The Global Legitimacy Game: Civil Society, Globalization and Protest

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The Global Legitimacy Game Civil Society, Globalization, and Protest

Alison Van Rooy

The Global Legitimacy Game

Palgrave Texts in International Political Economy Series Editors: Craig Murphy, M. Margaret Ball Professor of International Relations, Wellesley College and Timothy M. Shaw, Professor of Commonwealth Governance and Development, and Director, Institute of Commonwealth Studies, School of Advanced Study, University of London International Political Economy aims to understand the dynamic, complex relations between the diverse and interrelated political and economic phenomena at the global to local levels. In the post-war period, world economic and political systems have undergone rapid and unprecedented change. Palgrave Texts in International Political Economy seek to provide authoritative and innovative texts aimed at the graduate level student to provide key introductions to and assessment of key areas in international political economy, both established and emerging.

Titles include: Christien van den Anker (editor) THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF NEW SLAVERY Alison Van Rooy THE GLOBAL LEGITIMACY GAME Civil Society, Globalization, and Protest

Palgrave Texts in International Political Economy Series Standing Order ISBN 1–4039–3807–5 hardcover Series Standing Order ISBN 1–4039–3808–3 paperback You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name and address, the title of the series and one of the ISBNs quoted above. Customer Service Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS, England

The Global Legitimacy Game Civil Society, Globalization, and Protest Alison Van Rooy

© Alison Van Rooy 2004 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2004 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 1–4039–0625–4 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Van Rooy, Alison, 1967– The global legitimacy game : civil society, globalization, and protest / Alison Van Rooy. p. cm. — (Palgrave texts in international political economy) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–0625–4 (cloth) — ISBN 1–4039–3491–6 (paper) 1. Non-governmental organizations. 2. Civil society. 3. Globalization. 4. Protest movements. 5. Democracy. 6. International relations. I. Title. II. Series. JZ4841.V36 2004 322.4—dc22 2004044370 10 13

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Contents

List of Acronyms

ix

Acknowledgements

xi

About the Author

xii

Introduction: Gorillas, Ants, Elephants, Canaries

1

1 The Civil Society Thing: Who, What, Why, Where, How?

5

1.1 Defining civil society 1.1.1 What counts? 1.1.2 Why do they count? 1.2 Scoping the phenomenon 1.2.1 How many? 1.2.2 From whence? 1.3 Identifying four characteristics 1.3.1 Horizontal 1.3.2 Global 1.3.3 High-profile 1.3.4 Ideological 1.4 Conclusion

5 6 9 12 12 14 15 15 18 22 26 31 33

2 Activism’s Bumper Decade 2.1 The environmental campaigns 2.1.1 Greenpeace and ecological sensibility 2.1.2 The Earth Summit landmark 2.1.3 The shelving of genetically modified organisms 2.2 The corporate campaigns 2.2.1 Infant formula and the Nestle boycott 2.2.2 Nike’s labour standards 2.2.3 Shell shock and Nigerian oil 2.2.4 Child labour and Rugmark 2.2.5 Ending blood diamonds v

34 34 35 36 37 37 38 39 40 41

vi

Contents

2.3 The peace campaigns 2.3.1 Disarmament and mass mobilization 2.3.2 The landmines convention and the Internet 2.4 The human rights campaigns 2.4.1 Women’s rights as human rights 2.5 The North–South campaigns 2.5.1 The New International Economic Order 2.5.2 Development NGOs’ new advocacy 2.6 The global finance campaigns 2.6.1 The World Bank: adjustment of structural adjustment 2.6.2 Protesting the IMF: the Asian financial crisis 2.6.3 The Jubilee 2000 debt campaign 2.7 The globalization campaigns 2.7.1 The OECD and the Multilateral Agreement on Investment 2.7.2 The Battle of Seattle and the WTO 2.8 Conclusion 3 The Legitimacy Game: The Representation Rules 3.1 Nature of membership 3.1.1 Volume: size of membership 3.1.2 Breadth: comprehensiveness of membership 3.1.3 Depth: commitment of membership to the cause 3.2 Internal democracy 3.2.1 Election: membership’s choice of leadership 3.2.2 Control: membership’s democratic control over leadership 3.2.3 Accountability: leadership’s responsibilities to members and beyond 3.2.4 Transparency: public access to information 3.3 Conclusion 4 The Legitimacy Game: The Other Rules 4.1 Rights-based claims 4.1.1 The person 4.1.2 The victim 4.1.3 The global citizen

42 43 44 45 46 47 47 48 50 50 52 55 56 56 57 60 62 63 63 64 68 70 70 71 72 74 76 77 77 77 78 79

Contents vii

4.2 Experts rule 4.2.1 Rarity 4.2.2 Validity 4.2.3 Disciplinary might 4.2.4 Comparative credibility 4.2.5 Balance 4.3 Experiential evidence 4.3.1 Grassrootedness 4.3.2 History, longevity, and precedent 4.4 Moral authority 4.4.1 Public interest 4.4.2 Common standard 4.4.3 United front 4.5 Conclusion

81 81 83 85 88 90 92 92 93 94 95 97 98 101

5 The Legitimacy Game: The Hidden Rules

103

5.1 Walking the talk 5.1.1 Amateur professionalism 5.1.2 Austerity 5.1.3 Effectiveness 5.2 Qualifications of leadership 5.2.1 Elite skill 5.2.2 Charisma 5.3 The marketplace of appeals 5.3.1 The business of fundraising 5.3.2 Media and market share 5.4 Purity and independence 5.4.1 Political independence 5.4.2 Financial independence 5.5 The primacy of public security 5.5.1 Violence 5.5.2 War on terrorism 5.6 Conclusion

103 104 106 107 109 109 111 111 112 113 115 115 116 119 120 123 125

6 The Crisis of Global Governance and a Compromise Solution 6.1 The crisis of global governance 6.2 Alternative theories and proposals 6.2.1 The theories 6.2.2 The proposals 6.2.3 Objections and hope

127 128 130 130 133 134

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Contents

6.3 The compromise of supplementary democracy 6.3.1 The rationale 6.3.2 The promise 6.3.3 The objections 6.4 Making supplementary democracy work 6.4.1 Existing norms and mechanisms 6.4.2 Building on precedent 6.5 Conclusion

137 137 140 142 146 146 154 158

Bibliography

161

Index

184

List of Acronyms APEC BBC CSO DAC DAWN ECOSOC EDF FTAA G7 G8 GATT GMO ICBL IDNGO IDS IGO ILO IMF INGO IPF MAI NAFTA NATO NGO NIEO OAS OECD PAN RAFI SAP SAPRIN SEWA

Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation forum British Broadcasting Corporation Civil Society Organization Development Assistance Committee Development Alternatives with Women in a New Era United Nations Economic and Social Council Environmental Defence Fund Free Trade Area of the Americas Group of Seven (France, the United States, Britain, Germany, Japan, Canada, and Italy) Group of Eight (France, the United States, Britain, Germany, Japan, Canada, Italy, and Russia) General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade Genetically Modified Organisms International Campaign to Ban Landmines International Development NGO Institute for Development Studies Intergovernmental Organization International Labour Organization International Monetary Fund International NGO Indigenous People’s Fund Multilateral Agreement on Investment North American Free Trade Agreement North Atlantic Treaty Organization Nongovernmental Organization New International Economic Order Organization of American States Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development Pesticides Action Network Rural Advancement Foundation International Structural Adjustment Program Structural Adjustment Participatory Review International Network Self-Employed Women’s Association ix

x

List of Acronyms

SNGO TSMO TWN UIA UN UNAIDS UNCED UNCTAD UNDP UNEP UNITA URL WEDO WTO WWF

Southern NGO Transnational Social Movement Organization Third World Network Union of International Associations United Nations Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS United Nations Conference on Environment and Development United Nations Conference on Trade and Development United Nations Development Programme United Nations Environment Programme União Nacional para a Independência Total de Angola Universal Resource Locator (internet address) Women’s Environment and Development Organization World Trade Organization Worldwide Fund for Nature

Acknowledgements This book began with musings generated during my six years with The North–South Institute, a place and congregation of colleagues to whom I owe much. I have also benefited from the comments of fellow students of the international system during a 1996 seminar at Brown University with the Academic Council on the United Nations, and during three seminars starting in 2000 on Studies of Development in the Era of Globalization held at Dalhousie University and supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. During the research and writing, still others generously lent their time, in particular: Thomas Carothers, John Clark, Deborah Eade, Michael Edwards, Alan Fowler, Ann Florini, Alan Hudson, Andrew Hurrell, Jenny Pearce, David Lewis, Carmen Malena, Kim Richard Nossal, Kathryn Sikkink, Alan Whaites, and Ngaire Woods. A special thanks goes to Timothy M. Shaw, an editor of Palgrave’s IPE Series, and the three anonymous reviewers who offered helpful advice at early stages of the research. To Neil, Sarah, and baby Samuel go my happiest acknowledgements; they made room in their lives for yet another project.

Disclaimer The views expressed in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Canadian International Development Agency.

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About the Author Alison Van Rooy has published widely in recent years on topics of civil society, democratization, and good governance. Now on family leave from the Canadian International Development Agency as Senior Social Policy Advisor, Alison was a Senior Researcher at The North–South Institute in Ottawa, and has undertaken studies with an array of other non-profit and international organizations. Her recent work includes Nongovernmental Voices in Multilateral Organizations (a multi-year study continuing at The North–South Institute), the Canadian Development Report 1999: Civil Society and Global Change (1999); Civil Society and the Aid Industry (1998); A Partial Promise? Canadian Support to Social Development Abroad (1995); as well as numerous articles, lectures, evaluations, and other studies. Her Oxford doctorate on NGOs, titled The Altruistic Lobbyists, was funded by a Rhodes scholarship and supplemented by a fellowship at the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade where she wrote on improved practices for public consultation, research continued during a secondment to the Canadian Privy Council Office. Her first degree is from Trent University in Canada, where she won a number of awards for her work on NGOs, inspired by her exchange experience with Canada World Youth in Sri Lanka.

xii

Introduction: Gorillas, Ants, Elephants, Canaries

At a Northern government workshop in the mid-1990s, one experienced official described nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) as the elephants of international relations. ‘We deal with them because they are like elephants in your living room; you cannot but deal with them.’ Later in his talk, warming to the zoological theme, he also compared NGOs to gorillas. ‘It helps,’ he said, ‘to have an 800-pound gorilla with you when you are negotiating – someone to apply a little “reasonable” persuasion’ in cases where the government and NGOs see eye-to-eye in opposition to some joint enemy. Even if they are not accountable (‘Whom do they represent?’ he asked rhetorically, voicing the usual question), government had to come up with a strategy for managing its interactions with this phenomenal force. There were, not surprisingly, irritated rumblings from the activists in the room. Come the question-and-answer period, the metaphorical race was on. Some NGOs described themselves as ants rather than elephants, soldiering along in a long struggle; others, as canaries in the mineshaft, serving as warnings of danger in international trade negotiations; still others took up the elephant simile, arguing that networking – working in herds – was the key to their current and future success. Since then, of course, the poetry of global activism has expanded to cover yet more parts of the natural kingdom. Maude Barlow of the Council of Canadians has a geological metaphor: ‘We are up against a boulder. We can’t remove it so we try to go underneath it, to go around it and over it.’ John Jordan of Reclaim the Streets takes a maritime angle: transnationals ‘are like giant tankers, and we are like a school of fish. We can respond quickly; they can’t.’ The US-based Free Burma Coalition talks of a network of spiders, spinning a web strong enough to tie down the most powerful multinationals. And in another example, 1

2

Global Legitimacy Game

a US military report about the Zapatista uprising talks of ‘a war of the flea’ that, thanks to the Internet and the global NGO network, turned into a ‘war of the swarm’ (Klein 2000: URL). Such metaphors are meant to describe the impressive new tactics of these global players; tactics that have become so successful (as we will see in later chapters) that many, both inside and outside of the world of such civil society organizations (CSOs), have begun to raise questions about the legitimacy of the nongovernmental protagonists themselves. As Edwards points out, there is A growing chorus of complaint that sees NGOs as unrepresentative, unaccountable, and often plain uninformed – distorting the democratic process, eroding the authority of elected officials, and excluding the voices of those directly affected by global change in favor of an urban, middle-class minority of armchair radicals, based largely in the industrialized world (Edwards 2000a: 2). It is not hard to find examples of such a chorus. Take your pick from this selection, culled from speeches and articles: It does irritate me that someone who never sells a product, never gets a vote and doesn’t actually do anything can come out and attack you – Michael Moore, head of the World Trade Organization (de Jonquieres 1999: 2). Is it safe to grant a mandate to change the world to unelected organisations which operate under the banner of democracy, but which answer only to their directors, fundholders or members, and are far less transparent than most political parties? (Bond 2000: URL). The emergence of groups of activists threatens to weaken public order, legal institutions and the democratic process . . . We must establish rules to clarify the legitimacy of these activist non governmental organisations who claim to represent the interests of broad sectors of civil society – Geneva Declaration, adopted by the Geneva Business Dialogue, 1998 (Carr 2001). It is hard to say which was worse – watching the militant dunces parade their ignorance through the streets of Seattle, or listening to their lame-brained governments respond to [their] ‘arguments’ (‘Politics Brief: Ex Uno, Plures’ 1999: 17).

Introduction

3

Demonstrators mainly just acted out their neuroses (Alexandroff 2000: 107). This effectively is an anarchists’ traveling circus that goes from summit to summit with the sole cause of causing as much mayhem as possible – Tony Blair on the Genoa G8 meeting (‘Blair: Anarchists will not stop us’ 2001). Mats Karlsson, the World Bank’s new Vice President for External Affairs, weighed in with a stinging attack on NGOs in Washington for their ‘weak accountability’, ‘shallow democracy’, and ‘precarious legitimacy’ as actors in the global debate (Edwards 2000a: 2). Embracing a bewildering array of beliefs, interests, and agendas, they have the potential to do as much harm as good. Hailed as the exemplars of grassroots democracy in action, many NGOs are, in fact, decidedly undemocratic and unaccountable to the people they claim to represent. Dedicated to promoting more openness and participation in decision making, they can instead lapse into old-fashioned interest group politics that produces gridlock on a global scale (Simmons 1998: 83). Yet despite such complaints, there has not been much effort to disaggregate the conversation about legitimacy (‘deconstruct’ would be the fashionable verb) to see where lie the strengths and weaknesses of the charges. The academic world has offered up a small number of useful attempts (Slim 1997, Edwards 2000a, Pearce and Howell 2001, Hudson 2002, Nelson 2002b, Clark 2003 are all good examples), but a more concerted effort is needed. Why? The debate on the legitimacy of CSOs active in globalization must be more intelligently addressed if our global governance is to get any better. This book explains why. The book’s argument therefore goes something like this. There is a heated debate going on about the legitimacy of global activists; a conversation that is rarely examined from top to bottom, though it ought to be scrutinized because the debate has a real impact on the way the world is governed. Chapter 1: First off, there is a surprising number and diversity of people and organizations out there under the newly revived title of ‘civil society.’ For those now focused on globalization, however, they share some important characteristics in common: they are horizontal, global, highprofile, and ideological.

4


Chapter 2: These activists are attracting global notice because they have been very visible in the public eye: a series of short cases from the ranks of environmentalists, feminists, human rights activists, and others highlight those campaigns. Lately, they have drawn the most attention under the ‘anti-globalization’ banner. Chapter 3: The fundamental questions (at least to those targeted by such activism) have focused on the legitimacy of the protesters: who are they? on what basis are they making their claims? Starting with this chapter, the discussion dissects those questions by looking at what ‘legitimacy’ means in practice, and to whom, beginning with the very idea of representation. Chapter 4: Not only is representation brought up in the legitimacy debates, but a host of other objections are raised as well. How are credentials claimed on the basis of rights, expertise, experience, and moral authority? Chapter 5: And if these first sets of rules were not enough to make for a vivid debate, there is an additional hidden set of factors that affect assessments of CSOs’ work. Some of these rules change with the times, including times of ‘war against terrorism.’ Chapter 6: Given this state of debate, is there a possible resolution to the global legitimacy game shaping today’s disputes over globalization? Arguing that this simmering controversy is getting in the way of improved global governance, this last chapter sketches practical ideas around the notion of supplementary democracy. At the end of the day, I hope these pages might present ideas that are of use in your own thinking about the future of our world.

1 The Civil Society Thing: Who, What, Why, Where, How?

This chapter begins the legitimacy discussion in earnest with a look at the civil society phenomenon itself. What is civil society? What is it supposed to do? Why? How many players – if we can count them – are active in it, and where did they come from? This tour of the overall phenomenon leads to an outline of the crucial characteristics of global CSOs that mark them as a new species of international player.

1.1

Defining civil society

Much attention is spent on the definition of civil society. What an unwelcome task that is! Pundits of all stripes have made efforts to present nuanced definitions of the phenomenon (Keane 1988, 2003, Walzer 1991, Cohen and Arato 1992, Seligman 1992a,b, Gellner 1996 and see the work of others deftly addressed in Chandhoke 1995, 2003, Hall 1995, Deakin 2001, Hamilton 2003). Not only is the question of apparent interest to academics, it even merits a debate in the popular (albeit highbrow) media: the BBC had a whole summer radio series on the question, ‘What is Civil Society?’ (Sarnaik 2001). The following, however, is a fairly typical definition and – equally typical – one loaded with caveats: Civil Society comprises the private domain which exists in the space between (a) the state and its various apparatuses, and (b) the economy and its various expressions; flourishes where the state is in pluralistic democratic mode and the economy is in capitalist mode; is a Western European/North American phenomenon which has contributed to the creation of the conditions for freedom, democracy and successful economic performance; and can be interpreted from the right and the 5

6


left of the political spectrum and appropriated by both in support of their arguments (British Council 1999). With such a wide-ranging interpretation, it is no wonder that the definition debates are endless. Says one theorist: ‘The problem with “civil society” as an analytical concept, or even as a political ideal, is not that it is undertheorized, but that it is overtheorized. It leaves out very little’ (Fierlbeck 1998: 165; also see Foley and Edwards 1996). As we begin to look at the work of globalization activists, let us then take a closer look at this overtheorization. 1.1.1

What counts?

What is supposed to count as civil society? Broadly speaking, three large criteria are commonly used to define civil society: location, organization, and inspiration. All three elements are at the centre of centuries-old deliberations. Location: separation from state and market The history of the idea of civil society is a very long one. Aristotle first spoke of ‘political community,’ the Roman Cicero spoke in turn of ‘societas civilis,’ and there have been sundry incarnations of the term since then. ‘Civil society’ was resurrected during the 18th century Scottish Enlightenment, again as an important part of the 19th century’s debate around capitalism, once more with Gramsci and the early Marxist thinkers of the first half of the 20th century, and again in the later half of the century to explain the fall of the Iron Curtain and the ‘third wave’ of democratization in the developing world. In all these formulations, there has always been some reference to ‘the state’ and then in later versions, to ‘the market’ (Keane 1988, Cohen and Arato 1992, Hall 1995). By the time we come to the end of the 20th century, civil society is seen as a place, or a constellation of actors occupying that space, that is distinct from this thing called the state, and this thing called the market (often portrayed in overlapping circles like those in Figure 1.1). Of course, in real life, such distinctions can be hard to make with precision: Where do you put an organization founded by an entrepreneur whose family has great influence with the current government, and whose activities focus on promoting civic awareness among minorities? Are unions part of the marketplace or of civil society? What about nongoverning political parties? What about clans or kinship groups? Chandhoke, critical of the three-circle approach, cites Copernicus when

The Civil Society Thing 7

civil society the market

the state

Figure 1.1

The three circles model.

she says: ‘With them it is as though an artist were to gather the hands, feet, head, and other members for his images from diverse models, each part excellently drawn, but not related to a single body’ (Chandhoke 2003: 35). In other words, the image of the three tidy circles may well make us forget about the larger, pulsing, dynamic, and messy politics of the whole. Organization: a specific, organizational identity If the location of civil society is one criterion, a second is its organizationness. Civil society is usually defined as a place of organizations, rather than loose constellations within society. The discussion thus winds its way through ‘in’ and ‘out’ lists: Are political parties in or out? Are business councils in or out? And what about groupings that are not really organizations in the Western sense, and certainly are not of voluntary membership, such as tribes, age-sets, or kinship groupings? (see Seligman 1992a and Gellner 1996 on this point). Indeed, how much organizationness is needed to qualify? Is a couple of people with an Internet address enough to be included under the civil society banner? As we examine the gatherings of globalization activists, a further distinction complicates the definition exercise. ‘Civil society,’ a term rich in historical meanings, is often used interchangeably (as evident even in this book) with the much smaller realm of NGOs. While ‘civil society’ hints at political relationships, wide swaths of social organization, and battles over the hearts and minds of citizens, ‘nongovernmental organization’ is a far more pedestrian phrase. Ottaway and Carothers, in reviewing the behaviour of foreign aid agencies, found that, Donors’ tendency to think of NGOs as the heart of civil society is part and parcel of their ahistorical approach in this domain. When

8


Western democracy promoters embraced the notion of civil society aid in the early 1990s, they often assumed that since the countries in which they were working had few organizations of the type donors designate ‘civil society organizations’ – that is, Westernized advocacy NGOs – they had little civil society of any kind (Ottaway and Carothers 2000: 295–6). As later pages review the legitimacy debate, this preference for professional, westernized, and recognizable ‘civil society’ shows up again and again. Inspiration: altruism/moral highground Yet another disputed criterion for civil society has to do with its moral inspiration: only good civil society is really to be counted. Even though all commentators take pains to point out that morally reprehensible organizations may well fall into the third circle (the Ku Klux Klan and neo-Nazis, for example), in practice that observation is made and then promptly dropped. Civil society is almost always described in terms of its ethical inspirations to better humankind: ‘Extrapolating from the courageous role of civic groups that fought communism in Eastern Europe, some civil society enthusiasts have propagated the misleading notion that civil society consists only of noble causes and earnest, well-intentioned actors. Yet civil society everywhere is a bewildering array of the good, the bad, and the outright bizarre’ (Carothers 1999–2000: URL). It is in this vein that another commentator complains: Why, for example, is the International Campaign to Ban Landmines viewed as an exemplar of civil society instead of, say, the National Rifle Association, which, whatever one thinks of its politics, has at least as good a claim to being an authentic grassroots movement? The UN bitterly resisted having to recognize the NRA as a legitimate NGO. And yet if we think of NGO as a description and not a political position, the NRA obviously qualifies. . . . That Karadzic is an evil man and Havel a good one should go without saying. But where the question of civil society is concerned, it is beside the point, unless, of course, you accept the claim that civil society exists only when the ideals or interests being expressed are good, peace-loving and tolerant. At that point civil society becomes, as it has for its more unreflective advocates, a theological notion, not a political or a sociological one (Rieff 1999: URL).

The Civil Society Thing 9

This ‘theological’ discussion is crucial in the legitimacy debates, of course, in part because it muddies the waters on all sides. Dionne, a fellow with the Brookings Institution worries: More formally, civil society refers to an array of fine institutions that nobody can possibly be against: churches that run great teen pregnancy and after-school programs, neighborhood crime watch groups, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, Little Leagues, book clubs, veterans groups, Shriners and Elks. What’s to fight about? Aside from bashing overly zealous parent-fans, how many people are prepared to take the negative side of The Little League Argument? (Dionne 1997: URL). With such an array of virtue, how can one see clearly what is actually going on in the real world of power struggles? Defining civil society becomes a political exercise all of its own. 1.1.2

Why do they count?

This definition exercise is important because there are strong associations made between the existence of civil society and the social goods provided by that virtuous third realm. Civil society organizations count because they are linked to democracy, social capital, and social justice, among a host of other public goods. Democracy The link with democracy – that democracy is more likely and of better quality where there are strong civil societies – is commonly made (Hirst 1994, Diamond 1995, 1999, Diamond and Plattner 1996; Warren 1999, 2001). Civil society is thus often described as a necessary tool for ensuring democracy. In writing about recent Central and East European transitions, for example, Siegel and Yancey argue that civil society fulfils the following essential democratic functions: • Providing a means for expressing and actively addressing the varied and complex needs of society. • Motivating individuals to act as citizens in all aspects of society rather than bowing to or depending on state power and beneficence. • Promoting pluralism and diversity in society, such as protecting and strengthening cultural, ethnic, religious, linguistic, and other identities. • Creating an alternative to centralized state agencies for providing services with greater independence and flexibility.

10


• Establishing the mechanisms by which governments and the market can be held accountable by the public (Siegel and Yancey 1992). Of course, just because CSOs can do such things does not mean they necessarily do carry them out. Not surprisingly, there are a host of exceptions to the correlation between strong civil societies and democracies. Fisher (1998) reviews the evidence and fails to find a strong correlation (let alone a causal one); Salamon (1993) is similarly agnostic, and Ottaway and Carothers (2000) are likewise doubtful. Still, the weight of popular opinion (and, as we shall see, foreign-aid funding to civil society organizations, should that be an important measure) assumes that a strong and organized civil society is necessary for democracy to flourish. Social capital Civil society is also thought to be of ethical importance because it builds social capital: that level of community trust and goodwill that improves not only our personal well-being, but also our national economy. The 1990s’ enthusiasm for the idea of social capital, propelled into public prominence by Robert Putnam’s Bowling Alone (2000), has led to increased attention to the vehicles of social capital: civil (or civic) organizations. The argument here is that when people form into community groups (of even the most pedestrian kind, such as bowling leagues), a host of happy social outcomes follow: lower crime, greater health, more happiness, and greater employment (Van Rooy 2001). The idea of social capital is not Putnam’s alone; Jacobs (1961), Coleman (1988) and others wrote about it years ago. However, the Harvard academic’s treatment of the topic hit a raw nerve in mid-1990s America: Politicians of all stripes picked up and ran with the disaffection theme. Conservatives said citizen cynicism was the fault of a huge and oppressive federal government, one that suffocates grass-roots volunteer efforts. Liberals were attracted to the cynicism thesis because its call for a renewal of civic engagement sounded like a plea for social activism and greater communitarian spirit (Flint 1996: 16). Perhaps unsurprisingly, Putnam’s correlation between civil society and social capital has come under scrutiny. Is his data for American civic participation wrong (Lemann 1992, Schudson 1996, Fukuyama 2000)? Does he ignore other factors that contribute to social decay

The Civil Society Thing

11

and rejuvenation (Skocpol 1996)? Spurred rather than deterred by such critiques, further research is underway (at no less than the World Bank) to trace the links between what civil society does and what social capital is earned. Social justice A third public good associated with civil society is the provision of social justice: the more equitable distribution of power (and sometimes real redistribution of material goods) among the globe’s inhabitants. It is from this vantage point that many globalization activists take their inspiration. The link is made in the following way: in the shadow of power-seeking governments and profit-seeking corporations, the common person is abandoned to a fate of immiseration. This democratic and market failure requires alternate means to provide welfare for all (to put food on the table) and alternate political empowerment (to change the circumstances whereby food disappeared from the table in the first place). Such alternate means come in the shape of CSOs. Globally-active CSOs, the topic of this book, are seen to have a special role in pursuing social justice by working internationally. According to one commentator, global civil society is thus composed of those organizations that: • Address political issues that were largely ignored (or opposed) by all the mainstream political parties at the time; growing popular concern could not therefore be channeled through conventional political routes. • Address issues that are truly global and which concern large-scale disparities of power. • Seek three goals: to influence public policy, reform institutions, and change public attitudes. • Pursue two strategies: mass campaigning and the use of the mass media to demonstrate force of numbers and win hearts, and skillful research and advocacy to win the intellectual case. • Constitute global movements; they deliberately seek to create international networks and derive enhanced legitimacy from them, promote an ethos of internationalism, and favour simultaneous action at the local, national, and international levels (Clark 2001: 17–18). As (potential) purveyors of democracy, social capital, and social justice, we see those global CSOs as Davids throwing stones, literally and figuratively, at the Goliaths of globalization. This normative imagery is

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one of the hallmarks of today’s debate on legitimacy, civil society, and globalization.

1.2

Scoping the phenomenon

If the preceding survey of civil society definitions is too broad to be helpful, then it may be useful to look at some specifics. Despite the ambiguity of definitions, a range of estimates for the numbers of internationally-active NGOs/CSOs has been drawn up, as well as guesses for the numbers working within national borders. And, while it would be impossible to give a country-by-country history of CSO origins (though have a look at the Institute for Development Studies project [IDS 2001] and the work of Salamon et al. 1999), there is a growing set of accounts about their global counterparts. These empirical efforts are important in sketching out the scope of the civil society phenomenon; a crucial factor when we come to discuss the legitimacy debates around them. 1.2.1

How many?

Counting CSOs is an imprecise and time-consuming art. The only ‘hard’ numbers are those collected by the Union of International Associations (UIA) in its yearbook of international organizations. In 2002, for instance, the yearbook recorded 38,000 international NGO associations; 529 ‘universal membership organizations’; 1050 intercontinental organizations; 4100 regional (subcontinental) organizations and networks; a host of informal, transnational associations and networks; 850 transnational religious orders; 2700 ‘semi-autonomous international bodies’; and another 4500 internationally-oriented national organizations (UIA 2002). Of course, these agencies are only the ones who have submitted information, or that the compilers come across in some other way, and there is no way of determining the importance of any one over another: Is this indeed the catalogue of a new global civil society? Still, almost all the studies of INGOs (and of ‘transnational civil society’ writ large) are based on number crunching from this set of data. Mind you, the UIA data is as good as it gets. Putting a number on CSOs within a country is far more difficult. Do we count only groups registered with the government? Only those with staff, budget, and office? Only those that work in some kind of publicbenefit capacity? What about the host of far more ‘informal’ bodies that often escape our notice? (see Vakil’s effort to classify NGOs for an example of the problem, 1997). Understandably, the few brave


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efforts to quantify domestic CSOs are all over the map. Fisher’s partial survey of more than 80 countries racks up some 71,000 organizations without including grassroots organizations (Fisher 1998). Elsewhere, Slovakia counts 12,000 registered NGOs (EWI 1998: 6); some 78,000 registered charities are on the books in Canada (Canada, Revenue Canada 2003: URL) and 175,000 in the UK (Adair 1999: URL); India has some 70,000 development NGOs alone (let alone other CSOs, Mohan 1998: URL); the US may have as many as 1.5 million NGOs of all stripes (McGann 2001: 4). The cumulative totals are staggering. Moreover, further studies on INGOs show these numbers are increasing in recent years. Smith’s study of the UIA data demonstrate that more than 60 per cent that were active in 1993 came into being after 1970, and that the average organizational age continues to decline – that is, a greater number are newly formed (Smith 1997: 46; see also Sikkink and Smith 2002: 41–2). Even more importantly, (1) membership (whether of individuals or other member agencies) within those INGOs has increased at a still-greater rate: well over a third of current members joined after 1990, and (2) INGOs themselves are more and more connected with each other and to international institutions like the United Nations and Bretton Woods Institutions (Anheier et al. 2001: 2; see also Anheier and Themudo 2002). From such domestic and international trends come stirring conclusions of a worldwide ‘associational revolution’ (Salamon 1994), and predictions that ‘NGOs may serve as the basis for, or actually become, nascent forms of transnational governance’ (Rosenau 1995: 23). While such pronouncements might be enthusiastic (I do not fully believe that ‘NGOs can push around even the largest governments,’ Mathews 1997: 53, for instance), this empirical work waves a red flag to international relations pundits who once ignored ‘non-states’ (for a review of the ‘non-state’ and ‘return to the state’ debates, start with Almond 1988 and Mitchell 1991). Such counting work has led to ‘(a) the realization that there is a rapid and sustained growth in their numbers across the globe; (b) the recognition that they are becoming increasingly prominent in an ever growing number of areas; and (c) their concurrent “discovery” by scholars and international institutions’ (Najam 2000: URL). Having thus discovered civil society, analysts are now asking a range of interesting questions about what the phenomenon may mean. For instance, what about the size and capacity of those organizations to muster membership, money, and political sway? If there is an increase in one-person-with-business-card agencies, one would ask different

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questions than if each represented a vast membership of active global citizens. Of the growing number of INGOs in the 1990s, Many of the larger ones, such as Care, control budgets worth more than $100 m. Membership of the Worldwide Fund for Nature has increased nearly tenfold, to 5 m, since the mid-1980s; it has 3,300 staff and an annual budget of more than $350 m. Greenpeace has nearly 2.5 m members and 1,142 staff. Amnesty International has 1 m members in 162 countries. Friends of the Earth has 1 m members in 58 countries (Bond 2000: URL). Of course, few of the tens of thousands of INGOs are in the multimillion dollar (and multi-million member) league, and fewer still are focused on globalization issues. Sikkink and Smith’s catalogue of ‘transnational social movement organizations,’ extracted from the 1993 UIA data, includes 685 agencies involved in human rights, peace, women’s rights, environment world order/international law, and development/ empowerment (Sikkink and Smith 2002: 30): probably a pretty reliable number. In another listing, Elliott et al. describe about one hundred economic globalization advocacy groups that they deem important (Elliott et al. 2002). In any accounting, however, there seem to be a growing number who identify themselves under the globalization banner (pro, anti, and otherwise). It is evidently a population worth watching. 1.2.2

From whence?

Where, however, did such multitudes come from? Smillie (1995) provides a good potted history of many of the organizations now active on globalization: in Western countries, they arose largely within the last 200 years from churches, temples, and mosques. By the 19th century, they had added secular charitable work to their missionary activities (examples include the Anti-Slavery Society and the International Red Cross) and by the 20th century, had extended their humanitarian and ‘solidarity’ work still further (see also the country-by-country accounts in Van Rooy 1998, Salamon et al. 1999, and IDS 2001). Yet even early on, there was a group of global-level activists. Remarkable social innovations grew out of sustained pressure by the (then small but growing) numbers of international organizations we would now call INGOs. In the 1890s the Universal Peace Congress drafted a plan for an international tribunal to arbitrate disputes. In 1899 the Tsar Nicholas II


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sparked the First Hague Conference where internationally motivated citizens rubbed shoulders with diplomats and challenged the European arms race. The Socialist International, organized and re-organized in the second half of the nineteenth century represented for many the ideal of internationalism and a world beyond states. A number of the emerging ‘world’ movements were influential in the development of the vision of the League of Nations, organized by governments following the disasters of World War I (Foster 2001: 2). The difference today is that we are now witness to a tidal wave of activity rather than occasional instances. How did this come about? Is such proliferation a side effect of economic globalization? Of the democratic ‘third wave’ of the late 20th century? Of communications advances, including the Internet? An examination of some of the characteristics of today’s globalization activists – and activism – provides some answers.

1.3

Identifying four characteristics

Generalizations, by their very nature, are full of holes. In few enough cases can a broad description of a very disparate set of players be of much help, but there are some that ring true. Four adjectives could be used to describe today’s globalization movements: horizontal (in structure and communication), global (in efforts to ‘frame change,’ alter policy, and reshape institutions), high-profile (in strategy), and ideological. 1.3.1

Horizontal

The globalization movement – or more accurately, movements – are horizontal insomuch as they have no particular or permanent leaders, no encompassing strategy, and loose and shifting organizational structures. Describing a movement as horizontal does not mean, of course, that the organizations or individuals within them are necessarily non-hierarchical, or that there is necessary virtue in such a structure. It does illustrate, however, the remarkable outcome of institutional innovation on the one hand, and the magic of the Internet, on the other. Institutional innovation Civil society organizations have been generating horizontality by coming up with variants of new kinds of organization: issue networks and world forums among them. Prominent are networks of organizations devoted to a particular set of issues. These issue networks are more than temporary coalitions: many

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are organizations unto themselves, with a permanent identity and often with offices, publications, and long-term leadership. Prominent examples include WEDO (Women’s Environment and Development Organization, very prominent during the UN conferences of the 1990s, based in the US), TWN (Third World Network, a prolific publisher of opinions on economic globalization, based in Malaysia), DAWN (Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era, an active feminist voice on globalization, based in Fiji), and PAN (the Pesticides Action Network, a worldwide advocacy grouping started from Malaysia). Significantly, many of these are based in (and formed in) Southern ‘developing’ countries, but have extended their memberships and branches throughout the world (see also Krut et al. 1997). World forums are another institutional innovation of growing popularity. Of course, many globally minded organizations have traditionally gathered around the UN: so much so that the UN Secretary-General said, ‘NGOs are an essential part of the legitimacy without which no international activity can be meaningful’ (Rice and Ritchie 1995: URL). Yet, increasingly, we are witness to alternative world forums – the Global Civil Society yearbook found that 40 per cent of the ‘parallel summits’ held by CSOs in 2001 had, indeed, nothing to do with official meetings at all (Glasius and Kaldor 2002: 6). Of such experiments, perhaps the most reported is the World Social Forum, begun in Brazil in 2001 as an alternative to the Swiss meetings of the business-dominated World Economic Forum. At its inaugural meeting, some 15,000 people, including labour activists, environmentalists, human rights workers, and others held workshops and issued manifestos on the ‘predatory aspects of globalization’ (Korzeniewicz and Smith 2001: 23). Its third meeting saw 100,000 people: ‘Never had so many citizens come forth for meetings on a global scale’ (Scholte 2003: URL). With the Social Forum and other such meeting places, there are more and more opportunities for the like-minded to join forces. The magic of the Internet Of course, the largest meeting place of all is the Internet. Incredibly fast, remarkably cheap, and absolutely suited to the dynamics of networks, the Internet may have made some movements possible in the first place. Describing their notion of Netwars, Acquilla and Ronfeldt document how activists (as well as criminal organizations) use information technology to fight their battles in an altogether different form. Their examples draw not only from the Burma, Zapatista, and Seattle campaigns, but also from the conflict in Chechnya and Serbia, and the successful


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work of criminal drug cartels (Acquilla and Ronfeldt 1996, 2001; see also Wehling 1995). How are these Net campaigns any different from older forms? As information speeds around the globe, decision-makers come under greater pressure, from more quarters, far more quickly. This narrowing of the timeframe can make for real changes in the policy process: ‘If a negotiator says something to someone over a glass of wine, we’ll have it on the Internet within an hour, all over the world . . . . If we know something that is sensitive to one government, we get it to our ally in that country instantly. I don’t think governments will ever be able to do these kind of secret trade negotiations again’ (quoted in Beierle 2000: 19). Similarly, reporting on the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL), Scott argues that: ‘The Internet was one of the key ingredients which enabled such a multifarious movement to execute an agile and rapid strategy of countering opponents and critics, and persuading would-be allies (be they governmental, the media or other NGOs)’ (Scott 1999: 5). Not only speedy, the Internet allows for fabulous breadth of reach, greatly facilitating the distribution of information and coordination of logistics at near-zero cost. Lori Wallach, the coordinator of Public Citizen’s trade program, told this story in a recent interview. When asked whether the same outcome could have been achieved in Seattle (the site of large demonstrations against the WTO in 1999) without the Internet, she responded: Well, the internet certainly made it a lot easier, and faster. For instance, when we were working on the Uruguay Round in 1992, we finally liberated a copy of the text. It was on Christmas Eve; I got someone to take it out of the copier room at the GATT headquarters, put it on KLM. They flew it to Dulles International Airport, outside of Washington; I drove to Dulles, I drove back to Capitol Hill. I sent it to the Kinko’s copy shop on Pennsylvania Avenue, they made me 30 copies, I ran it to Federal Express – because it was Christmas Eve – and I sent it to my coalition partner in Japan, who also was responsible for getting it to Thailand, just as the guy in Malaysia was supposed to get it to Indonesia, and the person in France should have gotten it to Spain and Portugal, etc., all by mail. So there was this whole meshugas of trying to mechanically make copies of an 800-page text and mail it, at $50 a pop. It took a week and a half before anyone had it in their hands, by the time all the running around and Christmas happened (Naim 2000: 33).

