters at managing risk and adapting to changing conditions. However, global climate change is introducing a whole new dynamic, potentially amplifying the changes in temperatures and weather conditions, causing droughts and storms in places where they used to be infrequent, thus straining the adaptation capabilities of the people living there.

Another conundrum is that poor people often live in locations that are particularly vulnerable to climatic hazards; in the rapidly growing cities in the developing world, shanties often sprout up on steep slopes prone to landslides and vulnerable to storms. Whether in rural or urban areas, poverty also forces people to degrade the natural resources they depend upon. Forests are cut down to provide fuel or building materials, thus exposing the land to the forces of nature. As Hurricane Sandy, which battered New York this October so graphically demonstrated, it is not only the developing countries that are vulnerable to climatic hazards.

Poverty reduction is at the heart of UNDP’s mandate. Tackling environmental sustainability is therefore essential for the organization to achieve its goals of human development and resilient nations. But it is not only adapting to the changing climate that is needed. Promoting a green economy and a transition to non-polluting renewable energies can give a much-needed boost to the sluggish global economy. Transformation towards a low-carbon society will benefit the environment as well as the people and countries. UNDP can support the process, while ensuring that the benefits are also accruing to the poorest segments of society. The Evaluation Office of UNDP works to produce knowledge and lessons from the scrutiny of past operations to help the organization to set its direction and to understand what works, under what circumstances, in what respects, and how, recognizing the importance of context.

The recently published Evaluation of UNDP Contribution to Environmental Management for Poverty Reduction brought into the open a number of challenges that the organization faces in integrating its work on poverty reduction and environmental management. The evaluation findings suggest that while there is substantial recognition of the ‘poverty-environment nexus’ within UNDP, its articulation in programming remains uneven. This unevenness is dependent on a number of factors, both internal and external. For example, the organizational structure around focus areas and separate funding sources has resulted in a ‘silo effect’ in which teams sometimes work in parallel with each other. The absence of monitoring processes and indicators to track poverty-environment linkages diminishes the attention to these issues and reduces incentives to work together. Consequently, the results on the ground have been mixed, with significant achievements in a number of country programs but considerable variation in direction and priority.

Yet, the evaluation revealed many bright spots: such as in Mexico, where UNDP convened a multi-sector environmental consultative groups and established platforms for debate at local, state, and federal levels; in Sri Lanka, UNDP worked closely with the government to promote more attention to the nexus under the UN Development Assistance Framework; in Tanzania, UNDP led the pilot ‘Delivering as One’ activities to expand coordination among donors and ministries regarding poverty-environment issues.

Overall, the evaluation showed that where the poverty-environment nexus is recognized as critical to achieving sustainable development, there is strong support to address it in programs and projects. In Rwanda, the joint UNDP-UNEP Poverty-Environment Initiative demonstrated the linkages between degrading natural resource base and the health of the country’s agriculture.

Commitment of the government, degree of cooperation within the government, efficiency of UNDP advocacy, and effectiveness of its programming on the ground are all factors that influence the results. There is also evidence that positive results at the country level can be replicated elsewhere. The evaluation concluded that addressing the poverty-environment nexus is essential to achieving UNDP’s mission. The organization needs to learn from its good experiences and replicate its successes in a more systematic manner, while taking into account contextual factors, which places importance on strong knowledge management across the various regions and country offices.

The evaluation further concluded that greater attention to climate change adaptation in recent years has contributed significantly to raising awareness and understanding about the importance of addressing poverty-environment linkages coherently, including in preventing and recovering from natural disasters. Another global evaluation studied UNDP Contribution to Disaster Prevention and Recovery and that, too, highlighted the centrality of climate change, recommending that UNDP’s disaster risk reduction strategy should more directly address climate-related hazards and adaptation to climate change. More on that later.


Dr. Juha I. Uitto is Deputy Director of the Evaluation Office at UNDP. He has held a number of positions and conducted a large number of programmatic and thematic evaluations in UNDP and GEF since the late-1990s. Before becoming a fulltime evaluator, Dr. Uitto spent nearly a decade in the United Nations University as coordinator of the environment and sustainable development research and training program. He has published widely in peer reviewed and professional journals on environment, natural hazards and evaluation, and has authored/edited several books on related topics.

Kathmandu and Bhaktapur: Growth and Conservation

Kathmandu had changed in the 21 years I had not visited. The city had swelled with migrants from the countryside and was now home to more than 4 million people. In the meantime, the valley in the Himalayan foothills where the city is located had not miraculously expanded. Consequently, the place was now crowded. It was no longer the quaint village-like old town it had been in the late-1980s and early-1990s when I used to come here. On my first morning back, I went to the New Road area in the center of the city. Most of the buildings were still the same old ones, now distinctly rundown, although new commercial buildings with glass walls that reflected the scenery and shiny malls had sprung up here and there. The Chinese center looked particularly impressive. The leisurely pace was gone and the place was bustling with people hurrying to get wherever it was they were going. There were peasant looking women and men carrying huge loads on their backs and heads, their sun-drenched faces lined and leathery making them look old (although many were probably younger than me). Women wearing colorful saris mingled with young people dressed in jeans. A couple of farmer women sat on the pavement selling fruit from baskets amidst the busy pedestrians.

