Here is a short piece I wrote recently for a Zócalo Public Square discussion on the question “Is Rising Inequality Slowly Poisoning Our Democracy?” The discussion included experts from the Brennan Center for Justice, Cato Institute, Economic Policy Institute, and Georgetown University Center on Poverty and Inequality.
When Michael Young coined the term “meritocracy” half a century ago, he meant it to be an insult, not an ideal. In his view, a society where only the best and brightest can advance would soon become a nightmare. Young predicted that democracy would self-destruct as the talented took power and the inferior accepted their deserved place at the bottom.
Of course, the world we live in today is still no meritocracy. If most Americans are expected to go it alone, without the help of government or unions, elites continue to block competitors and manipulate the rules—as Wall Street did in spectacular fashion in the lead-up to the 2008 financial crisis.
Celebrated French economist Thomas Piketty argues that even when—or especially when—the market operates efficiently, inherited wealth becomes an ever more potent force within the economy, slowly strangling the opportunities for ordinary individuals to advance.
Nevertheless, the myth of meritocracy tells us that the rich are rich because they—like Young’s talented ruling class—are smarter and better. They worked their way up. They are the “makers” growing the economy. Anyone who can’t do it on his or her “own” is just a “taker,” suckling on the government’s teat.
I found hints of this viewpoint when I interviewed the long-term unemployed for my book. Some felt enormous shame and blamed themselves for their inability to land another job. Often, the sense of failure had a negative impact on their personal relationships and their belief that they had something at all to contribute to society.
Preserving our democracy will require forceful government regulation and strong unions. Such approaches have their own flaws, but there is no other way to restore balance to an economy and society increasingly under the sway of an elite class.
Beyond that, we need to tackle head-on the culture of judgment, materialism, and ruthless advancement used to justify extreme inequality—and temper it with a measure of grace.
Captain Phillips Directed by Paul Greengrass
Columbia Pictures. PG-13. 2 hours, 14 minutes.
Captain Phillips, the new film based on a real-life encounter between an American commercial-shipping crew and Somalian pirates, opens with the titular character in Vermont, driving to the airport with his wife. Richard Phillips expresses concern about the state of the shipping industry, sunk by the global recession that struck a year earlier.
On the other side of the globe, Muse, a poor Somalian fisherman forced into piracy by his own economic woes, wakes up to news that the local warlord has demanded that his village capture another ship, or suffer violent consequences. Muse joins a crowd of hungry men on the beach jumping and shouting at a young pirate captain to give them a spot on his crew.
The angular fisherman-turned-pirate is an obvious foil for Phillips, their stories — and those of their first-world American and desperate Somalian crews — woven together through crosscut scenes. This parallel storytelling guides much of the film, emphasizing the economic anxieties shared by the men even as it highlights the brutality of the Horn of Africa’s most chaotic state. (The film is based on a book that the real-life Captain Phillips wrote, a memoir of the 2009 piracy attack he survived.)
Somalia’s recent history of civil strife makes it the global poster child for a failed state. The country’s last functioning government dissolved in 1991 when the Cold War ended. The civil war that followed degenerated into a free-for-all of sectarian bloodshed, first pitting political factions and, eventually, tribal clans. In recent years, the economic situation has deteriorated to the point that the installation of ten miles worth of solar-powered street lights in the capital of Mogadishu last May was a cause for celebration among the beleaguered population.
Basic statistics about today’s Somalia — unemployment numbers, literacy rates, total population — are currently unknown, although two relatively stable, if unrecognized, governments have sprung up in the northern part of the country, at the tip of the Horn of Africa. In one of the breakaway states, known as Puntland, many former fishermen during the recession years began raiding the busy commercial-shipping lanes in the Gulf of Aden. The Somalians claimed they took to piracy because international companies used the waters as a chemical dumping ground or overfished, as the film references. In a nod to Somalia’s fractured state, the pirates call themselves the Coast Guard when approaching their prey; Muse compares the ransom money they demand to taxes for passing through Somalian waters.