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Moreover, it is not only speed and reach that mark the Internet as a crucial tool; its very structure encourages new forms of protest, including ‘umbrella coalescing’ (gathering many smaller organizations and individuals) and ‘spider-web organizing’ (permitting action along the spokes of the web without leadership from the hub). Norris highlights the mobilization potential that this structure encourages: ‘through the Internet you can subscribe to advocacy and lobbying groups, affiliate your organization, receive emailed policy newsletters and action alerts, send faxes or emails to decision-makers, circulate electronic petitions, learn about forthcoming street demonstrations, protest events, job vacancies and voluntary activities, as well as share effective strategies for activism, contribute short news items to the site, and participate in online discussions’ (Norris 2000a: 10–11). Everyone and anyone with a modem can participate. Of course, such electronic novelties (including cellphones and video cameras) combine with the still-crucial person-to-person activities – faceto-face meetings, real-time debates over strategy, and trust-building experiences to produce some of the new pressures we are witnessing in the globalization debates. Brown and Fox, for instance, found that there was ‘no substitute for face-to-face negotiations in creating trust and mutual influence’ in the coalitions they studied (Brown and Fox 2001: 55), and Wallach similarly emphasizes face-to-face contacts in preparation for Seattle (Naim 2000). So, while the hyperbole around the Internet’s impact could use a little downsizing – Ayres, for instance, wonders whether all these examples ‘warrant popularized claims about the supposed “deterritorialization of protest,” the emergence of “an alternative political fabric” or the rise of an “incipient global civil society”’ (Ayres 2003: 33) – it is hard to imagine the scope of today’s globalization movements without it. Moreover, the use of the Internet has added volatile fuel to the legitimacy debate. Musing on the Seattle demonstrations, one commentator argued in the Washington Post that ‘The Internet has handed these groups too much power to make their complete exclusion practical’ (Mallaby 1999: URL). 1.3.2

Global

A second major characteristic of the globalization movements is their (obviously) global focus. This focus shows up in at least three strategies: (1) changing the ‘frames’ by which the public and decision-makers understand global issues, (2) trying to change the specific policies and practices of global institutions, and (3) advocating for the reform (or invention or dissolution) of those global bodies themselves.


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Frame change The word ‘frame’ is used in sociological literature to describe the realm of self-evident thought: it is the perimeter around our conscious thinking that we no longer question. Anything that falls within it is natural, selfevident, and obvious; anything that falls outside does not even come up for consideration. Frames are not ideas, explains one author, but rather ways of packaging and presenting ideas (Khagram et al. 2002: 12). The whole history of the idea of human rights, for instance, is one of frame change. Our current acceptance of human rights as self-evident grew out of conscious efforts in the last century to turn one set of ideas into a universal and ‘obvious’ set of truths by which subsequent behaviour is judged, rewarded, and punished (see also Thomas 2002). Another, smaller, example is found in the changed attitudes around large dam projects: ‘they have gone from being seen as obvious and natural tools for (and symbols of) development and modernity to being seen as increasingly controversial and problematic projects’ (Khagram 2002: 13). These are powerful but rare examples: other efforts – women’s rights, labour rights, and environmental norms – still come into battle with ‘powerful opposing discourses’ (Sikkink 2002: 303). Not all such norms are yet self-evident. For today’s activists, ‘the construction of cognitive frames is an essential component of networks’ political strategies’ (Keck and Sikkink 1998: 17). When the campaign against the Multilateral Agreement on Investment was being assembled, considerable discussion was invested in the choice of framing: Corporate rule was accepted as a universal theme but national sovereignty struck a discordant note in Australia, and some European countries, especially Germany, with its Nazi past. After consultating [sic] Maria Mies and others in Germany, Clarke substituted popular sovereignty for national sovereignty and the former became a general formulation for activists (Laxer and Halperin 2003: 182; see also Warkentin and Mingst 2000: 244). In other words, the biggest advocacy battles are won when an idea becomes self-evident. So powerful are these frame-changing efforts that some even declare that they are ‘restructuring world politics’ (Khagram et al. 2002). They certainly are changing the nature of international law: Risse argues strongly that ‘in the absence of sustained campaigns and lobbying efforts by INGOs and particular individuals, probably not a single human right would have been written into international law’ (Risse 2000: 184).

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When ideas are not framed in the right way – wrong for the intended audience – they fall by the wayside. ‘Venue shifting’ of one idea, by placing it next to another of more salience, is one way of trying to make an audience buy into one’s proposed new frame. In the world of environmental campaigns, for instance, ‘urban pollution issues are often framed in terms of public health’ while ‘Brazilian rubber tappers recast a land conflict into one over forest conservation’ (Keck and Sikkink 1998: 121). Similarly, ‘frame bridging’ or ‘frame amplification’ helps explain the efforts of the women’s movement to recast the debate, as we shall see later, in terms of women’s rights as human rights (Khagram et al. 2002: 16). As we turn to the legitimacy debates later on, the notion of frames re-occurs often. ‘Legitimacy’ measured by one frame may not be so credible in another. Change in policy and practice Once frames are at least partly accepted, strategies for changing the policies and practices of target players – particularly of national governments – become viable. For many active in today’s globalization movements, the world of international policy advocacy began with their introduction to the United Nations jamborees of the 1990s. That decade saw a good handful of major UN events (and many more smaller ones) that attracted mass civic attention: the World Summit for Children (New York 1990); the World Conference on Education for All (Jomtien, Thailand 1990); the Conference on Environment and Development (Rio de Janeiro 1992); the World Conference on Human Rights (Vienna 1993); the International Conference on Population and Development (Cairo 1994); the Fourth World Conference on Women (Beijing 1995); the World Summit for Social Development (Copenhagen 1995); the United Nations Conference on Human Settlements – Habitat II (Istanbul 1996); and the World Food Summit (Rome 1996). Of course, there were UN conferences prior to 1990 – most notably for NGOs, the 1972 Stockholm conference on the environment – but the 1990s saw the ramping up of interest and the explosion of numbers. Writes one conference watcher, Many NGOs view the world conferences of the 1990s as the most open and democratic international processes they have witnessed on a global plane. Many doors opened for NGOs, permitting them to consolidate their organizations and networks locally, regionally and globally, and to play a central role in defining problem areas and in pressuring their governments to implement agreements on solutions.


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The conferences also allowed national and regional NGOs from the South to establish useful links and networks and counterparts in the North (de la Rosa 1999a: 204). Indeed, one might well argue that the most important part of that busy decade was the conferences’ role in helping INGOs to frame problems collectively and to begin working together face-to-face. It is not that NGOs had no other impact on the proceedings: advocacy did alter final conventions and declarations, although none in monumental ways. Among other successes, the Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage and the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES), for instance, came out of NGO efforts; a legally binding treaty on persistent organic pollutants came out of NGO work at Rio, as did the establishment of the Intergovernmental Forum on Forests; and the Cairo declaration recognized abortion (as well as other controversial reproductive health issues) largely due to NGO lobbying (Bichsel 1996: 249, de la Rosa 1999a: 224–34). Moreover, the UN itself underwent changes. The international body’s rules for NGO consultative status at United Nations Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) were considerably expanded in 1995; a NonGovernmental Liaison Service was established to help NGOs navigate their way through the UN system; NGOs are much more easily accredited to international conferences; NGOs now play substantial (not just ornamental) roles in the Steering Committee of the Commission on Sustainable Development, the Climate Change Action Network, the Global Environment Facility, and Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS (UNAIDS), among other UN bodies; and many UN agencies (most notably United Nations Development Programme, or UNDP) have civil society programmes meant expressly to improve UN–civil society relationships (Adams 1999, Altman 1999, de la Rosa 1999b, Foster and Anand 1999b: 6, Oliver 1999, Richmond and McGee 1999, Willetts 1999). Moreover, there are NGO sections in various UN bodies, an NGO coordination office sits in the Assistant Secretary-General’s Office, an interdepartmental working group on NGOs beavers on, and so on. While the picture is not one of perfect transparency or collaboration – there remain real limits on nongovernmental participation (Paul 1999) – the record is remarkable. Still, for those seeking world transformation, such successes are small consolation. By the end of the 1990s and the tailing off of the 2000 Millenium Assembly, many activists had understandably given up on the UN circuit as a prime focus of their work. The endless process

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of disputing textual minutiae eventually burned out its participants, NGO and official alike. Yet, that history meant that international debates (in and outside of the UN) now cannot be held without some kind of nongovernmental participation – the frame that decides who counts as relevant players had changed. Smouts argues that, The proliferation of special conferences that devote part of their agenda to civil society and its major groups marks a basic transformation in multilateral activity. Henceforth the driving forces of civil society are involved in developing law; they have become incontrovertible partners in the elaboration, implementation and enforcement of recommendations that result from these big jamborees (Smouts 1999: 307–8). As the next chapter illustrates, the lessons learned from efforts to change national policy and practice via the UN are now being applied to other (more powerful) international organizations. Institutional reform, reconstruction, and invention A final element of CSOs’ global-mindedness has been a common goal to reform, eliminate, and re-invent global institutions. While gatherings around the UN may have petered out, steam has only built up behind campaigns around the other big names: the World Bank, the World Trade Organization (WTO), and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in particular (all later described in much fuller detail). Again, the unsurprising consensus here – as with many of the policy advocacy campaigns – is that monumental change has not been achieved (O’Brien et al. 2000, Fox and Brown 1998). Incremental change, however, ought not to be discounted: it signals nascent frame-change through alterations in staffing (NGO liaison units have been set up at the World Bank and IMF, for instance), procedural policies (such as the WTO’s formal guidelines for its relationship with NGOs, or the Bank’s guidelines on participation), and change in language (to include terms such as ‘civil society’ and ‘partnership’). While not useful as a mobilizing tool (‘Come join us to alter the IMF’s wording in its communication strategy!’), such changes are worth watching. As the next chapter describes, there is no shortage of efforts to push the agenda much further. 1.3.3

High-profile

A third important characteristic of today’s globalization movements is a deliberate strategy of high-profile activity to raise public consciousness


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and media interest. This strategy shows up in serial protesting, debates over insider/outsider tactics, and direct-action controversies. Serial protesting Perhaps most prominent among tactics are the demonstrations conducted around the regular meetings of a particular organization; a species of serial protest. In the past decade, the annual joint World Bank and IMF meetings, the large WTO congresses, and the yearly G8 get-togethers have been the main focus (although the meetings of the private sector World Economic Forum have also been dignified with demonstrators). Usually large-scale and visually media-worthy, these protests are meant in part to raise public awareness about what are (for most people) little-known international institutions and policies. After 1999, roving protests continued the agitation that exploded in Seattle. In the United States, Boston (Biodevastation), Washington, D.C. (A16), numerous cities on May Day (M1), Milwaukee (animal rights), Detroit and Windsor, Ontario (OAS), Philadelphia (Republican Convention), and Los Angeles (Democratic Convention) were visited by what protesters called the ‘spirit of Seattle.’ Around the world, protests took place in Bangkok, London, Prague, Melbourne, and other cities (de Armond 2001: 201–2). There is, not surprisingly, debate within the movements about such an approach. Naomi Klein writes, ‘someone posted a message on the organizing e-mail list for the Washington demos: “Wherever they go, we shall be there! After this, see you in Prague!” But is this really what we want – a movement of meeting-stalkers, following the trade bureaucrats as if they were the Grateful Dead?’ She argues these demonstrations neither have the prospect of shutting down the Bank and Fund (one of the organizers’ goals), nor of conveying ‘sophisticated ideas about the fallacies of neoliberal economics to the stock-happy public’ (Klein 2000: URL). Echoing similar concerns, authors from the Bretton Woods Project wonder about changes to such an ‘Everest mentality’: Other campaigners however wonder if hammering on the doors of the multilateral institutional framework is effective and question if groups, particularly advocacy and lobbyist NGOs, would be better off consolidating alliances with broader social movements. ‘We may want to take time to reflect on our ‘Everest mentality’,’ suggests one

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campaigner. ‘Do we have to go to every World Bank summit or every WTO meeting?’ (Bretton Woods Project 2000: URL). Particularly after the death of a protester during the Genoa 2001 G8 meeting, and after the 2001 attacks on New York and Washington, such large scale demonstrations against the intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) trailed off – until mass peace demonstrations started prior to the 2003 invasion of Iraq. As we shall see, both the size and character of street protest feed into the ongoing debate over CSO legitimacy. Insiders and outsiders Street protest is perhaps the most visible tactic of the globalization movements, but it is not the only bow in the activists’ quiver. Where demonstrations are part of an outsider strategy, other methods – consultations, face-to-face meetings, research reports, and other collaborations – have become part of an insider strategy. For some, a balance of insider and outsider tactics is important to the achievement of the overall goal (Oliviero and Simmons 2002: 82–3). In the following description from one activist, that goal is reform of the Free Trade Agreement for the Americas (FTAA): The ‘insiders’ are those that attempt to work closely with the official process, sometimes compromising their demands so as to make them more politically viable. The ‘outsiders’ are those that exercise external pressure, articulating their demands in a more explicit manner and often against governmental positions. Opening the process of the FTAA negotiations undoubtedly will require continuing of both kinds – the ‘outsiders’ pressure and force openings or tendencies toward greater openness in the system, while the ‘insiders’ take advantage of these small opportunities – to push issues toward greater substance (Korzeniewicz and Smith 2001: 4–5). Yet for others, working with the enemy on the inside track constitutes a legitimacy failure within the movement. Examples abound, particularly around corporate–nongovernmental arrangements. When the Environmental Defence Fund formed a partnership with McDonald’s to reform the company’s environmental record, ‘many of the groups outside the project accused the EDF of selling out by working with McDonald’s, of lending legitimacy to their business and trading their good name for minimal concessions on the part of the company’ (Newell 2001: 193). Similar conflict was apparent at the Windsor meeting of the Organization of


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American States in June of 2000, where an attempt was made to bring together insiders and outsiders working on human rights: ‘This effort proved a total failure. Alianza spokespersons [the Hemispheric Social Alliance of Canadian, American and Mexican networks] claimed that the “insiders” were illegitimate and unrepresentative of civil society. In this context, the Alianza clearly stated that it has no interest in offers of collaboration’ (Korzeniewicz and Smith 2001: 22). In the context of the overall legitimacy debate, this insider-vs-outsider conflict is especially important. Those considered ‘reasonable’ by the big players can push for larger changes when the protesters in the street are advocating for larger changes still: In what can look like a good cop–bad cop routine, the grassroots and public movement campaigns target their messages and raise expectations; the resulting demands and pressure make the political decision-makers insecure, which encourages them to turn to the incrementalists for ‘reasonable’ solutions and reassurance ( Johnson 2000: 76). Direct action However, perhaps the most important dilemma for advocates of highprofile tactics centres on ‘direct action’ and ‘diversity of tactics’ – usually euphemisms for planned vandalism during large-scale street protest, but also sit-ins and other media stunts (climbing towers, occupying trees, and so on). These tactics are used, of course, because they quickly bring attention to the cause: ‘Successful direct action campaigns work precisely because they attract the attention of the media and challenge the reputation and credibility of the corporation’ write Oliviero and Simmons in their review, although ‘the media can be a fickle audience: a tactic used repetitively can fail to qualify as “news”’ (Oliviero and Simmons 2002: 84). The dilemma focuses on the wing of direct action that includes vandalism (usually against brand-name retail outlets) and violence (usually throwing stones and bottles at riot police) as part of the repertoire. Again, these factors are big elements in the legitimacy debates held about the globalization movements as a whole. One insider commentator, Michael Albert, compares the arguments this way: One side claims that tactics ‘exceeding’ nonviolence tend to be good in that they delegitimate authority, reduce tendencies to obedience, uproot accomodationist habits and culture, inspire participation among

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working people and minorities, graphically pinpoint protestor’s anger, promote increased media coverage that communicates the movement message more widely, and also raise high social costs for elites, pressuring them to relent. The other side claims that tactics ‘exceeding’ nonviolence tend to be bad in that they help authority rationalize its lack of legitimacy, increase tendencies to thoughtless individualism, amorality, and paranoia, put off unorganized working people and minorities (not to mention those unable to participate in violent settings), curtail open discussion and democratic decision-making, obscure the focus of protestor’s anger, distort media coverage disrupting communication to broader audiences, and also give elites means to change the rules of engagement to their advantage (Albert 1999). Brian Dominick, another commentator within the movement, muses in the months after Seattle whether storefront violence is ultimately counterproductive: ‘For starters, at a time when our movement needs to grow, engaging in tactics which turn huge numbers of people off to our cause (right or wrong!) only hurts us’ (Dominick 2000: URL). In a similar train of thought, Canadian activist Judy Rebick worries about just this division: ‘each group thinks they are justified in their disagreements with the other. But the cost of allowing disagreements to turn into permanent splits is too high. . . . The events of September 11 raise the urgent necessity for dialogue, discussion and compromise in the anti-globalization movement. Nothing is more important.’ Indeed, it may well be that this tactic by a small set of activists, particularly in the aftermath of 9/11, may have caused irreparable damage to the legitimacy of an entire counter-movement. Chapter 5 will return to the implications of this internal debate for the movements as a whole. 1.3.4

Ideological

A fourth and final generalization about the globalization movements of today is perhaps the most important: its ideological stamp. I am not arguing that there is a common ideology among the players (although much reporting uses ‘leftist’ as a description); merely, that the various arguments are framed largely in ideological terms. Within the globalization movements, the main reference point for ideological debate is an agreement that there is something dangerous called ‘globalization’, and that there is something to be done about it.


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Concerns about globalization By the late 1990s, it had become clearly impossible to separate almost any instance of international campaigning from anxieties over globalization. It is remarkable, as Joseph Stiglitz (one-time Chief Economist of the World Bank) points out, that globalization should be a topic of popular conversation at all: It used to be that subjects such as structural adjustment loans and banana quotas were of interest to only a few. Now sixteen-year-old kids from the suburbs have strong opinions on such esoteric treaties as GATT and NAFTA. These protests have provoked an enormous amount of soul-searching from those in power. . . . Until the protesters came along there was little hope for change and no outlets for complaint. . . . it is the trade unionists, students, environmentalists, ordinary citizens, marching in the streets in Prague, Seattle, Washington and Genoa who have put the need for reform on the agenda of the developed world (in Ambrose 2002: 6). According to Canadian activist Maude Barlow, ‘new anti-globalization activists are emerging from human rights, feminist, ecological and labour movements who can no longer be identified by their brand of activist roots. “We don’t even ask each other where you come from any longer. We all have this common analysis”’ (Laxer and Halperin 2003: 183). But just what is this common thread? By way of gross simplification, there are at least three strands of concern: economic, political, and cultural. Part of the anxiety over globalization stems from the distribution of globalization’s economic benefits and costs. The usual figures are raised: although the world’s wealthiest are getting wealthier, the world’s poor are not rising with the tides of such riches. Data from the yearly UNDP’s Human Development Report shows ‘2.8 billion people still live on less than $2 a day. The richest 1% of the world’s people receive as much income each year as the poorest 57%. And in many parts of Sub-Saharan Africa the lives of the poorest people are getting worse’ (UNDP 2002: 2). Such disparities, rightly or wrongly, are usually attributed to globalization. In a similar vein, concerns are raised that globalization may further harm existing and often fragile democratic political projects. Riva Krut and colleagues summarize the analysis this way: There is a view that globalization has not been accompanied by democracy but quite the opposite: globalization has put democracy at stake. In this view, the crucial role of civil society today is to advocate

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democracy against the rising anti-democratic tendencies of global capital concentration and a new international economic institution with a singular commitment to ‘free trade’ as the primary basis for international economic relations (Krut et al. 1997: URL). This anti-democratic outcome is seen to arise from the policies of intergovernmental organizations like the WTO, World Bank, and IMF, that do not pass by the review of elected representatives or public scrutiny. Foster, in a chapter on civil society’s move into multilateral theatres, argues that CSOs are thus ‘questioning a whole group of “neoliberal” policies and the style of secretive and exclusive executive or bureaucracy-led negotiations by which sizeable chunks of national sovereignty and accountability are transferred to hard-to-reach and obscure multilateral structures’ (Foster 1999a: 136). A third set of concerns focused on the cultural threats associated with globalization: westernization, Americanization, and homogeneization among them (King 1991, Wignaraja 1993, see also globalpolicy.org). Among the targets are fast food chains (contrasted with the ‘slow food’ movements now flourishing in Europe), beauty pageants (violently opposed in India, for instance; Pratap 1996), movie showings, Christian churches, retail outlets, and styles of western dress. Such cultural apprehensions, complicated by the politics of national regimes, gender prejudice, and factionalism of all kinds, make for complex motivations on the street. Diversity of response to globalization In their Global Civil Society Yearbook, the team at the London School of Economics distinguishes at least four clumps of ideological responses to globalization: rejectionist, supportive, reformative, and alternative (2001; see Table 1.1). Using similar categories, Goodman suggests that these ideological vantage points shape the strategies taken up around the global institutions: indeed, that the part of the movements most credible to officials represents only a part of the spectrum. These reformers – largely NGOs from Northern countries with a ‘cosmopolitan’ ideology that identify themselves as ‘global civil society’ – seek to make global institutions more responsive to the poor. Rejectionists/confrontationalists, on the other hand, reject such global institutions and powers in toto, and seek to carve out autonomous local spaces for their communities, including efforts to veto the activity of transnational corporations. A third category of transnational resisters/alternative proponents he describes as members of the new social movements carry their local

The Civil Society Thing Table 1.1

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Global players’ positions on globalization. Types of actors

Position on globalization

Supporters

Transnational business and their allies

Rejectionists

Anti-capitalist social movements; authoritarian states; nationalist and fundamentalist movements

Reformists

Most INGOs; many in international institutions; many social movements and networks Grassroots groups, social movements and submerged networks

In favour of global capitalism and the rule of law The left opposes global capitalism; both right and left want to preserve national sovereignty Aim to ‘civilise’ globalization

Alternatives

Source:

Want to opt out of globalization

Anheier et al. (2001: Table 1.4).

struggles (gender discrimination, poverty, environmental degredation, among others) across national borders. Transnational rather than global, these activists may or may not engage with global institutions in pursuit of their goals (Goodman 2001). Such diversity is important to emphasize. Among organizations focused on global finance, for instance, these differing attitudes to globalization generate widely different responses in the street (Desai and Said 2001: 74). Rather than being seen as a weakness in the movement, this diversity is argued to be a real strength. Civil society watcher John Keane writes that civil society resembles a bazaar, a covered kaleidoscope of differently sized rooms, twisting alleys, steps leading to obscure places, people and goods in motion. . . . Such complexity is sometimes said to be a threat to democracy. That is false, . . . for the struggle against simplified definitions of “the social good” is a hallmark of a mature civil society (Keane 2001: 40, references omitted). For an assembly of such diversity, the organizing frame – the tent over the bazaar – must be large enough to gather them all in, however uncomfortably. Activists thus have had to accept the existence of multiple movements, versus a movement, and to tolerate a wide spectrum of beliefs and tactics. In this extract, Naomi Klein explains the phenomenon:

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Maybe the protests in Seattle and Washington look unfocused because they were not demonstrations of one movement at all but rather convergences of many smaller ones, each with its sights trained on a specific multinational corporation (like Nike), a particular industry (like agribusiness) or a new trade initiative (like the Free Trade Area of the Americas). These smaller, targeted movements are clearly part of a common cause: They share a belief that the disparate problems with which they are wrestling all derive from global deregulation, an agenda that is concentrating power and wealth into fewer and fewer hands. Of course, there are disagreements – about the role of the nation-state, about whether capitalism is redeemable, about the speed with which change should occur. But within most of these miniature movements, there is an emerging consensus that building community-based decision-making power – whether through unions, neighbourhoods, farms, villages, anarchist collectives or aboriginal selfgovernment – is essential to countering the might of multinational corporations. Despite this common ground, these campaigns have not coalesced into a single movement. Rather, they are intricately and tightly linked to one another, much as ‘hotlinks’ connect their websites on the Internet (Klein 2000: URL). Globalization as rallying venue Where activists tighten those links is in the streets. Protest around globalization serves as a very concrete – and not only virtual – meeting place. In academese, that comes out as ‘networks themselves and the norms and discourses they promote provide a physical and conceptual meeting ground for diverse groups to negotiate the meaning of their joint enterprise’ (Sikkink 2002: 313). Protests against globalization at Seattle – the first large venue for globalization activists to meet en masse – allowed such ‘negotiation’ to flourish. Indeed, Indian activist Vandana Shiva points to Seattle as the convergence point for more than fifty years of advocacy. Various social movements had evolved separately and without synergy, she argues, such that: It wasn’t adding up to a political challenge. Each separate issue-based movement was having to negotiate separately, from its narrow ground, with highly coordinated and powerful institutions on the other side, which were coordinating how they handled labor, how they handled the environment, how they handled the South, the poor, and the women. They had a very well worked-out scheme, and we were all fragmented. In Seattle we got together (Shiva 2000: URL).


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Shiva is right: Seattle was a moment of colossal momentum. Everywhere in the writings and speeches of activists since that November in 1999, Seattle is honoured as the energizing moment of the growing movements around globalization. Note this example from the publicity material for a protest in Boston held only a few months later: We are riding a wave that began in Seattle and will continue to rise as we move toward the demonstration against the IMF and the World Bank on April 16 in Washington D.C. This is the beginning of a new movement that will move beyond the realm of reform, protest, and alternatives. . . . This is the beginning of a revolutionary movement to create a new society built out of a new logic that breaks from the system of domination and exploitation, the logic of the state and capital, the logic of sexism and racism that brought us to the current crisis in democracy (Biodevastation 2000: URL). This breath of revolutionary momentum was felt all over the North American activist community and beyond (a flyer prepared prior to the OAS Assembly in Windsor reads: ‘Missed Seattle? Come to Windsor!’). Such global meeting points serve as lightning rods for mobilization, and a source of energy for the next of many, many actions.

1.4

Conclusion

This chapter is designed as a jumping board into the larger civil society debate: Who are these people? What are they doing? The chapter thus outlined the definitional debates around civil society, highlighting how civil society’s assumed location between state and market, its organizational identity, and its ethical inspiration are important to understanding the legitimacy debates now arising out of civil society’s global activists. While the total number of CSOs is necessarily difficult to tally, overall research points to a growing number domestically and internationally; an ‘associational revolution’ that has drawn significant public attention. These millions of formal and informal associations deal with myriad concerns, of course, but of those CSOs active on the global stage, a general description is offered: they are horizontal in their network structures (aided in part by the Internet); they are global in purpose, focused on change in frames, policies, and institutions; they are high-profile in their tactics; and they are ideological in their understanding of globalization and their role in its reshaping.

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The purpose of this overview – the who, what, why, where, and how of civil society in general and global activism in particular – is to situate the subsequent arguments over the legitimacy of civil society’s global actors, arguments that are scrutinized more closely from Chapter 3 onwards. This chapter also provides a vantage point for understanding the campaign stories that are recounted in the next chapter. These tales detail the evolution of globalization movements from their many roots, tracing their formation into horizontal, global, high-profile, and ideological networks that have made ‘globalization’ a widespread issue of concern, and have made activists themselves a common target of scrutiny. As we shall see, the last decade of the 20th century was a most remarkable time for global activism.

2 Activism’s Bumper Decade

Consistently underplayed in the Western media, sneered at by politicians and opinion formers, it has been variously dismissed. Some see it as a bunch of rabid anarchists smashing windows for a laugh. Others as middle-class do-gooders denying the poor the benefits of trade. Others still as NGOs buoying up their bank accounts by twisting the facts about the realities of globalisation. It is none of these things. It is, in fact, the biggest social movement in decades; a truly global, if at times frail, unity of peoples, experiences and world views bound together by an awareness that the corporate infiltration of every area of life is a process of exclusion, homogenisation, environmental destruction and, for many, death (Kingsnorth 2001: URL). The biggest social movement in decades? I think so. This chapter highlights the 1990s as a bumper decade for international activism. Social movements, unions, NGOs, churches, advocacy organizations, professional associations, and other CSOs spent those ten years (and more) rocking some pretty big boats on the seas of global governance: the IMF, the World Bank, and the WTO (not to mention Nestle, Nike, and Monsanto) have all backed down on a number of initiatives in part because of CSO pressure. Even amid numerous failures, these ‘civil society’ successes have been visible enough to have changed some of the rules our world lives by. In recounting a few of these stories, these pages explain how the globalization movements have coalesced and how they have developed 33

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their current tactical repertoire. Cases come from environmental, corporate responsibility, peace, human rights, North–South, and global finance campaigns that have, in turn, fed the globalization confrontations described at the very end of this chapter. Many important campaigns and movements are not even mentioned, of course, and of those cited, only bits and pieces are highlighted, but the message ought still to be clear. Today’s global toolbox of tactics (or arsenal, depending on your point of view) has lent considerable fuel to the debate on legitimacy, a debate taken up in the chapters that follow.

2.1

The environmental campaigns

The decade’s review begins with the environmental movement. The first of the contemporary social movements to raise a truly global consciousness, environmentalism also gave rise to a series of strategies and tactics in use by globalization activists today. A few examples from the last decade – on Greenpeace’s framing strategies, the coalescing power of the Earth Summit, and the integrated campaigns against genetically modified organisms (GMOs) – begin to tell those stories. 2.1.1

Greenpeace and ecological sensibility

One of the most important elements of the work of the early environmentalists was the decision, like that of Greenpeace’s members, to deliberately focus on raising public consciousness en route to making change. That work was underway long before the 1990s, of course, but it bore fruit most impressively during that decade: In 1970, one in ten Canadians said the environment was worthy of being on the national agenda; twenty years later, one in three felt not only that it should be on the agenda but that it was the most pressing issue facing Canada. In 1981, in the United States, 45 percent of those polled said that protecting the environment was so important that ‘requirements and standards cannot be too high and continuing environmental improvements must be made regardless of cost;’ in 1990, 74 percent supported the statement. This general trend is supported around the world. In a 1992 Gallup poll, majorities in twenty countries gave priority to safeguarding the environment even if it entailed slowing economic growth; additionally, 71 percent of the people in sixteen countries, including India, Mexico, South Korea, and Brazil, said they were willing to pay higher prices for products if it helps protect the environment (Wapner 1996: 65).

Activism’s Bumper Decade

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How did such change in public consciousness take place? Wapner traces the frame change of environmental consciousness to the work of organizations like Greenpeace: ‘Greenpeace’s most significant form of political activity is disseminating an ecological sensibility. It works to spread an appreciation for the dangers of ecological destruction to communities throughout the world and to inspire as many people as possible to adopt practices that are “kind” to the planet’ (Wapner 1996: 156). Such ‘ecological sensibility’ required significant frame changes among a wide public before real change (for instance, in government policy and practice) could follow. Generating such a change of frame in turn required specific tactics: media-focused direct action (such as occupying trees slated for logging, or driving a small boat between a whaling ship and its prey) combined with alternative research (on pollution, global warming, biodiversity, and a host of other topics). The focus was explicitly on raising public (vs governmental) consciousness, and hence on using the media to enter people’s living rooms. An early member of Greenpeace, Paul Watson, put it this way: ‘When you do an action it goes through the camera and into the minds of people. The things that were previously out of sight and out of mind now become commonplace. Therefore you use the media as a weapon’ (cited in Wapner 1996: 54). As links began to be made between domestic environmental concerns (such as acid rain) and activities beyond national borders, a global consciousness grew, particularly among Northerners. This focus on public consciousness-raising thus also became an important lesson for later advocates of a different kind of globalization. 2.1.2

The Earth Summit landmark

Not only did the environmental movement make an impact on the framing and direct action strategies of later globalization movements, it also spurred the very coalescing of movements through the Earth Summit, the first of the important global conferences of the 1990s. The 1992 Rio Earth Summit (officially, the UN Conference on the Environment and Development, or UNCED) was not the first UN conference that called on NGOs and governments to discuss global issues, but it was the first that took NGO participation very seriously. The Rio model flavoured the decade of UN conferences that followed and provided an umbrella for national organizations to get involved in global issues, meet like-minded (and un-like-minded) activists, and become entwined in global institutions.

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Rio served that important gelling role because its structure was so unusual for the time. For one, official funding was made available for NGOs in many countries to prepare for the meeting; and secondly, a full two and a half years were devoted to the preparatory process. That time and financial lubrication encouraged new networks to form, initially to inform the public about the Summit, lobby decision-makers, act as clearing houses for information, and so on (Van Rooy 1997). Ten years later, however, many of those groups were still very active – Eurodad, working on international debt issues and the Climate Action Network, for instance – and were very much present in the anti-globalization movement (Bichsel 1996: 246). Meeting through the UN processes, activists from both developmental and environmental organizations were among the first to begin worldwide networking across their usual communities of interest. Soon afterwards, gathered by the UN conference circuit of the rest of the 1990s, many others would follow. 2.1.3

The shelving of genetically modified organisms

A third example illustrates yet another of environmentalism’s contributions to a growing globalization movement: the multifaceted and integrated campaign. The crusade against GMOs is a particularly strong example of the intersection between environment and globalization. The biological alteration of food grains and other organisms has a long history, of course, but when the commercial genetic cross-species manipulation of seeds became commonplace in the 1990s, public imagination was stirred. The spectre was of multiple evils: ‘Reactions to biotechnology have been intertwined with the anti-capitalism and anti-globalization campaigns, creating a heady cocktail of fear of “Franken-foods”, rejection of the globalising economy, and mistrust of both government regulators and corporate public relations campaigns’ (Osgood 2001: 79). So widespread are the objections to GMOs – biodiversity, health, ethical, consumer labeling, intellectual property, and poverty issues are most often cited – that activists are drawn from an equally wide background: NGO pundit Vandana Shiva and the Prince of Wales both have had pronouncements to make on the topic (Prince of Wales 1999, Shiva and Jafri 2003). The tactics of such a widespread campaign are equally varied. Mediasavvy critiques of the science is one such tool. For instance, when the director of RAFI (Rural Advancement Foundation International, now the ETC Group), coined the term ‘Terminator’ to describe infertile seed grain (thereby forcing the farmer to buy new grain every year), he hit a sore spot.


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It was clear that his quick wit had started a public relations campaign against the seed sterilising technologies, such as that patented by Delta and Pine Land [and similar technologies developed by Monsanto]. The development of the technology has not ended, but several companies have publicly stated they will not engage in related research (Osgood 2001: 95). Other tactics reinforce the impact of such research-and-media approaches. Groups have destroyed field test sites in the UK and India; challenged patent applications in Australia; dumped GMO foods in front of government buildings in Europe; blocked seed imports in the Philippines; campaigned for labelling rules in the US; organized letterwriting campaigns and websites worldwide; and demonstrated against biotechnology companies all over the world. While there are many views of the costs and benefits of GMO production, and similarly many disputes among its critics, the campaign has had real impact on the broader globalization movement. Here a multiplicity of tactics, largely pointing in the same direction, combine in a remarkably integrated fashion. As we shall see in the stories to come, such symbiosis (or its absence) has been another factor in the legitimacy debates.

2.2

The corporate campaigns

Also important to today’s globalization campaigning was the early work of the corporation-watchers. Dating from the 1970s and earlier, these activists generated important lessons on targeting firms and products, linking those specifics with broader (and sometimes still nascent) international norms, and turning consumers into activists. Examples drawn from the boycott of Nestle, the Nike and child labour campaigns, the controversy over Shell’s work in Nigeria’s Delta region, and the ending of the blood diamond trade emphasize these lessons for today’s campaigners. 2.2.1

Infant formula and the Nestle boycott

The most prominent of the campaigns for corporate social responsibility in the 1970s was undoubtedly the effort to govern the marketing of infant formula. Nestle and other formula producers were accused of aggressive global marketing, especially in developing countries, that suggested that formula was better for babies than breastmilk. Campaigners in turn charged that women thus switched to formula, often using weak

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proportions or unclean water, leading to a substantial (and unnecessary) toll in infant disease and malnutrition. After a decade of NGO campaigning – including a Nestle boycott under the umbrella of The International Baby-Food Action Network – an International Code of Conduct was adopted by the World Health Assembly in 1981. Nestle was forced to adopt the Code (ending the formal boycott in 1984), and other companies also have subsequently changed some of their practices (Chetley 1986). The campaigns also focused on broader public health messages about the benefits of breastfeeding over the bottle; an effort that continues today (see INFACT 2003 for further examples). The lessons from the Nestle action (and continuing pro-breastfeeding campaigns) made an indelible mark on the other corporate social responsibility campaigns that followed. Those lessons included: a simple analysis of the problem (one that was familiar and easily understood by a broad audience), a specific high-profile target (one brand name company bore the brunt of the campaign, although many other companies also produce formula), and focus on consumer and corporate behaviour (boycott and code of conduct). As we shall see, many of those tactics reappear in the stories below. 2.2.2

Nike’s labour standards

The Nestle lessons are particularly evident during the present-day campaigns against the working conditions inside Nike’s overseas factories. The US brand-name footwear manufacturer produces most of its shoes abroad, like most Northern footwear and apparel producers. Beginning in the mid-1990s, campaigners sought to bring consumer attention to the conditions of work and pay experienced by the makers of their high-priced basketball shoes: long hours, harassment, employment of children, and sub-subsistence wages. The tactics are familiar: media campaigns and boycotts of Nike products. Nike’s initial response was that much of the work was subcontracted to subsidiary companies over whom it had little control, but over the course of continuing pressure (including letters to shareholders, store protests, boycotts by universities, and exposés by undercover factory monitors), and ‘faced with the increasing clout of activist groups, falling stock prices and weak sales, Nike introduced its first code of conduct in 1992 and announced further concessions to its critics in May, 1998’ (NikeWatch 2003). Those concessions included an end to child labour, a pledge to follow US occupational health and safety standards, and permission for NGOs to participate in the monitoring of its Asian factories.