Most obviously, there was the traffic. Where there had been lots of bicycles and few cars, the bikes were now almost gone—I only saw one pedicab that morning—and cars, motorbikes and scooters ruled the streets. A lone traffic police stood on the pedestal of a status at an intersection trying to create order in the chaos. The officer’s mouth and nose were covered with a cloth mask, wisely, as the exhaust fumes would choke anyone standing in the middle for any length of time. The driver from our office who had taken me downtown had things to say about the traffic and the pollution. “These people are from the rural areas. They have never lived in the city and don’t know anything about traffic rules, nor did they ever learn to drive in the first place,” he lamented. As we waited at another junction where another officer, this time a woman, made valiant efforts to directing the crowds, the driver had a long story about futile efforts to control air pollution that had been in place for the better part of the past decade. The bottom line seemed to be that the government did not want to enforce the rules, as it would have meant replacing all the official vehicles that the city nor the national government could never afford. Consequently, everyone continued to use the noisy motorbikes and old cars without catalyzers, and the antique buses continued to belch thick smoke into the mountain air. It’s not that there were no new cars, as well, just that these had been added to the existing fleet of ancient vehicles.





Even under normal circumstances, developing country cities grow at breakneck speeds. People move to the cities for the economic opportunities that exist in them, even if it means living in a slum. At the same time, they continue to have many children, as if from an old habit, although the children in the city no longer provide the same useful workforce they were on the farm. With improved healthcare, sanitation and nutrition, child mortality has decreased and more children survive. All this contributes to a huge boost in city sizes. Now more than half of the world’s population lives in cities, many of them enormous mega-cities. Out of the 10 largest cities in the world, 6 are now in the developing countries (and 7 in Asia).


Kathmandu’s growth was still a special case. A long-lasting Maoist rebellion had chased people away from the countryside. Originally, the Communist Party of Nepal (Maoist) declared an armed rebellion on February 13, 1996, with the objective of establishing a communist state. The Maoists opposing what admittedly was rather a feudal system prevailing in Nepal terrorized people for a decade. There were forced ‘land reforms,’ whereby poor farmers lost their lands to collectivization, and plenty of violence against perceived enemies of the revolution, as well as between the Maoists and the government forces. Many people died during the conflict. At the same time, as so often happens, some revolutionaries descended into criminality, while criminals saw the opportunity to make money by pretending to be revolutionaries (think of similar cases in, say, Colombia or the southern islands of the Philippines). Kidnappings for ransom became common and the victims often got killed by the bandits whether their family or company paid up or not. In the Terai region in the south, gangs would haul their victims across the border to India not to be seen again. The situation only changed when a comprehensive peace accord was signed on November 21, 2006, which allowed the Maoists to join the transitional government. While they later emerged as the largest party in the Constituent Assembly, they never gained the majority. Instability in Nepalese politics has continued.

The purpose of my trip related to an evaluation my office had conducted about UNDP’s contributions to national development results in Nepal over the past 8 years. These had been particularly turbulent years in the history of the country. Apart from the internal conflict that had peaked during the period, an extraordinary event had added to the extreme political turmoil. On June 1, 2001, Crown Prince Dipendra in an alcohol fueled craze shot and killed nine members of the royal family, including his own father King Birendra and mother Queen Aiswarya. It is said he was mad at his parents for opposing his marriage to a girl from a rival family. The revered royal family had been virtually the only institution that had kept the kingdom together. Following the regicide, a new king, Gyanendra, was crowned. This signaled the beginning of the end of the monarchy. Gyanendra dissolved the parliament and suspended elections indefinitely in 2002 following the failure of peace talks with the rebels. The state of emergency was lifted only in April 2005 under international pressure and the parliament was finally reinstated a year later. Immediately afterwards, the newly established parliament, quite understandably, voted unanimously to curtail the king’s political powers. In December 2007, the parliament voted to abolish the monarchy altogether and the constituent assembly declared Nepal a republic on May 28, 2008.


During this period, UNDP had done its best to support post-conflict recovery and a transition to democracy. Things were peaceful now and Nepal had been turned into a parliamentary democracy (with the Maoists learning to play by the rules in the parliament) with an emerging federal structure. Local elections had not yet been held—the security situation did not yet allow for it and there was too much uncertainty in the government—and consequently appointed local officials did not feel accountable to the electorate. We heard lots of complaints about rampant corruption in the rural areas.