In a meeting after their first encounter with the Somalian pirates, the crew argues with Phillips. One sailor, a twenty-year veteran sailor, says he didn’t sign up to fight pirates. Phillips points out that each crew member knew the ship’s route before signing up for the voyage, and each knew the dangers of the Somalian waters. When the crew insists that they evade the pirates by heading further out into the ocean, Phillips tells his men that switching the course would slow down the trip and cost the company money. If they don’t like it, he tells them, they can go upstairs to his office and sign the paperwork to quit their job — and go home with the rest of the crew anyway when they reach their destination, Kenya.
Later on the in the film, a wounded pirate cries to Muse that he never planned on being hurt. The Somalians were supposed to capture the ship, hold it for ransom, then get paid and leave. Muse shouts at him that anything can happen on the job. Piracy, like capitalism, isn’t for the weak.
The comparisons continue. Everyone — American or Somalian — hates their boss. After Phillips and his crew escape the pirates thanks to a sputtering motor, Muse wants to chase them. The pirate captain refuses after their radios pick up Phillips “requesting an air strike” from the Navy.
“I may be skinny, but I’m not a coward,” Muse snaps — a remark that provokes a particularly violent kind of work disagreement.
Later in the movie, Muse (played by first-time actor Barkhad Abdi) brags to his captive that he and his fellow pirates recently netted a six-million-dollar ransom for a Greek ship. Phillips, nicknamed “Irish” by the pirates, asks why Muse is still in the piracy business. The Somalian replies that their bosses have bosses, and — much like the American sailors — low-level grunts like him must pay their dues.
But that fact of life also says something about the key difference between the two crews. The Americans benefit from the safety net of union-bargained contracts and a stable legal system to see them enforced. When the Somalians disagree over business decisions, they don’t sit around a table with lawyers and discuss their options. They pull out guns and threaten each other with death.
Somalia hasn’t changed much since 2009, when the film takes place. The United Nations-recognized government controls little territory outside of Mogadishu. With piracy down thanks to an increased international naval presence, Somalians have lost one more option for gainful employment. Young men join tribal militias or the Islamist insurgency. Gun-shy Somalians working at the bazaar live in constant fear of suicide-bomb attacks. Even subsisting off food rations and other international aid comes with its risks: UN personnel have been accused of child abuse and other sex crimes.
In film’s final scenes, with the US Navy drawing near, a battered Phillips pleads with Muse. “There’s got to be something other than being a fisherman and kidnapping people,” he says.
“Maybe in America, Irish,” Muse replies. “Maybe in America.”
Tony Cella is a freelance reporter who has covered crime and grime in Los Angeles, New York City, and the Kenai Peninsula, Alaska. Email: tonycella37@gmail.com
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Best of In The Fray 2012. Around the world, protesters decry the inequality and excess of free-market capitalism’s “race to the bottom.” But in East Africa, social entrepreneurs are planting the young roots of a new, cause-minded capitalism.
By Jonathan Kalan
For all their flaws, capitalism and its profit-maximizing private enterprises have created enormous prosperity and wealth over the past century, improving living standards around the world. Yet as globalization accelerates a global “race to the bottom”—as integrated markets push down on regulations and wages—the shortcomings of the free-market system have become harder to ignore: growing income inequalities, a stark clash of classes, exploited labor, exhausted resources, and permanently altered ecosystems. Today there are protests on Wall Street, riots in Greece, bailouts on both sides of the Atlantic—seemingly everywhere, political upheaval and social unrest.
Across national, social, and economic boundaries, the capitalist system is being cut open and exposed, criticized and amended. Couch surfers and Craigslisters alike build barter-based economies. Shoppers respond to “cause marketing” efforts and pay more for fair trade. Harvard academics propose new forms of corporations that “create shared value.” Corporations tout their social responsibility programs and social impact assessments.