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Since then, corporate watcher David Murphy writes: ‘Nike has made considerable progress in developing policies, procedures and partnerships to improve working conditions in the factories where its products are manufactured’ (Murphy and Mathew 2001: 2). Of course, not everyone feels the corporation has moved far enough (Nike’s code still fails to make explicit its support for the Universal Declaration on Human Rights and the core International Labour Organization (ILO) conventions, for instance), but the campaign obviously made its mark: ‘With two senior vice presidents now accountable for both operational and strategic aspects of corporate responsibility, there is evidence of growing prominence for labour and environmental issues at the top of the organisation’ (Murphy and Mathew 2001: 22). 2.2.3

Shell shock and Nigerian oil

Other serious issues of corporate responsibility were raised over Shell Oil’s disputed role in Nigeria. The company was charged with the pollution of Nigeria’s Delta region, suppression of local opposition, and shared responsibility for the execution by the country’s military dictatorship of local-activist-turned-global, Ken Saro-Wiwa. The internationalization of the Shell case – importantly, driven by a Southern spokesperson – is yet another touchstone for the globalization movement. Nigeria, whose Delta region is home to fabulous oil reserves, became the centre of a worldwide campaign in the mid-1990s, but the region’s conflict with the oil company began decades earlier in the 1950s (Obi 2000: 286). Oil extraction has generated enormous ecological and economic damage to the sensitive region: unusable farmlands, poisoned water tables, and polluting oil fires. Such injuries were further exacerbated by the political violence wrought by then-dictator Sani Abacha, who had come into an extensive extraction agreement with Shell. Local people were not only impoverished by the environmental degradation, they saw the wealth of their region leaking into the tainted central government without local jobs or social services in return. The Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (one of the local groups), took its opposition to the international stage in 1991, headed by Ken Saro-Wiwa, but it found little interest among European human rights and environmental activists. Only with Saro-Wiwa’s execution (and the execution of eight of his colleagues) in 1995 did the world stop to listen. Shell was put squarely under the spotlight. By 2000, Shell had been put through the wringer by international activists and media. Boycotts were organized and the media reported a host of human rights infringements involving the company, such as

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Shell’s practice of arming local police and members of the national army who subsequently killed local people and burned villages: some 2000 local people are reported to have been killed in clashes surrounding the company (Amnesty International and the Sierra Club 2000). The corporation has since then negotiated with Amnesty International and Pax Christi to include human rights into its General Business Principles (Fabig and Boele 1999), and has mounted an aggressive public relations campaign to repair its tarnished image. As in the Nike case, the goal was to make changes to policy and practice within the company through a multi-pronged, and highly visible, consumer campaign. 2.2.4

Child labour and Rugmark

Similarly pointed strategies also shaped the 1990s effort to ban child labour in the South Asian carpet industry. While there were no brandname retailers to target, the vivid image of child labourers working on luxury goods lent media visibility to a campaign that has been remarkably successful. Murphy and Bendell’s summary emphasizes this channeling of moral outrage: Media coverage initially focused on large numbers of young girls employed in the Bangladesh garment industry and horrific cases of bonded child workers in the South Asian hand-woven carpet industry. One case proved to be particularly significant. Pakistani Iqbal Masih was sold into slavery in 1986, when he was only four years old, for less than US$ 16. After Masih escaped from a carpet factory in 1992 he became a champion of child workers, spoke at international labour conferences and helped close dozens of Pakistani carpet factories. Over the course of his campaign Masih received numerous death threats and in early 1995 was shot dead in his home village. Although most independent evidence suggests that Masih was not killed by carpet industry assassins, his death and the outrage that followed drew worldwide attention to child labour (Murphy and Bendell 1999: 40). The outcome of the campaign was to institute a mechanism relatively new to the world of activism: a certification scheme. Such certification is meant as a guarantee to consumers – and a prod to producers – that ethical standards are being met. The new Rugmark served as a notable example: Established in 1994 with the support of the ILO and a group of South Asian and European NGOs, Rugmark primarily targets European and North American importers and South Asian producers of handmade


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carpets. The scheme certifies participating producers according to a set of labour standards and related criteria. Rugmark inspectors monitor factories on a regular basis. Child welfare NGOs are provided access to certified factories to ensure that children are not being employed (Murphy and Bendell 1999: 40–1). While the overall campaign continues to come under scrutiny inside and outside the ranks (citing concerns that children forced out of carpet work have entered more dangerous occupations, including the sex trade; Chapman and Fisher 1998), the innovations around the certification scheme have added a new pressure point to the repertoire of global activists. 2.2.5

Ending blood diamonds

Certification plays an even stronger role in the most recent example presented here: the efforts to end the African trade in conflict diamonds. Fuelled by reports in 1999 and 2000 from the Canadian NGO, Partnership Africa Canada, and the British group Global Witness, the media began to pay attention to the trade in diamonds in Sierra Leone, Angola, and other war-torn countries. Such diamonds – easily smuggled and difficult to identify by origin – are prime sources of payment for weapons. The value of such blood diamonds is enormous: Billions of dollars in diamonds were imported to Belgium from Liberia in the 1990s, for example, even though Liberia produces virtually no diamonds itself. The same is true of Congo Brazzaville, coincidentally adjacent to the DRC [Democratic Republic of the Congo], also a major diamond producer. UNITA has financed much of its war in Angola through the sale of diamonds, traded with impunity throughout Africa and Europe. Big companies and small have colluded in the laundering of stolen ‘rough’ into the legitimate trade, and although the estimates of ‘conflict diamonds’ are low in relation to total world production, it is also estimated that as much as one fifth of the overall diamond trade may be ‘illicit’ in nature (Smillie and Gberie 2001: 2). The campaign was fed by (the long-delayed) international outrage at the atrocities committed in Sierra Leone, US congressional attention to the war ravaged country, and Security Council bans of the sale of ‘Liberian diamonds’ (that is, stones from neighbouring conflict-ridden countries). A series of cogs then began turning in the highly consumer-conscious

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diamond industry in Belgium and South Africa, and within the enormously powerful De Beers company. Within a year, many of the NGO recommendations were undertaken: in 2000, the World Diamond Congress in Antwerp created a body to work on conflict-diamond issues and to address the possibility of creating a global certification system. The United Nations Security Council placed a ban on Sierra Leone diamonds until a credible system of oversight could be developed, and three months later, Belgium’s Diamond High Council announced – with the Government of Sierra Leone – the creation of a tamper-proof shipment and certification system that has since become a model for the rest of the industry. De Beers, singled out for a variety of criticisms, closed all of its buying offices in Africa, dealing only with mines and companies that it owned or partially owned; developed a code of conduct, created a website on conflict diamonds, and threatened to expel any trader caught dealing in conflict diamonds. Belgian authorities, criticized for ignoring the smuggling of diamonds and the overt falsification of import records, took full responsibility for customs, valuation, and statistical procedures, up to then dominated by the industry. And in 2001, The Security Council also banned international travel by the Liberian cabinet, government officials, and their families, and it imposed new and tougher sanctions on weapons imports into Liberia (Smillie and Gberie 2001: 3). Of course, challenges remain: how to generate fair income to miners in the affected countries (especially when conflict continues), how to enforce the new guidelines, and how to maintain momentum. Yet the lessons for other wings of the globalization movements were clear, and familiar: focused topics and targets, broad media coverage, simple messaging, and concrete solutions (including models of codes of conduct and certification schemes used elsewhere) may have at least slowed a bloody trade.

2.3

The peace campaigns

Among the oldest of movements – long predating environmental and corporate activism – has been the international peace movement. Over one hundred years ago, peace activists were lobbying international meetings: the American Peace Society, the Workingmen’s Peace Association, the London Peace Society, and the National Arbitration League all lent their 19th century weight to the First Hague Conference in 1899. There,


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European governments frantically headed off any significant constraints on armaments, war, or sovereignty; but a transnational citizens movement generated public pressure in the form of petitions, demonstrations, and proposals. Women in particular organized a concerted international campaign. At The Hague, peace advocates created a salon where citizen internationalists mixed with diplomats, and they operated the only available press service. Public pressure ensured that the diplomats had to produce something (Chatfield 1997: 24). In addition to a history of international lobbying, the peace movement has also added other skills to the repertoire of global activists: fabulous capacities to mobilize people in their millions, and in the past decade, to mobilize them even more effectively with the help of spider-web-like electronic communication. Examples from the disarmament and landmines campaigns are particularly instructive. 2.3.1

Disarmament and mass mobilization

By the 1980s, much of the peace movement’s energies were focused on nuclear disarmament. The UN Special Sessions on Disarmament held in 1978, 1982, and 1988 were mobilizing points for many CSOs and for a nuclear-anxious public. Atwood (1997) describes the ramping up of enthusiasm over the three meetings, and the increasing effectiveness and sophistication of the NGOs that milled inside UN corridors in New York. Here, as became more and more common in the 1990s, insider NGOs worked the floor of the UN Conferences in increasing numbers: informing other NGOs about the progress of deliberations, publishing a conference newsletter, adding technical expertise to UN or member states, and urging consideration of particular points of view – largely in massaging the text of the final communiqués. Over time, however, the work outside the UN buildings took on greater importance. Efforts to generate public awareness (through media coverage of marches and sit-ins), and to coordinate the growing NGO networks were phenomenally fruitful. In 1982, the largest demonstration then ever to take place in the US was held: nearly one million people gathered in Central Park to support nuclear disarmament. While the 1982 UN session bore little political fruit, the mobilization of public interest around disarmament lent speed to the Nuclear Weapons Freeze Campaign in the US, the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament in the UK, and other movements throughout Europe (Atwood 1997: 156, Cortright

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and Pagnucco 1997: 163, Johnson 2000). The legacy of mass demonstrations, moreover, has continued in the globalization movements of today. 2.3.2

The landmines convention and the Internet

If the mass protest is one heritage of the peace movement, so too is the use of the Internet as an organizing force. The 1990s campaign to ban antipersonnel landmines is a particularly important example of such use – not only because of the communications that it allowed, but also because of the new organizational form that it allowed to flourish. The vast network of organizations gathered under the banner of the ICBL worked in a hundred different ways to nudge their governments into supporting a ban. Sparked in 1991 (by a fax from a Vietnam veteran to a German organization working on mine victim assistance), the ICBL quickly took form. Although it never had a bank account, a street address, or a charitable registration number of its own, the campaign grew from an initial meeting of six organizations (with Jody Williams as coordinator) to become a worldwide network of self-financed campaigns. Media awareness-raising (through TV, newsprint, and books), petitions, involvement of domestic politicians (even the Pope!), expert research, letter-writing campaigns, witness testimonials, open letters to elite media like the New York Times, conferences, and active engagement with government officials were all parts of the effort – and efforts further highlighted by Princess Diana’s patronage (Mekata 2000, Warkentin and Mingst 2000: 249). The successful 1997 treaty to ban landmines won the network, and its coordinator, a Nobel Peace Prize. Through such tactics, the campaign generated a successful international norm around the undesirability of landmines. As this case shows, such norms do not simply exist ‘out there’: they are created, nurtured, reinforced (or abandoned) through continuous effort (Risse et al. 1999). Price, explaining why the anti-landmine norm was picked up (when it had lain dormant for years) describes the four techniques brought to bear (Price 1998: 615): 1. Vivid Information: Activists generated issues by disseminating information, particularly vivid statistics. 2. Proselytizing Networks: Proponents established networks to generate broad support for normative change within, across, and outside government channels. 3. Norm Grafting: In grafting a new norm onto the existing norms against chemical and biological weapons, activists succeeded in adding landmines to the list of indiscriminate weaponry.


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4. Reversal of Burden of Proof: Demanding that states justify their rationales for keeping landmines (in the face of research that questioned their military value, for instance), proponents of the ban thereby reversed the burden of proof. Not only was the landmines case notable for its variety of tactics and networked structure, it was also a landmark for increasing public attention on civil society and thus feeding the burgeoning debates on legitimacy. After the dramatic conclusion of the convention, Canadian Foreign Minister Lloyd Axworthy identified this role for agents of civil society: Great things can happen when NGOs and governments join forces – as the recent achievement of the Ottawa Convention to ban antipersonnel mines and the effort to create the International Criminal Court show. While nuclear disarmament will not be achieved as expeditiously, it will never be achieved if we – government and civil society alike – do not redouble our efforts (Axworthy 2000). His message underscores a key turning point in the legitimacy debate. Not only is there no question about the appropriateness of the role of the activists, they are now seen as rightful and legitimate international actors alongside governments – at least in some cases. As some of the coming stories show, this change of frame is not shared by all.

2.4

The human rights campaigns

Of course, almost all of the examples presented so far are also stories about the protection and preservation of human rights. Indeed, the human rights movement has shaped the discourse on almost everything else now under scrutiny in the globalization debates. Perhaps most significantly, the movement has succeeded in creating international norms that are not only widely accepted, but are tangibly buttressed with institutions, rules, and sanctions. Human rights, described by McCarthy as ‘the mother of all successful transnational framing efforts,’ are now embedded frames shaping the very way we think and talk (McCarthy 1997: 246). While a hundred examples are available, I would like to focus on one in particular in this section: the use of human rights framing to advance the women’s movement.

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2.4.1

Women’s rights as human rights

In the last decade, the framing strategies undertaken by the international women’s movement have borne spectacular fruit. When ‘women’s issues’ began to be framed instead as ‘human rights issues,’ the whole playing field moved. For globalization activists of other stripes, such frame changes are particularly instructive. The story of the international women’s movement is more than a story of human rights, of course, but in the 1990s, human rights became the cornerstone of international feminist strategies (Dorsey 1993, 2000, Berkovitch 2000, Bunch et al. 2001, Brown Thompson 2002). In 1995, the World Conference on Women opened amid considerable controversy in Beijing. It was the largest gathering of NGOs at any of the women’s conferences: 35,000 women and men attended the parallel session (about 46,000 if the official session is also included), a remarkable increase over the 6,000 who were present at the first UN women’s conference in Mexico twenty years earlier. Also present were members of the growing networks focused on women’s rights: groups like DAWN, the International Women’s Tribune Center, WEDO, and International Women’s Rights Action Watch. But its most important marker was the re-framing of women’s issues as human rights issues. In contrast to Mexico, whose plan of action was criticized as a shopping list of issues, Beijing was focused (Alter Chen 1995: 478). Riding on the energy drawn from recent successes in Rio, Vienna, and Cairo in ‘gendering’ text and negotiating more desirable statements on controversial issues (such as reproductive rights), activists better focused their message in Beijing. By framing women’s rights as human rights – a process begun at the 1993 human rights conference in Vienna – they were able to make ‘the shopping list’ into symptoms of an overarching problem: Human rights language creates a space in which different accounts of women’s lives and new ways of demanding change can be developed. It provides a set of overarching principles to frame alternative visions of gender justice, without dictating the precise content of those visions. The idea of universal human rights provides a powerful vocabulary for naming gender-based violations and impediments to the exercise of women’s full equality and citizenship. Furthermore, the large body of international human rights covenants, agreements, and commitments gives women potential political leverage and concrete points of reference for their organizing and lobbying activities (Bunch et al. 2001: 221–2).


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This framing strategy was not universally accepted, unsurprisingly. Some activists argued that hanging women’s concerns on a human rights peg meant almost nothing in countries with poor human rights records, or with weak ability (or willingness) to pursue infringements through the legal system. If a human rights frame meant that women’s only recourse was to go to the courts, it offered scant protection (Brown Thomson 2002: 101–2, 114–19). Yet the framing strategy did stir up change in other parts of the world and in other kinds of organizations: mainstream human rights organizations such as Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, the Lawyers Committee for Human Rights and the International League for Human Rights, began to take on ‘gendered’ analyses of their work (Brown Thompson 2002: 104), and countries began to report on the status of women in terms of human rights. Moreover, the framing strategy lent lessons to members of other social movements: by interpreting one set of contested issues (reproduction, employment, violence, and health, among others) through the lens of a more broadly accepted norm (all people have rights), change can be ratcheted along.

2.5

The North–South campaigns

The campaigns described so far have had many successes attributed to their activities. Far less successful have been the many (mostly expired) efforts to raise consciousness about North–South economic justice and development. These North–South campaigns (eventually folded into the more visible global finance movements, as we will see) have a thirtyyear history of fizzled accomplishments. These failures, however, have also served up important lessons for the contemporary globalization movements: (1) the need for focused targets in the absence of accepted norms; (2) the importance of Southern ‘voice,’ partnership, and grassrootedness; and (3) the need to ramp up political advocacy. Examples from the 1970s New International Economic Order debate and the revived advocacy of development NGOs highlight some of those messages. 2.5.1

The New International Economic Order

The history of the failed campaigns does not begin with the New International Economic Order (NIEO) proposals of the 1970s, but the NIEO presents a useful snapshot of the era. Clark describes the 1970s as a time of unfocused campaigning on the part of Northern development NGOs. Inspired by the UN second development decade targets, ‘much NGO campaigning was rather untargeted in nature. It sought to bring about

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more caring attitudes amongst Northern publics and decision-makers, and to describe the immoral contrast between Western opulence and Third World misery, rather than to lever for specific changes or new policies’ (Clark 1992: 197). The NIEO was meant to be different. The proposal, introduced to the UN by developing countries in 1974 and taken up by Northern and Southern activists alike, sought to lower ‘third world’ debt burdens, allow greater access to developed country markets, reform the IMF, and increase development assistance through a range of new institutions and global rules – proposals that have remained on the table in various incarnations since then. Three General Assembly resolutions were passed in support of the proposal (without the support of major Western powers), at a time when the Cold War was still hot, and development thinkers largely understood North–South relations in terms of economic colonialism and capitalist exploitation (Waelde 1998). The NIEO, meant to right such imbalances, was thus phrased in ideologically-laden moral terms. The proposal, dragged around other intergovernmental fora for many years, unsurprisingly foundered. Among the many explanations for its failure (including plain old realpolitik; Amin 1990), a powerful factor may have been the NIEO’s inadequate framing to a Northern public – a public that might have pushed their governments in other directions. The proposal’s moral-and-ideological message did not hit the right strings, whatever they might have been. Without widespread acceptance of the rationale underlying the proposal, any efforts to create new rules of international behaviour were doomed to failure. No amount of campaigning could be effective without adequate framing – and thus a concomitant focus on public education. 2.5.2

Development NGOs’ new advocacy

It may well be that some of the NIEO lessons were taken on board by development NGOs in the decade that followed. By the 1980s, campaigning had improved in sophistication and targeting (focused on aid, trade, international finance, and foreign policy rather than a wider smorgasbord), and ‘closer links between lobbying and public education were made, including much closer attention to the use of the media’ (Clark 1992: 198). If change was to happen, it was evidently not enough to hang around the UN and hope for a revolution in political fortunes. The central aspect of the public education work was ‘development education’ – projects aimed at raising Northerners’ consciousness about Southern issues, and encouraging their political action. Throughout the 1980s, community resource centers – the main tool for ‘Dev


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Ed’ – multiplied in church basements in many Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) countries, and large NGOs opened Dev Ed departments to run school programs and generate new curriculum materials. By the mid-1990s, however, most resource centres remained peripheral: outside of Scandinavia, whose national curricula were very strong on development issues, public awareness of (and acceptance of the need to do something about) North–South issues was pretty thin. With limited capacity (or inspiration) to wage Greenpeace-like direct actions, it was hard to get the widestream media interested in the complex issues of development. Meanwhile, NGOs were doing much better at campaigns that targeted specific agencies, programs, and countries than they were at building alternate frames among a wider public. Because many organizations had run aground in project-by-project work, the focus on target institutions seemed a natural next move: Policy-makers in leading Northern NGOs became increasingly aware of the limited impact of their development efforts. Despite the fact that more public money than ever before was channelled through NGOs, their impact on the ground was still temporary and smallscale. Recognising this limitation of traditional development activities, in the early 1990s leading NGOs began to consider a range of strategies of ‘scaling up’ in order to make more of a difference (Hudson 2000: URL). This scaling up meant advocacy focused on big name institutions like the World Bank and the IMF. And, while lobbying work chalked up a number of successes (detailed in the next section), it also highlighted a serious impediment. Northern NGOs, long-time dispensers of ‘projects’ and raisers of funds, had not been spending much time developing sound political relationships with their erstwhile partners. As Northerners began to pontificate on ‘the needs of the South’ in political circles, they were called up on their credentials: Just who gave them the right to speak on behalf of the South? Although ‘partnership’ has become a much more genuine description of North–South NGO relationships in the 1990s (an issue also detailed in later pages), it is a fairly recent standard. The dynamics of fundraising and tight (if conflictual) relationships with Northern governments’ aid agencies may be a partial explanation for the neglect – all of the accountability pressures seemed to lie on that side of the equator. ‘In contrast to the environmental movement or the women’s movement,

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development NGOs have failed to build a strong constituency for change,’ writes Alan Hudson in his study of British NGOs. Their alliances ‘are too often characterized by conflicts over fund-raising and turf wars’ (Hudson 2000: URL). Yet all of these conflicts have been productive – at least from the standpoint of a nascent globalization movement. Today’s advocacy campaigns are inheritors of the ‘scaling up’ approach, and have made credible partnerships a central part of their mode of operation. The exertions around the World Bank/IMF and the Jubilee 2000 proposal, discussed in the next section, are exceptionally strong examples.

2.6

The global finance campaigns

The global finance campaigns of the 1980s and beyond grew out of such NGO efforts to raise public consciousness and change development policies. Targeted, global, and nourished by heterogeneous new alliances, these finance campaigns ushered in the era of globalization movements. Stories from the campaign against World Bank structural adjustment programmes, the IMF’s handling of Asian financial crises, and the G8 and Bretton Woods debt-forgiveness strategies lead us straight into the globalization campaigns of today. 2.6.1

The World Bank: adjustment of structural adjustment

Until the 1980s, few outside the world of international agencies knew what the World Bank was or did. There had been earlier outcries, of course, most notably over projects that affected indigenous peoples and/or fragile ecosystems. In 1973–1974, for instance, work began to establish a dam on the Chico river in the Philippines, home to Kalinga and Bontoc peoples. Boycotts, armed clashes, and militarized zones marked the years that followed before the Bank beat a silent retreat in 1980 (Gray 1998: 269–70). But it was not until the mid-1980s that the broader public became aware of protest around Bank-funded large infrastructure projects. The campaigns of that era arose around resettlement and environmental damage from a proposed dam on the Narmada river in India, and a road through indigenous territory in Brazil’s Polonoroeste region (Sen 1999, Khagram 2002, Nelson 2002a,b). These protests led to further campaigns in 1992 and 1993 to curtail future funding to the International Development Association (one of the Bank’s funding windows) unless greater citizen oversight was permitted – a demand partly met with the creation of a new Inspection Panel (Udall 1998: 401–3). The Bank’s


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1995 cancellation of funding to the controversial Arun Dam project in Nepal was considered yet another success by some advocates (Fox and Brown 1998: 486–7). Most prominently, however, the Bank came to public prominence over the issue of its structural adjustment programs (SAPs). These were guidelines for economic reform developed by the Bank as a condition for continued lending: usually including privatization of national industries, downsizing of the public service, cutbacks on government spending, freeing up trade restrictions, and floating the currency. Many countries instituted such reforms, although too many cut health funding ahead of military expenditures and reserved the right to dole out the benefits of privatization to cronies. The outcome was perhaps predictable: the cost of health and education rose, and social indicators fell, even in high-performing SAP countries like Ghana. Activists North and South took up the cause, demanding that ‘the IMF and World Bank immediately cease imposing the economic austerity measures known as structural adjustment and/or any other macroeconomic “reform” as conditions of loans, credits, or debt relief’ (50 Years Is Enough 2002: URL). While the demands sound similar to other battles waged against the Bank, elements of the structural adjustment campaign marked changes that were very important for later activists. One was the creation of long-term focused coalitions drawn from around the world. Efforts to oppose and reform Bank practice on structural adjustment lending brought together a very wide set of players – much wider than previous ‘North–South’ campaigns waged in Northern countries. Of particular noteworthiness is the 50 Years Is Enough campaign, launched to mark the 50th anniversary of the creation of the Bretton Woods Institutions. An assembly of NGOs rather than an organization of its own, the 50 Years network is made up of some 100 US agencies and another 160 ‘partner’ organizations in other countries, served by a microscopic staff. From its website and publications, the membership publishes its analyses and organizes protests. While different from the ICBL in many ways (the ICBL is much more focused in its goal and heterogenous in its methods than 50 Years), both have become longterm centres of activism. Another important element of the SAP campaign – and for later globalization protest – was the creation of parallel bodies to monitor and assess Bank activity in a more formal, year-on-year fashion. The World Bank–NGO Liaison Committee was of particular note: in 1981, the Bank created a committee of 26 ‘representatives’ from the CSO community

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who met to discuss operational and policy issues with senior officials – often, in a heated fashion. Although dissolved in 2000 in favour of an annual Forum with broader participation than the group of 26, the venue continues to provide a formal site for debate. Another, and perhaps more important example of formal monitoring, is the Structural Adjustment Participatory Review International Network (SAPRIN). Set up in 1997, the network pulls together CSOs, governments, and World Bank officials in eight countries (and in another four, CSOs only) to review adjustment programs and explore options (Foster 1999a, Nelson 2002b, SAPRIN 2002). In theory, at least, ‘It is legitimizing an active role for civil society in economic decisionmaking’ (SAPRIN 2002). These formalized points of interaction brought real, if incremental, changes in standard operating procedures: CSO participation is now de rigeur in many Bank operations. ‘From controversial policy issues (involuntary resettlement, dam construction) to the technical details of project interaction (procurement rules, cash flow to contracting NGOs), and even to the development of publications that represent its position in the “marketplace of ideas”, the WB made consultation the norm rather than the exception’ (Nelson 2002b: 8–9). Civil Society Liaison officers are now in place in many posts, in addition to a special unit at headquarters; a new Inspection Panel open to public requests for investigation was established; and there are guidelines and references to CSO participation throughout the workings of the agency (Chiriboga 1999, Nelson 2000). While changes in Bank dealings with CSOs are easy enough to identify, the impact of the campaigns on core Bank policies are harder to pinpoint (Fox and Brown 1998), and harder still, the impact on changing the broader public frame around development justice. The SAP campaigns were simply too hard to maintain internationally: ‘cloaked in economic parlance and lacking vivid images of megadams, flooded villages, and threatened species, adjustment has never mobilized significant, sustained public or media attention until the antiglobalization protests at World Bank/IMF meetings in Washington, D.C. and Prague’ (Nelson 2002a: 140). As we shall see by the end of this chapter, that media attention ended up being more colossal than anyone could have imagined. 2.6.2

Protesting the IMF: the Asian financial crisis

While the World Bank may have been the ogre of the 1980s, IMF held that dubious title in the 1990s. ‘As a lightning rod in contemporary debates about globalization, few governance institutions have rivalled the International Monetary Fund,’ writes Jan Aart Scholte, one of the


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few commentators to get inside the IMF/civil society debates (2002: 1). While many activist campaigns touched on the role of the IMF, the spotlight fell most brightly on the Fund during its handling of the 1997 Asian financial crisis. For global activists, that crisis was galvanizing. The calamity that struck Thailand and many parts of Southeast Asia in the summer of 1997 had many causes (Radelet and Sachs 1998). One particularly important element was the gigantic stream of Japanese foreign investment that had been arriving in the region since the mid-1980s. When Japan’s economy began to cool in the early 1990s, regional governments scrambled to attract other investment with high interest rates and a liberalized financial market. The cash came, but so did massive speculation and enormous private sector debt: a bubble that could not be sustained for long. When the Thai bhat was devalued in July 1997, many of the region’s economies crumbled along with Thailand’s. The IMF’s rescue packages, later criticized for prescribing the wrong medicine for the disease, sought to cut public spending and raise taxes and interest rates – a focus on public expenditure rather than the private spending that had caused the fall (Mezzera and Malhotra 2002). The social impact of the crisis – large rises in unemployment, particularly for women; higher levels of migration; mounting suicide rates and declining school enrollment (see also Desai and Said 2001) – was thus partly attributed to the IMF’s handling of the crisis and its poor advice in the years leading up to that calamitous summer: Most analysts agree that IMF-promoted policies to liberalize capital and financial markets in East Asia in the early 1990s at the very least aggravated the crisis. After rapid capital flight plunged the Asian countries into an economic tailspin, the IMF prescribed harsh economic measures in some countries that arguably made the impact more severe (Anderson 2000: 1). Combined with damning recommendations from the US-legislated Meltzer Commission in 2000 (which proposed cutting back the Fund’s powers), protest augmented from other voices as well. Northern development NGOs that had long monitored and chastised the IMF were joined by a far more radical set of companions, many of whom demanded the abolishment of the Fund altogether. Along with enduring protest within countries that participate in IMF reforms, the level of protest was ratcheted up the visibility scale. One recent NGO report highlights civil unrest in 23 developing countries against IMF-inspired policies blamed (rightly or wrongly) for rising prices of basic goods

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and downsizing of the civil service. In 2001 alone, 76 protesters were killed and thousands injured in developing countries (Ellis-Jones 2002). The critique? In broad strokes, protest has focused on the IMF’s role in structural adjustment, debt relief, and the regulation of global finance, as well as its very composition: what member countries have what say in its decisions, the transparency of its operations, and how well it is accountable for its decisions (Dawson and Bhatt 2002). For the globalization activists, protest not only took to the streets and the Internet, but also to the drawing board. Calls were heard from all quarters, including civil society, for a new ‘global financial architecture,’ one to replace the Bretton Woods system and better protect fragile economies and the precarious incomes of their peoples. Now some seven years after the crisis, it is a proposal slow in coming to fruition. Certainly, in comparison with the Bank campaigns, there have been far fewer successes for activists in lobbying the Fund. Even in the effort to change Fund procedures for dealing with CSOs, a small enough ambition, the overall extent of IMF engagement of civil society remains modest at the start of the 21st century. If anything, the current [managing director], Horst Köhler, has thus far shown less inclination to meet with civil society actors than his predecessor. A few [executive directors] still refuse all requests for interviews from civil society associations. Many staff missions and resident representatives give only passing if any attention to civil society liaison. . . . In short, contacts with civil society are on the whole a secondary priority in today’s Fund (Scholte 2002: 21). Despite minimal change, the protests surrounding the Fund are nonetheless important for understanding the evolution of the globalization movement. In comparison with the days prior to 1997, the reins are no longer held by a coalition of like-minded NGOs, but by a much more adversarial set of actors, requiring new and different political strategies, [forcing] NGOs to relearn – even to ‘unlearn’ – political lessons learned in work on the World Bank. The political and institutional factors that require this political retooling include both the political environment of trade and financial policy-making, and the need to relate to growing ‘anti-globalization’


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social movements whose political approaches differ sharply from those of most NGOs (Nelson 2002c: 4). As these new social movements travelled from the world of the World Bank and IMF to the Multilateral Agreement on Investment and the WTO in the years that followed, ‘development’ campaigns very quickly became ‘globalization’ campaigns, pursued by an increasingly heterogeneous set of players. 2.6.3

The Jubilee 2000 debt campaign

There is perhaps no better example of such heterogeneity – and its potential for successful lobbying – than the 1996–2000 crusade to cancel the international debt of the world’s poorest countries. Central to the creation of worldwide awareness of the problem, and the creation of some of the solutions, was Jubilee 2000. Spurred by the Mexican debt crisis of 1982, many Northern NGOs began paying close attention to the debt burdens of developing countries – burdens that multiplied during the high-interest 1980s. By the mid-1990s, after fits and starts of mobilization (Donnelly 2002), Jubilee 2000 had emerged: a vast coalition of Northern and Southern agencies intent on lobbying for debt forgiveness. Their framing of the highly complex issues focused on the morality of the debt, arguing that most was contracted by non-elected governing elites who misspent the funds, making it immoral to demand repayment at the expense of health and education funding. Propelled into the public eye in May 1998, when 70,000 supporters formed a 10-kilometer ring around the G7 meeting in Birmingham, the movement gained momentum among key institutions (the World Bank and IMF) and eventually, all of the G7 countries (Collins et al. 2001). By 2000, some 24 million people had signed the Jubilee petition (Donnelly 2002: 168). While the campaign fell short of its ambitious goal of ‘cancelling the unpayable debts of the poorest countries by the year 2000,’ it clearly contributed to the Cologne G7’s call for deepening of debt relief, Clinton’s forgiveness of bilateral debt in 1999, and negotiations by the US Treasury to convince reluctant Republicans to support relief, according to one commentator (Donnelly 2002: 172), and according to one of its organizers, Ann Pettifor, the campaign put debt firmly into public consciousness (Pettifor 2001). The frame had changed from seeing debt forgiveness as a moral hazard for shifty debtors, to debt forgiveness as the just removal of an odious burden on the world’s impoverished.

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Indeed, Jubilee was a textbook example of successful issue-framing alongside effective political lobbying. Not only was ‘odious debt’ a powerful framing notion, it was combined – as with the ICBL – with multi-country campaigns, public relations stunts, testimonials, media bombardment, and old-fashioned parliamentary lobbying. Jubilee also drew from the lessons of the corporate boycotts, and from the ICBL, in identifying the problem and solution in simple terms that had broad public appeal. Combined with the junk bond status of many of the debts (few creditors expected to see their money again in any case), and the easy political points to be gained in forgiving them, movement was possible. The Highly Indebted Poor Countries Initiative, organized through the World Bank and the IMF, was to follow.

2.7

The globalization campaigns

The global finance campaigns clearly mark the coming of age of globalization as a rallying point for activism. This final section of the chapter tells the stories of the most well-known globalization protests of the end of the 20th century: against the MAI in 1997–1998 and the WTO in Seattle in 1999. 2.7.1

The OECD and The Multilateral Agreement on Investment

The story of the MAI was perhaps the first truly global, fully electronic, and fully globalization-focused of the modern campaigns. It was also one of the first to generate widespread debate in official circles on the questions of CSO legitimacy. Although the MAI campaign did not appear out of nowhere (it had its roots in the coalitions against the North American Free Trade Agreement of the early 1990s; see Bleyer 2001, Kidder 2002), its success took many by surprise. A short account of the campaign might read thus: in March 1997, an agreement was proposed in the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) that would allow greater freedom to foreign investors. The document was leaked and taken up by CSOs. Their charge? The MAI posed a core threat to national sovereignty and protection of core values and industries. A massive Internet campaign was waged along with many of the ‘usual’ lobbying methods, and combined with negotiation difficulties on the official side, the agreement foundered in April 1998 (Desai and Said 2001, Goodman 2001, Laxer and Halperin 2003). For campaigners, this breakdown was an inspiring success: On the last week of April 1998, civil society organizations all over the world were celebrating. Through Internet activism, and the many


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meetings of parliaments as a result of this activism, they achieved an unprecedented and massive victory over the most powerful countries in the world. An estimated 20 million of their members launched a global initiative to stop the Multilateral Agreement on Investment (MAI). And they succeeded. . . . Canadian Trade Minister Sergio Marchi remarked that ‘the lesson he has learned is that “civil society” – meaning public interest groups – should be engaged much sooner in a negotiating process, instead of governments trying to negotiate around them’ (Perlas 2000: URL).

This lesson for officialdom – that these organizations had shouldered their way to a permanent place at the table – is perhaps the most important marker of the campaign. In his article for Foreign Policy, Stephen Kobrin says: ‘the story of the MAI is a cautionary tale about the impact of an electronically networked global civil society. The days of negotiating international treaties behind closed doors are numbered, if not over’ (Kobrin 1998: 99). Goodman quotes United Nations Conference on Trade and Development head Ricupero as saying, ‘having once tasted blood, the NGOs involved will not relax their bite. On the contrary, the clash would grow and could end up infecting other related aspects of the WTO’s agenda .. . to the detriment [of] the broader process of trade liberalisation, and possibly damaging the credibility of the WTO itself’ (Goodman 2001: 228). The campaign also lent important momentum to activists: a sense of success and reinforced vocation (Smith and Smythe 2001: 23, Walter 2001: 52). A spokesperson from the coalition said: ‘Our presence today should put the OECD on notice. NGOs and citizens’ groups will be scrutinising every move in the negotiation of this agreement’ (‘Global Investment Treaty’ 1997). This impetus carried many forward into the infamous ‘Battle of Seattle’ the following year.

2.7.2

The Battle of Seattle and the WTO

‘What was significant about Seattle,’ writes Mary Kaldor, ‘was the fact that it was the first time, that the political presence of a range of new actors was taken seriously; that those inside the talks did not just ignore or pay lip service to the role of those outside’ (Kaldor 2000: 2). But what exactly happened in Seattle of December 1999 that was so significant? After all, the meetings of the WTO (the successor to the 1948 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, or GATT) had scarcely warranted a glance from the media in previous years. Yet in the streets of Seattle

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marched some 40,000 demonstrators, street performers, and a handful of self-described corporate vandals. Inside the convention centre, there were more than 2000 officially accredited NGO representatives working the insider strategy, and in the auditoriums and church halls outside, seminars, workshops, church services, and teach-ins were underway for anti- and pro-trade advocates both. And, of course, there were demonstrations: environmentalists dressed as sea turtles, puppeteers carrying caricatures, trade unionists and their families in force, huge banners denouncing the democratic credentials of the WTO – all successfully blocking intersections and overwhelming the police’s capacity to haul protesters away. Indeed, the demonstrations were successful because they were extremely well planned (and the police inadequately prepared – something that changed markedly in subsequent demonstrations). Trained weeks ahead of time by the Ruckus Society, a core group of about 250 people organized through the Direct Action Network led the first wave of confrontation to occupy key intersections and later, the outskirts of the Convention Centre itself. Others who were marching in the parallel labour parade joined in, despite the tear gas, and three days of protest later, ‘the World Trade Organization ground to an inconclusive halt’ (de Armond 2001: 202–3). The demonstrations also overwhelmed the police’s capacity to supervise retail areas where – on the fourth day of demonstrations – small bands of self-styled anarchists trashed brand-name outlets, despite efforts by other protesters to stop them (Smith and Smythe 2001: 12–14). Such a spotlight on the WTO did not come out of nowhere. Before 1999, there was a small band of trade critics paying attention to the agency, and a modest number of activists were present at the 1996 Singapore and 1998 Geneva meetings. Among the most active opponents were and are the environmentalists, charging that the organization ignores the environmental consequences of expanded trade. Others have raised fears of lack of consumer protection, impact on women’s work, and bullying of developing country governments, among other issues, but only a handful had decided to focus on the WTO systematically, including the International Confederation of Free Trade Unions and the Third World Network. Given this comparatively low level of attention, and the agency’s mild alterations (new guidelines for dealing with NGOs, some outreach, increased dissemination of information, and so on; Scholte et al. 1998: 16), Seattle was a surprise. Note the dismay of the US trade negotiator, Charlene Barshefsky: ‘The single greatest threat to the multinational trading


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system is the absence of public support for that system and for the policies which have created that system. . . . And unless public support is generated, I think that WTO is going to face tough sledding in the years ahead’ (in Zepernick 1999: URL). Also on alert were voices from throughout the business world: It would be a grave mistake to dismiss the uproar witnessed in the past few years in Seattle, Washington, D.C., and Prague. Many of the radicals leading the protests may be on the political fringe. But they have helped to kick-start a profound rethinking about globalization among governments, mainstream economists, and corporations (‘Global Capitalism’ 2000: URL). Or these words, allegedly drafted by a DC consulting firm, entitled Guide to the Seattle Meltdown: A Compendium of Activists at the WTO Ministerial: The spectacle created in Seattle during the WTO Ministerial meeting by a diverse collection of activists may have significant short-term ramifications for the business community. . . . [their] potential ability of the emerging coalition of these groups to seriously impact broader, longer-term corporate interests. Seattle was not an anomaly and the consistent anti-corporate message of virtually all the groups who participated there in November is not a temporary phenomenon (Common Dreams 2000). And while not many on the inside actually credited the protests with the failure of the negotiations themselves, most thought something had to be done. As Oxford Analytica tersely noted, Last year’s WTO Ministerial Conference in Seattle collapsed for reasons which were essentially unconnected with the activities of the NGOs and the mass demonstrations in the streets outside the conference centre. However, the adverse publicity has highlighted the need for the WTO to improve its communications with the public and build more constructive relationships with NGOs (‘Addressing the Backlash’ 2001: URL). Of course, for activists, the message included not only the lessons cited by officials, but also the much larger – and empowering – conclusions that a new global force had arrived.

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It is now clear that the fate of the world is no longer determined by the bipolar power struggle between large transnational corporations and powerful nation states, such bipolar power that is represented in the very structure of the WTO. The defeat of the WTO in Seattle now shows that a third global force has emerged with elemental strength to contest the monopoly of world economic and political leaders over the fate of the earth. This third force is what we now know as global civil society (Perlas 2000: URL). The new ‘global civil society’ had taken its place on the world stage. From the energy of Seattle had emerged an invigorated set of organizations and activists who understood themselves to be a movement. Self-identified as the Global Justice Movement, Global Civil Society, or the Anti-Capitalist Movement, among other names, its members turned to other targets in the months and years after Seattle. Protests against the G8 ramped up: Okinawa in 2000, Genoa in 2001, Kananaskis in 2002, and Evian in 2003 all saw large demonstrations and Genoa, tragically, also saw the first death of a protester killed by police in a Northern country. The biannual meetings of the World Bank and IMF continued to attract attention, including those in Washington and Prague in 2000. The OAS meeting in Quebec City in 2001, the annual gatherings of the World Economic Forum in Davos, the new alternative World Social Forum in Porto Alegre in 2001 and later – all became sites of contestation about the shaping of the globe.