One afternoon I had free time and joined one of our local consultants, Kanta Singh, who had promised to take our South African consultant Angela Bester to visit Bhaktapur, a World Heritage Site just half an hour’s drive to the east from Kathmandu. Half an hour, that is, without traffic. Including the driver, we were four people crammed into the tiny Hyundai as we hit the traffic. We started in Lalitpur, a peaceful neighborhood of small streets on a hill where I was staying, and headed across the city. The road towards the airport was being widened. For already two decades, apparently, there had been a ban to construct buildings within a certain limit from the existing road because of the eventual plans to widen the road. However, people had ignored it and now, finally, when the road project was underway, the authorities were in the business of leveling illegally constructed houses. We passed official buildings heavily guarded by police in camouflage uniforms and riot gear armed with guns and long sticks. The congestion got worse before we reached the city limits. In one spot, hundreds of small vans and buses transporting people seemed to stop to let off their passengers and to attract more, thus creating a near standstill. The road passed just below the landing route to the airport and several planes appeared to be heading straight towards us only to roar past almost touching the rooftops.

Once we hit the highway towards Bhaktapur, the traffic eased and our car picked up speed. “Ten years ago, this was an agricultural area and we came here to get our vegetables directly from the farmers,” Kanta explained. Now the entire road was lined with new construction, buildings of up to 5 stories high. In between there were still small patches of agriculture. Rice paddies could be seen on the slopes leading to small creeks. What struck me was how shoddy the construction looked. Most buildings seemed to consist of red bricks piled up on top of each other, often in a seemingly haphazard way. Nepal did have a building code, according to Kanta, but nobody really enforced it. Sitting on the edge of the Indian and Eurasian plates, this was earthquake country and I suspected most of the new buildings would not stand a chance if a big one hit the area.





Bhaktapur, just 13 km east of the modern capital, is considered the cultural capital of Nepal. It has been restored with technical cooperation from Germany and is recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. Originally an agricultural market and artisan town, its history can be traced back to the 7th century C.E. It is built on a hill with narrow winding roads. According to tourist information, it is “geographically shaped as a conch-shell and geometrically designed into the Tantric fabric shaped Shree Yantra.” I take them at their word on this. Suffice it to say that the city is lovely and wonderfully preserved. It is still a perfectly living piece of history. The artisanal legacy of bronze-casting, carving, masonry, painting and other crafts lives on, while much of the economy seems to have turned to the tourist industry, with numerous small shops lining the streets. As we headed towards the Durbar Square in the middle of the town, we met with a wedding celebration. The proceeding was headed by a brass band that was blowing away with abandon, the trumpeters, other horn players and drummers dressed snappily in red jackets. Old men and women carried traditional items and candles in front of the small car wrapped in celebratory decorations that was carrying the wedding couple. The guests—men dressed in Western suits, women in gorgeous saris of deep red, yellow, green and gold—followed behind on foot.






Separating ourselves from the celebrators, we explored Bhaktapur on foot for the next 3 hours. Here in the town between the fabulous squares, like the Durbar, Taumadhi and Dattatreya Squares, that housed all the incredible temples and palaces, regular people lived. Their houses were old and many still not renovated. We could see signs from old earthquakes that had bent and twisted old brick walls into odd shapes. Even the amazing five centuries old Fifty-Five Windows Palace was badly damaged in the powerful 1934 earthquake. A beautiful little girl was leaning against the wall of her house—several stories high—that had cracked so badly that the residents had erected a pole in the adjacent alley to prevent the side wall of the building from collapsing.








One of the beauties of Bhaktapur and Nepal in general is how for hundreds of years Buddhism and Hinduism have existed peacefully side by side. Bhaktapur has temples for both religions, but sometimes they seem so mixed that it is hard to say which religion they really belong to. I suppose the correct—and most beautiful—answer would be: they belong to both. On another morning when we had a few hours of free time between appointments, Angela and I walked over to Patan Square, another restored World Heritage Site in Lalitpur. In its museum I again reflected with fascination upon the intermingling of the Buddhist and Hindu traditions. Not only were they practiced side by side, their very deities and sacred texts were intertwined. (Similarly in Japan, where it is said 90% of the people are Shintoist and 80% are Buddhist, religions—or perhaps more correctly traditions—coexist. One cannot help wonder what it is with these Middle Eastern religions—Judaism, Christianity and Islam—that makes them so intolerant of what each sect perceives as the only correct orthodoxy.)





We had a good guide in Kanta’s driver whose home was close by and he was quite familiar with Bhaktapur and could show us out of the way attractions. At one point he led us through a small porch leading to a tiny inner yard in between residential buildings. The yard contained a small Hindu temple with an altar for sacrifices attached to it. The altar and the ground beneath it were splattered with the red of the blood of the chicken and goats that had been slaughtered there. A beautiful black cat with a shiny fur presided over the square languidly strolling around, ignoring us.


One of the interesting parts of the walking tour was to observe how the old social mores still prevailed. Kanta showed us a number of water wells, which were traditionally social gathering points for women. A particularly large one was protected by a statue of a cobra, with a serpentine carving surrounding it. The water points could be found in many places of the city and it was clear they still served a social function for the women. The men stuck to themselves and when the afternoon advanced one could see pairs and groups of them sitting around the squares, often on the steps leading to temples or palaces making them part of the everyday life of the town dwellers.