While these are all noble strategies, they ultimately don’t change a simple fact: the fundamental motivator of the capitalist corporation is profit.
Enter the social entrepreneurs that are bringing about a rebirth of capitalism—this time, in the emerging economies of Asia, Latin America, and Africa. These “new capitalists” are pioneering private-sector solutions to some of the world’s greatest challenges in health, water, sanitation, and energy. They are following the blueprint laid out by the late professor C.K. Prahalad, who called for tapping into new markets and fortunes at the bottom of the economic pyramid, and drawing inspiration from recent success stories, such as “Banker to the Poor” Muhammad Yunus and his Grameen Bank, winners of the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize.
Social enterprises find profits in poverty, but their zeal for providing essential products and services to the poor—in parts of the developing world shunned by most major corporations—means that a much broader population benefits as well. By carefully balancing economic and social profits, these businesses—and their cause-minded, capitalist founders—are rewriting the global narrative of “pity” for developing countries, cultivating the potential even within formerly marginalized societies for intense levels of entrepreneurship and self-improvement.
For over a year, the (BoP) Project has traversed East Africa, exploring how these new models of private enterprise are addressing some of the most crucial issues in the region. From the slums of Kampala, Uganda, to the pulsing heart of Nairobi, Kenya, to the rolling green hills of Rwanda, these photographs and stories reflect the promise of the entrepreneurial energies at the base of the economic pyramid.
In Kitui, Kenya, I can still recall the emotion of the moment when Masaki John, a widowed Kenyan farmer, offered me a live chicken for taking a photograph of her and her three sons. Her eight beehives produce honey that is guaranteed to be purchased, at fair market prices, by Honey Care Africa, a social enterprise.
I still remember the shock I felt when Veronica, head cashier at an Ikotoilet facility in the central business district of Nairobi, Kenya, told me she once helped deliver a child in a bathroom stall. These high-quality, public, pay-per-use toilet and shower facilities, located in urban areas of Kenya and built by the social enterprise Ecotact, are not only the best option in town for a shave, toilet, and shower, but apparently on multiple occasions have been used by women going into labor, because of their highly sanitary conditions.
I remember the swell of excitement in the crowd as we pulled in just after dusk to the village of Musubiro in Central Uganda, with Ronald, a “solar entrepreneur” working for a social enterprise called Barefoot Power. As he set an array of home solar products on the hood of the car, the blue LED lights from these rugged little devices illuminated the faces of the children in front. For the cost of just two-and-a-half months of kerosene, a Firefly provides enough clean lighting for almost two full years. Across Uganda, there are over 160 solar entrepreneurs like Ronald, and collectively they’ve sold over 200,000 Firefly kits.
Each of these memories, illegibly scribbled in a stack of well-worn Field Notes Brand notebooks and buried at the bottom of an old rucksack, reminds me why these social enterprises exist. Behind that veil of poverty, beyond the images broadcast to the Western world of poor, helpless people in need of your charity, there is an incredible potential waiting to be recognized and rewarded.
Next year would have been the one hundredth birthday of Nobel Prize-winning economist and free-market apostle Milton Friedman. At this critical juncture for capitalism, it’s worth harking back to one of Friedman’s most important points: private enterprise is the foundation of economic prosperity. If private enterprise was the foundation of economicprosperity over the past hundred years, perhaps a little tweaking of the capitalist model will turn private enterprise into the foundation of social prosperity for the next hundred. Where multinational corporations and embattled governments have failed, social enterprises will hopefully find success.
Jonathan Kalan, founder of the (BoP) Project, is an internationally published journalist, photojournalist, and blogger specializing in social business and innovation in emerging markets. Based in Nairobi, Kenya, he is a staff writer for NextBillion.net, a regular contributor to Dowser.org, and a 2011 finalist for the Diageo Africa Business Reporting Awards.
Dear Reader,In The Fray is a nonprofit staffed by volunteers. If you liked this piece, could you please donate $10? If you want to help, you can also:
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