2.8

Conclusion

The stories in this chapter illustrate how the strands of today’s globalization movements came together from other histories and peaked at Seattle in 1999 to create the heterogeneous, leaderless, multi-tactic, and ideological phenomenon now understood as ‘Global Civil Society.’ As one environmentalist explained, Talking about rainforests led us into talking about Third World debt. Talking about climate change led us to talk about transnational corporations. The more you talk about these things, the more you realise the subject isn’t the environment any more, it’s the economy and the pressures on countries to do things that undercut any efforts they make to deal with environmental issues. By the time we got to Seattle, we were all campaigning on the same basic trend that was undermining everybody’s efforts to achieve any progressive goals. That trend is the free market and privileges for big corporations and


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rich people at the expense of everything else (Tony Juniper of Friends of the Earth quoted in Bygrave 2002). These histories also introduce the origins of the legitimacy debates taken up in coming pages. The critiques and tactics undertaken by members of the new movement have been unsettling for some, both within and outside the movements, and that discomfiture triggered the legitimacy backlash. The World Bank, for instance, was taken aback by the protests that followed after Seattle: As anti-globalization protesters paraded effigies of WB and International Monetary Fund (IMF) senior managers through the streets of downtown Washington – and across the TV screens of viewers around the world – the World Bank’s long-standing and diverse relationship with civil society organizations (CSOs) entered a new phase (Nelson 2002b: 8). It was a phase that World Bank managers hoped they had avoided. Less than a year earlier, World Bank President James Wolfensohn told The Economist that his organization’s working relationships with civil society organizations would protect it from the slings and arrows that wounded the WTO at Seattle (‘The Non-Governmental Order’ 1999). Used to its usual grouping of NGOs, the Bank had not counted on a new ‘movement’ that brought new people to the streets. As was the case for increasingly nervous G8, WTO, IMF, and World Economic Forum officials, the swell of protest at the Bank did not necessarily focus minds on globalization’s pernicious effects. The first questions were about legitimacy: Just who are these people? What rights do they have to stop our meetings/occupy the streets/‘misinform’ the media? These are powerful questions, not only because they require complex answers, but because they overshadow the very critiques that brought people to the street in the first place. Still, they must be addressed in a serious fashion: the following pages turn to these legitimacy debates, and the reasons why they matter in the way we govern our globe.

3 The Legitimacy Game: The Representation Rules

This chapter begins in earnest the dissection of the legitimacy rules created over the course of recent activism. This dissection is not intended to discover universal truths or criteria for perfect legitimacy, however, but rather to explore how these new legitimacy rules are being created en route. In that light, one way to read the stories of the past decade is as a long exercise in the creation of new rules for evolving global governance. Such rules are extraordinarily complex: one person’s rule need not be shared by another, most are often implied rather than stated, many are commonly contradictory and habitually mutated, and all are always juggled with power differences. Legitimacy rules are moving targets, difficult to describe and pin down on a piece of paper. Yet rules that are wielded without conscious consideration and careful examination nonetheless have very real consequences in shaping what decisions are made, what money is spent, and whose lives are affected. Let us begin, then, with the most frequently cited claim to legitimacy: meaningful representation of an important constituency. Indeed, ‘representation’ is such an enormous part of the legitimacy debate that it takes up the whole of the rest of this first short rules chapter. Representation – and its absence – is the first hurdle faced by globalization activists assembling around global institutions. One Financial Times editorial, for example, opined: NGOs’ claims to represent a broad swathe of ‘civil society’ are spurious. Rather, their often conflicting platforms reflect the fragmentation of once cohesive political constituencies hastened by the end of the 62

The Representation Rules

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cold war. Often, they play on popular fears of globalisation and Luddite yearnings. . . . This mixture becomes volatile when NGO lobbying becomes hysterical scaremongering (‘Uncivil Society’ 1999). Yet by what rules does the author find the NGOs’ claims to be ‘spurious’? Under what circumstances would their claims to representation count? Does it mean the group’s leadership must be elected? By whom? Or must the organization be made up of a ‘sample’ or ‘typical example’ of an important group of people? By what rules must the organization speak on behalf of someone not present or on behalf of the ‘public interest’ writ large? Representation – the hallmark of legitimacy – is a ball of wool in need of much untangling.

3.1

Nature of membership

The first bit of untangling distinguishes between the nature of a group’s membership, and the behaviour of the group itself: who it is vs what it does. Groups are thought to be representative if their members are of a certain character, quality, or quantity. What numbers of people are involved? How encompassing is the membership? Does it cover all those who matter? How important is that constituency to the issue at hand? Are they core stakeholders/cost-bearers? Political determinants? A missed constituency? The first set of questions thus looks at membership size before touching on issues of breadth and depth. 3.1.1

Volume: size of membership

A large membership is considered important because it may have electoral or other important consequences for ‘influencees.’ Baehr, writing about the impact of Amnesty’s work, is matter of fact about this element: Non-membership organisations such as the Human Rights Watch organisations and the International Commission of Jurists may on the whole be able to react more quickly and be more flexible in their approaches to governments than membership organisations. Yet, the impact of a membership organisation may be greater, because governments are aware that the views expressed by such an NGO are not only those of a small group of experts, but may also reflect those of a larger constitution. If the membership is relatively large, politicians may pay extra attention to the NGO’s views, because of possible electoral consequences (Baehr 1996: URL).

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Similarly, Rees writes, ‘for a public policy organization, an important benefit to having members is to imbue it with a sort of automatic credibility. If people or organizations pay money to join an organization, a policy maker can assume its leadership speaks not just for itself or a small cadre of individuals. Instead, the organization’s views will be heeded because it is seen as a voting block in its own right’ (Rees 1998: URL). For policy-makers dealing with groups active in their own electoral backyards, the volume of membership is its own criterion for legitimacy. That electoral weight may also be a strong element in the perceived legitimacy of labour unions, bodies that have much greater powers – through the strike potential of their memberships – to disrupt the economy than globalization activists alone. The coalitions that banded together around the Free Trade Agreement for the Americas and the Summits of the Americas, for instance, included CSOs who ‘borrowed’ the legitimacy of the labour movement by working in cohort with unions (Korzeniewicz and Smith 2001: 28). Indeed, having a large membership is so important to perceptions of legitimacy that increasing membership can itself become a source of conflict. One critic reports that ‘a tendency to play to the gallery, and straightforward infighting, is common among some NGOs desperate to maximise membership.’ Quoting a director of Greenpeace, Bond notes ‘There isn’t a green movement . . . It’s a bunch of self-interested organisations which generally don’t get on’ (Bond 2000: URL). Similar criticisms point to a tendency to over-inflate numbers during campaigns, implying that temporarily mobilized people (perhaps mobilized only long enough to sign a petition) constitute overall membership – an accusation made of the opponents of the Canada–US Free Trade Agreement in the late 1980s (Ayres 2003: 31). Membership politics thus have a real effect on perceptions of legitimacy. 3.1.2

Breadth: comprehensiveness of membership

Yet while sheer numbers are obviously important, globalization activists (and some of their skeptics) put greater weight on the character of that membership. Does that membership represent public opinion? What is the gender balance like? Is this group a representative sample of the world? In particular, what about North–South balance? As Slim writes, An organisation’s most tangible form of legitimacy probably comes in the form of direct support from the people it seeks to help, its members, its supporters and its admirers. Perhaps the most powerful form of tangible support for a human rights organisation comes if it has the strong support of the people whose rights it is trying to protect


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and to realise. The fact that an organisation has their consent and they feel that it is working with them in pursuit of their interests is a strong source of legitimacy (Slim 1997: 11). Another variant of the comprehensiveness complaint focuses on proportionality: whether a particular group represents a proportionately representative cross-section of public opinion. Some critics, such as Fareed Zakaria, managing editor of Foreign Affairs, fear that ‘minority’ views may unduly sway public policy. He found, after contacting ten NGOs in the wake of the Battle of Seattle, that: Most consisted of ‘three people and a fax’ and many had been established specifically for Seattle. In his view, they were ‘largely unrepresentative ‘of public opinion. Nevertheless, infinitely more media-savvy (and sexy) than the trade negotiators they were targeting, they were able to hoover up airtime on all the major networks. ‘My concern,’ Zakaria says, ‘is that governments will listen too much to the loud minority and neglect the fears of the silent majority’ (Marozzi 2000: a16). Other critics voice similar worries, particularly about the political representativity of activist CSOs. An editorial in one conservative Canadian newspaper complained that NGOs ‘are almost invariably on the Left – advocating greater welfare spending, tighter economic and environmental regulations and, at Seattle, restrictions on free trade’ (Gunter 1999b: URL). In both examples, the rule being created argues that ‘minority’ views are illegitimate in comparison with views more ‘representative of public opinion.’ Other questions of balance are posed. Gender balance, though too rarely mentioned, is another cause for concern. For instance, when registrations came in for a global conference of NGOs held in Montreal in 1999, 80 per cent named men as their representatives (Foster 1999b: 49). For social movements keen on promoting social justice, gender equity is a key factor in legitimizing their advocacy roles. Similarly, regional representation may be crucial in coalition work, particularly in countries as diverse as Canada’s (see Bleyer 2001, for instance, on the Action Canada Network). However, on the debate over North–South balance, the deliberations are considerably more fierce. Despite the global dimensions of activists’ critiques, most are based in Northern countries, staffed by Northern professionals, imbued by Northern values (and political pressures), and – so the criticism goes – insufficiently influenced by those whose lives are most affected by

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globalization. This accusation arises in many areas, not least during discussions about strategy. Walden Bello, a prolific commentator from Focus on the Global South, muses on this discord: Many Northern NGOs are, oftentimes, focused on single issues, such as the environment or human rights and carry agenda that are filtered through the lens of these particular issues. Southern NGOs, on the other hand, are more comprehensive in their concerns. They are concerned almost equally with the environment, social equity, development, national sovereignty, and democracy (Bello 2000: URL). In the most egregious instances, advocacy groups speak ‘on behalf of’ Southern groups without their permission. In an incident in the early 1990s, for instance, The Natural Resources Defense Council claimed to represent a small tribe from the Ecuadoran rainforest in negotiations with a US oil company on its exploration plans – without the tribe’s permission and ‘to its subsequent dismay’ (Spiro 1995: 54). Such instances, however, seem rare. Most often, the criticism takes place in the much greyer area of representing the broad interests of ‘the South.’ Take, for example, the results of the 1995 Benchmark Survey conducted among NGOs at the World Summit for Social Development. When asked whom their organizations represented, respondents claimed to speak for an array of imprecise victims: poor women, the old, workers, the excluded, students, tenants, ordinary citizens, unemployed people, the oppressed, rural population, children, civil society, peasants, youth and nature, immigrant workers, and ‘people of the world’ (in Krut et al. 1997: URL). In Hudson’s survey of British NGOs, he found that while only ten per cent claimed to be speaking for the South or Southern NGOs, many argued that they were representing, or, more subtly, promoting, the interests of the South (Hudson 2000: URL). Indian activist Batliwala argues that such unwarranted ‘speaking on behalf of’ undermines the work of those whose lives are most directly affected: There are a growing number of such grassroots and working class constituencies [such as homebased workers, indigenous people, child workers, self-employed women, small and marginal farmers, fishworkers, shack/slum dwellers, and grassroots women who] do not wish to have their issues and concerns represented by others. Their analyses, strategies, and tactics often differ radically from those of the usual global actors (Batliwala 2001: 6).


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As long-time NGO watcher John Clark notes, ‘Who has the right to speak on behalf of the Third World poor?’ is an increasingly vexed question: Some Northern campaigners have built up communications and debating skills that are the envy of political spin-doctors, yet their arguments may be untrammeled by on the ground realities. In drawing raw facts from their Southern partners for use in advocacy strategies that are not based on consultation with those partners, the Northern NGOs can be faulted as insensitive and extractive. Hence there is a growing call from Southern NGOs for Northern groups to surrender power and allow Southern civil society to speak for Southern citizens (Clark 2001: 23). Not surprisingly, these criticisms are also heard in less friendly circles. Conservative commentator Thomas Friedman opines that ‘while the protesters in Quebec were busy denouncing globalization in the name of Africans and the world’s poor, Africans themselves will tell you that their problem with globalization is not that they are getting too much of it, but too little’ (Friedman 2001: URL). Similarly, professor Alan Winters writes that ‘the protestors should also worry about their own representativeness. Southern governments are concerned that fundamentally the movement represents the interests of the disaffected rich, not those of people struggling to make a living and improve the lot of their children’ (Winters 2002: URL). These delegitimizing critiques have generated a variety of responses. Part of the rebuff is based on relative representativity – ‘we are more representative than you are.’ For instance, Nicola Bullard of Focus on the Global South writes: There has been some harsh criticism of civil society, and of NGOs in particular. This comes from the media (of the English language press, ‘The Economist’ and the ‘Financial Times’ stand out) and even from ‘Third Way’ politicians such as the UK’s secretary for development cooperation Clare Short. Amongst their charges they accuse the protestors in Seattle of working against the interests of the poor, imposing a ‘Northern’ agenda on the South, and even of undermining the legitimacy of elected governments from the Third World. This view was captured perfectly by ‘The Economist’ with their cover photograph of a young (obviously poor) Indian girl under the headline ‘The real losers from Seattle.’ Apparently the UK government and the

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establishment press know what is in the interests of poor people (Bullard 2000: URL). Similarly, when asked in a Foreign Policy interview, ‘Who elected you to represent the people at Seattle, and why are you more influential than the elected officials?’, activist Lori Wallach answered: ‘Who elected Mr Moore [head of the WTO]? Who elected Charlene Barshefsky [US trade negotiator]? Who elected any of them?’ (Naim 2000: 36). While the response evades the question of activist representativity (Chandhoke 2002: 48), it nonetheless invokes the same rule: legitimacy depends on acceptance of (any actor’s) grounds for representativity. Another strand of the response has been to re-jig the debate in terms of ‘partnership’ – code for the desire for more equitable power relations between Northern and Southern organizations involved in joint efforts. The 1998 Harare Declaration by 20 African NGOs is one example. The declaration calls for Southern NGO initiative and direction in organizational, program, and advocacy work; and urges Northern NGOs to accept greater accountability to Southern partners and recognize their ‘legitimacy and autonomy’ as actors who will ‘take control of the development agenda of their own countries’ (Nelson 2001: 61; see also Hately and Malhotra 1997). Such discussions and declarations are commonplace in the world of development NGOs (where funding comes overwhelmingly from Northern sources), but are increasingly heard among globalization activists as well. The response to both faces of the representativity/partnership dilemma has also seen new experiments in cooperation. American NGOs led by the Institute for Agriculture and Trade Policy, for instance, worked to exchange their place at the WTO Ministerial meeting in Qatar in 2001 with counterparts from the South. Similar methods are recommended in the legitimacy guide developed by CIVICUS and the Hauser Center at Harvard University (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 16). In still other examples, groups have included Southerners on boards of directors (such as with Partnership Africa Canada) or have moved responsibility entirely to Southern directors (such as with South Asia Partnership) or have agreed to independently-run campaigns (such as with Jubilee South). These are all measures to address one part of the legitimacy question: Just whom do these people represent? 3.1.3

Depth: commitment of membership to the cause

A further aspect shaping the perceived legitimacy of an organization’s membership is the depth of its commitment. Measuring that commitment


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involves assessing the stake that members hold in the enterprise – are their own lives affected? Do they meet weekly or at all? Do they negotiate together, write checks, sign petitions, or merely lurk on listservs? In particular, concerns are voiced over the degree of involvement invested by members. At the lightest end of the scale, ‘astroturf’ members are accused of mere online activism, distinguished from ‘solid grassroots membership and support’ (Beierle 2000: 19–20). Unlikely to contribute money, lobbying effort, letter-writing, participation in demonstrations, fundraising, mobilization, or other key elements of the movement, these activists are discounted as members of ‘dot causes.’ Still others disagree that mere Internet participation is illegitimate. Rhinegold argues that electronic discussion groups, bulletin boards, and listservs can be used to exchange ideas, debate issues, and mobilize opinion, thus building lasting relationships and social bonds (in Norris 2000a: 3, see also Wellman and Gulia 1996). Carnegie’s William Barndt continues the argument: ‘When associations emerge in or from cyberspace and unite individuals around a common interest or goal, the Internet becomes more than just an advance over the telephone – it becomes a place where social capital is generated’ (Barndt 1999–2000: URL). Naomi Klein, a frequent commentator on the globalization movement, also defends this ‘surfer’s approach to activism,’ although for other reasons: The fact that these campaigns are so decentralized is not a source of incoherence and fragmentation. Rather, it is a reasonable, even ingenious adaptation . . . like the Internet itself, both the NGO and the affinity group networks are infinitely expandable systems. If somebody doesn’t feel like they quite fit in to one of the 30,000 or so NGOs or thousands of affinity groups out there, they can just start their own and link up. Once involved, no one has to give up their individuality to the larger structure; as with all things online, we are free to dip in and out, take what we want and delete what we don’t. It is a surfer’s approach to activism (Klein 2000: URL). If Internet membership raises questions of commitment, so too does ‘pocketbook’ membership. If commitment is momentary and costs nothing in terms of time and little in terms of money, do membership numbers have the same consequence? Bichsel, writing about the environmental movement, points out that Greenpeace


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is almost entirely financed by small contributions from five million supporters in 158 countries. . . . However, members vote almost exclusively through their contributions. In Greenpeace-Germany, for example, of the 700,000 Greennpeace members only 30 so-called ‘steering members’ or 0.004 per cent have a limited role in decision making. . . . Continued support by or expansion of the membership base is interpreted as indirect approval of an organization’s activities (Bichsel 1996: 238). Similarly, when activist Lori Wallach was questioned about her organization’s members, she explained how they expressed their oversight: ‘Through their chequebooks,’ she replied, ‘they just stop paying their membership dues’ (Naim 2000: 39). Musing on this interchange, academic Neera Chandhoke concludes that ‘no longer are people expected to realise their selfhood in and through associational life, their participation is confined to the payment or withdrawal of membership dues’ (Chandhoke 2002: 48). As we have seen, such weighing debates are tremendously important in determining legitimacy, yet the rules for the weighing process are not always clear. For instance, what constitutes deeper commitment than pocketbook membership? One could measure the amount of time spent every week/month/year on a cause as one indicator (Amnesty’s letter-writers would score highly on such a list); or one could measure the degree of danger endured to protest in public (whereby the mothers of Argentina’s disappeared would score highly). One could measure devotion in some other way: a measure for the opportunity cost to volunteers who find meals for the hungry and shelter the homeless, for instance. Such determinations are made all the time in weighing legitimacy. Too rarely, however, do we take those rulers out for calibration.

3.2

Internal democracy

While questions of membership are discussed most often, a whole other set of disagreements arises from the internal democracy of the organization: whether and how the members (if any) select their leaders, and how that membership has a say in its leaders’ decisions are all important in generating legitimacy criteria. 3.2.1

Election: membership’s choice of leadership

The accusation most often made about CSO activists is perhaps the least fair: Who elected you? In the aftermath of Seattle, ‘Beware the world’s


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unelected do-gooders’ appeared in one newspaper (Gunter 1999a: URL); and in another commentary: ‘Let the NGOs get themselves elected and then they will have a right to sit at the table’ (Alexandroff 2000: 107). Electoral status has evidently become our prime credential for political legitimacy. Yet ‘electedness’ may be the wrong – or the incomplete – yardstick. Says Peter Melchett of Greenpeace UK: ‘Critics accuse NGOs of being undemocratic. This is a truism, but then companies are hardly paragons of democratic virtue, themselves. It’s a fact rather than a criticism’ (Marozzi 2000: a16). For Melchett, legitimacy is gained through other means, such as evidence of public support in the case of NGOs, or consumer demand in the case of corporations. As Krut and colleagues argue, governments need to be elected, but advocates for particular values (such as human rights) or certain issues (such as protection for endangered animals) need not win votes to bring their voices to the table: A hundred years ago, the capacity of the suffragists to claim that they spoke on behalf of all women in their country did not come from a tallying of formal membership lists, dues and democratic procedures, but from a conviction that women have a right to political representation. More recently, environmental groups have argued that neither local nor global environmental issues are well represented in governmental decision-making – but that these and other crucial issues – ranging from local issues like crustaceans in the Philippines to regional issues like hardwood forests in North America or global issues such as water rights – need human advocates (Krut et al. 1997: URL). That does not mean that electoral status and procedure is meaningless in the nongovernmental world, however. As we see below, organizations that do have memberships must be attentive to their process lest their legitimacy be tarnished. 3.2.2

Control: membership’s democratic control over leadership

What happens inside an organization also matters in the determination of its legitimacy. The lack of democracy within CSOs is a common criticism, from both within and without the nongovernmental world. Says one activist: They are often hierarchical, opaque, authoritarian, male-dominated, and mirror hierarchies of race, gender, class, caste, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc., in their internal divisions of labour and in the

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distribution of decisionmaking power. For instance, they will often be led by a male of the dominant class/race/caste, the majority of women employees will occupy subordinate and support staff roles, and there will be no representative of marginalized or minority social groups on the Board of the organisation. Decisionmaking can be top-down, non-transparent, or whimsical (Batliwala 2001: 7). Still another commentator describes the leaders of many activist organizations as modern-day potentates: ‘Armed with the leverage of large memberships, and knowing that those members are likely to be a docile herd, NGO leaders have emerged as a class of modern day, nonterritorial potentates, a position rather like that commanded by medieval bishops’ (Spiro 1996: 963). Such accusations strike to the bone. Activist organizations’ self-identity depends on being seen (and seeing themselves) as consistent in their pursuit of ends and means: ‘The hallmark of an NGO which fully embraces the concept of political responsibility is its capacity to sustain coherence and consistency between the goals it professes and the manner in which it pursues them’ (van Tuijl and Jordan 1999). Indeed, in Hudson’s survey of British NGOs, some explicitly claimed legitimacy on the basis of their organizational structure: they ‘pointed to formally democratic membership structures which extend internationally’ (Hudson 2000: URL). On the part of non-CSO critics, the response to such internal failings has been a call for codes of conduct. As the Danish aid agency writes, ‘there is a need for civil society organisations to address issues of governance and accountability in their own field. There is in fact a need to build a democratic ethos in civil society organizations, an ethical code maybe, which can lead to a culture of openness, accountability and equity’ (MS 2000: URL). Indeed, such codes are proliferating around the world: Canada, the Philippines, Uganda, South Africa, and Zimbabwe, among others, all have voluntary codes of conduct within the nongovernmental community (Kunugi and Schweitz 1999). Discussed in more detail later on, these codes have been one of the many institutional responses to the invocation of new legitimacy rules. 3.2.3

Accountability: leadership’s responsibilities to members and beyond

While member control is an important element, so too is its corollary: the accountability of the leadership back to its members and/or those whom it claims to serve or represent. The rule invoked here is that


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accountable leaders are more legitimate than those who, according to one critic, behave as feudal lords: Leaders of associations, pressure groups and NGOs – unlike politicians in democracies – are accountable to no one except their members and those who provide them with funds. . . . leaders of such groups, unlike politicians, do not have to campaign, hold office, allow the public to see their tax returns or stand for re-election. It is, indeed, the new medievalism, with the leaders of the NGOs as feudal lords (Rieff 1999: URL). Yet just what is it to be ‘accountable?’ One strand of the discussion deals with the breadth (upward and downward) of accountability: To whom is a particular organization supposed to be accountable? After all, many NGOs at any rate get money from one source (individual donors, foundations, or aid agencies), gather expertise and management from another (paid staff), and obtain clientele or ‘partners’ from still another (often via one or more additional intermediary organizations). The intended ultimate ‘beneficiaries’ may never even know they exist. Indeed, so distant is the link to the beneficiary and so immediate the links to funders and staff that accountability may seem relevant only up the ladder: Revealingly, almost 50% of the NGOs I spoke with, when asked ‘To whom are you accountable for your advocacy work?’ responded in terms of upward accountability to line-managers, donors, trustees and boards of governors, rather than in terms of downward accountability to those whose interests they claim to promote. Many of the NGOs who responded in terms of accountability to boards of governors regarded my question as to the make-up of the board and whether it includes Southern members as bizarre, simply viewing accountability to a board – no matter what its membership – as sufficient. In fact, several NGOs were actually surprised at the mention of downward accountability, seemingly unaware of the concept and unconvinced about its desirability (Hudson 2000: URL). For organizations that accept a broader set of accountabilities, the challenges are considerable: Donors demand that the INGOs be accountable for the integrity, efficiency, and impact of programs that they have funded. Beneficiaries press INGOs to live up to their rhetoric about fostering

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locally-determined development rather than impose their own priorities. Staffs expect INGOs to live up to the high purposes that drew their commitment to the enterprise. Partners whom INGOs have recruited in their efforts to achieve their national and international goals (such as other NGOs, community-based organizations, government agencies, businesses) expect the INGOs to live up to promises they made in forging their partnerships (Brown and Moore 2001: 1–2). And, for the Southern organizations involved, the accountabilities are even more complex. In addition to all these other pressures, ‘they have a particular accountability that Northern NGOs and donor agencies can sidestep: people. A Southern NGO is directly responsible, face to face, for what happens to the people it has encouraged to attend classes, to save money and take loans, to change jobs and farming practices, to alter old habits and accustomed ways’ (Smillie 1995: 193). Moreover, in real-life advocacy work among the global institutions, genuine accountability (meaningful deliberation within a network) takes time – sometimes at the cost of the speed needed for effective lobbying (Nelson 2001). Sikkink notes that ‘efforts to enhance representation and deliberation will slow down networks and make it more difficult for them to respond quickly to global problems and crises’ (Sikkink 2002: 312). Both accountability and effectiveness bear on an organization’s legitimacy: ‘tensions arise when NGOs active in campaigns fail to understand the political responsibilities [accountability to other members within the coalition] that arise in a campaign process. When political responsibilities are not embraced, NGOs are left open to criticism about their legitimacy’ (van Tuijl and Jordan 1999: URL). Indeed. 3.2.4

Transparency: public access to information

Linked to the conversation about accountability, transparency is yet another criterion for legitimacy. The criticism here is that insufficient public access to information about a given activist organization (including its origins, politics, staffing, funding, and decision-making processes), calls into question that organization’s legitimacy. For example, a couple of US think tanks have recently launched an NGO Watch webpage to ‘bring clarity and accountability to the burgeoning world of NGOs’: Throughout much of the world, non-governmental organizations are unregulated, spared any requirement to account for expenditures, to disclose activities or sources of funding or even to declare their officers. That is not the case in the United States, where the tax code affords


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the public some transparency about its NGOs. But where is the rest of the story? Do NGOs influence international organizations like the World Trade Organization? What is their agenda? Who runs these groups? Who funds them? And to whom are they accountable? (NGO Watch 2003: URL). Understandably, the NGO Watch initiative rankles even those who share the criticism (not least because the name cynically parallels that of the important Human Rights Watch organization). As NGO-watcher Ian Smillie asks, Almost every recent study of NGOs calls for greater transparency. But greater than what? Greater than the Ford Motor Company? Greater than the Japanese Ministry of Transport? In most countries, NGOs are required by law to file externally audited annual financial statements, and most will make these available to any donor with the slightest passing interest. Generally, however, annual financial statements, whether produced by an NGO in the United States, Britain or Kenya, are not likely to reveal very much detail, just as the Annual Report of the Ford Motor Company reveals little about the chief executive officer’s (CEO) benefits package or the inner workings of the LincolnMercury Division (Smillie 1998: 188). Certainly, codes of conduct instituted by various nongovernmental coordinating bodies almost always have minimum standards for the public disclosure of information. Edwards and Hulme, commentators on the world of development NGOs, suggest a combined transparencyaccountability list that includes: (1) a statement of goals, (2) transparency of decision-making and relationships, (3) honest reporting of what resources have been used and what has been achieved, (4) an appraisal process for the overseeing of authority(ies) to judge whether results are satisfactory, and (5) concrete mechanisms for holding to account (i.e. rewarding or penalizing) those responsible for performance (Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). This laudable list should be fulfilled in any organization, certainly, whether or not it is geared towards recreating the current global order. And who can argue against transparency? The crucial point here is that such legitimacy rules must not be applied blindfolded: we ought to ask them of anyone plying her ideological wares in the market of global opinion.

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3.3


Conclusion

This chapter deals with what is probably the most familiar question asked about globalization activists: ‘Just who do these people represent?’ These few pages dissect the idea of ‘representation’ and begin to ask questions about the rules that are invoked when the ‘r’ word is raised – are we worried about the size of an organization’s membership, the composition or degree of commitment of its members, the choice of its leadership, or the work of its leadership in responding to members and the public at large? Moreover, who is worried? Legitimacy rankings are made by disparate actors, themselves part of the moving political scene. None of the critiques should be discounted, of course, but all can stand more prodding than they are usually given by the sceptical. If we are to accept – or reject – any organization on the basis of its representativity, we ought to pay closer attention to what that might mean.

4 The Legitimacy Game: The Other Rules

If some measure of ‘representativity’ is the most commonly heralded credential for legitimacy, it is certainly not the only one. Other sets of rules – some far more controversial – are discussed in the pages of this chapter. Beginning with the all-important legitimacy of rights claims, the chapter proposes other bases for claiming legitimacy, including variations on what constitutes expertise, the relative weight of experience, and the ethical declarations of moral authority.

4.1

Rights-based claims

The 20th century has seen a remarkable expansion of human rights – an expansion that has set new parameters on allowable behaviour, both by human rights violators and victims. Yet in addition to a common acceptance of civil and political rights, there are at least three other categories of rights (and rules for claiming them) that bear further exploration in the legitimacy debate: the rights of the legal person, the victim, and the global citizen. 4.1.1

The person

The Universal Declaration accords each person, regardless of status, with a set of inalienable rights. However, do those rights accord status to activist organizations to challenge other bodies? Charnovitz, looking at the corpus of international law, argues that CSOs do have the same personhood rights in front of international bodies that individual citizens have in front of national ones. He responds to a critique of a colleague in this way: [Warner] wonders what legitimacy international NGOs have to speak at meetings with governments. Let me try to answer that. 77

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Although I disagreed with how the NGO networks attacked the MAI, I believe that organizations of like-minded people have a right to make their views known to global agencies. A transnational NGO gets its legitimacy at the WTO in the same way that a citizen gets legitimacy to petition a government. Article 6 of the Universal Declaration provides the answer in stating that ‘[e]veryone has the right of recognition everywhere as a person before the law’ (Charnovitz 1999: URL). Of course, the right to recognition is easier to accept than the right to sit at negotiating tables with governments, for instance, or the right to disrupt trade ministers’ meetings. In the corpus of legitimacy rules we have been discussing, however, the right to recognition is fundamental. Indeed, one might even argue that the rule need not be invoked at all, so widespread is its current acceptance: among the intergovernmental bodies, the UN, World Bank, IMF, and WTO, formally all recognize the rights of outside organizations to make petitions. Although not so widespread, the corporate world also acknowledges the rights of organizations to challenge its operations (the last chapter details some of these acknowledging mechanisms, including shareholding activism and co-implementation experiments). As many of the stories recounted so far have shown, the globalization movements in motion today have in effect already been recognized as a constellation of legal persons. 4.1.2

The victim

Further claims to legitimacy are made on the basis of ‘victimhood,’ for lack of a better term. Victims, those whose lives or livelihoods have been adversely affected by the activity of some outside agency, have special rights in the legitimacy debates. Who better to present the moral case than the person most affected? There are, however, few CSOs that are made up of men and women personally affected by globalization, speaking on their own behalf. The Self-Employed Women’s Association (SEWA) is a notable exception; the Gandhi-inspired union is made up of Indian women street traders, tailors, cart-pullers, labourers, and other self-employed workers. Its remarkable history (unions are extremely rare in the informal sector) includes local activism (against caste-based abuse, for example) as well as commentaries on the impact of globalization on their members (Jhabvala and Kanbur 2002). Still more exceptions include other unions

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and worker organizations (such as the Maquila Solidarity Network that promotes fair working conditions on the US-Mexican border), and the ICBL (that brought the testimonials of landmine victims to the world). More often, however, the legitimacy of ‘victimhood’ is borrowed by one organization when speaking on behalf of some other person – also a partnership issue, mentioned in the last chapter. Of course, speaking on behalf of someone else can be defended in many cases: those in precarious life situations are not always able or willing to organize (through constraints of time, skill, connections, or resources), let alone organize at the global level, and they may ask for others to help present their case in ‘higher courts.’ In varying degrees, indeed, this approach to international advocacy is seen everywhere in the testimonial approach to giving evidence and soliciting funds: a particular case (of a child, farmer, AIDS sufferer, and so on) is often used in the nongovernmental world to buttress the legitimacy of an overall critique. However, problems can and do arise when help is not requested, or when competing messages are propounded by alternate factions. The resettlement of tribal peoples to make way for the Narmada dam, for instance, is one such problematic case: advocates working in India did not always speak for tribal peoples’ own preferences, and those in Northern countries working ‘in solidarity’ did not always lobby to the benefit – and according to the desires – of those most affected. Even more problematic, perhaps, are cases where the victim is imprecisely defined, and so the job of spokesperson is up for grabs. As we have seen, this combat over proxy victimhood is endless. ‘The world is not represented on the streets of Seattle,’ argued Egypt’s Economy Minister after the 1999 protests. ‘The truth is, most of the world’s population was inside the conference in Seattle, not outside’ (cited in Barber 2000: URL). His claim – to be the better carrier of the rights of ‘most of the world’s population’ than the protesters outside – rested on the legitimacy rule that those closest to the impact of x, y, or z intervention have the highest standing in credibility ranks. For their appointed (or self-appointed) advocates, that credibility is a valuable asset. 4.1.3

The global citizen

A third set of rights claims, however, is completely divorced from the specifics of victims; it stakes its claim on universality. The rule of the global citizen goes something like this: I can make demands of global agency/corporation A (who in turn has a responsibility to me), because I am a citizen of the globe. Just as I can make claims from my national government on the basis of an implied social contract (I will do x, if you

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will do y), the global citizen makes claims of supra-territorial entities and expects (or feels she ought to be able to expect) those claims to be fulfilled. Certainly, such global identities explain in part why so many people have joined globalization movements: a recent book, indeed, is titled Global Citizen Action (Gaventa 2001). Scholte explains: Global communications and global ecological changes have heightened senses of duties beyond borders for ‘world citizens’. Millions of people have, where possible, resorted to dual or multiple national citizenships to accommodate their post-territorialist lives. Meanwhile some environmentalists, feminists and other radical critics have attacked the very institution of territorial nation-state citizenship, regarding it as antithetical to ecological integrity, gender equality or other vital nonterritorial concerns (Scholte 1999: 21). Global citizenship is a bit of a hard sell, however, in the world outside of activist circles. As Rosenau suggests, the idea of global citizenship may signal an aspiration rather than a real situation (Rosenau 1997: 276). Such hope is evident in the words of one campaigner who writes: ‘The realization of the continuum from local community citizenship to national citizenship and global citizenship is essential to the establishment of a sustainable global governance system’ (Kalaw 1995: URL). Essential, perhaps; but imminent? Surveys (at least within Europe) show that the ranks of idealists identifying themselves as global citizens are not rising: ‘national publics vary significantly in their support for the institutions and policies of the new world order, and the last thirty years has not seen the rise of a more internationalist orientation’ (Norris 2000b: 5). In any case, the notion of global citizenship rights has not yet taken hold of the intergovernmental crowd. Even when national citizens attempt to make claims on the basis of that identity, Citizens’ rights . . . are conspicuously absent from the World Bank’s extensive publications on participation. While NGOs and UN agencies have promoted citizen rights to access to information, participation and recourse . . . , the World Bank has rarely strayed from its practical and instrumental approach. Access to information is not discussed as a right or duty but as sound policy-making and project planning (Nelson 2002b: 15–16).

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As legitimation rules are generated, tested, and gain footholds as ‘conceptual frames,’ there are winners as well as losers. To date, despite cosmopolitan aspirations, the notion of global citizenship – let alone any rights it may bring alongside – has not yet taken hold.