I wanted to buy some good Nepali tea, which is similar to but less well known than Darjeeling (some tea connoisseurs even consider the Nepali variety to be superior to the Indian). I was guided to a small store kept by a sweet and rather sophisticated young couple. On the wall there was a snapshot of the couple in Paris where they had gone for their honeymoon. They showed me the various varieties from the most highly priced white-tipped tea. My goal was to settle for the second flush, which is harvested in the season between May and July, and has a lush mellow taste.

While inspecting the teas, I couldn’t help getting carried away by the lovely flute music coming from the stereo. I asked the husband about it and he explained it to be traditional Nepali music. The band, Kutumba, plays traditional Nepali tunes and instruments—flutes, strings, drums and bells—in an improvisatory style. When we had established that I was particularly fond of Asian flute music, he introduced me to a contemporary version by Kala Chakra, which was now popular in Nepal. “Lounge,” I suggested as we sampled the music; “Fusion,” corrected the owner. Either way, the music captured the tradition in a contemporary electronic, yet lovely manner. Later in the evening, beautiful flute sounds again drifted to my ears. It turned out that there was another wedding procession that had made a more traditional musical choice, with a band of young people playing the bamboo flutes from the region.





By the time we returned to Kathmandu, the night had fallen and with no streetlights it was pitch dark. The driver decided to take a shortcut through Patan. Its narrow streets were full of people, cars, motorbikes, dogs, an occasional goat. Three-wheeled motorized rickshaws, here called ‘Tempu’ and larger than the famous Tuk-Tuks of Bangkok, were cruising the streets and abruptly stopping for passengers. Our tiny Hyundai zipped in between buildings, people and vehicles, filling any small space that would open up. At times we got stuck for a minute or two as a truck or a larger vehicle would come from the other direction (luckily, most of the cars in Kathmandu are small). Then again the driver would accelerate to what I considered a dangerous speed when he’d see an opening. Horns were blaring all around us as every user of the road employed the same strategy of advancement. On several occasions I was certain that we’d hit a lady waddling on the side in a sari, or a family walking in a group as if they had all the space in the world, but nothing happened. It was just me who was not used to the going.

Finally we reached Lalitpur and our hotel, a veritable sanctuary so close to the madness of the commercial city. The dry air had been so saturated with dust that I noticed my throat was parched. That was helped by a cold Everest beer before washing off the dirt in a hot shower. Somehow despite its uncontrollable growth and seeming chaos, Kathmandu has maintained its charm and humanity. Efforts to restore and renovate old towns like Bhaktapur and Patan are important beyond their value as repositories of history and culture, as they are attractions that bring much needed income to the country. The fact that both are also living environments where people lead their lives is a highly positive aspect. The harmony that exists between the Buddhist and Hindu traditions should serve as an example for many other places.





Upon my return home, I rummaged through my bookshelf for some old books about Nepal to revisit how the country was described just two decades or so ago. (In the dust jacket of one, Nepal: Socio-Economic Change and Rural Migration by Poona Thapa, I discovered the invoice from Ratna Pustak Bhandar booksellers in Kathmandu where I had purchased the book on May 16, 1990, for Rp. 327.60.) One striking figure was that in 1991, Kathmandu had had a population of just 421,000, indicating that the city had actually grown ten-fold since then. But even before that, the growth had been tremendous, as the 1981 data showed a population of only 235,000 for the city! Many issues that were highlighted by the older publications are still valid concerns: poverty, major inequalities between regions, heavy internal migration. Despite these challenges, much progress has been made, especially since the worst of the political troubles have calmed down. Measured on the UN Human Development Index, Nepal is still on the 138th place amongst the 169 countries included, but its rating is constantly and rapidly rising. One must hope that this trend will continue. Much will depend on the continued political stability, peace and security in the country.

Development with growing inequalities: Johannesburg

“The murder rate is down to some 15,000 per year—and they’re proud of it.” This was Indran speaking as we were driving on the highway from Sandton in northern Johannesburg towards Pretoria past some areas that were not quite as nice as the sunny suburb. At each junction there were men selling anything between bath toys to paper towels to the passing cars. All of the men were black. Indran clarified: “Of course it’s progress. The murder rate used to be 30,000 a year just in the 1990s. But it’s still pretty high for a nation of only some 50 million people!” According to him, class had replaced race as the new distinguishing factor in South Africa, a country with one of the highest rates of inequalities in the world. And there was a lot of alcohol abuse, which led to aggression and many other problems. Having consumed adequate quantities of good South African wine with him over the past three nights, I knew Indran was no prude. His judgement was a factual assessment of what was happening. As Deputy Director-General of the country’s Public Service Commission, a serious watchdog, he knew what he talked about.

We had just spent some days in an international conference that our respective offices co-organized around the topic of national evaluation capacity and how evaluation can be used to enhance accountability in public administration. We organized the conference in Sandton at the oddly named sprawling hotel complex Balalaika. Sandton is a nice place, perfectly safe to walk around along its clean streets. Even the stalls selling African trinkets around Maude Street, across from Deutsche Bank and HSBC head offices, are neat and orderly. Like in many other places where the original city centre has become too dangerous and unruly, a new centre has evolved on the outskirts where things are kept more under control (Gigiri with its Village Market outside of Nairobi comes readily to mind).

On Sunday, I walked over to the Nelson Mandela Square, a huge complex of shops and restaurants that would put any American or European mall at shame with its style and sophistication. At the centre of the large square surrounded by tempting terraces serving food and drinks stands a six-meter tall statue of Nelson Mandela. On this Sunday, a live band was playing smooth jazz and bossa nova on the balcony of a Thai restaurant just behind the great leader’s bronze head. Talk about globalization!





South Africa’s divided history is equally well-known as it is brutal. The conservative Dutch settlers moved into the Cape of Good Hope already in the mid-1600s creating a society where time had stopped for three centuries. They started spreading across the southern cone of the continent through their Great Trek of 1836 getting into conflict with pastoral tribes herding their cattle in the areas the Boers wanted to settle in. Then there was the gold rush of the late-19th century and the ensuing Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902. South Africa was contested land between the blacks and the whites, between the Boers and the British (and before that the fight included the Portuguese, the French and the Dutch, while the alliances constantly changed), and between different African population groups (who also were occasionally recruited to support one side or the other).

The Union of South Africa was finally formed in 1910 uniting Boer and British controlled areas, soon restricting black people to specific reservations. The official policy of racial discrimination, apartheid, was finally formalized legally following the electoral wins (of course, only the whites had the vote) by the National Party in 1948. What followed was a decades-long period of systematic discrimination and racial hatred that only ended when Nelson Mandela, the leader of the banned African National Congress (ANC), was released from jail where he had spent 27 years by 1990, and then democratically elected as the first black President of the Republic of South Africa in 1994. Mandela, now 93, became an iconic figure, perhaps the most admired leader in the world, by his visionary leadership, clear thinking and braveness. With associates, such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, he made the case for reconciliation, and against all odds was able to avoid major civil unrest or bloodshed in post-apartheid South Africa.





Mandela stepped down from the presidency in 1999 after just one term and nobody can blame him for giving up official duties too early. He clearly had done more than anyone could reasonably expect from one individual. Furthermore, he had seen so many African liberation leaders become ‘Big Men’ and never voluntarily leave office. In all fairness, there are a few exceptions amongst the first generation of post-colonial leaders, such as Tanzania’s Mwalimu (‘Teacher’) Julius Nyerere and Zambia’s Kenneth Kaunda. Regretfully, both had largely run down the economies of their countries, not through self-aggrandisement but through misguided economic policies; both nevertheless achieved ‘elder statesman’ status by gracefully withdrawing when the time came.

The worst remaining offender is the leader of Zimbabwe, South Africa’s neighbour, Robert Mugabe. When he led his country, then Northern Rhodesia, to independence in 1980 after a prolonged civil war with the privileged white settlers, Mugabe was seen as a freedom fighter with serious ideals and credentials. Alas, history has proven otherwise and the ruthless old man has not hesitated to use extreme violence to kill and intimidate his own people who have dared to protest the economic ruin and starvation that his policies have caused. Recent reports indicate that the now 87-year-old dictator has been diagnosed with prostate cancer and has about 1.5 years to live. His departure will solve a problem that has been an embarrassment to South Africa, as the bigger neighbour has not been able to influence Mugabe to step down or at least change his policies (the mediation efforts of Mandela’s successor Thabo Mbeki were widely regarded as half-hearted).

Unfortunately, ANC leadership after Mandela has not been equally wise as Mandela was. The political leaders of the party that dominates South Africa have assumed features that Mandela wanted expressly to avoid. To him, it was important to ensure the independence of the judiciary and freedom of press. His heirs have increasingly succumbed to the temptation to control these sometimes inconvenient institutions.

At the time of the shift from the first majority president to the next, the Republic of South Africa was developing surprisingly harmoniously, given the extent of hatred, violence and discrimination of past decades, and experienced a steady economic growth of 5-6% annually year after year. The past racial injustices were being acknowledged and addressed to the extent possible and a democratic society was being built (although in all honesty, Mandela and Tutu’s ‘reconciliation’ were a compromise and seen by many as not dealing adequately with past injustices, as explained by Alec Russell in his superb new book, After Mandela: The Battle for the Soul of South Africa).





The fundamentals of the economy are still quite strong, thanks largely to the rich mineral resources (including diamonds, gold and many other minerals that are in high demand) that have protected the country against the global economic crisis. Mandela also succeeded in avoiding an exodus of skilled professionals, most of whom were white or Asian, experienced by other countries, such as Zimbabwe. Nevertheless, poverty is rampant amongst people, while a minority is getting richer by the day The UN ranks South Africa as a middle-income country with a medium level of human development based on health, education and income statistics. In 2010 South Africa ranked 110th in human development amongst the 169 countries ranked. What brings down South Africa’s ratings are a low life expectancy of just 52 years (largely due to the HIV/AIDS epidemic) and inequality in opportunities to education, health and economic development. The mostly black underclass still suffers from powerlessness, with unemployment rates of some 30%. Russell quotes a 2008 employment report by the United Association of South Africa, a trade union, that found that at that time, 14 years after the democratic shift, whites’ incomes on average were 450 times higher than those of the blacks—and economic inequalities had actually been rising, despite the increasing number of blacks entering the middle class. It is not saying that the different groups would not have equal access under the law. It’s more like in the USA: opportunities for liberty and the pursuit of happiness are limited for a large number of people by structural constraints.