4.2

Experts rule

A separate set of legitimacy rules – perhaps among the most complex – deals with claims to truth: ‘correctness’ in fact, interpretation, and conclusion. The rule implied here is: one who has the best expertise has greater legitimacy. Have a look at this editorial in The Financial Times, for instance, to find evidence of the invocation of this rule: Few [governments] have tried seriously to explain to voters why globalisation is happening, or is on balance beneficial. That has left the field open to energetic groups, whose public relations and lobbying skills have won a ready hearing with legislators and the general public. . . . It is here, rather than at the barricades, that the real battle is being waged. It will be won, not by pandering to globalisation’s opponents, but by insisting that a prosperous and stable world requires more, not less, open markets, stronger global rules and institutions – and much faster economic development (‘Globalization under fire’ 2000). These new ‘barricades’ involve a whole taxonomy of what counts as evidence: what do we know, how do we know it, and whose expertise is weightier than whose. In trawling through the legitimacy debates that surround expertise, there seem to be at least five qualities of ‘expert’ evidence that bear on the legitimacy of their proponents: rarity, validity, comparative credibility, balance, and disciplinary might. 4.2.1

Rarity

Some organizations have access to information of tremendous value to those they wish to influence. In some cases, the information is valuable because it is difficult to collect, such as Amnesty International’s and the Lawyers Committee for Human Rights’ verification of human rights violations (Risse 2000: 187). Indeed, ‘the UN acknowledges that its entire [human rights] programme would fall apart without the informationgathering and campaigning resources of NGOs’ (Bond 2000: URL). Similarly, information may be valuable because it is highly technical in nature, such as the knowledge provided by ICBL’s extensive network of small arms experts (Mekata 2000: 151), or the trade law expertise of

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the WTO-watching agencies. So valuable is such technical expertise that there are even examples where CSOs have trained Southern government officials in the rules of the new trade regimes: In the campaign to cut third-world debt, a handful of NGOs, including Oxfam, have become as expert in the minutiae of debt-reduction procedures as the bureaucrats at the IMF and World Bank. Increasingly, they have been co-opted into making policy. At the WTO, these technical NGOs (staffed overwhelmingly with lawyers) have concentrated on training and providing information on the arcana of trade law to delegates from poor countries (‘The Non-Governmental Order’ 1999: URL). Other examples are found in the world of environmental science, where expertise still lies largely outside the intergovernmental sphere. Among other skilled tasks, science-based CSOs assess the relative importance of environmental problems, weigh up the implications of various policy options, and monitor international agreements on the environment: Most international research or monitoring programs like UNEP’s [United Nations Environment Programme] ‘Global Environment Monitoring System’ or the ‘Cooperative Programme for Monitoring and Evaluation of the Long-Range Transmission of Air Pollution in Europe’ (EMEP) rely on participation of experts and research institutes that can communicate their concerns about increasing environmental problems to decisionmakers, to the public or ‘green’ NGOs (Breitmeier and Rittberger 1998: URL). Information can also be of special value when it is collected in a particularly comprehensive manner. One such case would be the inventorykeeping of the ICBL’s Landmine Monitor, ‘an inter-continental data-gathering apparatus which seeks to provide a nearly global database on the nature of the landmine problem (casualty rates, geographical mine surveys, assessments of services available to victims’ (Scott 1999: 7). Other monitoring and reporting – such as the Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch reports – generate information of a quality and comprehensiveness that governments individually cannot gather on their own. Some CSOs and think tanks add further value by serving a distillation function. Some have developed a niche as information ‘vetters’ that has proven useful to international organizations. These third-party evaluators

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‘have the expertise and access to information to ascertain and sanction the trustworthiness of other actors: for instance, the claims of NGOs; the compliance of corporations to international standards; or the human rights record of certain states’ (Stone nd: 10–11). Similarly, CSOs can draw on the work of think tanks to buttress their own case: Activist organisations like Greenpeace can draw upon the analysis of respected institutes such as World Watch to reinforce its own research or advocacy on sustainable development. Those who desire policy analysis that supports the case for a free trading system are likely to find policy options and analyses of high but accessible standard produced by organisations such as the Institute for International Economics. Alternatively, analysis that is broadly supportive of the interests of labour can be found in the Evatt Foundation in Australia (Stone nd: 18). Furthermore, information is considered valuable when it is highly specific, or accessible only to certain people under certain conditions. Indeed, for the intergovernmental agencies that fund projects directly with developing country communities, ‘local knowledge’ is considered crucial, but very difficult (for a host of reasons) to access. In such cases, ‘partnership’ becomes more than an accountability issue; it can be the key element in determining the validity of activists’ expertise. 4.2.2

Validity

However, not only must the information be of sufficient rarity for the CSO to gain legitimate standing, the information must also be seen to be consistently valid and accurate. When successful, the outcomes are remarkable: the quality of research by Partnership Africa Canada and Global Witness to restrict the trade in conflict diamonds, for example, was probably the crucial determining factor in their success (Smillie and Gberie 2001: 10). However, guarding the reputation for valid research, particularly in fields where the sources of information or the quality of the science are under debate, is a difficult task. In recent years, probably the most serious accusations of misreported evidence have been levied at environmentalists. Cases include the 1990s campaign to ban the trade in ivory that notoriously overestimated the scale of the population decline among African elephants (Princen 1995); the efforts against Norway’s whaling industry, that implied all whales were in danger of extinction from the fleet’s efforts (although only one species was hunted; Bond 2000: URL); and the debate over the banana industry

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in Costa Rica that involved dubious science on all sides (Bendell 2001: 37). The most infamous case, however, was Greenpeace’s 1995 campaign to prevent Shell from abandoning its Brent Spar oil platform in the North Sea. In the end, the group had overestimated the amount of hydrocarbons that might leak into the sea by a factor of 37. ‘Greenpeace later apologised for its mistake over the Brent Spar, but the incident underlined how scientific facts frequently play second fiddle to politics’ (Bond 2000: URL). Campaigners from other fields are not immune from similar criticism, of course: trade activists involved in the recent large-scale demonstrations around the WTO and Bretton Woods Institutions are often targeted. In comparison with the disputes over environmental science, the waters here are even muddier. How are contrasting critiques to be weighed in the soupy field of economic predictability? The legitimacy rule here has a number of variants. One version weighs up legitimacy on the basis of research interpretation. In debate with Seattle organizer Lori Wallach, for example, economist Edward Graham concludes his review of economic studies with the note that: Antiglobalism suffers from a fallacy of composition. Specific ills are noted by the antiglobalists, and some of these ills are indeed the result of globalization. These ills of course should be corrected where they exist. But antiglobalists then extrapolate from these to condemn all of international trade and investment as pariahs. This is as wrong as to conclude that, because a few people on the George Washington Parkway drive so as to endanger other drivers, anyone on the George Washington Parkway is in grave danger and therefore it would be in everyone’s interests to block access to this road (Graham 2001: URL). In other variants, activist legitimacy is questioned on the basis of insufficient or erroneous knowledge. In this way, Thomas Friedman argues that the anti-globalization movement is made up of ‘the well intentioned but ill informed,’ (Friedman 2001: URL), the WTO publishes a corrective piece on the ‘Seven Common Misunderstandings about the WTO’ (WTO 2000), authors Grady and Macmillan write a book intending to clear up ‘some of the misconceptions that are likely to arise when the loudest voices providing information on difficult economic issues are coming from those who know diddlysquat about economics’ (in Schmitz 2000: 26), and Carnegie’s Peter Simmons complains, ‘Today, in a phenomenon that one environmental activist bemoaned as the “rise

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of the global idiots,” any group with a fax machine and a modem has the potential to distort public debate’ (Simmons 1998: 90). The ‘global idiot’ critique is, evidently, intended to delegitimize. In some cases, the conflicts are based in ideological differences so profound that they cannot be resolved: apples and oranges. In other cases, however, there is a genuine problem with the quality of research. Part of the reason is that few CSOs are properly versed in rigorous research methods. Writes Save the Children’s Caroline Harper: ‘While NGOs can reveal the consequences of actions on the real lives of people, to be credible such evidence needs to be more than anecdotal. Ideally it should be backed by thorough research, skills still thinly scattered throughout the NGO community’ (Harper 2001: 248). Indeed, Osgood thinks this lack of (especially scientific) expertise is the most serious challenge facing the world of activists: ‘For many reasons, trusted expert capacity is the most critical issue global civil society faces in the next five to ten years. Without reliable expert information, governments and civil society will be handicapped in making recommendations, judgements, and policy’ (Osgood 2001: 102–3). Unsurprisingly, part of the activist response has been to increase research capacity, either through in-house investment or alliances with think tanks: In the 1990s, many of the big NGOs have significantly increased their own research capacity or made strategic alliances with academics and think-tanks to assure the quality of their research. But they have also kept firmly to their mantra of experience-based advocacy. Much of what they advocate, lobby and campaign on uses detail drawn from their own projects. This micro case-study approach is then added to the more macro analysis of academic and policy researchers to produce an advocacy discourse of personalised facts which claim to illustrate trends (Slim 1997: 7). This micro case-study approach – the use of real life, on the ground stories (itself a legitimizing approach) – is thus buttressed by the conventional research techniques employed by their target organizations. By meeting the legitimacy critique this way, activists have accepted the ‘validity’ rule but have sought to transform it to meet their own objectives. 4.2.3

Disciplinary might

Above and beyond assessments of validity, a related source of legitimacy comes from activists’ disciplinary credentials. Some CSOs are pulled up

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short as they migrate to issues that demand new expertise and new university degrees (or at least, new vocabulary): trade law, macro-economic policy, and genetic science, among other technical matters. Under this rule, legitimacy comes from belonging to the right group of experts, the same ‘epistemic community.’ While other species of legitimacy might be described as accumulative, accorded to organizations over time, this legitimacy is very much issuespecific: ‘an NGO may be considered a legitimate advocate when it is talking about a “technical” issue which it has a lot of expertise in, such as the latest developments in irrigation technology or family planning, but illegitimate when it expands its focus to reform of the WTO or environmental degradation’ (Hudson 2000: URL). Likewise, in his review of the influence of NGOs at the World Bank, Nelson finds that ‘NGOs’ legitimacy does not automatically transfer to financial or trade policy issues that are not directly related to development aid. NGOs were generally recognized, for example, as experts on the human and social costs of the Asian financial crisis, but not as important actors in the debate over causes and solutions’ (Nelson 2002c: 21). Meeting the demands of such issue-migration has generated significant research and writing by CSOs to facilitate crossover activism. Examples include WEDO’s primers on economic trends and institutions (WEDO nd), the Worldwide Fund for Nature’s policy work on the environmental impact of world trade (Williams 1998), and in a bit of an about-face, explanations of the globalization movement for economists, written in a language comprehensible to their discipline (such as Elliott 2002). Yet such crossover research is not enough; legitimacy is conferred more readily to those formally trained in the ‘right’ discipline. Economists pay more serious attention to other economists; geneticists to geneticists; and so on. Conversations across disciplines require some common vocabulary, some common acknowledgment of disciplinary truths before trust can be built and legitimacy for alternatives considered. Today, perhaps the most striking inter-disciplinary conflicts arise over biotechnology policy. Osgood writes particularly poignantly about the debate over GMOs: For good or bad, there are no clear leaders who are trusted, respected, and heard by all sides of the debate. Each ‘domain’ has its key ringleaders, but the other sides do not trust them. At best they are dramatis personae, but they are tainted by being viewed as biased experts in the field. More importantly, they are also involved in other work and are not perceived to be totally dedicated to the ‘cause’ of

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plant biotechnology. NGOs follow the international call of leaders such as Vandana Shiva, Jeremy Rifkin, Pat Mooney, and Peter Melchett, while scientists gather around fellow scientists of international acclaim who remain in the public sector, such as Peter Raven, Norman Borlag, and Swaminathan, a Nobel Laureate and authority on the Green Revolution. Lack of a common language and hence of agreed priorities prevents a leader from emerging, as there are few civil society leaders who ‘speak science’ and few scientists who ‘speak society’ (Osgood 2001: 103). One bridge between disciplines lies in agreement over what constitutes the ‘right’ evidence. The presentation of the right kind of evidence – the kind deemed appropriate and correct by the influencee, of course – is a necessary precondition to legitimated conversation. Throughout the cases we saw in Chapter 2, activists are adjusting their use of evidence better to cajole their opponents. One strategy has been to mine the accepted sources of evidence (approved statistics and policy reviews) to support alternative cases. Barry Coates of the World Development Movement, for example, responds to the liberalization debate using the source of evidence favoured by his opponents: the World Investment Report and the World Economic Outlook (Coates 2000: URL). Using such accredited sources of information in turn buttresses the credibility of information sources that activists are more accustomed to using: ‘Nongovernmental networks have helped legitimize the use of testimonial information along with technical and statistical information. Linkage of the two is crucial, for without the individual cases activists cannot motivate people to seek changed policies’ (Keck and Sikkink 1998: 21). Of course, successes do occur despite disciplinary disagreements over evidence. In the case of the Jubilee campaign, changes were brought about by the campaign’s strength in raising public concern, not because of its convincing economics. John Clark reports that: Paradoxically, the mass letter-writing and simplified presentation of arguments (without which there would have been no political climate for change) alienated and distracted senior Treasury officials who were allies in the cause of African debt relief. They had to cope with thousands of letters, scores of parliamentary questions, and the burden of briefing ministers for copious media interviews. As rigorous economists, they considered it misleading to compare famine assistance with debt relief – two unrelated financial flows. Asked some years

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later about Oxfam’s efforts, the Treasury Under-Secretary who was the brains behind successive debt-reduction initiatives said that ‘the campaign was well placed, and shameless’ (Clark 2001: 21–2). These ‘shameless’ tactics invoke the very rules about the legitimacy of evidence presented thus far: economists discounted the validity of the activists’ arguments, but they could not overcome their political legitimacy. In the shifting legitimacy game, some rules can be trumped by others. 4.2.4

Comparative credibility

A further source of legitimacy has less to do with the quality of the expertise provided by CSOs, but with the suspect quality of their contenders’ expertise or with their targets’ very existence. In this rule, CSOs may benefit from increased legitimacy simply because people have comparatively less faith in the governmental and business world. Certainly, NGOs are seen by most Northern publics to be more credible than official agencies and corporations (particularly so, perhaps, since the Enron and Worldcom collapses). A report based on the 1995 Eurobarometer poll reiterated that ‘NGOs are perceived as the most credible actors by the public and have a high visibility. Northern NGOs thus have a role in development education. They form a strong, perhaps the strongest, representative constituency of the South in donor countries’ (Box and Kruiter 1997: URL). Indeed, after Seattle, one of the world’s largest PR agencies held a conference entitled Taking NGOs Seriously where it announced results of a telephone survey of 500 US and 100 European and Asian ‘opinion elites.’ The agency reported that ‘the consensus was that NGOs have filled the information vacuum that exists due to low trust and confidence in government and business, therefore giving NGOs greater credibility’ (Fraser 2000: URL). In other polls, the same message is repeated – at least among Europeans. A 2003 poll by Edelman Worldwide found Amnesty International to be the most trusted ‘brand’ in Europe: 76 per cent of those canvassed said that they believed the campaigners. The Worldwide Fund for Nature and Greenpeace were runners-up at 67 and 55 per cent, while the least trusted was Monsanto (12 per cent), just behind Dow Chemicals and Goldman Sachs at 13 and 16 per cent. Interestingly, a mirror poll in the US found Microsoft and Coca-Cola topping the list at 56 per cent each, followed by McDonald’s at 55 per cent and the Worldwide Fund for Nature at 43 per cent, just above Greenpeace and AI, though well clear of Shell and Monsanto at 33 per cent each (Vidal 2003: URL).

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Despite such regional differences in trust, clear patterns have emerged around the perceived legitimacy of some corporations, due in large part to the impact of nongovernmental campaigning. Edwards and Zadek argue that ‘the moral legitimacy of business’ – particularly the corporate community – is a fragile affair. Repeated public-opinion surveys around the world confirm that business is distrusted when it comes to the public good (ranking together with governments, except in the case of the Nordic region where governments score far higher; Edwards and Zadek 2002: 12). Indeed, so valuable is CSOs’ moral credibility that efforts abound in the corporate world to attach their reputations to nongovernmental coat-tails: Unlike non-profits, brand identification and associated trust among businesses is often built around relationships with other organizations and individuals. . . . However, such trust remains little more than a distant cousin of a more deeply rooted moral legitimacy, despite attempts by leaders in corporate citizenship to attain the moral highground through substantive investment, change and collaboration with NGOs like Oxfam, Amnesty International or WWF (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 12). Not only have corporations sought cooperation with CSOs, they have also formed CSOs of their own. Unsurprisingly, that move has rankled activists at international meetings who are uneasy having chambers of commerce and industry groups meeting under the ‘civil society’ tent (even when such bodies easily meet UN accreditation rules). At an NGO meeting prior to the Beijing women’s conference, The women’s health organizations from the public interest sector adopted a resolution banning the participation of transnational corporations from their caucus meetings and asked that those organizations representing the infant formula, pharmaceutical, tobacco, pesticides and other industries meet in their own caucus in order to ensure that public interest NGOs were free to meet, reach consensus, set policy, plan and strategize without the presence and influence of organizations formed to protect the financial and business interests of their members. One NGO stated ‘it is unconscionable that people-centered groups should have to share their one channel to policy makers with profit-making concerns’ (Krut et al. 1997: URL).

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However, the ‘comparative credibility’ rule does not extend all the way around the planet. For many in developing countries and in the rapidly changing regions of East Central Europe and Central Asia, a justifiable sceptism reigns. Fowler points to the distortions created by the very aid system meant to help: The aid system has evolved to embody a number of deep lying illnesses or pathological traits that create perverse incentives, debilitating and corrupt behaviours and a ‘suspended’ layer of southern NGDOs. These factors combine to work against best practice, a high level of achievement and gaining public trust. For example, in Russia and countries newly independent of the Soviet Union, NGDOs are too often perceived as covers for organised crime. In Pakistan and Bangladesh, some NGDOs are seen to serve as fronts for externally funded fundamentalist causes [while] in Central Asia they are utilised as platforms for failed politicians. Simply put, nowhere in the world can growth of NGDOs be equated with pubic recognition or trust in who they are or what they do (Fowler 2002: 5, references omitted). Not only is such scepticism alive on the ground, it abounds in intergovernmental corridors. Here, the comparative credibility rule is applied on a case-by-case basis. Writing about the World Bank, Nelson emphasizes that ‘NGOs’ credibility with international authorities – officials of G7 countries and major international organizations – depends as well on their ability to participate in substantive policy debates with these agencies’ (Nelson 2002c: 26–27). When that ‘policy debate’ capacity is deemed to exist, a measure of legitimacy is doled out. When critics deem the contribution to be ‘unsubstantial,’ however, the assessment is profoundly delegitimizing. When The New Republic wrote about the protests in Washington, it complained that the protesters lacked ‘a deeper critique of global capitalism,’ and were motivated by ‘an inchoate fear of trade in general,’ concluding that ‘their moral impulse is commendable, but the worldview that undergirds it is delusional’ (in Beatty 2000: URL). Whether or not the protesters are ‘delusional,’ international agencies and corporations are certainly aware of the war of comparative credibility that they are facing – and sometimes losing. For globalization activists, this legitimizing credential is a powerful, if fragile, asset. 4.2.5

Balance

A further rule argues that activists who show ‘balance’ in their recommendations are considered more credible than those seen to be

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narrow-minded. This ability to weigh up a wide range of considerations raises their legitimacy, at least in the eyes of the beleaguered international bodies, searching for allies. For instance, the mission statement for the UN’s Global Compact identifies eligible CSOs as those with a ‘proven ability to make a substantive contribution; [and] the ability to transcend a single-issue orientation.’ The reason for those criteria? Jessica Mathews writes: For all their strengths, NGOs are special interests, albeit not motivated by personal profit. The best of them, the ablest and most passionate, often suffer most from tunnel vision, judging every public act by how it affects their particular interest. . . . A society in which the piling up of special interests replaces a single strong voice for the common good is unlikely to fare well (Mathews 1997: 64). Not only are ‘single-issue orientations’ apparently bad for the common good, they may also generate ‘unreasonable’ advice. Take a look at this example from the coverage of the MAI campaign (in an article titled in part ‘the clash of civilizations’): Much of the anti-MAI sentiment on the Internet presents barely credible worst-case scenarios as fact. As the OECD discovered, much to its chagrin, there are no controls on the Net over who can ‘publish’ or what they can say. Although some of the arguments – the Preamble Collective’s, for example – are balanced and reasoned, most of the rest are neither (Kobrin 1998: 107). These invocations to CSOs for better balance in their assessments are full of interesting politics. First, lack of ‘balance’ may simply be evidence of ideological dissonance (apples and oranges) that may be impossible to resolve: my ‘unreasonable’ position would only seem reasonable if you shared my understanding of the global system. Second, such hopes for balanced proposals may also be wishful thinking: it is not the job of issueoriented groups to balance the interests of other groups in the public interest. That balancing job is surely what we expect of our governments, however much easier it would be to have contending politics ironed out prior to decision-making. Nevertheless, that ‘ironing-out’ may be part of the trade-offs necessary for organizations that wish to get closer to the top: Citizens’ movements often draw criticism because they have the luxury of thinking only about their supporters and a single issue.


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Governments have to think about the entire population and have to balance competing issues, just as international organizations must respond to their member governments’ constraints. As campaigning organizations move closer to real power, they must face up to these trade-offs in order to retain their credibility. For example, now that the German Green Party shares political power they have become much more nuanced about economic growth and energy needs. On the other hand, too much realism dulls the sharp edge of idealism needed to carve out new approaches in the policy arena (Clark 2001: 22). In the end, while assessments of balance may increase the legitimacy rankings of some CSOs, the cost of ‘dulling the edge of idealism’ may be too high for others.

4.3

Experiential evidence

A further species of claims to legitimacy is made on another basis of evidence: if one practitioner is part of an organization with X years in the field or Y history with such-and-such organization, she can therefore speak legitimately on such-and-such an issue. That evidence can come from eyewitness recounting from local communities or from long-term experience with intergovernmental processes. Such experiential evidence differs from other sources of expertise because of its link to the field – it draws from the legitimacy of the grassroots rather than the legitimacy of the academic or political world. 4.3.1

Grassrootedness

Chapman and Fisher note that experiential evidence is one of the most important bases for self-legitimation for CSOs that work with the grassroots (Chapman and Fisher 1998). It is yet another aspect of the legitimizing rules around partnership and victimhood – in this form, it draws from the authenticity of an organization’s direct experience: For many of the NGOs I spoke to it was their experience of working at a grassroots level, implementing projects and programmes in a wide range of contexts that gave them the legitimacy to advocate about development issues. In fact this is the main basis for claims to legitimacy, which, in varying forms, was used by more than 50% of the NGOs I interviewed (Hudson 2000: URL).

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‘Grassrootedness’ matters in turn to large agencies because it generates valued skills or attributes that can be applied to their own work. One such skill is innovation. In a handbook for World Bank officials, for instance, Malena notes that ‘given their small size and flexible nature, NGOs are generally well placed to develop and experiment with new approaches and innovative practices. . . . Oxfam’s program of “water harvesting” in Burkina Faso, for example, served as a model for Bank operations in soil and water conservation throughout the Sahel’ (Malena 1995, Chapter 2: URL; see also Malena 1996). Other lessons learned from CSOs, grassroots experience include project uptake, project reach, sustainability, participation, consultation and ‘voice’ (Malena 1995, Chapter 2: URL). Scholte, drawing up a similar list about the IMF, includes: intelligence gathering, public relations, and funding (that is, not having CSOs stand in the way of funding replenishments) (Scholte 2002). Canadian Trade Minister Pierre Pettigrew, reflecting on the protests around the 2001 FTAA/OAS meeting in Quebec City, focuses on the link between grassrootedness and the quality of trade policy: ‘I have the utmost respect for these groups, which often achieve the impossible with very few resources. They also defend the interests of the most vulnerable members of society and play a crucial humanitarian role. . . . Unquestionably, civil society organizations can help us develop better policies’ (Pettigrew 2001: URL). For globalization activists, such assessments are signs of significant legitimacy victories. 4.3.2

History, longevity, and precedent

Yet another form of experiential legitimacy is derived from historical or corporate memory. In some UN fora, NGOs have a longer institutional memory of the processes and debates underway than many of participating governments: They generally have ready access to more information and invest quite heavily in preparing their positions. As a result, governments have often found NGO briefing sessions quite useful. G-77 governments consult some SNGOs [Southern NGOs] on strategies and negotiating positions and may even involve them in drafting official negotiating positions and background papers (Alexander and Abugre 1998: 11). Hudson found that some 15 per cent of the NGOs he interviewed cited history as ‘a source of legitimacy for their advocacy activities. Such NGOs


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spoke of their institutional survival, their track record and reputation. Whilst such attempts to use history to support legitimacy claims might seem simplistic and inconclusive they do play a role in affecting which organisations are taken seriously’ (Hudson 2000: URL). Those histories also serve to set precedent, another factor that shapes the legitimacy of activists’ work. Throughout the case studies reviewed in earlier pages, we have seen a once-uncommon practice – CSO participation in intergovernmental debates, committees, and organizations – become de rigueur. In the case of Japan, for instance, long hesitant to recognize the status of NGOs working inside the country, these changing international norms have altered domestic policies: The changing international context in the late 1980s and 1990s provided new opportunities for citizen groups in Japan – and worldwide – to gain greater legitimacy and attention. With the passage of time, the inclusion of IDNGOs [International Development NGOs] and NGOs in Japanese ODA and foreign policy has become more than a simple unilateral reaction by the bureaucracy to the international environment – it is now a more complex process of international pressure backed by domestic pressures and demands (Reimann 2000: URL). In this way, grassroots and institutional experience combine with precedent – in a ‘virtuous circle’ of reinforcing practices – to strengthen the legitimacy standing of global activists. For those without such experiential credentials, the sledding is considerably more tough.

4.4

Moral authority

While there is ample dispute over the rules discussed thus far, perhaps the most disputed is the rule of moral authority, the last set of rules examined in this chapter. It is in this realm that the greatest of legitimacy claims are forged. Indeed, Chandhoke suggests that: Global NGOs have become influential simply because they possess a property that happens to be the peculiar hallmark of ethical political intervention: moral authority and legitimacy. And they possess moral authority because they claim to represent the public or the general interest against official- or power-driven interests of the state or of the economy (Chandhoke 2002: 41).

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This public interest orientation is the strongest part of the rule, but there are variations on the rule that bear closer examination. This final section thus takes a closer look at the idea of moral authority in terms of the public interest, common standard, and united front. 4.4.1

Public interest

Defining ‘the public interest’ is no easy task, especially in such an ideologically torn debate: who is to say what policies are ultimately beneficial? When The Economist claimed that some 5 billion people were ‘the real losers’ from the Seattle demonstrations, it questioned whether the protesters were genuinely on the side of the poor against the multinational companies, the exploiters, the polluters. But ‘ask yourself, first of all, what the developing countries, gathered in Seattle, thought of this. They hated the idea’ (‘The Non-Governmental Order’ 1999: 15). The gist of the critique – and the legitimacy rule drawn from it – lies in the ambiguity of the public interest: Although many civic activists may feel they speak for the public good, the public interest is a highly contested domain. Clean air is a public good, but so are low energy costs. The same could be said of free trade versus job security at home or free speech versus libel protection. Single issue NGOs, such as the National Rifle Association and some environmental groups, are intensely, even myopically, focused on their own agendas; they are not interested in balancing different visions of the public good (Carothers 1999–2000: URL). The response to the public interest rule (and the near impossibility of resolving it) has had several variants. Most common, but perhaps least satisfying, has been reiteration of the ‘values orientation’ of ‘global civil society’ as proof of its altruistic pursuit of the public interest: ‘The reassertion of the primacy of civil society calls for the articulation of a set of universal human values. The current crisis of morality is being countered by inspired and value-based citizens’ actions worldwide’ (Darcy de Oliveira and Tandon 1994: URL). Not only do such value statements serve to mark out CSO identity, they also to mark out the constrasting identity of others: We have come here to build bridges between people who want to reclaim their future, to disobey the institutions that run the current, self-destructive system of global economic, political and military governance, and to take their own power in their hand in order to

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construct a different world (Statement by Prof. Nanjundaswamy at the G8 demonstration in Cologne 1999, cited in Foster 1999a: 138). Despite the mobilizing force of such statements, basing legitimacy on adherence to ‘values’ is slippery ground. As Edwards remarks, ‘the assumption that NGOs are values-based organizations is often used to demonstrate their comparative advantage in some areas of development work, in contrast to governments and businesses . . . injecting values such as equity and non-discrimination, the rights of current and future generations, and their own visions of justice and emancipation into markets, politics and social action . . . But is this true?’ (Edwards 1999: 258–9). For one, values are rarely elaborated above and beyond broad statements such as ‘human-centred’ or ‘progressive.’ Such terms are more useful as motivating rhetoric than as descriptors of a group’s actual activity: The sorts of individual and organizational commitments to which the term ‘value’ is applied are not ‘givens.’ They do not have essential and permanent meanings, prior to and independent of context. Values usually belong to someone or some group, and the values that are acclaimed as ‘core’ or ‘underlying’ tend to be those of the people exercising power. Moreover, these commitments are constantly discovered, absorbed, reconstructed, elaborated, selectively emphasized, and above all used – with an eye to internal and external legitimacy (Paton 1999: 136). Secondly, on a more practical level, some of the oft-mentioned values are very difficult to integrate consistently in organizational daily life. What does being ‘human-centred’ mean in practice? Edwards argues that few organizations examine how those values actually shape how they do their work. Real-life trade-offs affect all values. When, for instance, does the value of ‘accountability’ mean contractual accountability to service delivery, and when does it mean accountability to a broader goal of popular democratization? (Edwards 1999). Thirdly, it becomes impossible to determine whether any body – Greenpeace, the World Bank, or The Body Shop – is, indeed, ‘valuesdriven’ and driven by values of the right kind. If simple statements of value-identification are sufficient (‘we work to eradicate poverty’), then no one can be counted out. Obviously, debates are had all the time about such claims and counter-claims; the problem is that there is no way to tell whether ‘values’ do or do not drive such-and-such organization.

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As a practical organizational marker, being ‘values-driven’ distinguishes pretty poorly between the apples and oranges of public interest. 4.4.2

Common standard

A second moral authority rule takes up where the ‘public interest’ rule leaves off. Whereas the debate over ‘public interest/values’ is too often voiced at an unsatisfying level of abstraction, the ‘common standard’ rule is much more grounded. When an organization promotes a commonly accepted standard of behaviour (such as the protection of human rights), its very existence gains legitimacy. In this case, the ends justify the organization: An NGO or human rights group’s wider legitimacy is morally derived. An organisational mission to challenge and end human rights violations is derived explicitly from a moral case based on the values of human equality, dignity, impartiality, justice, freedom and personal and collective responsibility. This moral case gives human rights organisations and NGOs an ethical legitimacy that resonates with the moral reasonableness of people across the world. Expression and recognition of this fundamental morality is essential to an organisation’s legitimacy (Slim 1997: 10). Certainly, many organizations make legitimacy claims for themselves on this ground. Hudson’s survey of British development NGOs, for instance, found that some 15 per cent claimed legitimacy for their work based ‘upon the idea that the position being advocated was a basic right, a moral or ethical principle or value, or had been agreed upon in an international code of conduct’ (Hudson 2000: URL). When that common standard has been codified in international law, the legitimacy of organizations seeking to uphold it is strengthened further still. When activists opposed the Narmada dam program, for example, they cited ILO Convention 107 that acknowledges the right of tribal peoples to the land they traditionally occupy and guarantees them equal land if and when resettled (Khagram 2002: 213, see also Fox and Brown 1998). Reference to this convention, along with calls for the project to adhere to existing World Bank resettlement policy, were ‘critical to the empowerment of [the] transnational reform coalition’ (Khagram 2002: 217). Of course, critics have been sceptical about the motivations even of organizations that promote commonly accepted norms. Clifford Bob, for instance, questions the ethics of some recent campaigns, wondering

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whether they are not cynical strategies for generating more attention and more funding. The Ogoni in Nigeria, he suggests, changed their focus from minority rights to concerns about Shell’s ‘ecological warfare’; Guatemala’s Rigoberta Menchu emphasized her indigenous identity, rather than her association with a violent rebel movement, in collecting international support; and Mexico’s Zapatistas changed their emphasis from socialism to anti-globalization, launching their movement the day that NAFTA came into effect (Bob 2002). Such questioning is to be expected and welcomed. The making of important moral claims and counterclaims is part of a framing effort to identify normative standards for all actors. For activists interested in seeing the terms of engagement shift, the consolidation of those frames is a crucial prerequisite for change. 4.4.3

United front

Yet a third set of moral authority rules is derived from the consistency of argument and the extent of cooperation across the field of civic protagonists: morality implies universal answers, not varied ones. While divisions are to be expected among activists, they nonetheless undermine (in some eyes) the moral authority of the broader movement. Harvard Professor Joseph Nye writes, The protesters are a diverse lot, coming mainly from rich countries, and their coalition has not always been internally consistent. They have included trade unionists worried about losing jobs and students who want to help the underdeveloped world gain them. . . . Some protesters claim to represent poor countries but simultaneously defend agricultural protectionism in wealthy countries (cited in Pettigrew 2001: URL). Other accusations of inconsistency or lack of cooperation are not hard to find. In the early 1990s, sharp divisions arose out of the campaign to get the US government to cancel further funding to the World Bank’s International Development Association. In 2000, Oxfam and Greenpeace broke ranks with other protesters advocating 50 Years Is Enough (Nelson 2002a: 147). About human rights NGOs, Baehr writes: ‘As soon as the provision of facilities in conference centres and the right to take the floor at intergovernmental gatherings, let alone the provision of financial aid, are at stake, NGOs ostensibly working for similar aims may become fierce competitors’ (Baehr 1996: URL). Kidder, in her analysis of the NAFTA campaign, points to the impact of inconsistent ‘framing’

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efforts: ‘some unions spoke of protectionism and national sovereignty; others used a discourse of transnationalism and the collective identity of workers’ (Kidder 2002: 280). The rule here suggests that if activists cannot agree on a united position, there are fewer reasons to listen to what they have to say. Certainly, these divisions pose problems for those interested in building momentum. Musing on the fallout from the Seattle protest, activist Lori Wallach is described as being ‘not entirely heartened by developments since Seattle 1999, citing the rise of internal disputes over “sectarianism” and “egoism” since the movement reached prime time. The emphasis on localism, and its philosophical corollary of anarchism, limits her role as a prime mover and shaker, while critiques of the whiteness of the movement makes alliance-building both essential and difficult’ (in Hayden 2002: URL). The horizontal character of the movements – and the explicit decision not to try to generate a party line – here comes up against a real legitimacy crunch. As Goodman writes about the MAI protests, ‘the network approach reflected the need to avoid establishing a strong central direction with a clear political “line”, as this could alienate NGOs with differing politics, and encourage political power struggles’ (Goodman 2001: 223). While movements have made these strategic decisions to tolerate diversity (and competition), many activists nonetheless recognize the delegitimizing effect of the kaleidoscope approach – and perhaps even make a point of skimming it over. Speeches remain full of exaggerated statements by ‘we, Civil Society’ that do not hold up well to scrutiny. At a recent Commonwealth meeting, for instance, a group of CSOs pronounced that, ‘in this regard, we are compelled to state that the output of the UN International Conference on Financing for Development, the Monterrey Consensus, is a consensus of governments and not of civil society’ (Commonwealth Civil Society Statement 2002). One wonders what kind of consensus is possible across the horizon of civil society. Some sympathetic critics think that part of the ‘united front’ problem is a lack of a United Nations equivalent for CSOs, a place to build a negotiated common agenda: NGOs and business lack an equivalent to the United Nations through which their differences might be resolved, or even debated to a conclusion. The result – demonstrated by the NGO declaration to the World Conference Against Racism in Durban, South Africa in 2001 – is a rag bag of particularistic views in place of a sense of the

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negotiated common interest – precisely the outcome that is supposed to emerge from civil society in its role as an arena for public deliberation between competing ideas (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 10). Of course, for many internationally-active CSOs, the UN has served the function of bringing people together to form remarkable consensus on other issues: witness the consistency of recommendations brought forward in the Rio and Beijing conferences. Still others question whether any such common agenda-building is possible, or even desirable. Witness this report by Naomi Klein of a conference meant to resolve the lack of ‘unity of vision and strategy’ guiding the movement: This was a very serious problem, we were advised. The young activists who went to Seattle to shut down the World Trade Organization and to Washington, DC, to protest the World Bank and the IMF had been getting hammered in the press as tree-wearing, lamb-costumed, drumbeating bubble brains. Our mission, according to the conference organizers at the Foundation for Ethics and Meaning, was to whip that chaos on the streets into some kind of structured, media-friendly shape. This wasn’t just another talk shop. We were going to ‘give birth to a unified movement for holistic social, economic and political change.’ As I slipped in and out of lecture rooms, soaking up vision galore from Arianna Huffington, Michael Lerner, David Korten and Cornel West, I was struck by the futility of this entire well-meaning exercise. Even if we did manage to come up with a ten-point plan – brilliant in its clarity, elegant in its coherence, unified in its outlook – to whom, exactly, would we hand down these commandments? (Klein 2000: URL). Obviously, the ‘unity problem’ touches on a range of organizational and strategic aspects within the globalization movements: Who does and says what (and is seen to do/say so)? how are coalitions built and unbuilt? and how are the movements presented to the broader public as well as to their targets? It is not surprising, then, that responses to the unity problem are therefore often made in three very different ways. The first response argues that any expectation of unity is an unwarranted diversion from real legitimacy concerns. The logic goes like this: diversity is crucial for democracy and civic cacophony is the only guarantee against the oligopoly of massive corporate or state interests.

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Keane, for instance, complains that critics ‘overlook or understate the advantages of the heterogeneity of global civil society. It resembles a bazaar, a covered kaleidoscope of differently sized rooms, twisting alleys, steps leading to obscure places, people and goods in motion’ (Keane 2001: 40). Kriesberg makes a similar point: A homogeneous, tightly ordered world is not to be expected or desired. Diversity is needed and, in any case, will always remain. TSMOs [transnational social movement organizations] arise from that diversity and contribute to its flourishing. The multiplicity of TSMOs is a source of significant cross-cutting ties that help mitigate destructive conflicts. As a totality, TSMOs help form global civil society. For a legitimate, egalitarian, and democratic international system to exist, underlying pluralistic social groupings must develop (Kriesberg 1997: 18). The second response is that there is consistency in the broad message, if not in all the details. Thus, groups share ‘an aspiration for justice, equity, supremacy of human rights and environmental concerns in contrast with the search for profit at all costs’ (Lefrancois 2002: URL). Globalization thus becomes an ideological meeting point, and ‘values’ return as a common – if not always very strong – thread of unity. For activists eager to defend their moral authority, assertions of their own values are important (for their own motivations, as well as for public promotion), but also dangerous. While the promotion of values such as justice, equity, supremacy of human rights, and environmental concern is clearly desirable, mere recitation of a catalogue of desired virtue is not enough. Moral authority comes from doing as much as saying – issues taken up at length in the chapter to come.

4.5

Conclusion

These four sets of rules are shaping how we think about the world and about the actors in it. Along with the representation rules discussed in the last chapter, they constitute powerful guidelines for the conferring of legitimacy on globalization activists: guidelines that vary from critic to critic and are often disputed, both inside and outside the movements. The chapter has tried to illustrate how, in the first case, activists lay claims and counterclaims based on the rights of the legal person, the victim, as well as the global citizen. In the discussions around CSO expertise, similarly conflicting assessments shape rules around the rarity,

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validity, disciplinary might, comparative credibility, and balance of CSO research and recommendations. Further rules around different kinds of experience generate still further debates, although none so ferocious as the disputes over CSOs’ moral authority in pursuit of the public interest, promotion of common standards, and cohesiveness of a united front. In this way, the chapter demonstrates an important set of rules that are ‘on the table’ – the ones that show up in rules for accreditation, in manifestos, and in rallying speeches. The next chapter turns to take a look at another set of legitimacy rules, those that are rarely put on the table but nonetheless have a powerful influence on the games being played.

5 The Legitimacy Game: The Hidden Rules

Chapters 3 and 4 discussed the host of ‘official’ rules pulled out in the global legitimacy game but there are others – equally if not more powerful – that are at work under the table. This chapter looks at those hidden conventions in the continuing investigation into the rules of the legitimacy game.

5.1

Walking the talk

Do organizations do what they say they are going to do? And in the way they say they will? Legitimacy is also conferred – or removed – by the match between an organization’s methods and message: ‘moral authority derives not only from the objectives but also from the means adopted,’ says Johnson in her review of the disarmament movement’s tactics ( Johnson 2000: 77). There is much cynicism on this point; witness the irreverent glossary in Figure 5.1, compiled from the work of sympathetic academics. The Danish aid agency offers a typical catalogue of similar complaints: some CSOs display neglect or outright discrimination towards women; some promote agendas of foreign states, governments, and multinational corporations; some excel in bureaucracy and waste; some act as middlemen for other interests and consequently disempower local communities; and some market poverty for institutional self interest (MS 2000: URL). The repercussions of this real and perceived behaviour on the part of some organizations are felt by all. Note the lament of NGO writer Richard Holloway, While serious and committed NGOs certainly need to think how they can adapt themselves to the rapidly changing nature of the 103

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BONGOs BRINGOs

CRINGOs

DONGOs

GONGOs

GRINGOs MONGO Figure 5.1

Business-Organized NGOs Briefcase NGOs: people with briefcases full of proposals who masquerade as NGOs. They have no organization behind them, and no constituency. If the proposal is agreed, they may either disappear with the first installment, or put together whatever minimum is required to keep the donor happy while pocketing the majority. Criminal NGOs: those who use the legal form and structure of an NGO to indulge in criminal activity, most often smuggling or phony tax-free imports. They are shell companies that do not attempt to do any useful development work. Donor-organized NGOs: These shell NGOs are set up by foreign donors to carry out their own programs without the complexity of having to negotiate with indigenous NGOs. Government-organized NGOs: using the legal form of an NGO in order to carry out governments’ own plans for which they cannot find other funding. Government-run NGOs My Own NGO An alternative glossary

Source: Adapted from Krut et al. (1997).

globalizing world they live in, a probably more serious problem is how to preserve the NGO sector as a group of morally and ethically responsible people in the face of so many who are using it for their own private and selfish ends (Holloway 1999: 4). The dignitaries from the Commission on Global Governance plead for similar integrity: Representatives of civil society need to recognise that with rights and powers must come responsibilities. Their organisations, as well, must maintain high standards of accountability, transparency and integrity if they are to maintain public confidence and are to be treated as full partners in the shaping and implementation of public policy (Carlsson and Ramphal 1999: URL). Yet what do critics really mean when they comment on such challenges to integrity? Walking the talk involves at least these three specific rules: amateur professionalism, organizational austerity, and effectiveness. 5.1.1

Amateur professionalism

The first (contradictory) rule is that CSOs ought to behave professionally but be staffed by non-professionals and volunteers (indeed,

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CSOs with a large contingent of volunteer workers are considered especially legitimate). Witness this excerpt by commentator Thomas Friedman, for instance, whereby unionists’ salaries are apparently an obstacle to their legitimacy: ‘the fact is, virtually all the leaders who met in Quebec to expand trade were democratically elected, while “the people” in the streets clamoring for “justice” were self-appointed or paid union activists’ (Friedman 2001: URL). There is evidently a special virtue attached to a volunteer that is missing from paid staff members, a sign of genuine commitment rather than pecuniary interest. Even within the various movements, this preference is expressed repeatedly: David Korten’s influential typology of NGOs, for instance, relied heavily on the ‘voluntariness’ of their organizations as a sign of their genuine nature (Korten 1990). Yet as Smillie notes, most development NGOs at any rate have very few volunteers: NOVIB (the Dutch member of the Oxfam family), Radda Barna (Save the Children Sweden), or Médecins sans frontières would not qualify as progressive organizations under Korten’s criteria (Smillie 1995: 32). Demands for volunteerism also clash with concurrent demands for ‘professionalism’ (including sound scientific research) within those same organizations. High quality service delivery, research, administration, and accountability systems are considered increasingly important, and as Smillie reports, many development agencies have made improvements in mission statements, personnel policies and procedures, budget and performance reviews, computerized accounting, and external audits – all part of the ‘professional’ repertoire (Smillie 1995: 150). At the same time, this increased professionalism has led to criticism on different grounds. One study by researchers at Birmingham University found ‘that British-based groups are expanding, raising their profile and becoming ever more responsive to the demands of donors, less so to the people whose interests they seek to serve. With more time and effort being spent on producing the right kinds of reports, activists are doing less to ensure that their efforts are participative and gender-sensitive’ (Wallace et al. 1998). Likewise, Roe (1995) criticizes international advocacy as a debating exercise among members of a ‘new managerial class.’ As Nelson concurs, ‘Lawyers, scientists, economists, and anthropologists based in the offices of NGOs in the industrial capitals are, by virtue of class origin and academic training, part of the same elite as the staff of the World Bank’ (Nelson 2001: 63). Obviously, there is also a perceived problem of too much ‘professionalism.’ For activists seeking to scale up their effectiveness, and maintain their street cred at the same time, these contending rules are hard to negotiate.