Of course, affirmative action was necessary after decades of legislated and harshly enforced racial oppression. The whites and the Asians are still doing fine, largely thanks to Mandela’s insistence on national reconciliation. I certainly have no intention to imply that all black leaders would be corrupt or incompetent. There is a highly professional black middle class, steadily growing, with a strong role in both the private sector as well as public administration. One good example is Mashwale Diphofa, the Director-General of the Public Service Commission (and Indran’s boss). With a strong ethical backbone, high professional skills and political savvy, Mash is a model that many officials from the so called ‘developed’ countries could emulate. What’s more to emulate is that the stylish and smooth man knows his music. I was amazed how we could discuss jazz together after we had witnessed an exciting dance and music performance at Balalaika (no Russian triangular string instruments included).







One of the greatest challenges to South Africa is the high prevalence of HIV infection and consequently AIDS. The disease affects very much the middle class and professionals in their prime who would be so badly needed to contribute to the economy and to enhance the performance of the civil service. One evening over some excellent local Pinotage, Indran told me how he had recently lost an assistant, a young and highly capable woman in the Office of the Public Service Commission. Initially, one does not notice anything and for a long while the only visible change is that the person starts losing weight (not necessarily a bad sign in this country of many large people). But at some point of time, after months, it starts to become evident that something is seriously wrong. The victim becomes lethargic and loses energy. Then the cheeks sink in and a special look appears on the person’s face. It’s like her eyes had gotten bigger and they just stare out of the increasingly skull-like visage. After that, the end often comes quickly.

The topic of AIDS has been a political hot potato in South Africa, to a large extent for political reasons. Initially Mandela attempted to address it, but faced so much resistance from his audiences that even he had to make a calculation of the trade-offs between pushing the issue and political survival. The societal forces were just dead against him. Regular people would accuse him of encouraging promiscuity as he advocated for condom use, while the truly promiscuous politicians and power-brokers certainly did not want to hear about the topic. Mandela’s successor as President, Thabo Mbeki, notoriously questioned the causal linkage between HIV and AIDS. The current President Jacob Zuma was accused of (and acquitted from ) raping a daughter of a political ally—more than 30 years his junior—she herself an HIV positive AIDS activist. Zuma has some twenty children from five wives. In the meantime, this conspiracy of silence continues to kill people and take a toll on the very development of the society.

After somewhat complicated shortcuts Indran had followed upon instructions from the GPS, we were approaching Lanseria International Airport constructed only years ago in the middle of the rolling hills between Johannesburg and the capital Pretoria. Indran turned the BMW to an apparent entrance to the airport and we suddenly hit a checkpoint with two uniformed guards. One of the guards, a friendly black woman, approached us and explained that this was a special entrance and one needed a permit to pass through here. The alternative was to continue on the main road and go through the main gate, but that would be another 19 km. We opted for getting the permit, which was free but only obtainable by driving to a trailer parked some way at the side. There we found two more uniformed officers, one resting his head on his arms apparently asleep in the afternoon heat pounding on the container they called office. Paperwork was filled for both of us by the more alert officer, while the sleepy one took my passport and studied it at length, holding each page against the light wondering at the perforations and watermarks that were supposed to make it counterfeit-proof, before handing it back to me. The alert one asked me whether I was carrying any fire arms. “Not today,” I responded, but wondered whether this was a relevant concern upon entering an airport (“Oh yeah, they’re obsessed with firearms,” responded Indran casually).






Off we sped and after several twists and turns around airline offices, hangars and cargo areas we reached the spanking new terminal building. From there on, everything was smooth as silk. While I sat on the observation deck waiting for the departure of my Kulula jet towards Cape Town, I considered the balance between the benefits of keeping four uniformed personnel filling in forms for non-fee entry permit to the premises vs. the need for expediency to attract more passengers to use this new airport instead of the established O.R. Tambo International Airport serving the twin cities. Clearly, this was an employment scheme and, as such, it had much merit. At least these guards were proudly wearing their uniforms and receiving salaries, thus not entering the ranks of the unemployed, desperate and potentially violent. To me, there is great value in that for human dignity and contributions to society.

I also pondered what the word ‘international’ actually referred to in the case of the Lanseria airfield where tiny Cessna and Piper aircraft kept landing and taking off while I sipped my cool drink.