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5.1.2


Austerity

Related demands on NGOs insist on institutional austerity. Legitimacy is conferred – or withheld – according to the financial asceticism of the organizations and activists involved. Note this criticism from one: Since September [1999], the world’s jet-setting social reformers and poverty advocates have had barely a moment to catch their breath [from traveling around the world]. It’s enough to make even the most passionate crusader question his or her commitment (and make the rest of us wonder when these self-anointed saviours of the planet find time for the noble works they insist are their real mission) (Gunter 1999a: URL). This excerpt from The Economist makes a similar jab: In the past, such groups sought no profits, paid low wages – or none at all – and employed idealists. Now a whole class of them, even if not directly backed by businesses, have taken on corporate trappings. Known collectively as BINGOs [Big NGOs], these groups manage funds and employ staff which a medium-sized company would envy. Like corporations, they attend conferences endlessly. Fund-raisers and senior staff at such NGOs earn wages comparable to the private sector (‘Sins of the Secular Missionaries’ 2000: URL). These comments on the wealth of activist organizations have a powerful delegitimizing effect. Perceptions of austerity are important because the public (as well as institutional funders) want the vast majority of money gathered to go directly to the promised activities or beneficiaries. And, while many of the networks involved in globalization protest are not fundseeking bodies, many are. For those agencies, perceptions of low overhead costs deeply affect their legitimacy ratings: Charities are supposed to be run on a shoe-string. Administrative costs are supposed to be as close to zero as possible, the lower the better. The American business magazine, Money, ‘rates’ charitable organizations every year, usually against only one criterion: the cost of overheads. . . . This is like saying that the Lada is the best car in the world (or the most efficient) because it is the cheapest (Smillie 1998: 189). While the austerity imperative is meant to weed out crooks, it also poses serious risks for honest agencies. Governmental and international


donors’ insistence on low overhead forces CSOs to cut corners on necessary and legitimate costs such as planning; the recruitment, selection, and support of personnel; procurement and shipping; programme monitoring, reporting, and evaluation; financial management and reporting; and public relations with governments, other multilateral agencies, and the media (Smillie 1998: 190). When funds from private donors – individuals like you and me – are then used to bridge the gap, ‘NGOs run the very serious risk of being charged with false advertising and losing the very basis of their existence’ (Smillie 1998: 191). CSOs that work in the public eye recognize the importance of ‘financial transparency’ and low overhead to their credibility, and have undertaken a variety of mechanisms to improve their image, including the establishment of codes of conduct and quasi-official monitoring bodies (Beishon 1999: 11). The austerity rule thus invokes significant changes in behaviour among organizations eager to maintain their legitimacy standing in the public – and funder’s – eye. 5.1.3

Effectiveness

Of course, even more crucial to an organization’s legitimacy status is a positive assessment of the effectiveness of its work – however ‘effectiveness’ is defined. Among the nongovernmental global actors, the work of development NGOs has been under the closest scrutiny. The 1980s and early 1990s saw a great bout of official enthusiasm for NGOs, a ‘New Policy Agenda’ that emphasized NGOs’ special roles in poverty alleviation, social welfare, and the development of civil society. This enthusiasm rested in part on the (disputed) grounds that NGOs are more efficient and cost-effective than governments, giving ‘better value-for-money, especially in reaching poor people,’ and because they are effective promoters of democratization (Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). After such adulation, NGOs not surprisingly faced a counter-attack. Smillie refers to the backlash as ‘altruism under fire’ (1995), while Denham speaks of myths and ‘half-truths’ (1997). Indeed, one set of commentators complain: ‘Getting beyond the shibboleth of pristine NGOs is a necessity, not yet superfluous because many saintly images still permeate much of the hagiographical literature and the views even of informed publics’ (Smith and Weiss 1998: 252). Recent evaluations show a more balanced picture of development-NGO performance. The 1990s saw a spate of large evaluations all asking ‘just how effective are they?’: Finland (Riddell etal. 1994), Norway (Tvedt 1995), Sweden (Riddell and Bebbington 1995), Australia (Kershaw 1995), Canada (Fortin et al. 1992, Smillie and Rowe 1997), the US (General

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Audit Office 1995) and the UK (Cameron and Cocking 1993, Sur 1995); as well as review studies by the Overseas Development Institute (Riddell 1990, Riddell and Robinson 1992, Farrington and Lewis 1993), the International Institute for Environment and Development (Bebbington and Mitlin 1996), and the OECD (OECD 1997) (see also van Dijk on the Danish, British, and Dutch evaluations, 1995). Of course, coming up with an aggregate measurement of NGO effectiveness is a nearly hopeless task – akin to asking ‘how nice are people?’ – but in smaller doses, the results are fairly consistent. The general finding: on average, most projects meet their immediate goals and have an impact on alleviating poverty; but few can reach the very poor, be sustained beyond the funding period, or provide services at a significantly lower per-person cost than government services (Robinson 1992: 31–2, Oakley et al. 1998). For many it is hard to say even that much: impact data is often partial or missing altogether. Overall, few could be said to be successful in generating larger goals of social transformation (Smillie 1998: 194–5). Then again, quelle surprise. The findings could hardly be otherwise: Smillie points out that ‘working with poor people who have few assets and who live on marginal land, NGOs know that effectiveness and efficiency in human development is not nearly as straightforward as the building of dams, roads and bridges’ (Smillie 1995: 158). Fowler, similarly, complains about the ‘linear production process’ used to plan development projects: real social change just does not happen in a tidy linear fashion (Fowler 1996). Edwards and Hulme likewise point to the problems involved in measuring performance particularly if the objective is ‘empowerment’ and many of the factors that influence NGO performance lie outside the control of the NGO concerned (government policies, for example) (Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). Effectiveness remains a criterion for legitimate standing, however. When relief agencies bungled their coordination efforts after the 1994 Rwandan genocide, they were quick to put their house in order. A keen awareness of the repercussions on their legitimacy generated a host of new mechanisms to maintain their status in the public eye: ‘a Code of Conduct; a Humanitarian Charter and set of technical standards; a not-quite Ombudsman called the Humanitarian Accountability Project (HAP); a new emphasis on the quality and transparency of evaluations; an active learning network gathering and sharing the lessons learnt from humanitarian operations (ALNAP), together with initiatives to explore quality models and professional accreditation’ (Slim 1997: 5). Here, and in other cases of codes of conduct reviewed in later pages, we see the invocation of a powerful legitimacy rule. Perceptions of effectiveness (including coordination) are crucial.


5.2

Qualifications of leadership

A group’s legitimacy fortunes also rest on the personal characteristics and skills of its leader. Not only do elite skills contribute to an organization’s legitimacy assessment (ability to speak English, understanding of Northern NGO tactics and preferences, party-political savvy about donor governments, and so on), but so also does the less tangible factor of charisma. For any organization, the public personality of its leader makes a profound difference to the organization’s legitimacy standing – whether or not that reputation is deserved. 5.2.1

Elite skill

Sad, but true: entire organizations are judged on the basis of the skills and attributes of its (often sole) leader. An ability to speak English is particularly crucial, although French and Spanish will also do in UN and OAS circles. Conversational skills using the key development phrases (empowerment, gender equality, partnership, and so on) are probably as important as technical prowess in debating trade rules or debt forgiveness. A keen political awareness of the party-political tensions of donor/member governments involved in foreign intervention probably also helps (especially in lobbying the US Congress). Such skills aid the cause through better media messaging, broader alliances among Northern organizations, and improved campaign strategies and timing – certainly, all desirable outcomes for organizations seeking an international role. Yet such skills are not developed accidentally. Sometimes, leaders come from the same class as their adversaries, and have attended the same universities and travelled in the same political circles. In other cases, leaders who are new to the international battleground undergo training, regularly organized by other CSOs: The Unrepresented Nations and Peoples Organization in the Hague regularly holds intensive, week-long media and diplomacy training sessions for its member ‘nations,’ replete with role plays and mock interviews, helping them put their best foot forward in crucial venues. (Among others, Ken Saro-Wiwa praised the program for teaching him nonviolent direct action skills.) One of the most elaborate programs is the Washington, D.C.-based International Human Rights Law Group’s two-year Advocacy Bridge Program, which aims to ‘increase the skills of local activists to amplify their issues of concern globally’ and to ‘facilitate their access to international agenda-setting venues’ (Bob 2002: URL).

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However, perhaps the most important skill is impossible to learn in a training program. The leader’s skill in forging a common bond (even under adversarial relations) with counterparts in the intergovernmental or corporate world is repeatedly mentioned in the civil society literature. In interviews undertaken after the 1992 Rio Summit, for example, ‘bonding’ between activists and officials was credited with many changes in the final conventions (Van Rooy 1997; see also Scott 1999, 2001 on the findings during the landmines convention). Not surprisingly, however, these common bonds also generate a legitimacy burden of their own. As the book has hinted elsewhere, such easy rapport raises suspicion of elitism, of disconnectedness with those genuinely affected. In Russia, for instance, there has been a rise of professional organizations ‘whose leaders can speak adeptly about concepts such as gender discrimination, advocacy, and civil society. Yet the segment of NGOs that speak this transnationalized language is extremely limited, and often detached from the grassroots concerns of most of domestic society’ (Sundstrom 2003:148). Similarly, in an unhappy example from Thailand, Scholte reports: I have in my time seen the meeting of one of the leading figures of the ‘antiglobalization’ movement with local militants in Thailand. I’ve seen this leader speak to those traditional fishermen, to these landless peasants, to these city-outcasts, in English – making simultaneous translation mandatory – about structural adjustment, the conditionality forced upon nations by the IMF and the rules of industrial property. After which he grabbed his suitcase and ran to catch a plane, without a chance for discussion . . . Even if this is an extreme example, one must be aware that this type of situation exists (Scholte 2003: URL). Another critic, writing from the site of the 1995 Copenhagen conference, complains that: In terms of mind set, modes of thinking and methods of living . . . [NGOs are] no different from the governments and multinational agencies which fund them. They use the same hotels, drive the same cars, drink the same wine together in the evening and commute together back and forth [to the meeting halls] (Hiralal Desarda, cited in Rosenau 1997: 336). Of course, there is no necessary reason why elite bargaining might not generate very good solutions entirely in the public interest. The rule,


however, implies something else: while it is crucial that an organization’s leader can work in the world of her opponents, she must avoid being tarred with the feather of elitism. 5.2.2

Charisma

Yet another personal attribute of importance is charisma: a charismatic leader can raise the profile of a given issue, make a stronger case for action, and win more influential allies. Civil society watcher Mary Kaldor points to the highly influential role of leaders Bernard Kouchner with Médecins sans frontières, George Soros with his Soros Institute, Morton Abramovitz of the Carnegie Endowment, and Aryeh Neier of Human Rights Watch in the success of their own organizations (Kaldor 2001: 110–11). Yet in other instances, personality-driven leaderships can tarnish an organization’s legitimacy. Writing on the indigenous movements of Latin America, for example, Brysk warns that ‘charismatic leadership is also fragile and overcentralized. One of the movement’s leading international symbols – Paiakan – has had his international effectiveness compromised by an unresolved scandal involving rape charges in Brazil’ (Brysk 1994: 44). Although unrelated to the work of his organization, the charge affected the credibility of the whole enterprise. In a similar warning, Smillie points to the dangers of ‘the ageing, charismatic leader who, two or three decades on, still runs the organization by personal fiat, sometimes as though it were still small, sometimes as though it were a family enterprise, rarely challenged by staff and seldom checked by trustees’ (Smillie 1995: 151). Such was the case with one Indian NGO funded by the Dutch NGO NOVIB: in 1994, after years of support, a double-bookkeeping system was discovered whereby several million dollars had been squirreled away, possibly to set up an endowment. The leader’s personal control over the organization kept the deception hidden for years (Smillie 1995: 151). Again, in this instance, leadership credentials work both ways: charismatic leaders can improve the legitimacy of their organizations, but they can also gravely endanger their organizations’ standing. Here, as elsewhere, the legitimacy rules require a very fine balancing act from global activists.

5.3

The marketplace of appeals

A third bundle of hidden legitimacy rules is wrapped around fundraising practices: Do CSOs unduly compete with each other for meager funds,

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hence undermining the vision of the united front? Are organizations led by funding carrots to pursue ‘moral’ goals of someone else’s choosing? In raising money, do they misrepresent their work to the public and manipulate the media? Such questions affect the legitimacy of all globally active organizations dependent on someone else for their bread and butter. 5.3.1

The business of fundraising

Competition is a fact of life for most fundraising organizations. As Smillie notes, ‘competition between NGOs for the hearts and minds of donors is not new. But as the years passed, with the advent of more and more NGOs, with a growing need for development money and an increasing number of disasters, and with a prolonged recession in the early 1990s, competition has increased’ (Smillie 1995: 116). Such friction has generated some of the most profound questioning of activists’ legitimacy. The director of the One World Foundation, for example, noted (the one instance) when one NGO partner refused to allow their photograph of fleeing Rwandan refugees to illustrate an article by another NGO partner, because the first one didn’t want any donations their picture might help trigger to go to the second one. We had to remind them politely that, even if this happened, both sets of donations would be going to aid the same refugees. Weren’t the refugees’ needs paramount? (Vittachi 2000: URL). In a Somalian example recounted by The Economist, similar questions are raised: ‘Once little more than ragged charities, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) are now big business. . . . “Anybody who’s anybody is an NGO these days,” sighs one UN official. And not just in Somalia. NGOs now head for crisis zones as fast as journalists do: a war, a flood, refugees, a dodgy election, even a world trade conference, will draw them like a honey pot’ (‘Sins of the Secular Missionaries’ 2000: URL). The charge? Such critics complain that the honey of foreign funding determines where and what CSOs do. Of course, most globally active organizations have always had difficult decisions to make about which campaigns to pursue, projects to support, policies to oppose, and organizations to lobby. In a world of many challenges, how to decide? Undoubtedly, the availability of funding is a factor, but other considerations are also put on the table. Bichsel, interviewing a member of the Environmental Defense Fund, describes


that agency’s considerations when launching a campaign against the World Bank: (1) Is there an active local constituency in the South that desires a partnership? (2) Is the case an example of flawed policies in an entire sector or country department, so that it could be used to push through institutional reform? (3) Is there strong opposition within the Bank owing to failure on its part to adhere to its own policies, leading to leaks to NGOs and allowing them to build a stronger case? (Bichsel 1996: 251). In Keck and Sikkink’s examination of the work of human rights organizations, other equally justifiable criteria for action are presented: (1) issues involving bodily harm to vulnerable individuals, especially when there is a short and clear causal chain (or story) assigning responsibility; and (2) issues involving legal equality of opportunity (Keck and Sikkink 1998: 27). In these instances, strategic choices are made according to clear value statements and assessments of the opportunities for success. However, where critics see funding opportunities as the prime mover for activism, rightly or wrongly, a new legitimacy rule is put into practice. 5.3.2

Media and market share

A related accusation is that CSOs manipulate the media in order to generate coverage and thus guarantee continued funding. Clifford Bob’s ‘Merchants of Morality’ offers such stark criticism: ‘The groups that reach the global limelight often do so at dear cost – by distorting their principles and alienating their constituencies for the sake of appealing to self-interested donors in rich nations’ (Bob 2002: URL). The same accusation was made in The Economist about humanitarian organizations gathered in Goma in 1994: Tens of thousands of refugees from Rwanda, who had flooded into Goma, depended on food and shelter from the UN High Commissioner for Refugees and from NGOs. Their dramatic plight drew the television cameras and, with them, the chance for publicity and huge donations. A frantic scramble for funds led groups to lie about their projects. Fearful that the media and then the public might lose confidence in NGOs, the Red Cross drew up an approved list of NGOs and got them to put their names to a ten-point code of conduct (‘Sins of the Secular Missionaries’ 2000: URL).

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Of course, members within the globalization movements are keenly aware of the importance – and dilemmas – of media relations. Bond traces the public relations temptations that face NGOs today back to the 1992 Earth Summit, where 9000 journalists (twice the number that had attended any other UN meeting) put the media spotlight on the CSOs gathered there (Bond 2000: URL). That prominence can be crucial for the success of NGO work, particularly in human rights protection: ‘the “mobilisation of shame” is greatly dependent on media exposure. Politicians in general and governments in particular are more likely to be persuaded to act on behalf of human rights in the face of media attention or the threat of it’ (Baehr 1996: URL). However, Baehr also warns of the dangers of pursuing publicity: Such stunts may include pop music performances by well-known entertainers, television shows, on occasion sponsored by commercial firms, or imitations of human rights violations such as torture or isolated imprisonment. The limits of what is acceptable in this sphere and the ethics of accepting company money for such purposes are often hotly debated within the organizations (Baehr 1996: URL). In particular, concerns are raised about the marketing of poverty as a fundraising strategy. Smillie describes such ‘poverty pornography’ as: ‘the use of starving babies and other emotive imagery to coax, cajole and bludgeon donations from a guilt-ridden Northern public. The argument is not that starving babies don’t exist, but that such pictures, repeated year after year, create an image of horror and helplessness that far outweighs reality’ (Smillie 1995: 136). Indeed, in at least one case, a developing country’s government expelled an NGO for displaying such images: the ‘Rwandan government expelled a European agency for using a pathetic photograph of a Rwandan child in one of its campaigns without first consulting the Kigali authorities. The agency’s officials were flabbergasted. No “beneficiary” country had ever dared demand that kind of respect’ (cited in Rieff 1997: URL). In addition to questions of accuracy, publicity ethics, and effectiveness, these kinds of representation have important legitimacy repercussions: if you are not representing us as we wish to be represented, then you are not working in partnership with us. The Southern accountability link – a core aspect of legitimacy for organizations wishing to make an impact on other global institutions – is broken.


5.4

Purity and independence

Yet another set of legitimacy rules questions the ‘purity’ of a given organization: How independent is it from government (or other authorities’) pressures? How independent is it from the pressures imposed by funders, whether governmental, nongovernmental, or business? Perceptions of independence are crucial for organizational legitimacy, but nearly impossible in a world where the sources of funding and political support are always inter-woven. 5.4.1

Political independence

Legitimacy is conferred on or removed from organizations in proportion to their perceived political independence. If X is suspected of playing the tune of a political patron, her views may be granted scant attention: Networks and movements . . . need to be seen as not personally interested in acquiring political or economic power, or as too linked to government or industry. It is exactly because these groups are neither political parties nor interest groups in the classic sense of the word, or representing the political or economic interests of a particular group, that they acquire moral authority (Sikkink 2002: 313). In a similar vein, Mbogori notes that ‘African NGOs face rigorous security vetting to ensure that they are not motivated by political interests and are often wrongly accused of instigating political opposition’ and ‘find it hard to shake off the image that they are puppets of the northern donors and are therefore easily dismissed by political tacticians’ (Mbogori 2003: URL). Indeed, so powerful is the norm of independence that some organizations have designed their whole modus operandi around its preservation. Take Amnesty International (AI) as the prime example: originally designed so that each local group would adopt three political prisoners (one each from a Western, communist, and developing country, and none from their own country), AI’s ‘principle of balanced neutrality toward the various types of political regimes served to quickly establish the moral authority of Amnesty, together with its meticulous research and information-gathering activities’ (Risse 2000: 181). For most organizations, however, such independence may be impossible. Carothers and Ottaway, in their critical book on Funding Virtue, cast a skeptical eye on the assumption that CSOs can be apolitical. ‘Civil society actors, which supposedly seek to make their countries better by influencing government policies but not by seeking power, can thus

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appear to make up an antipolitical domain, a pristine realm in which a commitment to civic values and the public interest rules in place of traditional divisions, beliefs, and interests’ (Carothers and Ottaway 2000: 12). Such pristine realms, of course, rarely exist in the real world. After all, political independence is a more nuanced notion than the mere absence of overt puppeteering: What about the tensions surrounding registration of CSOs – a legal process that can be crucial in guaranteeing rights, but one that demands that a group be recognized by their state? In an example from Egypt, a professor from Cairo University argues that it may be impossible to be seen as politically independent in Egypt and have financial support from abroad: Support for civil society is limited, however, to the narrow band of organizations that qualify as nongovernmental under the Egyptian government’s restrictive NGO law. As a result, U.S. aid excludes many of the groups that constitute the most vibrant elements of Egyptian civil society . . . In short, U.S. support for civil society in Egypt – a highly worthwhile cause – ends up colored by partisanship, hypocrisy, and self-interest, precisely the opposite values of those that underlie the civil society ideal (Al-Sayyid 1999–2000: URL). And what about innumerable instances where organizations negotiate with officialdom and constantly make demands and concessions? Are they to be considered politically independent? As Baehr points out in the work of human rights organizations, Access to government officials is tremendously important to human rights NGOs, yet should not be gained at the risk of losing independence. Access is a two way process. It allows human rights NGOs to put their views to government officials, but these officials in turn will of course also use the opportunity to try to influence the NGOs. There is admittedly a thin line between having access and guarding the independent position of an NGO in order to show that it is not working to advance a particular government’s interests (Baehr 1996: URL). Such considerations make ‘political independence’ difficult to define in practice, despite its powerful influence on an organization’s legitimacy ratings. 5.4.2

Financial independence

Earlier sections discussed the ethics of fundraising as an element in legitimacy, but a further set of questions surrounds the very fact of outside


support itself. Is external support corrosive to legitimacy? Does outside funding undermine an organization’s independence? As Edwards and Hulme ask, The increasing funding of NGOs by official donor agencies thrusts the question of legitimacy into center stage, for if NGOs are becoming more responsive to external concerns, are substituting for government and are growing larger on the basis of foreign funding, what is happening to the links – to their values and mission, and to their relationships with ‘the poor,’ supporters and others – through which they derive their right to intervene in development? (Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). After all, there is a lot of money floating about the international system. Collectively, support to NGOs from all sources has grown spectacularly (see Figure 5.2). In 2001, for instance, the ‘gross outflow’ from NGOs was in the order of US$7.6 billion (and had, after the Rwandan massacres, risen to US$8.7 billion). Indeed, so much money is floating about parts of the international NGO system (indeed, the Development

10 9 8

US$ billions

7 6 5 4 3 2 1

19

6 19 9 7 19 0 7 19 1 7 19 2 7 19 3 7 19 4 7 19 5 7 19 6 7 19 7 7 19 8 7 19 9 8 19 0 8 19 1 8 19 2 8 19 3 8 19 4 8 19 5 8 19 6 8 19 7 8 19 8 8 19 9 9 19 0 9 19 1 9 19 2 9 19 3 9 19 4 9 19 5 9 19 6 9 19 7 9 19 8 9 20 9 00 20 01

0

Figure 5.2 Gross outflow from NGOs. Net recorded disbursements from all OECD countries, US$ billions, 1969–2001. Source: OECD, Development Assistance Committee (2003: URL)

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Assistance Committee figures under report flows) that official agencies complain about their relative poverty: ‘We have less money and fewer resources than Amnesty International, and we are the arm of the U.N. for human rights’ noted Ibrahima Fall, head of the UN Centre for Human Rights. ‘This is clearly ridiculous’ (noted in Mathews 1997: 53). Those amounts are frequently cited to explain why the number of NGOs in some countries has skyrocketed: Within the market-driven aid system, the availability of outside resources is generally seen as a, if not the, major stimulation to NGO growth in Africa and Asia, and the former Soviet bloc as well as to continued expansion in Latin America where vital components of civil society had developed earlier. For example, in a recent survey of local NGOs in Bangladesh, Ethiopia, Nicaragua, and Zimbabwe that received support from Norway, over 50 percent had been created since 1980 and 25 percent since 1990; and the availability of Norwegian seed money was one of the main explanations (Weiss 1999: 15). This skyrocketing, not surprisingly, also generates legitimacy questions. Ottaway and Carothers’ studies on the impact of aid on NGOs found that ‘civil society organizations that accept donor support often come under suspicion or are seen as less legitimate and authentic than organizations that receive no external support’ (Ottaway and Carothers 2000: 15). Bratton concludes that the African NGOs he studies find it difficult to perform as effective policy actors because their own governments can dismiss them as ‘dancing to the tune of a foreign piper with no legitimate right of entry into domestic policy debates’ (cited in Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). Such perceptions of dependence feed into an existing fear among CSOs that reliance on funding from one’s own government (or from international agencies) will distort one’s work. Edwards and Hulme hypothesize that official funding encourages NGOs to become providers of services on a much larger scale than thitherto, regardless of their comparative advantage; compromises their performance in institutional development and advocacy, among other areas; weakens their legitimacy as independent actors in society; distorts their accountability away from grassroots and internal constituencies; and overemphasizes short-term, quantitative outputs (Edwards and Hulme 1998: URL). In another example, Rucht’s study of environmental groups argues that ‘dependency on EU subsidies has had a moderating effect’ on criticism (Rucht 1999: 206), while Smillie has no doubt at all that:


The contracting ethos has weakened domestic non-profit organizations in many countries. In Britain it has damaged the advocacy work of NGOs in two ways. The money available for advocacy has been reduced because of what one NGO worker calls the overwhelming pressures ‘on management and other staff time of meeting the demands of the contract culture’. But there is another problem which strikes at the essence of what nongovernmental organizations are all about: ‘NGOs cannot afford to campaign as before if, in doing so, they now place at risk their capacity to win contracts for services or to have their grant-aid renewed’ (Smillie 1995: 173). Recognizing these doubts about their real and perceived independence, various proposals have been floated among CSOs for getting out from under the thumb of funders’ preferences. Fowler, for instance, presents social entrepreneurship (creating commercial approaches and enterprises that generate social benefits as well as surpluses; Fowler 2000). Another response has been to establish codes of conduct that directly respond to these challenges (Pinter 2001). Still another reaction has been to question the premise of the legitimacy challenge itself: Does outside funding of itself necessarily undermine the work of an agency? That assumption may not hold in the political culture of all countries, for instance: the ideal of ‘immunity from government may be a reflection of the American pluralist ideal, and is quite different from, say, the ideal of Swedish corporatism’ (Smillie 1995: 32). Still, such ‘immunity’ from government (and other questionable sources) is considered a valuable legitimizing asset. For organizations seeking entry and influence into public hearts and intergovernmental (and corporate) corridors, it is well worth pursuing.

5.5

The primacy of public security

A final set of not-so-hidden legitimacy rules looks at the role of violence in the globalization movements, and how that factor has gained in importance since the attacks on the US in September 11, 2001 and the subsequent ‘war on terrorism.’ What kinds of direct action are now too direct? Earlier incidents of stone-throwing and retail vandalism around World Bank, IMF, The World Economic Forum, WTO, and other meetings raised criticism at the time, but since 9/11, those tactics have come under increased scrutiny. Such scrutiny has a powerful impact on perceptions of legitimate action on the global stage.

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5.5.1


Violence

It may be that the prime rule arising out of the last decade is that demonstrator violence delegitimizes the cause, the organization, and the movement(s) writ large. Although the debates over the media value of direct action continue within the movement, there seems to be remarkable consistency in assessment outside: advocates are dismissed on the grounds of ‘their predisposition to violence and irrationality’ (BrandJacobsen 2001: URL). Yet the word ‘violence’ is often used imprecisely. What constitutes violence in the eye of the observer? Is obstruction of roads, knocking over of security fences, and damaging private property to be included, or is the term limited to causing physical harm to another person? Within the movements, militant nuisance-making is considered an important tactic, such as the widely practised ‘shut it down’ goals for global meetings, for instance: Clearly, the militancy of the demonstrations has successfully focused media – and, to some degree, public – attention on the institutions of global economic governance. There is also growing recognition by global leaders that the negative impacts of globalization need to be addressed. Seeing this success, antiglobalization groups have adopted ‘shut it down’ strategies at international meetings of globalization forums and institutions. The hope is that successive Seattle-modeled protests will increasingly delegitimize the institutions of global governance and draw in greater numbers of disaffected citizen groups, coalescing into a truly international movement that can turn around globalization (Barry 2001: 15). But as we have seen in Chapter 2, there are vivid debates within the movements about the tactical value of retail vandalism and retaliatory rock-and-molotov-cocktail-throwing against the police. In an optimistic effort to overcome the movements’ ‘inability to control violent fringe groups’ (Väyrynen 2000: 1), new ‘principles for peaceful protest’ have been developed for subsequent events (Longworth 2001). The reasons for opposing such ‘diversity of tactics’ have focused on three major objections: alienating supporters, distorting the message, and generating crackdown. So argues one activist: The ultimate case against protest violence is that it is as stupid as it is counterproductive. It alienates potential sympathizers instead of bringing them onside. It stifles and distorts the important message


we want to convey. And it gives increasing legitimacy to the use of police-state violence to quell the protests and even to crack down on basic civil rights. . . . The groups that favour and engage in violence are the protest team’s weakest links. The sooner they’re voted off, the better (Finn 2001: URL). This last factor – police-state violence and crack down – is of particular significance. In the sad majority of reporting on demonstration violence, it seems that protesters are presented as sole culprits (Giuffo 2001, FAIR 2003). While a small number of protesters have undoubtedly undertaken vandalism and attempted to harm police officers, the greatest violence has been received by activists at the hands of on-site security forces. Figure 5.3 tallies up the toll from recent events: while Genoa was the site of the first protest death in 2001, there was precedent in the few preceding years. In the protests over the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation forum (APEC) meeting in Vancouver in 1997, for instance, nonviolent protesters were pepper-sprayed (a scandal that was pursued in the courts for years following). In Prague, there were reports of police brutality, including beatings and other torture, denial of food and water, sexual assault, and refusal of medical attention (originally at http://prague. indymedia.org). In Genoa, the allegations included 300 beatings, humiliations, stripping, insults, threats of rape, denial of food and water, and forced singing of fascist songs (Morris and Carroll 2001: URL, Carroll 2002) – causing one set of commentators to conclude that the Italian police had set ‘a new standard in all-out repression’ (Glasius and Kaldor 2002: 90). Indeed, even cases from Seattle were yet to be settled four years later. Given that history, it is important, although nearly absent from media reports, that more recent gatherings – such as the 2002 European Social Forum (ESF) held in Florence with 60,000 participants, or the 250,000 who turned up in Barcelona for the 2002 EU summit – have had no incidents of violence. One commentator snubs the pre-forum anxiety of Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi this way: The Berlusconi government had done everything possible prior to the ESF to generate a climate of hysteria and fear. A second Genoa would have suited it just fine, in order to divert attention from domestic political problems. Berlusconi had forecasted the destruction of art works in the Renaissance city by talibanized hordes, and spoken of the prohibition of the ESF. The neofascists of the ‘Forza Italia’ in the government had agitated for weeks in the style of the ‘Stürmer’,

50,000– 100,000

Comparative damage report.

a few; at least one seriously

230–300; one killed

280

16,000 police and 3,000 standby soldiers; allegations of beatings, humiliations, stripping, insults, threats of rape, and denial of food and water

26–80

At least 70; 320 11,000 plus 5,000 standby soldiers used tear gas, batons, dogs, and complaints water cannons lodged

1,300

859

at least one, Hundreds of police plus 200 National Guard and 6,300 State troopers; used none tear gas, concussion bombs, and shot seriously rubber pellets into crowds; report of one case of torture under detention

Total Injured

none known

At least 30 injured; broken bones and teeth; rubber bullet wounds

Total No.

About a dozen 3,500 police and additional reserves fired tear gas; in one incident, clubbed and kicked demonstrators

630

Total Total Injured Arrested

Police

Source: Indymedia.uk, Giuffo 2001, FAIR 2003, Morris and Carroll 2001, Carroll 2002, Glasius and Kaldor 2002, Cook 2000, No Compromise 1999, Harry Bridges Center et al. 2001, ‘Washington Gears Up’ 2000, Light 2000, ‘Davos Braces’ 2003; and Malaguti 2001.

Figure 5.3

100,000– 250,000

Genoa 2001 200 threw cobblestones and Molotov cocktails; estimated $40 million in damage

About 10,000 ‘hundreds’ threw cobblestones and molotov cocktails, carried iron bars and wooden sticks, broke windows and set cars alight

‘dozens’

‘dozens’ to one hundred broke shop windows of brand-name retailers, and spray painted banks and investment houses; estimated $3 million damage

Total No. Responsible for Violence

Prague 2000

Washington 10,000 2000

Seattle 1999

Total No.

Protesters

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for example, with caricatures of demonstrators with hooked noses, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a hammer and sickle in the other. The ‘Corriere della Sera’ brought a hate filled contribution from the disaffected leftist, Oriana Fallaci, for the start of the Forum. Under these influences many stores in the historic old part of the city nailed their windows shut (Wahl 2002: URL). In the end, there was no reason to have been concerned. Even the most radical members of the Forum (the Disobediente and the Tute Bianche) marched in a disciplined manner along with everyone else. Indeed, as the next section explains, the days of the mass serial protest, and its associated conflicts with security police, may well be over. 5.5.2

War on terrorism

After the attacks on Washington and New York in 2001, the public discussion of protest violence took on a new tone. Any sign of threat to public safety, however exaggerated, was simply not tolerable. Martin Wolf of the Financial Times, for instance, wrote in the week after the bombings: The anti-globalisers will rail. Let them. The time for paying more than passing attention to their antics is over. Certainly, those anti-globalisers who wish to be taken seriously will have to divorce themselves publicly and completely from the violent anarchists, some of whom already blame this terrible crime on US promotion of global capitalism. The protesters were always wrong in their opposition to trade liberalisation. Now is the time for policymakers worldwide to show they reject such dangerous obscurantism (Wolf 2001: URL). Even more disturbingly, the hotheaded Italian Prime Minister wondered out loud whether there was a ‘singular coincidence’ between the anti-globalization protesters and the terrorist attacks (in Ayres 2003: 38–9). In a similar vein, a professor from the London School of Economics wrote that ‘we are far too much used to thinking of NGOs as peaceful, friendly helpful bodies. Many people characterise civil society and by extension global civil society as the benevolent institutions of the non governmental sector. But the Mafia is an NGO or INGO and so are Al Qaeda, Hizbollah, Hamas, Islamic Jihad’ (Desai 2001: URL). Keenly aware of this change of tone, activists were quick to revise their strategies. When the World Economic Forum moved its annual meeting from its Swiss retreat to New York, the usual anti-Davos protest was muted. According to The New York Times: ‘some in the protesters’

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ranks said they could have done more property damage, but ultimately rejected that tactic because they did not feel it was appropriate after Sept. 11’ (cited in Rashbaum and Baker 2002: URL). It was as if, almost overnight, ‘the state became a welcome buffer against the anxiety and uncertainties of a new age of biological attacks and a war on terrorism,’ and hence was to be glorified, rather than challenged: ‘international activists initially hunkered down in a retreat-and-reflect mode, increasingly questioning the viability of their repertoire of protest tactics’ (Ayres 2003: 38). It is vividly evident that the kinds of opposition considered ‘just,’ and ‘right’ and ‘legitimate’ have come under a closer microscope by activists themselves. Should new and ongoing campaigns be repositioned? Are the priorities right? Have political openings closed down? At a meeting held just two weeks after the attacks, US-based CSOs expressed fear that ‘any form of dissent against the government may be construed as an act of terror’ and that ‘the globalisation-resistance movement built up since Seattle, Prague and Genoa may now start to lose momentum. Many felt that the movement which had been gaining a decent level of legitimacy may now be undermined’ (Bretton Woods Project 2001: URL). Indeed, many of those fears did materialize. Around the world, new laws were put into place and ‘people are killed, tortured and arbitrarily detained. Civil liberties are under siege. Dissidents are labelled as “terrorists” and silenced. Human rights organizations are harassed by police and intelligence agencies. Emergency measures are implemented at the detriment of respect for the due process of law. . . . Alarm bells are ringing’ (Almeida and Lipsett 2002: URL). Even in countries where globalization activists have little fear of imprisonment, the constraints generated by the change of mood are real. Professor Tom Spencer, reporting on a meeting of the Commission on Global Governance, concludes that: The events of September 11th have fractured the coalition of coincidences which gave the anti-capitalist demonstrations from Seattle to Genoa their extraordinary political influence. The media now have a better story, in which they themselves are the front line. The frisson of anarchist violence that accompanied the demonstrations now looks tame by comparison with the calculated horror which bin Laden has wrought. The old far Left has lost the cover of a popular broad coalition into which they could insert their dusty nostrums. The opportunists of the campaign, the trades unions and the mainstream NGOs, who were happy for the riots to promote their causes up the political agenda while they washed their hands of the violence, are


now reassessing their involvement. The campaigning anti-globalisers will need to reassess their strategy and seek to assess how far they have been fractured into their American, European and Southern components. Everyone however recognised that the world had changed (Spencer 2001: URL). Or had it? In many ways, the attacks on the US, the War on Terrorism, and the invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq all did shuffle the priorities of the globalization movements. Broad public sympathy around the bombings, accompanied by widespread concern over the invasions, had turned many nonprotesting types into activists. Demonstrations against the war in Iraq in particular were attended by people new to the global stage (mothers with strollers, grandmothers, men in suits) and from many more parts of the globe: After the bombing of Afghanistan began, the anti-war mobilisation swelled, with tens of thousands of people demonstrating in Berlin, Cairo, London, and Madrid, and even higher numbers walking in two peace marches in Calcutta, India and Perugia, Italy. Smaller demonstrations took place in various cities in Australia, Brazil, Denmark, Greece, Indonesia, Japan, Kenya, Lebanon, New Zealand, Pakistan, South Korea, Sweden, Turkey, and the United States (Glasius and Kaldor 2002: 18). As one commentator reported after the first European Social Forum, ‘the movement has emerged from the shadow of violence’ and ‘has successfully built a bridge to the theme of war and peace’ (Wahl 2002: URL). This bridge makes sense, according to George Monbiot, another writer and activist: ‘There is no question that the anti-war movement is a priority because something is happening that needs to be urgently responded to. And in many ways, what’s going on in Afghanistan is a concrete example of some of the more abstract things [such as unfair labor or trade practices] that many of us were protesting against’ (Baker 2001: URL). Eager to regain public prominence and acceptance, globalization activists’ embracing of the strengthened peace movement is both ideologically consistent and entirely strategic.