Bali: People and Pollution in Paradise

“It’s Galungan and I’m very busy,” Putri said as she was pouring me a drink. She works at the hotel where I was staying. It was already close to midnight and she would have a short night. Although she said she lived close by here in Nusa Dua, during the festival she would have to go to her parental village, which involves a 1.5 hour ride on her moped. And she will have to be ready to go to the temple to make offerings to ancestors with her family at 5:30 am. Galungan is a Hindu festival, closely related to Diwali, the festival of light celebrated in India. But Galungan – like Hinduism here in general – has a distinct Balinese twist. First, unlike the annual Diwali, Gadung is celebrated twice a year and celebrates the creation of the world. For Putri and many others like her employed in the booming commercial sector the traditional festival is a source of both devotion and stress. Tradition is alive and well on Bali.
ting.”

Bali has the reputation of being as close to paradise as any place on earth. The mostly Hindu island in the world’s largest Muslim nation is known for its temples, relaxing lifestyle, friendly people and beaches of white sand. But there are mounting pressures that threaten the paradise-like setting. A place whose charm so much depends on its beauty and clean nature is particularly vulnerable to environmental problems.

The most obvious pressure comes from the sheer number of people. The tiny island has some 3.5 million permanent inhabitants, making it one of the most densely populated places on the planet. This is particularly striking to me, as my own country of birth lies at the opposite end of the spectrum: Finland with sixty times the land area of Bali has just 5 million people. Of course, Bali’s tropical climate and fertile soils have in the first place been able to support such a large and growing population, unlike the frigid conditions up north. Still, the place is increasingly crowded and despite the recent rapid urbanization it is overpopulated. As reported in The Jakarta Post (30 April 2010), according to Indonesian national standard, the maximum population to be supported in Bali in a sustainable manner would only be about 1.6 million people or less than half the current population.

The urban centres themselves present a slew of problems. With haphazard growth and inadequate infrastructure, pollution runs into the rivers and pristine places are transformed into townships. Denpasar, the capital, is now like a miniature Jakarta, crowded with people, cars, mopeds and pollution. The city has a distinct waste management problem that is acknowledged by Indonesian researchers and environmentalists. The city alone produces more than 1,500 m3 of garbage every day, rendering the city planners’ beautification efforts futile. Other growing urban centres are quickly following in its destructive path.

Nusa Dua at the southern tip of the island is an ecosystem in itself. Developed for tourism, the area is built with self-sustaining hotel complexes complete with numerous restaurants, spas, pools and sporting facilities. The entire area is spotlessly clean, neat and well organized with straight roads and perfectly manicured lawns. The main shopping centre, Bali Collection, contains a complex of shops and restaurants where the prices are fixed to a level that would be far above affordable to locals used to viewing bargaining as a competitive, if good-humoured and friendly sport.

Despite this cleanliness, tourism is one of the greatest causes of strain to Bali’s environment. Again, it’s the sheer numbers of people visiting the island. There are 1.9 million visitors annually to the tiny island! The Balinese receive the visitors well and are very tolerant of their sometimes less than gracious ways. In fact, the locals are so tolerant that Indonesian Muslim terrorists bombed entertainment establishments in 2002 and 2005. The earlier bombing in Kuta killed 202 people, including 88 Australian tourists. This put a dent into Bali’s reputation as a party destination and somewhat reduced its popularity among Australians and other Westerners. But whatever slack developed, it has been quickly taken over by others. Apart from the Japanese who have been there for a long time, Chinese tourists are increasingly visible, although most of them seem to be young couples or move only in small groups. What struck me in Nusa Dua was the number of Russians. The beach was crowded with shapely blonds trying to turn their colour darker in places where their tiny bikinis didn’t cover the flesh. The men already tended to sport a naturally redder colour on their bellies, which they started to fill with the refreshing Bingtang or Bali Hai beers from an early hour.

Tourism is blamed for overcrowding the island and straining its environment. In an article with the website Bali Discovery (18 May 2009), the Executive Director of WALHI, an environmental watchdog, Agung Wardana in particular highlights the role of tourism in depleting Bali’s precious water resources. He estimates that every hotel room adds around 3,000 litres to the daily consumption of water. And the golf courses that are converting agricultural land to artificial parks for the benefit of rich and spoiled visitors add another 3 million litres a day to the consumption. This can be contrasted with the average of only 200 litres per day used by the local Balinese. There have been well justified calls for limiting the number of tourists and the construction of new facilities to accommodate them.

My purpose for being here was attending an international meeting, so one afternoon my fellow participants and I embarked on a cultural tour heading towards the temples in Taman Ayun and Tanah Lot. We passed through the booming town of Kuta, first driving through the touristic area with its rows of bars, restaurants and shops; then moving to the more traditional quarters where the locals reside. Ayu, our talkative guide, pointed out the canal running in parallel to the street, suggesting that it would not be a good idea to take a dip there. “The town has grown so quickly and there’s no sewage treatment. These canals used to be nice, actually,” she commented.

Nevertheless, the town does not by any means give an impression of a slum. It all looks rather upbeat unlike many others elsewhere in the developing world (or the USA). Nobody has the time to loiter around, as everyone goes about their business. The Galungan decorations are everywhere. Tall decorated wooden poles line the streets and statues by the numerous temples have been dressed up in checkered black and white clothes – yin and yang – intended to ward off the evil.