5.6

Conclusion

This chapter’s review of the ‘hidden’ legitimacy rules covers complaints that rarely make it to official accreditation criteria or to codes of

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conduct, but they are commonplace nonetheless. Amateur professionalism, organizational austerity, and effectiveness assessments are meant to determine whether CSOs are ‘walking the talk.’ Leaders’ skills and charisma make enormous differences in the legitimacy credentials of their organizations. CSOs’ marketing and media reputations make for further rankings, as do perceptions of political and financial independence. Nowhere are the hidden rules more evident, however, than in public perceptions (and antagonists’ views) of violence within the movements. As the ‘war on terrorism’ has focused on still more targets and widespread public uncertainty mounts, the globalization movement may be taking this political opening to reframe their message and tactics once again – perhaps before they lose the global legitimacy game altogether. Like the other rules highlighted in earlier chapters, these more-or-less subterranean rules serve as measuring sticks against the work of today’s globalization critics. As Hugo Slim, a longtime commentator on the civic world, argues: ‘simply being part of the new sacred space of “civil society” is not enough to guarantee an NGO’s legitimacy’ (Slim 1997: 10). Other rules evidently apply.

6 The Crisis of Global Governance and a Compromise Solution

As the world becomes ever more tightly integrated, rapid economic, political, and technological changes create urgent new needs for global rules. Those needs raise pressing questions about who gets to make the rules (Yamamoto amd Mathews 2000) Now is the time to give NGOs a formal role in global governance so that ‘we the peoples’ can play our proper part in shaping the century to come (Edwards 2000) The preceding chapters illustrate the legitimacy rules now applied to the work of global activists. Sometimes contradictory, never evenly applied, and always under dispute, these rules are shaping the global legitimacy game of our new century. The debate is thus more than an academic exercise; it matters deeply how we create, and control, the decisionmaking bodies of our world. This chapter therefore turns away from the legitimacy critiques made of globalization activists, and begins to look at the legitimacy failures of our global system itself. Is there a fundamental legitimacy problem in the work of our global governors? If so, in what ways does it manifest itself? In reviewing these charges and the various theories and proposals put forward to meet them, the discussion sets up the rationale for another proposal elaborated in this final chapter: Supplementary Democracy. 127

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6.1


The crisis of global governance

The accusations made by activists of their intergovernmental and corporate targets usually focus on X, Y, or Z policy or practice, but oftentimes extend to the very legitimacy of their targets’ existence as global players. The core of these challenges focuses on the democratic deficit or representative failure of these institutions, either in their own governance, or in the cumulative failures of their member governments or shareholders. As we shall see, however, those failures are nearly inevitable in our current global architecture. What kind of democracy are we talking about? The lowest-commondenominator definition describes democracy as those institutions that oblige governors to be accountable to the governed in some way: the governed must thus participate in their governance (Fierlbeck 1998: 179). As Scholte continues, Through democracy, members of a given public – a demos – take decisions that shape their destiny jointly, with equal rights and opportunities of participation, and without arbitrarily imposed constraints on debate. In one way or another, democratic governance is participatory, consultative, transparent and publicly accountable. By one mechanism or another, democratic governance rests on the consent of the governed (Scholte 2001: 6). Yet even in the smallest democratic units, there are always impediments to such participation (lack of time, money, education, and information; Solomon 2001: 59–60), and obstacles to the subsequent accountability of governors. Globally, these two problems – inadequate participation and accountability – are multiplied a billion-fold: in the modern world, it is increasingly difficult for the citizen to be engaged meaningfully in global decisions. After all, democracy at its distant Mediterranean origins was a way for a small number of property-owning men to debate in their small collective interest. By necessity, the expansion of decision-making institutions (from cities to states to multi-state unions and beyond) lengthens even further the chain between the many who are governed and the few who are governors. In the long voyage from voter to member of parliament, party, cabinet, parliament, supra-parliament, and IGOs, the distance between the individual and what is done on her behalf on the international stage is even greater (Keohane and Nye 2001: 5–6).

The Crisis of Global Governance

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This simplistic point bears repeating. In an increasingly complex world, even in strong democracies, it is incredibly difficult for the citizen to participate directly in the decisions that affect her life. Ratcheted up a notch to decisions made at an intergovernmental level (let alone at a corporate level), that difficulty becomes a near impossibility. Scholte offers a few examples of the inability of citizens to have much say in what goes on globally (Scholte 2001: 12–14): • Lack of control: Even democratic states cannot control everything transnational that affects their people. AIDS, SARS [Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome], and other transmittable diseases; cross-border air pollution, global warming, desertification; smuggling and trafficking: all these challenges require solutions that are largely beyond the reach of an ‘electable’ – hence accountable – unit of governance. • Lack of consultation: Even democratic governments do not often consult on international issues. Only rarely do election debates devote attention to globalization or other international matters, and even more rarely still do governments hold popular referenda on such matters. • Lack of global representation: The international bodies to which some states belong are themselves hardly democratic, either in composition or day-to-day functioning. The G8, for instance, is profoundly influential although its membership’s population makes up but ten per cent of humankind. Although the WTO includes 140 members, nearly a third of them have no permanent representation and the capacities of many are severely overstretched. The IMF and the World Bank have almost universal membership, however the quota regime means that the five largest shareholder states hold 40 per cent of the vote. • Lack of central oversight: In any case, much international decisionmaking happens outside of the formal discussions of even these institutions. Intergovernmentally, many decisions are made by technocrats operating almost completely outside public scrutiny. Among corporations, of course, decision-making happens within companies or in myriad private regulatory bodies, such as those that govern the Internet, many telecommunications standards, several global environmental agreements, and multiple aspects of transworld finance. So serious are these systemic weaknesses that David Held wonders if we must not rethink the whole notion of democracy itself: If many socio-economic processes, and the outcomes of decisions about them, stretch beyond national frontiers, then the implications of

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this are serious, not only for the categories of consent and legitimacy but for all the key ideas of democracy. At issue is the nature of a constituency, the role of representation, and the proper form and scope of political participation. As fundamental processes of governance escape the categories of the nation-state, the traditional national resolutions of the key questions of democratic theory and practice are open to doubt (Held 1997: URL). Indeed, some question whether there is any point of talking about global democracy at all. Keohane and Nye wonder whether it is even relevant to ask if global governance is democratic: Among ‘realist’ students of world politics, it seems self-evident that global governance cannot come close to meeting democratic standards. . . . International institutions are seen essentially as instruments that states use to achieve common purposes. To hold them to domestic standards of democratic procedure is to engage in what philosophers call a category mistake. It makes no more sense to ask whether an interstate organization is ‘democratic’ than it does to ask if a broom has a nice personality (Keohane and Nye 2001: 2). Yet the impossibility of a global democratic system does not mean that global governance cannot be improved following democratic principles. As the next section outlines, there are many theories and proposals on the table that intend to do just that.

6.2

Alternative theories and proposals

The academic and activist worlds are simply bursting with theories and proposals for improved democratic practice at the international level. This section reviews highlights from some of the more interesting propositions now on the table. 6.2.1

The theories

There are several schools of thought long percolating in the academic world that focus on global governance, including (but hardly limited to): statism/realism, liberal internationalism, cosmopolitan democracy, world polity, and theories of radical communitarianism. Depending on their notions of global legitimacy and the current state of international affairs, such thinking has generated a variety of proposals for action.


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Statism and realism Most familiar, perhaps, are ideas about state-centered global governance. Realist thinkers (like Hedley Bull and Hans Morgenthau) would likely have argued that a continuation of representative democracy via states is the only way a more ‘democratic’ global system would be possible. Just as our local representatives argue at the provincial level, and our provinces argue at the federal level, our nations bring our case forward at an international level – and win or lose their battles according to the laws of realpolitik. For statists, however, global democratic failures are not ‘failures’; they are the natural outcome of differences in power in the world system. The participation of CSOs in this political battlefield is not then necessarily desirable or undesirable: they enter the fray as political and economic agents of varying influence, working to alter the framing of issues or the policies of states in their own interest, according to their skills, resources, and political positioning. Devoid of normative value in this realist world, CSOs are seen as yet another player on a complex game board. Liberal internationalism In contrast, proponents of liberal internationalism would propose a set of laws to govern the interaction among states: a set of laws that would mediate the realpolitik thrust-and-parry of interstate politics. Advocates such as Richard Falk therefore petition for stronger international regimes (including international law) and international institutions (particularly the UN). Global governance would thus be strengthened when international institutions are seen to be transparent and accountable to all member states, ensure equal participation of all members, and are seen to be fair in their treatment of all members. Legitimacy challenges to such a system, it follows, lie in failures on any of these points: for instance, when the Security Council is seen to represent the interests of a minority of decisionmakers; when the ‘consensus’ required of the WTO is seen to be coerced; or when the representation of countries in the IMF and World Bank is not seen to be fairly allocated. While there is no a priori role for CSOs or other non-state actors (including businesses and individuals) in such a system, their participation is considered desirable when seen to help states become more equal participants in the system (by providing key services or information, for example). Cosmopolitan democracy Another school of thought changes the primary focus from the state to the individual. Proponents of cosmopolitan democracy such as Daniele

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Archibugi and David Held identify the individual as the holder of key rights; her consent is considered the cornerstone of all legitimate rule, including global rule (Archibugi and Held 1995). Such consent implies that the individual, not only states, would have a right to examine the workings of global governance institutions and demand accountability from them. As Lori Wallach describes, such a new world would be different in this way: There would be a global regime of rules that more than anything create the political space for the kinds of value decisions that mechanisms like the WTO now make, at a level where people living with the results can hold the decision makers accountable. Right now, there are decisions, value-subjective decisions, being shifted into totally unaccountable, international realms where, if the decision is wrong, there’s no way to fix it. If the decision makers are self-interested, and as a result themselves need to be changed, there’s no way to change them (Naim 2000: 34). This philosophical approach lies along the same lines as contract theorists like Rawls, who, following Rousseau and Kant, imagines an idealized social contract among the peoples of the world (one that ends up looking rather like the UN charter, with an added emphasis on rights and on distribution). Habermas’ notion of deliberative democracy (whereby the individual is deeply involved in decision-making, and is not merely a filler-of-ballot-boxes) would also find a home in this approach. In practical terms, cosmopolitans – very much unlike statist thinkers – welcome the erosion of the state’s sole prerogative over sovereignty and would encourage the participation of local, regional, and other levels of government in the picture, as well as the involvement of CSOs. As Held explains, ‘A cosmopolitan democracy would not call for a diminution per se of state power and capacity across the globe. Rather, it would seek to entrench and develop democratic institutions at regional and global levels as a necessary complement to those at the level of the nation-state’ (Held 1997: URL). World polity Where cosmopolitans look at new institutions, world polity advocates John Boli and George Thomas (1999 and 2000) suggest that we need to look at more than formal political structures in understanding global governance. We ought to focus instead on how the very idea of ‘the global’ enters into our collective consciousness, and how such norms in turn


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construct their own institutions. Arguing that we have already seen more than a century of understanding the world as a natural area of action (rather than some smaller unit of territory), the authors illustrate how INGOs reproduce worldwide norms of universalism, individualism and egalitarianism, rational voluntaristic authority (that is, agreeing to obey a norm even without the threat of punishment), progress, and world citizenship. Civil society organizations fit in as carriers and creators of global culture. Radical communitarianism Radical communitarianism, the last of the models reviewed, goes the furthest in eschewing the current institutions of global governance on the grounds that they are undemocratic, exclusive, elitist, and fail to include the grassroots. Because nation-states are seen as puppets of capitalism, and thus failures in providing for the public good, advocates such as Burnheim, Connolly, Patamoki, and Walker propose new kinds of international institutions altogether. Radical communitarians (also called ‘radical democratic pluralists’) put forward new global systems based on function (trade, environment, health, and so on), rather than national territory. Directly accountable to the communities affected, these global bodies would have peoples’ organizations rather than states as their core component: ‘In place of globalist social democracy radical communitarians would rather see global governance without global government or nation-states, democracy through movements and civil society forums other than states, that works outside the politics of the state and transcends rather than compromises with capitalism’ (citations and quote from Martell 2001). In this communitarian vision of global governance, global civil society would also become the global governors. 6.2.2

The proposals

Born from these disparate understandings of the world, CSOs, academics, and others have in turn generated a remarkable number of practical proposals for changing the way our global governance system works. Here are just a few. • People’s Assembly: The People’s Assembly, a second chamber of the United Nations, was proposed as far back as the 1920s as a balance to the state-led discussions of the General Assembly (Green and Lerner nd). Proponents – including cosmopolitan democrats like Held – argue that a formalized assembly of CSOs would enhance existing state–civil

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society interaction, and thus improve the democratic outcomes of UN actions. Forum of Civil Society: A related proposal has been supported more recently by the Commission on Global Governance; it advocates a Forum of Civil Society, consisting of representatives of organizations accredited to the General Assembly that would meet every year before the Assembly’s annual meeting (Rice and Ritchie 1995: URL, Commission on Global Governance 1995: URL, CAMDUN nd). Parliamentary Assembly: Another related proposal envisages a Parliamentary Assembly whose members would be elected by members of existing national assemblies: ‘we would have for the first time a body composed of officials who would be free of governmental instruction, free from the constraints of raison d’état, free to take a global perspective’ and ‘speak for the citizen interest’ (Heinrich 1995: 97). Although without formal powers in the UN system, proponents argue that the Parliamentary Assembly would possess powerful moral suasion. United Nations reform: Still other proposals seek to reform the Security Council (whose decision-making is currently dominated by the five permanent veto-wielding members), and to pull the Bretton Woods institutions (the Fund and Bank) back into the UN fold (Foster and Anand 1999a,b; UNDP 1999). These schemes are intended to draw the work of the few powerful agencies of the UN more firmly under the multilateral – and theoretically more democratic – eye of its members. Courts of international law: Other ideas for improved global governance turn to the still-nascent corpus of international law. The International Criminal Court, the European Court of Justice, and even the treatybinding WTO are all examples of newly created legal entities with implications for global governance.

In these (and many other) proposals for global reform, advocates have sought ways in which new institutions might better meet the global democratic deficit. However, few are likely to come to fruition (the new courts, of course, are notable exceptions) and some others may not even be desirable. Before turning to my own thoughts on where we might go from here, let me explain a few of the reasons why some of the current proposals will not take us where we want to go. 6.2.3 Objections and hope Why might some of these proposals be of concern? The usual objections to reform of the Security Council and Bretton Woods institutions still hold: there are too many realist obstacles. Large nations with strong


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militaries and strong economies are more able to tilt the table in their own direction. Indeed, the UN’s chief democratic credential – its universal state membership – is its Achilles heel in the real world of unequal state power. Why would strong states bend their individual interests to a majority of small, weak states? After all, why else would the OECD, NATO, and G8 have been created, except as alternate venues for negotiating among the powerful? All the proposals intended to pull the powerful into and under the direction of the relatively powerless (regardless of how democratic that may be) are bound to founder. Meanwhile, the simultaneous effort to expand the democratic credentials of states by adding CSOs at the international level is clearly laudable. Proposals such as the People’s and Parliamentary Assemblies intend to address the global democratic deficit by attacking the core problem: there is no way for the citizen to be meaningfully involved in global governance decisions, in spite of her citizenship in the most democratic of countries. However, the problems of such parallel chambers are multiple. One is that in the absence of a ballot box (and the right of accountability by recall) there is no way to guarantee a CSO representativity that is better than governmental representativity. Another and related problem is that such constellations of CSOs, once chosen, have no natural mechanism for aggregating interests or negotiating the consensus necessary for decision-making (Edwards 2001: URL). Still another array of objections deals with cost and logistics: Knight worries how the expense of the Parliamentary Assembly would be managed, for instance, and how it could avoid waste and duplication (Knight 1999: 280), while Keohane and Nye point to the more substantial suspicion that, Voting participation is likely to be low, since any assembly would have relatively few powers. Authoritarian governments such as that of China could in effect determine their delegations by manipulating electoral procedures. And there would be little coherent public discourse about the assembly’s actions, due to the lack of a global political community. As a result, it is unlikely that the actions of a purported global parliament would be considered legitimate by most governments or by national publics (Keohane and Nye 2001: 14). Yet despite these objections, it is clear that ingredients for an improved system of global governance – if not a global democracy – are already in place. At least five ingredients are worth reviewing:

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1. Conducive normative frames: First of all, there are widely accepted behavioural norms that promote a more democratic global governance system: human rights, democracy, and corporate social responsibility are all examples sketched in earlier pages. Having thus been ‘framed’ as relevant measuring sticks for international behaviour, these norms are already in the process of institutionalization: international commissions, nongovernmental watchdogs, codes of conduct, and other mechanisms can then follow. 2. Greater number of democracies: Secondly, there are a greater number of countries that are eager to identify themselves as democracies – in 2000, more than 70 per cent of the world’s countries were rated as democratic or partly democratic by Freedom House, compared to less than 28 per cent in 1950 (Freedom House 1999). Witness the ‘Third Wave’ of democratization in the developing world and the democratic criteria demanded of aspirants to the European Union. As the number of democracies increases (even with the usual caveat that ‘democratic’ is a relative term), so too may pressures for upward democratization of the international system. 3. Improved democracy capacity among non-states: A third ingredient, described throughout this book, is the increased focus among globally active CSOs on ‘partnership,’ greater accountability, and added transparency. These legitimacy rules have generated changes in how organizations practise democracy within their ranks. In short, non-state actors, including CSOs, are getting better at practising democracy themselves. 4. Functioning regimes: A fourth ingredient is the existence of strong, functioning, multi-player issue ‘regimes’ in many areas of human endeavour. Rosenau, for instance, points to cooperation on trade, oil, environment, whaling, and election monitoring, among other ‘accommodative spheres of authority.’ In such regimes, governments and NGOs have real reason to participate, and (more or less) effective methods of control. ‘No issue regime, it seems reasonable to assert, can prosper without control mechanisms that allow for some form of participation by all the interested parties’ (Rosenau 1997: 160). 5. Inclusive standard operating procedures: A final ingredient is the important precedent of including more, and more diverse, players at the international table. The UN, of course, is the obvious starting point: within ECOSOC, many UN agencies, and all the UN conferences, CSOs have had increasing roles as observers and intervenors (Willetts 2000). Other IGOs have followed suit, as have a host of international businesses that now sit with their nongovernmental


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colleagues in tables around The Global Compact, the Forest Stewardship Council, or the Ethical Trading Initiative. Added to the theoretical energy and creativity around new proposals, these further factors make up building blocks for the next steps. What follows are my two cents worth on what those steps might be.

6.3

The compromise of supplementary democracy

If a ‘global democracy’ is not possible, and obstacles stand in the way of many of the existing proposals for reform, what next? Building on the democratic ingredients already in place, these final pages suggest a compromise solution. The proposal for a ‘Supplementary Democracy’ extends the existing practice of adding institutions and players, encouraging the blooming of a thousand flowers. In such a proliferation of voices, if not of institutions, a more equitable world is possible. As one set of commentators concludes: ‘Despite its manifest failings, moves to supplement the present interstate system of global governance appear not only more likely but also in many respects more attractive than schemes to subvert or supplant it’ (Bellamy and Jones 2000: 212). 6.3.1

The rationale

The notion of supplementary democracy can be summarized as the amplification of existing mechanisms that promote broader civic participation and greater accountability – the two core elements of the lowest-common-denominator definition presented earlier – within IGOs and internationally active corporations. In short: doing more, and doing better, what we are already doing. Before looking at what that amplification might mean in practice, it might be helpful to explain the rationale for focusing on existing mechanisms and institutions (rather than creating, say, parallel assemblies). The underlying argument is that voice is more valuable to democracy than vote. Or, in other words, it is more important to guarantee increased participation (a greater variety of voices) in existing structures of global governance than it is to create new elected positions for nongovernmental actors. As Edwards explains, Voicing an opinion is the bedrock of participatory democracy (we used to call it ‘freedom of speech’), and those who speak out do not need to be formally representative of a constituency. Accountability to a constituency, on the other hand, is the bedrock of representative

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democracy, requiring formal procedures like elections to ensure that decisions are fairly reached. Participatory democracy is the natural territory of NGOs, whereas representative democracy is the natural territory of governments, but both are needed if politics is to function in the public interest (Edwards nd: 1). Indeed, such a delineation of roles (legitimacy by vote vs legitimacy by voice) is frequently argued within the activist community in response to legitimacy challenges. As the head of CIVICUS remarks, How can nonprofit public-interest groups and movements such as Jubilee 2000, Transparency International, Amnesty International, Greenpeace and others get a seat at the global table? . . . At the heart of these questions is the challenge of representation. . . . [G]lobal formations of civil society must become the voice of citizens at global forums without getting bogged down with the formalization and bureaucratic patterns of representation (Naidoo 2000: URL). This focus on voice (and on ensuring a diversity of voices) is, I am convinced, a more valuable strategy for CSOs for a few important reasons. Eliminating a legitimacy burden One is that the most damaging legitimacy burden imposed on CSOs – whom do you represent, anyway? – is made much less important. Representation becomes an issue when garnering votes is the only legitimate way to entering the global arena; when voicing an opinion, votes matter less. As Edwards and Zadek argue, Any non-state actor is entitled to voice an opinion. This is a basic human right that need only be subject to the minimum amount of regulation required to guard against slander, violence or discrimination. No other legitimacy is required. But negotiating a treaty is a very different matter, in which detailed rules may be essential to preserve genuine democracy in decision making. In this case, legitimacy through representation is essential (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 13). That does not mean that representation and accountability among CSOs and their constituents are irrelevant, it simply means that such measures are not relevant for determing one’s right to voice alternate views on the world stage. Of course, the credibility of a given organization is affected by its reputation for representativity, along with the myriad


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factors already discussed, but its entrance ticket to the world stage is not conditional upon it. Building on precedent Another reason is practical: the creation of new mechanisms that promise a parallel representative structure has almost no precedent in world governance. Apart from the ILO, there is no IGO with formal nongovernmental voting privileges, and in the business world there are only a few (such as in the Forest Stewardship Council). On the other hand, there are endless (and multiplying) examples of nongovernmental participation in IGOs and multinational corporations (albeit to varying degrees): CSOs sit on committees, observe official sessions, contribute advice, implement and design field programs, and so on ad infinitum. Strategies to increase democratic outcomes must surely be more successful where there is already a foot in the door. Addressing the democratic deficit A third reason for the emphasis on voice has to do with the very nature of the global democratic deficit. As the decision-making pyramid becomes ever more narrow at its international apex, it becomes less and less possible for the individual to influence those decisions. There are too few decision-makers, too many factors for them to take into account, and too many ways for the multiplicity of views (and information, solutions, and creativity of humankind) to fall out of the decision-making process. This narrowing would take place even if there were no differences of state power, skewed voting rights, undue economic pressures, and other distortions of the statist version of global governance we have inherited. Rectifying this deficit involves, in a sense, a population increase at the pyramid’s summit; and some way to funnel those views, founts of information, problem-solving resources, and creativity where it matters. Here, even if nowhere else, lies the comparative advantage of CSOs. Though unable to re-create representative democracy, they can strengthen participation and accountability: Traditionally, the role of representative democracy has been to aggregate private preferences among large numbers of individuals, enabling tradeoffs to be made in the interests of society as a whole. This is something that business or civil society cannot do, at least with the same degree of transparent legitimacy and accountability. The role of direct or participatory democracy has been to generate

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and shape opinions, ensure that the interests of excluded groups are not ignored, and hold governments accountable for delivering the commitments they make on election day (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 7). This proliferation of voice is a necessary, if insufficient, ingredient in any new order: in the words of Benjamin Barber, civil society is not a ‘muscular enough tool’ for guaranteeing democracy on its own (Democracy Collaborative 2001: 53). Active and educated citizens, sound political party systems, just legislation on election funding and practices, honest and powerful ombuds offices, and protection for minorities – all these must also be added to the democratic mix. Reinforcing frame change A fourth and final reason is that the amplification of civic participation within global governance institutions serves to augment the legitimacy of those institutions themselves – thus producing a (more or less willing) welcome mat for yet greater involvement. As the case studies have illustrated, activists have had an impact on the perceived legitimacy of intergovernmental bodies and transnational corporations, an impact that has affected their ability to undertake work as usual. As Keohane and Nye suggest, this lack of legitimacy presents ‘a potentially debilitating problem for international governance’ (Keohane and Nye 2001: 25–6). In response to those pressures, many have invited CSOs to participate in their activities, albeit to widely varying degrees. As the Commission on Global Governance concluded in its final report: ‘At the global level, governance has been viewed primarily as intergovernmental relationships, but it must now be understood as also involving non-governmental organizations (NGOs), citizen’s movements, multinational corporations, and the global capital market’ (Commission on Global Governance 1995: 2–3). This normative change (that ‘legitimate’ IGOs and MNCs involve CSOs and that global governance thus must include them) is important. The legitimacy of global institutions and global governance itself is thus now made increasingly dependent on the increased participation (voice) of civil society actors among other world players. 6.3.2 The promise Why do I think that supplementary democracy might increase the democratic quality of global governance? While the previous section discussed why such strategies might be the most feasible direction for


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civic action, it did not elaborate why it would do us much good. There are a few reasons why I think it would. Justice The first is an assertion that more ethical policies and practices are far more likely (though not inevitable) through increased participation. John Clark, for instance, writes of many cases of ethical globalization (how CSOs can ‘civilize’ governments, IGOs, and corporations; Clark 2003) and the literature is full of treatises on how pro-poor, pro-environment, and pro-democratic improvements have already been made in the workings of the World Bank, WTO, IMF, official aid donors, and corporations like the Body Shop, Shell, Nike, and the Gap (Smillie 1995, Fox and Brown 1998, Scholte et al. 1998, Klein 2000, Murphy and Mathew 2001, Hertz 2002, and Scholte 2002). Balance A second contention is that increased voice must necessarily improve the balance of information and analysis debated within global governance institutions, and hence ensure better decisions in the public interest. Williams, for instance, reiterates arguments that the WTO would make better policy if a wider range of views were incorporated: ‘Working from a liberal belief in the efficacy of pluralism environmentalists argue that governing systems that integrate public input will consistently produce the best outcomes because the wider the range of views the better the decision-making process, and the sounder the outcome’ (Williams 1998: URL). Scholte makes a similar argument: Global civic associations can while giving voice also fuel debate. Inputs from civil society can put alternative perspectives, methodologies and proposals on the agenda. For example, a number of civic groups have been instrumental in questioning orthodox economic theory, raising ecological issues, introducing qualitative assessments of poverty, and promoting various proposals for debt reduction in the South. Thanks to such contributions, discussions of social issues become more critical and creative. Wide-ranging, open debate is vital to a healthy democracy and can moreover often produce more clear and effective policy (Scholte 1999: 28). Of course, as Weiss reminds us, ‘there is no necessary correlation between numerical growth in NGOs and sounder social policy research or technical assistance or investments undertaken within the ambit of

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UN organizations’ (Weiss 1999: 7). The argument here does not suggest that a mere increase in the number of voices will bring about better policy, but that CSOs’ ideas for better policy and practice are unlikely to be heard without a prerequisite mechanism for increased voice. If all voices are heard, there is at least a chance that ‘good quality’ ones will also get their day. Accountability Still another reason – perhaps the most important for democracy – is that increased participation would improve the surveillance of global institutions, thus adding further pressure for improved transparency and accountability in those bodies. Scholte points out that, Many workings of global markets and global regulation have fallen outside public scrutiny, thereby increasing the dangers of abuse. Initiatives by civic associations can help bring into the open, for instance, global financial dealings, the activities of transborder corporations, and the operations of suprastate governance agencies like the BIS (Bank for International Settlements) and the UN system. As a result, citizens can make more informed judgements about world politics, and actors in positions of power and responsibility must do more to account for their behaviour and policy choices (Scholte 1999: 27). The optimists, like Benjamin Barber, say, ‘happily, the rising internationalism of transnational civic institutions and social movements promises a measure of countervailing power in the international arena’ (Barber 2000: URL). This countervailing power – power sufficient to generate greater accountability from our global governors – would thus bring us closer to a more democratic ideal. 6.3.3 The objections Yet even before we go on to look at the details of the proposal, immediate objections leap up. Have not we already seen a wide range of reasons – all those legitimacy criteria discussed in Chapters 3, 4, and 5 – why CSOs may harm rather than help the democratic cause? Just off the top, there are accusations of poor quality research, a culture of non-dialogue or selective engagement, and real instances of mis- and under-representation of important constituencies. This section addresses five of the objections that have the strongest ability to derail the proposal.


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Relinquishing control to the unelected The first objection questions whether such a proposal means, as one critic opines, ‘relinquishing to [left-wing] NGOs and CSOs . . . the final call on national and international social and economic policy’? (Gunter 1999a: URL). Does further inclusion of civic voices mean that the voices of elected governments are discounted? Oxford Analytica repeats the concern: While most governments accept the need to talk with NGO representatives at a national level, fewer are ready to concede them a place in international relations. Many governments argue that they have an exclusive mandate to represent the national interests of their countries as a whole, and that they alone have the right to strike a balance between the interests of different domestic constituencies (‘Addressing the Backlash’ 2001: URL). The response to such apprehension is that control is certainly not relinquished in any ‘supplementary’ proposal – representative democracy by vote is retained, but voice is being added. Elite invitation Yet another criticism challenges the means by which X rather than Y organization would have its voice heard. Assuming that only a few organizations can actually participate in the debates around global governance (for reasons of capacity, funding, and ideology, among others), what is to keep elites from commandeering the supplementary processes? Kim Nossal, responding to changes in the Canadian foreign policy process, argues that the delegation of policy-making to NGOs ‘far from being democratic, instead entrenches and institutionalizes access to the policy making process that is limited to the few,’ and is thus ‘little more than policy making by elite invitation’ (Nossal 1995: 39 and 38–9). The response here is that partial proliferation of civic voice certainly runs into the danger of elitism. Only when a ‘thousand flowers’ strategy is engaged can assurances be made that diversity will bloom. Sovereignty erosion Yet another objection deals with the primacy of sovereignty itself: no intergovernmental body could possibly give up the rights of states to make decisions. Indeed, states have consistently reiterated their claims to sovereignty every time greater access or influence of nongovernmental

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agencies has been raised at UN conferences. In their review of the UN conferences, one group of researchers found that states repeatedly resisted the introduction of non-state actors and non-statebased conceptions of important global issues. They argued for national control over development processes and for religious and cultural relativism in the standards for treating their citizens, especially women. They argued against international oversight in the form of mechanisms to enforce whatever commitments they might make at these conferences (Hochstetler et al. 2000: 608). This is the same sovereignty resistance reported by World Bank President Wolfensohn at a meeting with NGOs in Prague: I don’t think the Board for two minutes will accept the proposition that if [Mozambique wants] to borrow from the Bank it has to get not a parliamentary approval but an additional approval from NGOs. That’s just not reality. It’s not going to happen. I could insist on it till I’m blue in the face and elected prime ministers and governments are not going to change their internal process for me. They simply are not (Transcript 2000: URL). One response to this objection is that there is already plenty of precedent for a more participatory notion of sovereignty. In regimes like the oil, finance, environment, whaling, and election monitoring institutions mentioned earlier, states have agreed with each other and with other intervenors to set up non-state governing bodies. Another response is that sovereignty has always had limits, both in ideal theory and actual practice. After all, sovereignty ‘permits independent states to pursue their own interests within their bounded territory only as long as they act to protect their citizens and do not destroy each other or the international system of which they are a part. In other words, sovereignty comes with obligations and responsibilities’ (Drake 1994: 247). Not only is sovereignty conditional on state behaviour, it may also be impossible to impose certain kinds of issues or decisions in any case: ‘Some of the most fundamental forces and processes which determine the nature of life-chances within and across political communities are now beyond the reach of individual nation-states’ (Held 1997: URL) and ‘contemporary accelerated growth of supraterritorial flows has made


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sovereignty (in its traditional sense of absolute, supreme, comprehensive, unilateral state control over a given territorial jurisdiction) unworkable’ (Scholte et al. 1998: 1). Institutional congestion Another objection is that multiplying the number of actors involved in the system would simply clog things up, a kind of global arterial congestion. Certainly, there have been concerns about bottlenecks on the domestic scale: Jonathan Rauch’s 1994 Demosclerosis was widely influential. Popularizing Mancur Olson’s The Logic of Collective Action, Rauch argued that the hyperpluralism of American culture was making it impossible for politicians to act solely in the public interest. ‘Bill Clinton wants to reform the health system? The health-insurance industry blocks him. China’s membership of the World Trade Organisation would benefit America’s consumers? America’s producers of textiles and steel stand in the way’ (‘Politics Brief: Ex Uno, Plures’ 1999: 44). Turned to the international level, the same criticism surfaces. Jessica Mathews likewise worries about the dangers of congestion: ‘Two hundred nation-states is a barely manageable number. Add hundreds of influential nonstate forces – businesses, NGOs, international organizations, ethnic and religious groups – and the international system may represent more voices but be unable to advance any of them’ (Mathews 1997: 64). One response to this concern is that while many campaigns gather tens of thousands of protesters, they have usually involved deeply only a few organizations dedicated to that particular organization or group of companies. Indeed, many institutions of global governance – such as the Bank for International Settlements, for instance – have virtually no CSOs looking over their shoulders, hence marking a paucity rather than an overabundance of civil society attention. Another response is that the system is already clogged: a more deliberate approach could better grease the wheels. For instance, Smith and Weiss review the controversy surrounding the UN’s delegation of its security and social services to regional institutions and NGOs. Their response? This delegation is practical: ‘Rather than lamenting, as a world federalist might, the inability of the UN system to meet human needs across an ever-widening front, it is more pragmatic and sensible to foster multilateralism through a better division of labour’ (Smith and Weiss 1998: 251). Yet another rebuttal is that pluralism makes for better democracy despite inherent problems of congestion. Pluralism is the only reliable (though blunt) guarantee of checks on excessive power.

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Idealistic delegation A fifth objection is that this scheme ignores real power struggles in the world of unequal states. Is it not idealistic to suppose that important spheres of authority could meaningfully be supplemented by the non-powerful? The central response to this charge is that global governance is more than the disputed activities of a few powerful players: these are but the apex of a much larger iceberg (or pyramid, if I am keeping my metaphors consistent). One needs also to pay attention to the underlying ‘ideational’ aspects (in other words: frames) and subsequent routine behaviours that hem in the visible activities of the powerful: The numerous patterns that sustain global order can be conceived as unfolding at three basic levels of activity: (1) at the ideational or inter-subjective level of what people dimly sense, incisively perceive, or otherwise understand are the arrangements through which their affairs are handled; (2) at the behavioural level of what people regularly and routinely do, often unknowingly, to maintain the prevailing global arrangements; and (3) at the aggregate or political level, where governance occurs and rule-oriented institutions and regimes enact and implement the policies inherent in the ideational and behavioural patterns (Rosenau 1992: 14). As earlier pages have been at pains to illustrate, CSOs are already powerful players because of their enormous impact on the framing of global governance problems.