Ayu whose name translates into ‘beautiful’ keeps up a running commentary on the history and culture of Bali, as well as the present we can observe as we drive on. Ayu is a rather tall and lively girl whose constant white smile does indeed make her live up to her name. Both Ayu and Putri at the hotel would dispel any preconceived notions of tiny, waif-like Indonesian girls, neither one being particularly petite or shy.

We continue further inland and see construction everywhere. “Corn to concrete,” the observant Ayu remarks. Indeed, in the outskirts of Kuta farmland is incessantly being converted into buildings. But still every available plot in between has been dedicated to small rice paddies. Farmers still keep cows that roam freely in open spaces.

This land transformation – from agriculture and forest into cities, roads and, yes, hotels and golf courses – is one of the biggest problems affecting the future sustainability of the environment and even the economy of Bali. Apart from converting beautiful landscapes into sprawl, it negatively affects the ecological and water balance on the island. It even threatens food production. Every year, tracts of agricultural land is converted into non-agricultural uses.

It started to rain and the landscape turned dark. The traffic was really bad and we were barely moving forward. In the nearly two hours in the car we had gotten only half way where we wanted to go. Suddenly the driver had had enough and without saying a word decided to turn the vehicle around blocking the traffic further. We then headed back and found a roundabout route between agricultural fields where fewer drivers had wandered. Here the landscape was still serene with terraced paddies glistening wet. In spite of the rain that was getting heavier, some farmers were still working their fields. The hillsides were forested.

On the way, we made a stop at a private smaller place of worship at a traditional Balinese house in Baha Village. We caught the proprietor preparing candles and offerings to the deities. Dressed in a yellow blouse and a sarong, she went around from one shrine to the next, placing the candle and the offerings, then put her hands together in a silent prayer.

At the big temple at Taman Ayun the mood was dampened by the rain, but the hawkers along the parking lot beckoned us to shop for trinkets and soft drinks. No doubt, their business would have been better in less inclement weather. More and more busses brought in tourists as we entered. The temple complex is very impressive. Built in 1634 as the main temple of the historical Mengwi Kingdom, the area consists of a huge number of multilayered shrines known as Meru. In the middle yard there is a tower with wooden bells or Kulkul. The entire area is surrounded by a moat.

Wet and tired of sitting in the traffic in between the sights, we continued towards our final destination. Even Ayu was rather low key, only promising that the ride would not take long to reach Tanah Lot on the coast. The place turned out to be extraordinarily beautiful, the small temple of Tanah Lot being perched on a rock protruding into the Timor Sea. It has stood there facing the sometimes stormy (like now) sea since the 16th century when it was established by the Javanese priest Danghyan Nirartha. This was a spot from which to enjoy the sun setting in the west over the sea, but on this particular evening clouds obscured most of the daily spectacle. We were just happy to enjoy refreshing coconuts prepared by three sweet young ladies before settling in for a grilled seafood dinner containing fresh fish, lobster, prawns and mussels.

During the evening we were also treated to a delightful performance of traditional Balinese dance. The dancers in delicate outfits glittering with colour and gold performed elaborate dramas from history and mythology. The movements of their eyes are as important as the movement of other parts of the body. A skilful band of stone-faced musicians sitting on the floor behind their Gamelan instruments produced a hypnotic yet dynamic accompaniment to the dance. Later, we witnessed a performance unique to the Tanah Lot region. The music accompanied Barong, a story-telling dance about the fight between good and evil. Completely different from the Gamelan, the music reminded me more of the rituals seen in the South Pacific.

On a different night, I grabbed a taxi to Kuta in order to observe first hand the impacts of backpacking and party tourism on a local city. It was around 11 pm when the driver dropped me off at one end of the beach boulevard. The strip was quieter than I had thought, probably expecting to see a replica of some similar coastal towns in Thailand. This was not the case, at least yet. There were of course numerous bars lining the street, including the ubiquitous Hard Rock Cafe, but the scene was generally quite sedate. As I strolled along the waterfront, I was several times approached by local men offering young women for massage or hashish and marijuana – a particularly stupid proposition in a country where possession of drugs carries the death penalty. Most often, they only offered ‘transportation’, meaning a ride on the back of their light motorcycle. Nusa Dua was too far to make such offers attractive. Another thing that was conspicuous was the extensive construction that was going on even after midnight on this weekend night. New hotels were coming and traditional quarters were being erased to make space for them. Clearly, the local financiers and tourist industry were not paying heed to the warning calls about overcrowding the island or overextending its environment.

Bali is still beautiful and the Timor Sea surrounding it is still full of fish and accommodating to humans who wish to join them for a swim. Ample water is a key element of Bali’s attraction. It is essential equally for the survival of the traditional way of life and agriculture and the tourism-based economy. One can only hope that the quest for money will not entirely spoil the basis of which life and the rich culture rely on. At least today, we can still enjoy the beauty and hospitality of Bali and its people to the soothing sounds of Gamelan.