6.4

Making supplementary democracy work

In real and practical ways, what would be involved in the further expansion of supplementary democracy? The first step is to look at existing norms and mechanisms, and to see where we might go from there. 6.4.1

Existing norms and mechanisms

Is the world ready for such a proposal? Are the cognitive frames among the international elite open enough for still more interaction with global activists? I think so. Writing over ten years ago, Shaw found even then that there were sufficiently strong international norms of global responsibility to make such a move: What is surely required now is to systematize the demands of global responsibility in a new conception of the roles, rights and duties of


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citizens, society, states, the system of states, and international institutions. Much of the intellectual infrastructure for such a conception is already available in the principles already adopted by international organizations and theoretically subscribed to by states, as well as in the positions adopted by groupings in civil society (Shaw 1992: 433). Today, Edwards and Zadek certainly believe there is enough acceptance of such an expansion. They point to important changes in the business world: ‘corporate social responsibility, social auditing, and ethical trade have all become part of the new language within and through which the role of business and their re-negotiated rights and responsibilities are played out in practice’ (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 6–7). Indeed, they argue that we are witness to a full-scale change: At the beginning of a new century, . . . [direct democracy by nonstate actors is growing in favour,] driven by rising disaffection with conventional politics, the attractions of direct action (including street protest), and the opportunities for broader participation generated by the macro-level political changes highlighted above. At moments of regime transition such as this, the space for non-state actors tends to increase (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 6–7). These norms have come into being and solidified, as the many cases here illustrate, in an iterative process of protest and politics. While perhaps only the norms around human rights can be described as unassailable, others are sufficiently solid to have institutions and mechanisms already built around them. These existing mechanisms are part of the repertoire of practices that make up supplementary democracy in action today. Codes of conduct Take, for example, the flourishing of codes of conduct. Increasingly, such codes are developed as ‘multistakeholder’ efforts: guidelines set up in agreement with workers and community representatives, rather than by companies or governments alone, such as the APEC Business Code of Conduct, the Caux Principles for Business, the OECD Guidelines for Multinational Enterprises, and the Global Sullivan Principles. Utting argues that this change arose out of a ‘growing awareness that codes of conduct that were unilaterally designed and implemented by companies tended to be weak and often aimed more at public relations than substantial improvements in social and environmental performance.’ That

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frustration, coupled with the growth of NGO and consumer pressures and notions of good governance (which emphasize the importance of collaboration and partnership), led to the development of multistakeholder codes of conduct. Examples include: Global Reporting Initiatives, Principles for Global Corporate Responsibility, The Global Compact, and Social Accountability 8000, among many others (Utting 2001: URL). Of these, The Global Compact is particularly notable. Announced by Kofi Annan at the World Economic Forum meeting in 1999, The Global Compact is a voluntary club of businesses that choose to adhere to the nine corporate responsibility principles detailed in the Secretary-General’s proposal. Some hundreds of companies, international bodies and CSOs are involved; together they have joint projects and ‘dialogues’ on issues of ethical globalization (Global Compact 2003: URL). Not surprisingly, the Compact has raised eyebrows in other parts of the civil society world (there is now an Alliance for a Corporate-Free UN; see CorpWatch 2000), but it presents a noteworthy example of a multistakeholder mechanism that seeks to improve the democratic outcomes of private-sector activities. Bendall’s review of such multistakeholder codes finds that activists are making a difference in corporate behaviour. He argues that companies are choosing to adopt standards set by such ‘civil regulation’ in response to the rise in consumer boycotts, direct action, and ethical disinvestments that have negative consequences on sales, cost, and social or intellectual capital, including legitimacy (Bendell 2000; see also Phillips 2001). So also argues a piece in Business Week Online, At a time when image is paramount, corporations are besieged with activists who harangue executives at shareholder meetings, organize consumer boycotts, smear their brand names on the Web, and pressure creditors and shareholders alike. To allay critics, companies such as Nike (NKE), Mattel (MAT), Levi Strauss, and Royal Dutch Shell Group (RD) have drawn up their own guidelines and invited monitors to ensure that they live up to them. . . . ‘If there’s a problem in a company’s global supply chain, all it takes is one modem in Indonesia to alert the world about it’ (‘Global Capitalism’ 2000: URL). And while Bendell points out limitations to the effectiveness of such codes (in part because of the restricted economic, social, and geographical reach of consumer politics in many societies), codes of conduct have taken on a surprising influence in a world where governmental regulation


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is in decline and self-regulation is illogical (Bendell 2000; also see Jenkins 2001 and Johnston 2001 for further critiques). Indeed, in examining efforts such as the Fair Labor Association, the Worldwide Responsible Apparel Production certification program, Social Accountability International, the Ethical Trading Initiative, the Fair Wear Foundation, and the Workers Rights Consortium, O’Rourke found that ‘with increased transparency, improved technical capacities, and new mechanisms of accountability to workers and consumers, non-governmental monitoring could complement existing state regulatory systems’ (O’Rourke 2003: URL). There are also, of course, codes of conduct established for CSOs. Created to buttress the legitimacy of member organizations, such codes have proliferated worldwide in recent years (Kunugi and Schweitz 1999) and many have shown their teeth: the Filippino NGO body, for instance, publishes the names of noncomplying members (Clark 2001: 26). They cover personal behaviour, representation, financial reporting and fundraising (see the accreditation system described in Beishon 1999), publicity, and other areas that may threaten legitimacy. One example is the code launched by and for the NGOs that sit on the UN Commission on Sustainable Development. Set up in 1993 after the Rio Summit, the Commission experienced a couple of incidents that threatened the credibility (one issue of ‘personal behavior’ and another of lack of consultation). Strict guidelines were set up to avoid future problems, including norms for membership, representation, meeting standards, communication, North–South balance and financial support, among other issues (Dodds 2001). Where such codes have enforcement mechanisms – such as expulsion – they lend greater legitimacy to their signatories. Such codes are important in a world of critics that question, among other things, CSOs’ ‘right to claim to represent the public interest when there is little evidence of genuine public consultation about policy or of accountability by the main office holders’ (Adair 1999: URL). Codes of conduct are thus a response to the legitimacy rules described thus far. As public documents, they contribute to corporate and nongovernmental accountability, and ultimately, ideally, to the public interest outcomes of their daily work. Monitoring Mechanisms to monitor the work of intergovernmental agencies or corporations are further examples of supplementary democracy at work. Take the work of CorpWatch or the Multinational Monitor as examples: by

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publishing online and print reports of corporate activity and supporting social responsibility campaigns, both serve as accountability watchdogs. Such monitoring takes various forms, including the keen-edged but humorous Greenwash Awards. CorpWatch sums up the 2002 ceremony in this way: Oil majors Shell, BP and ExxonMobil dominated today’s World Summit Greenwash Academy Awards, beating Biotech giants Monsanto, Novartis and Aventis in a glittering award ceremony in Johannesburg. Local South African underdog Sasol edged out Eskom for Best Picture. Other winners were Enron for Best Makeup, Arthur Andersen for Best Documentary Destruction, and an unprecedented joint award to Total, Unocal and Premier Oil for Best Foreign Direct Investment (CorpWatch 2002a; see also 2002b). Likeminded monitoring efforts include a new project of the UK parliamentarian All-Party Group for World Government, whose Global Accountability Report of multinational corporations, intergovernmental bodies, and international NGOs measures member control of each agency’s governance and public access to information (Kovach et al. 2003). Even more far-reaching is Social Watch’s annual report on the performance of governments in meeting their international commitments to education, health care, and other social priorities. These nongovernmental projects are supplemented by a range of existing monitoring mechanisms within intergovernmental bodies. The North American Agreement on Environmental Cooperation, for instance, is a side agreement of the NAFTA that allows any person or CSO in Canada, the US, or Mexico to submit allegations that a member country is not enforcing its environmental law (Centre for Global Studies 2001: 41). The World Bank instituted an Inspection Panel in 1993 ‘to provide an independent forum to private citizens who believe that they or their interests have been or could be directly harmed by a project financed by the World Bank’ (World Bank nd: URL). Also within the World Bank corpus is the Compliance Advisor/Ombudsman, intended to address complaints by external parties affected by International Finance Corporation or Multilateral Investment Guarantee Agency projects. It is mandated to monitor compliance with environmental and social safeguard policies, and to advise the president and management on sensitive or controversial issues arising from projects. Although independent of IFC and MIGA management, the ombudsman


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relies on conflict resolution and mediation rather than enforcement (Centre for Global Studies 2001: 71). All these monitoring mechanisms serve the important function of demanding, and often obtaining, greater accountability from the institutions of global governance. Certification and rating Yet another mechanism goes beyond codes of conduct and monitoring to formally certify and rate the goods or behaviours of global players. Goods are given ethical, environmental, or fairly traded credentials by oversight bodies; consumers then make their ethical choices through their choice of spending. In these cases, global accountability is levered through the bottom line. Rugmark – one of the examples highlighted in Chapter 2 – is one notable example, but so is the Fair Trade label. The label guarantees that traders have paid a price to producers that covers the costs of sustainable production and living; paid a premium that producers can invest in development; have partially paid in advance, when producers request; and have signed contracts that allow for long-term planning and sustainable production practices (www.fairtrade.net). Though currently limited to a small list of goods (coffee, tea, rice, fresh fruit, juices, cocoa, sugar, honey, and sports balls), the fairly traded market has grown substantially. In the Netherlands, for instance, 2.5 per cent of coffee and 5 per cent of bananas sold come from fairly traded sources (Equiterre nd). Green labelling is still another example. Identified by its flower logo, the European EcoLabel is awarded to products and services – from tourist accommodation, home appliances, cleaning materials, and mattresses to office supplies, gardening, and Do-It-Yourself products – that meet environmental criteria. Similar programs exist in Canada (Environmental Choice), Germany (Blue Angel), and Japan (Ecomark). Less formal but far more widespread are green marketing approaches. For instance, indigenous groups from Latin America have successfully worked with The Body Shop ‘to promote sustainable development alternatives to deforestation through the sale of harvested rain forest products such as nuts, oil, and pharmaceuticals. Working within the market, this strategy draws on the buying power of northern consumers to outbid local and international timber and mining interests, while channelling new resources to the movement’ (Brysk 1994: 37). The behaviour of mainstream retailers such as Sainsbury’s, The Body Shop, and Ikea – all carriers of green products – has thus been influenced to practise more equitably, bringing stronger democratic credentials to the market.

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Similarly, governments (although not yet intergovernmental agencies) are also given ratings through a range of systems. The Human Development Index generated every year by the UNDP has a powerful political impact; as has the nongovernmental group Transparency International’s Corruption Index (Galtung 2000, Transcript 2000: URL). Social and environmental audits undertaken by CSOs also carry impact; and in some cases, have become legislated or required steps in the planning of international projects (see Fowler 1996). Co-planning and co-implementation Other mechanisms are in place that actually share planning and implementation among governmental or corporate actors and nongovernmental players. Such is the case in the workings of the Commission on Sustainable Development (Dodds 2001), the Forest Stewardship Council (Newell 2001), and the ILO – all mentioned in earlier pages. UNAIDS is another important example. Its Programme Coordinating Board, responsible for the policy, strategy, financing, monitoring, and evaluation of the organization, is composed of governmental and NGO representatives, along with members from related UN agencies. The 22 governmental members are elected by the ECOSOC according to region, and the five nongovernmental participants (selected by AIDS-related NGOs already accredited to ECOSOC or other UN bodies) similarly represent different regions (ECOSOC 1995, Centre for Global Studies 2001: 131). Although the NGO members are formally not allowed to take part in the official decision-making process or to vote, their institutionalized presence means that they are part and parcel of the informal decision-making. Even in the absence of a formal negotiating role, the institutionalized presence of CSOs constitutes involvement in decision-making in a host of other UN cases, as well. The ECOSOC Commission on Human Settlements, for instance, encourages governments to include CSOs (as well as local authorities, research bodies, and private sector representatives) on their delegations, and organizes dialogue meetings at every session to invite nongovernmental input into the development, implementation, and evaluation of the Commission’s work (Willetts 2000: 205). Such ‘input’ can be akin to negotiating in some cases: When NGOs speak they can comment on UN programs, propose new policy objectives, and respond to the general debate. However, they are not supposed to exercise direct influence on the precise texts for inclusion in a resolution, declaration, or convention that governments are going to adopt. [However] NGOs have in practice been


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drafting texts, winning support for them, and having them adopted for many decades (Willetts 2000: 206–7).

Consumer and shareholder opposition In contrast to these various cooperative mechanisms, there are also mechanisms in place that formalize opposition. Boycotts, particularly of consumer goods and companies have a long history, and newer instances of shareholder activism are on the rise. Boycotts like those described in earlier pages – infant formula, Nike shoes, child-made carpets – have been a long-standing part of the activist repertoire. Other familiar examples include tuna (harvested with nets that also kill dolphins), wine (produced in apartheid-era South Africa), fur (both from farmed and trapped animals and those killed in the Canadian seal hunt) and tropical timber (when harvested unsustainably from rainforests); all campaigns with remarkable success records. Take the work of The Rainforest Action Network, for instance, in its late 1980s’ boycott against Burger King. Accused of purchasing beef raised in destroyed rainforests, Burger King eventually cancelled $35 million in beef contracts (RAN 2000). Boycotts are effective in a fairly narrow range of cases, however. To be successful, the message needs to be simple (eating tuna kills dolphins), the product must be easily identified (Gap jeans, Burger King burgers), alternatives must exist (other brands of clothes, wines, foodstuffs), and violations must be evident (as when fur coats are worn) (Conscientious Consuming nd). For many of the issues on the table in the globalization debates, few of these criteria apply. More recent variations of consumer action include mechanisms that may be better suited to the more complex issues generated by globalization. Of these, shareholder activism is of particular interest. Friends of the Earth describes two kinds, shareholder dialogues and proposals, both designed to alter a corporation’s behaviour: A shareholder dialogue is a discussion or negotiation initiated by a shareholder (or a group of shareholders) with company management to effect change on a particular issue of concern. Examples of such issues include: how the company is run, environmental performance, sweatshops, or investment in Burma. Dialogues often occur over the course of months, or even years. If shareholder dialogues prove unfruitful, shareholders often turn to a formal resolution or proposal process.

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A shareholder proposal is a shareholder’s (or group of shareholders’) recommendation or request that a company and/or its Board of Directors take a particular action relevant to company policy. In the United States, securities laws govern a process by which a shareholder has a right to introduce formal proposals, have the proposal circulated to all of the company’s shareholders, vote upon the resolution, and present it in person at company annual meetings. Shareholder rights and the ability of shareholders to offer proposals differ from country to country (Friends of the Earth nd: URL). These insider-track mechanisms draw on a host of legitimacy rules (especially expertise and moral authority) to compel different kinds of global behaviour and – one hopes – a more just global system. These existing practices are already instruments of supplementary democracy: they encourage greater public participation and stronger accountability. The expansion of this democratic machinery, through small, familiar changes, may well make the decisions of our global governors – and their impact on the global governed – significantly more just. 6.4.2

Building on precedent

But just what would further expansion to this supplementary machinery look like in practice? A few possibilities come to mind, all building on precedent throughout the international system. Expanded participation While hardly revolutionary, proposals for increased CSO participation in the intergovernmental process are important steps in the expansion of supplementary democracy. The goal is to wedge open existing corporate and governmental windows to allow simultaneously more participation and more accountability: thus, more democratic outcomes. Proposals for expanded participation, all based on existing precedent, include: • Additional meetings: Meetings with non-state actors the day before official intergovernmental meetings, as in the OECD committee process. • Arias formula invitations: Use of the ‘Arias Formula’ – a method by which the Security Council meets non-governmental actors from areas of conflict who are not parties to the conflict – to extend invitations to NGOs to address the Council outside its official sessions.


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• Extended accreditation: Extension of NGO accreditation from ECOSOC to the UN General Assembly (and to other bodies within the system). • Solicitation of CSO reports: Solicitation of ‘alternative reports’ from nonstate actors to be considered alongside country reports from governments (already undertaken by some UN treaty bodies such as the UN Commission on the Rights of the Child) (Edwards and Zadek 2002: 16). • Creation of a World Financial Forum: Such a forum to be held by the IMF every five years for CSOs to debate financial policy. • CSO role in PRSPs: A new monitoring role for CSOs in the negotiation and implementation of the World Bank’s mandated Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers. • Participation in dispute resolution: CSO involvement in WTO disputeresolution negotiations (Edwards 2000: 33–4). More difficult, of course, are requests for expanded participation in corporate decision-making processes. However, building on models such as the Forest Stewardship Council, the EDF–McDonalds partnership, and the Ethical Trading Initiative, many variants are possible – and probably necessary in the light of the rules on corporate legitimacy. As corporation-watcher Jim Bendell explains, Companies find themselves having to work harder at legitimating themselves: statements defending a corporations [sic] legitimacy and reputation such as ‘we obey the law’ or ‘that is the government’s responsibility not ours’ are not sufficient in the 21st century. Companies are therefore increasingly seeking positive relations with all those who have a stake in their activities, including employees, communities, consumers and NGOs (Bendell 2001: 3). Assisted participation In addition to liberalized rules in allowing greater participation, a number of efforts have already been made (and could be expanded) in assisting still greater involvement. The justification for more active inclusion of additional voices is to avoid some of the obstacles forecast earlier: that of elite domination of global processes, whether or not that elite is nongovernmental. Edwards writes that, ‘Many supposedly “global” movements are dominated by voices from the industrialized world, and lack democratic representation among citizens groups in the North and the South. This increases suspicions in some quarters that NGOs represent another vote for US interests, and not a strong voice for the common interests of citizens worldwide’ (Edwards nd: URL).

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Intended to avoid such domination, supplementary democracy’s philosophy of letting a thousand flowers bloom requires hard cash. Precedent for assisting more balanced civic participation was set in the UN Conferences where Southern NGO delegates were eligible for subsidized travel. Today, among other examples, the Global Environment Facility provides travel grants to 14 NGOs (selected by the NGO group organized around the GEF) to attend its twice-yearly meetings; and the UN’s Indigenous Peoples Fund (IPF) equally involves governments, donors, and (subsidized) indigenous peoples in its decision-making (Centre for Global Studies 2001: 135 and 109). Yet access to official travel funds (and money to pay for staff time to prepare for participation in intergovernmental meetings) remains a stumbling block (Bichsel 1996: 241), and there are often insufficient funds (or willingness) within North–South alliances to fund such ‘balanced’ participation in long-term governmental processes. Edwards refers to a level playing field when he makes his own recommendations for greater support to CSOs, by the big agencies and by large CSOs themselves, to pull in voices currently left out of the global conversation. Funding for capacity building, financial autonomy, and ‘economic literacy’ all rate highly on his list (Edwards 2000: 5). Expanded transparency Likewise, while moves have been made by many IGOs to increase public access to information, much more remains to be accomplished. The IMF faces particularly heavy criticism on this point, accused of lack of transparency on its operations and its provision of information (Friends of the Earth nd). While the record has improved (Throssal 2002: 3–4), activists insist on greater transparency still. The 50 Years Is Enough campaign demands that, The IMF and World Bank Group make all board meetings public and all documents in its possession freely available to the public (with exceptions to protect confidentiality to be decided on by a neutral body). This includes all project and program agreements, board meeting minutes, evaluations of program failures and successes, etc. All documents must be made available in the local languages of project- and policy- affected peoples (50 Years Is Enough 2002: URL). Perhaps the most extensive of transparency reforms has happened at the Bank. The 1993 information disclosure policy had expanded by 2001 to include release of documents on the Heavily Indebted Poor


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Countries initiative and Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers, including summaries of board discussions and a greater number of project-related documents (Throssal 2002: 3–4). However, in all these cases, the Human Development Report shows serious gaps: minutes of World Bank and IMF executive board meetings are not published, votes are not taken and so cannot be recorded or publicized, and therefore citizens of member countries (or interested outsiders) cannot hold executive directors or their governments accountable for their policies (UNDP 2002: 129). Other questions arise around the transparency of other intergovernmental bodies – the WTO and the Bank for International Settlements, for instance (Scholte and Schnabel 2002) – let alone about the transparency of private sector organizations whose investments have significant public interest outcomes. Greater transparency is an important prerequisite to a more democratic global system, of course, because it is a necessary ingredient to accountability. It is recognized, even by those on the inside, as crucial for the legitimacy of the intergovernmental process – and for that matter, the whole globalization proposal. Then Canadian Trade Minister Pettigrew argues that, By adopting a transparent approach, we can demystify the globalization process in the eyes of many citizens. By allowing them to consult draft negotiating texts, or look inside an organization and get answers to their questions, we eliminate one of the loudest claims of the anti-globalization movement: the accusation that trade deals are shrouded in secrecy, concluded behind closed doors on behalf of transnational corporations (Pettigrew 2001: URL). For global citizens to hold their governments and IGOs to account, and to encourage wealth-creating corporations to act for the highest public benefit, such transparency is an all-important precondition. Monitoring mechanisms in particular are thus all-important parts of supplementary democracy’s transparency project. Proportional accountability A final notion may aid the democratic project further still. Proportional accountability implies that those who are most affected by a decision should have the greatest claims on the decision-maker and the greatest means of redress. The idea is not novel – Held talks about the ‘all affected principle’ (2000) and Saward writes about ‘complex accountability’

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(2000) – and these pages have discussed aspects of the notion, especially in the idea of victim rights. Mechanisms that embody proportional accountability already exist. The tripartite structure of the Indigenous Peoples’ Fund is one example. Funded by donor governments and intergovernmental agencies, and housed within the UN, the IPF is composed of both indigenous representatives and government representatives of host and donor countries, in equal proportions and with equal rights. Together, they decide funding to projects that are based on indigenous notions of development; come from grassroots organizations; have potential to shape the structural conditions hampering indigenous development and to serve as models (Centre for Global Studies 2001: 109–10). Both in its project focus and its governance structure, the IPF thus attempts to embody the principle of proportional accountability. Such models are not new – the ILO is a long-standing institution – but they are still too rare. As ‘partnership’ rules strengthen even further, Northern-led CSOs are continuing to devolve responsibility and decision-making to their counterparts working in developing countries. Such devolution marks a step in the right direction. For corporate and intergovernmental agencies likewise, legitimacy rules also exert pressure towards greater – and more genuine – partnership with those whose lives are most affected by the work they undertake on our planet.

6.5

Conclusion

The aim is not a superstate but rather the establishment of normcreating multilateral regimes and, ultimately, some sort of global constitutional order (Spiro 1995: 49). Clearly, the proposals presented in these pages intend to tweak (rather than re-create) the system. Yet while the proposal acknowledges realist power relations, it also adopts a liberal insistence on pluralism as a safeguard against the abuse of power all the while harbouring cosmopolitan ambitions for improved global order. This approach to global governance reform thus takes advantage of a partly opened door, seeking to push it still wider. It identifies the system’s core democratic failings (accountability and participation) and it locates toeholds for movement on each through mechanisms that shape how decisions are already made. It thus focuses on democratizing, rather than just disrupting, global governance. It does matter how our globe is governed:


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supplementary democracy is one way of thinking about the next steps needed to make it better. Some readers might wonder why the book ends here. Surely I am ducking the core issue raised by other chapters: How are competing claims to legitimacy to be resolved? (Pearce 2003). It is fine to say that there are all sorts of rules at play out there, but how can they be sorted out in the best possible public interest? Who is, indeed, more legitimate than whom? How can we substantiate our real legitimacy/worthiness to our adversaries? The predictable response is that legitimacy claims of one kind trump claims of another depending on the power brokers and circumstances, pushing aside certain players and promoting others as the issues and interests evolve. The legitimacy game is thus part of pure politics, and its players are rarely gifted with immovable credentials. Having said that, however, one can not simply walk away from the implications of the game: Even if the outcome of the legitimacy game depends on shifting political forces, can nothing more be done in the search for global justice? Does understanding the game better get us anywhere? Supplementary democracy is one way of getting somewhere, and getting somewhere better. In arguing for strengthened mechanisms for participation and accountability, the proposal provides a framework for a more considered set of trumping exercises: as more and more mechanisms are opened up, the rules will need to be debated, weighed, and applied in a more thoughtful way. What groups should be allowed on this committee? Whose agencies need to be part of this taskforce? What rights should individuals have in seeking redress from this agency? Supplementary democracy insists on the clear-headed examination, and institutionalization, of such hierarchies of legitimacy rules. It is the application of the legitimacy game to the next stage of global governance evolution. For thinkers and activists who bemoan such reformist approaches as slow, conciliatory, and vulnerable to cooptation, I can hardly object. However, reform of any kind is impossible without clear, loud, and ‘credible’ voices that stretch the parameters of what can be considered in the first place. Reformers who promote a supplementary approach can move forward only once the vanguard has made possible any movement at all. As Rosenau writes, Circumstances have to be suitable, people have to be amenable to collective decisions being made, tendencies toward organization have to develop, habits of cooperation have to evolve, and a readiness not

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to impede the processes of emergence and evolution has to persist (Rosenau 1997: 152). I believe that circumstances today – the frames by which global justice is understood – are suitable for change, but not for large changes in big leaps. Ambitious proposals for new UN chambers or powers for new civic-powered institutions are therefore discarded: it would be like spitting into the wind of global power politics, financial decisionmakers, and weighted voting systems. Similarly, assertions of the adequacy of existing mechanisms or the impossibility (or undesirability) of reform are discarded: our anarchic global order is clearly in need of better oversight. Finally, while naysayers for a ‘global civil society’ are right to point out the absence of a unified, purely representative, and virtuous mass of activists, they are missing the point. Whose ethics demand perfection before action? As another commentator concludes, Being aware of the limitations to the virtues of the ‘global civil society’ invites us to desacralize it, not disqualify it. For in a world that in many respects seems less egalitarian than yesterday, from the viewpoint of relationships between genders, races, classes or countries, citizen organizations more than ever have a role to play (Scholte 2003: URL).

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Index Note: Page numbers given in italics refer to tables or figures 50 Years Is Enough, 51, 156 9/11 (11 September 2001 attacks on New York and Washington), 26, 119 Abugre, Charles, 93 accountability and supplementary democracy, 142 complex accountability, 157 definitions, 73 downward vs upward, 73–4 of Southern NGOs, 74 vs efficiency, 74 within CSOs, 72–4 Adair, Anthony, 13, 149 Adams, Barbara, 21 advocacy, history of development NGOs, 48–50 Al-Sayyid, Mustapha, 116 Albert, Michael, 25–6 Alexander, Nancy, 93 Alexandroff, Alan, S., 3, 71 Alianza Social Continental, 25 all-affected principle, 157 All-Party Group for World Government, 150 Alliance for a Corporate-Free UN, 148 Almeida, Iris, 124 Almond, Gabriel, 13 Alter Chen, Martha, 46 Altman, Dennis, 21 Ambrose, Soren, 27 American Peace Society, 42 Amin, Samir, 48 Amnesty International, 14, 40, 47, 63, 70, 81, 82, 88, 89, 115, 118 Anand, Anita, 21 Anderson, Sarah, 53 Anheier, Helmut, 13 Anti-Capitalist Movement, 60 Anti-Slavery Society, 14 Arato, Andrew, 5, 6

Archibugi, Daniele, 132 Arquilla, John, 16–17 Arun Dam project, 51 Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation forum (APEC) Business Code of Conduct, 147 pepper spray incident, 121 Asian financial crisis, 52–5 astroturf membership, 69 Atwood, David, C., 43 austerity, 106 Axworthy, Lloyd, 45 Ayres, Jeffrey, M., 18, 64, 123, 124 Baehr, Peter, R., 63, 99, 114, 116 Baker, Al, 124 Baker, Mark, 125 bananas, Costa Riccan industry, 83–4 Bank for International Settlements, 157 Barber, Benjamin, 79, 140, 142 Barlow, Maude, 27 Barndt, William, 69 Barry, Tom, 120 Barshefsky, Charlene, 58–9, 68 Batliwala, Srilatha, 66, 71–2 Beatty, Jack, 90 Bebbington, Anthony, 107, 108 Beierle, Thomas, 17, 69 Beijing, see United Nations World Conference on Women Beishon, Joh, 106, 149 Belgium, change in practice over diamonds, 42 Bellamy, Richard, 137 Bello, Walden, 66 Bendell, Jem, 40, 41, 148, 149, 155 184

Index Berkovitch, Nitza, 46 Berlusconi, Silvio, 121, 123 Bhatt, Gita, 54 Bichsel, Anne, 21, 36, 70, 113, 156 Biodevastation, 31 biotechnology policy, 86–7 Blair, Tony, 3 Bleyer, Peter, 56, 65 Bob, Clifford, 97–8, 109 Boele, Richard, 40 Boli, John, 132–3 Bond, Michael, 2, 14, 64, 81, 83, 84, 114 bonding with counterparts, 110 Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, 10 Box, L., 88 boycotts, 38, 39–40, 153 Brand-Jacobson, Kai Frithjof, 120 Breitmeier, Helmut, 82 Brent Spar, controversy, 84 Bretton Woods Project, 24, 124 British Council, 6 Brown Thompson, Karen, 46, 47 Brown, L. David, 18, 22, 51, 74, 141 Brysk, Alison, 111 Bull, Hedley, 131 Bullard, Nicola, 67–8 Bunch, Charlotte, et al., 46 Burnheim, J., 133 Business Week Online, 148 Bygrave, Mike, 60–1 Cameron, C., 108 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, 43 campaigns examples of success and failures, 21, 22, 33, 34, 37, 42, 45, 47, 50, 52, 54, 56–7, 153 see also under individual campaign names CARE, 14 Carlsson, Ingvar, 104 Carothers, Thomas, 7–8, 10, 95, 116, 118 Caux Principles for Business, 147

185

Centre for Global Studies, 150, 151, 152, 156, 157 certification and rating, examples of CSO mechanisms, 40, 151–2 Chandhoke, Neera, 5, 7, 68, 70, 94 Chapman, Jennifer, 41 Charnovitz, Steve, 77–8 Chico river, 50 child labour, 40–1 Chiriboga, Manuel, 52 citizenship; idea of the global citizen, 79–81 attitude surveys, 80 CIVICUS, 68, 138 Civil society criteria for inclusion, 7 definition, 5–9 democracy, 9–10 good vs bad civil society, 8–9 history of concept, 6–7 kaleidoscope, 101 NGOs vs civil society, 7–8 perceived benefits of, 9–12 social capital, 10–11 social justice, 11–12 three circles model, 7 see also civil society organizations working globally civil society organizations working globally backlash against, 107 characteristics, 14–31 criticism about, 2–3, 62–3, 65–6, 67–8, 70–1, 100, 103, 104 difference from NGOs, 7 efforts to alter institutions, 22 efforts to change frames, 19–20 efforts to change policy and practice, 20–2 evaluations of effectiveness, 107–8 financial flows from, 117–18 history, 14–15 ideological stamp of, 26–31 impact of war on terrorism, 123–5 importance of UN conferences, 20–2 institutional innovations, 15–16 trends and estimates of numbers, 12–14 see also civil society

186

Index

Clark, John, 3, 11, 47–8, 87–8, 92, 141, 149 Climate Action Network, 36 co-planning and co-implementation with activists, 152–3 Coca Cola, 88 Cocking, J., 108 codes of conduct for business, 147–9 for NGOs, 38, 75, 107, 149 limits on effectiveness, 148–9 Cohen, Jean, 5, 6 collective consciousness, 132–3 Collins, Carole, J.L., et al., 55 Commission on Global Governance, 104, 124–5, 140 Commission on Human Settlements, 152 Commonwealth Civil Society Statement, 99 Connolly, W.E., 133 consumer and shareholder opposition, 153–4 contract theory, 132 Cook, Rebecca, 122 Cooperative Programme for Monitoring and Evaluation of the Long-Range Transmission of Air Pollution in Europe, 82 coordination problems, 108 corporate social responsibility, 37–45, 147 CorpWatch, 148, 149, 150 Corruption Index, 152 Cortright, David, 43 cosmopolitan democracy, 131–2 credibility of corporations, 88–9 of CSOs, 86, 90 Darcy de Oliviera, Miguel, 95 Dawson, Thomas, C., 54 de Armond, Paul, 23, 58 De Beers, 42 de Jonquieres, Guy, 2 de la Rosa, Jing, 20–1 Deakin, Nicholas, 5 delegation, as concern in supplementary democracy, 146

democracy civil society, 9–10 definitions, 128–9 democratic deficit, 128–9, 139 improved democratic practice among non-states, 136 number of democracies, 136 within CSOs, 71–2 see also global governance Democracy Collaborative, 140 Demosclerosis, 145 Denham, Mark, 107 Desai, Meghnad, 29, 53, 56, 123 Desarda, Hiralal, 110 Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (DAWN), 16, 46 development education, 48–50 Diamond, Larry, 9 diamonds, blood diamonds, 41–2, 83 Dionne, E.J., Jr., 9 direct action, 25–6 Direct Action Network, 58 disarmament, 43–4 diversity of tactics, 25–6 Dodds, Felix, 149, 152 Dominick, Brian, 26 Donnelly, Elizabeth, A., 55 Dorsey, Ellen, 46 Dow Chemicals, 88 Drake, Christine, 144 Earth Summit, see United Nations Conference on the Environment and Development East West Institute (EWI), 13 ecological sensibility, 34 Economist, The, 2, 61, 82, 95, 106, 112, 113, 145 Edelman Worldwide, 88 Edwards, Michael, 2, 3, 6, 68, 75, 89, 96, 100, 107, 108, 117, 118, 127, 135, 137–40, 147, 155, 156 effectiveness assessments of CSOs, 107–8 problems of measuring, 108 Egypt, political independence of CSOs, 116 elephant ivory, ban on trade, 83

Index elitism, 109–11, 143 Elliott, Kimberly Ann, et al., 14, 86 Ellis-Jones, Mark, 54 Enron Corporation, 88 Environmental Defense Fund (EDF), 24, 112–13 environmental movement, 34–7, 58 epistemic community, 86 Equiterre, 151 ETC Group, 36–7 ethical globalization, 141 Ethical Trading Initiative, 137, 149 Eurodad, 36 European Court of Justice, 134 European Union, 118, 121 experience, as grounds for legitimacy, 92–4 expertise, as grounds for legitimacy, 81–92 balance, 90–2, 141–2 comparative credibility, 88–90 disciplinary might, 85–8 rarity, 81–3 validity, 83–5 Fabig, Heike, 40 Fair Labor Association, 149 Fair Trade label, 151 Fair Wear Foundation, 149 Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting (FAIR), 121 Fierlbeck, Katherine, 6, 128 Financial Times, 62–3, 81, 123 Finn, Ed, 121 Fisher, Julie, 10, 13 Fisher, Thomas, 41 Flint, Anthony, 10 Focus on the Global South, 66–7 Foley, Michael, W., 6 Foreign Affairs, 65 Forest Stewardship Council, 137, 139, 152 Fortin, J.L., et al., 107 Forum of Civil Society, 134 Foster, John, 15, 21, 28, 52, 65, 96 Foundation for Ethics and Meaning, 100 Fowler, Alan, 90, 108, 119, 152 Fox, Jonathan, A., 18, 22, 51, 141

187

frames definitions, 19 examples of failure, 48, 49, 52, 80 examples of success, 19–20, 35, 44–5, 46–7, 55, 136, 146 frame amplification, 20 frame bridging, 20 role in supplementary democracy, 140 venue shifting, 20 Fraser, C., Gerald, 88 Free Trade Agreement for the Americas (FTAA), 24, 64 Freedom House, 136 Friedman, Thomas, L., 66, 84, 105 Friends of the Earth, 14, 154 Fukuyama, Francis, 10 fundraising competition for funds, 112 criteria for choosing campaigns, 112–13 fear of distortion to mission, 118 Galtung, Fredrik, 152 Gaventa, John, 80 Gberie, Lansana, 41, 83 Gellner, Ernest, 5, 7 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) activism around the Uruguay Round, 17 relationship to WTO, 57–8 General Audit Office, 107–8 Genetically-modified organisms (GMOs), 36–7 Geneva Business Dialogue, 2 Ghana, 51 Giuffo, John, 121 Glasius, Marlies, 16, 125 Global Civil Society Yearbook, 16, 28–9 Global Civil Society, as name of movement, 60 Global Compact, The, 91, 137, 148 Global Environment Facility, 156 Global Environment Monitoring System, 82 global finance, history of campaigns, 50–6 Global Financial Architecture, 54

188

Index

global governance alternate theories and proposals for improving, 130–4 crisis in, 128–30 ingredients for improvement, 135–7 objections to alternate theories and proposals, 134–5 Global Justice Movement, as name of movement, 60 Global Reporting Initiatives, 148 Global Sullivan Principles, 147 Global Witness, 41, 83 globalization activists’ concerns about, 27–8 campaign against, 56–60 diversity of responses to, 28–30 rallying venue for activism, 30–1 Goldman Sachs, 88 Goodman, James, 28–9, 56, 57, 99 Graham, Edward, 84 grassroots, as grounds for legitimacy, 92–3, 110 Gray, Andrew, 50 green labelling, 151 green marketing, 151 Green Party, 92 Greenpeace, 14, 34–5, 64, 69–70, 71, 98 criticism of its science, 83–4 trusted brand, 88 Greenwash, 150 Group of Eight (G8) protests against, 60 venue for negotiation, 135 violence at Genoa, 3, 121 Group of Seven (G7), 55 Guide to the Seattle Meltdown: A Compendium of Activists at the WTO Ministerial, 59 Gulia, Milena, 69 Gunter, Lorne, 65, 70–1, 106 Hague Conference, 15, 42 Hall, John, 5, 6 Halperin, Sandra, 19, 27, 56 Hamilton, Lawrence, 5 Harare Declaration, 68 Harper, Caroline, 85 Hately, Lynne, 68 Hauser Centre, Harvard University, 68

Hayden, Tom, 99 Heavily Indebted Poor Countries initiative, 156–7 Held, David, 129–30, 132, 144, 157 Hemispheric Social Alliance, 25 Hertz, Noreena, 141 Hirst, Paul, 9 Hochstetler, Kathryn, A., et al., 144 Holloway, Richard, 103–4 Howell, Jude, 3 Hudson, Alan, 3, 49, 50, 66, 72, 73, 86, 92, 94, 97 Huffington, Arianna, 100 Hulme, David, 75, 106, 108, 117, 118 Human Development Report, 27, 152, 157 human rights, 45–7 basis for legitimacy, 77–81 legal person, 77–8 victimhood, 78–9 Human Rights Watch, 47, 63, 75, 82 ideology within globalization movements, 26–31 IKEA, 151 independence financial, 116–19 political, 115–16 Indigenous Peoples Fund, 156, 158 individualism, 133 infant formula, 37–8 insider/outsider tactics, 24–5, 43–4, 58, 154 Institute for Agriculture and Trade Policy, 68 Institute for Development Studies (IDS), 12, 14 institutional congestion as problem for supplementary democracy, 145–6 integrity, 104 Internal League for Human Rights, 47 International Baby-Food Action Network (IBFAN), 38 International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL), 8, 17, 44–5, 79, 81 in comparison with Jubilee 2000, 56 in comparison with the 50 Years Is Enough campaign, 51

Index International Commission of Jurists, 63 International Confederation of Free Trade Unions, 58 International Criminal Court, 45, 134 International Labour Organization, 97, 152 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 52–5 critiques of handing of Asian financial crisis, 54 invocations to greater transparency, 156 international NGOs, see civil society organizations working globally International Red Cross, 14, 113 International Women’s Rights Action Watch, 46 International Women’s Tribune Center, 46 Internet benefits to activists, 16–18 delegitimizing factor, 69 effect on organizational structure, 18 role in ICBL, 44 role in MAI campaign, 56–7 issue networks, 15–16 Jafri, Afsar, J., 36 Jenkins, Rhys, 149 Jhabvala, Renana, 78 Johnson, Rebecca, 25, 44, 103 Johnston, Josée, 149 Jones, Barry, R.J., 137 Jordan, Lisa, 72, 74 Jubilee 2000, 55–6, 87–8 Jubilee South, 68 Juniper, Tony, 60–1 Kalaw, Maximo, T., 80 Kaldor, Mary, 16, 57, 111, 125 Kanbur, Ravi, 78 Karlsson, Mats, 3 Keane, John, 5, 6, 29, 101 Keck, Margaret, E., 19, 20, 113 Keohane, Robert, O., 128, 130, 135, 140 Kershaw, I., et al., 107 Khagram, Sanjeev, 19–20, 50, 97

Kidder, Thalia, G., 56, 98 King, Anthony, D., 28 Kingsnorth, Paul, 33 Klein, Naomi, 2, 23, 29–30, 69, 100, 141 Knight, Andy, 135 Kobrin, Stephen, J., 57, 91 Korten, David, 100, 105 Korzeniewicz, Roberto Patricio, 16, 25, 64 Kouchner, Bernard, 111 Kovach, Hetty, et al., 150 Kriesberg, Louis, 101 Kruiter, A., 88 Krut, Riva, et al., 16, 27–8, 66, 71, 89 Kunugi, Tatsuro, 72, 149 Landmine Monitor, 82 Lawyers Committee for Human Rights, 47, 81 Laxer, Gordon, 19, 27, 56 leadership, 109–11 charisma, 111 personalities, 87 skills, 109–10 League of Nations, 15 Lefrancois, Fabien, 101 legitimacy rules, 62–76, 77–102, 103–26 failures within global institutions, 128–30 moving targets, 62–3 other studies of, 3 trumping of rules, 88 Lemann, Nicholas, 10 Lerner, Michael, 100 Lessons for activists from various campaigns, 35–8, 40, 42–3, 47, 50–1, 54, 55–7, 59–60 liberal internationalism, 131 Light, Julie, 122 Lipsett, Lloyd, 124 London Peace Society, 42 Longworth, R.C., 120 low overhead, 106 McDonald’s, 24, 88 McGann, James, 13

189

190

Index

McGee, Rosemary, 21 Malaguti, Raffaella, 122 Malena, Carmen, 93 Malhotra, Kamal, 53, 68 Mallaby, Sebastien, 18 Maquila Solidarity Network, 79 marketing of campaigns appeals, 111–14 Marozzi, Justin, 65, 71 Martell, Luke, 133 Mathew, David, 29, 141 Mathews, Jessica, 13, 91, 118, 127, 145 Mbogori, Ezra, 115 means vs ends, 103–8 Médecins sans frontières, 105, 111 media manipulation, 113 Mekata, Motoko, 81 Melchett, Peter, 71 Meltzer Commission, 53 merchants of morality, 113 Metaphors comparing activists, 1 Mexican debt crisis, 55 Mezzera, Marco, 53 Microsoft, 88 Millenium Assembly, 21 Mingst, Karen, 19, 44 Mitchell, Timothy, 13 Mitlin, Diana, 108 mobilization of shame, 114 Mohan, Saumitra, 13 monitoring, examples of CSO mechanisms, 149–51 Monsanto, 88 Monterrey, see United Nations International Conference on Financing for Development Moore, Mark, H., 74 Moore, Michael, 2, 68 moral authority common standard, 97–8 grounds for legitimacy, 94–101 public interest, 94 united front, 98–101 Morgenthau, Hans, 131 Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People, 39 MS (Danish Overseas Development Ministry), 72

Multilateral Agreement on Investment (MAI) assessment of critiques made, 91 frame change, 19 history of campaign against, 56–7, 99 Murphy, David, 39, 40–1, 141 Naidoo, Kumi, 138 Naim, Moises, 17, 18, 68, 70, 132 Najam, Adil, 13 Nanjundaswamy, Prof, 96 Narmada dam project, 19, 50, 79, 97 National Arbitration League, 42 National Rifle Association, 8 Natural Resources Defense Council, 66 Neier, Aryeh, 111 Nelson, Paul, 3, 50, 52, 54–5, 61, 68, 74, 80, 86, 90, 98, 105 Nestle, 37–8 netwars, 16–17 New International Economic Order, 47–8 New Policy Agenda, 107 New York Times, 123 Newell, Peter, 152 NGO Watch, 74–5 Nigeria, 39–40 Nike, 38–9 NikeWatch, 38–9 norms in favour of supplementary democracy, 146 Norris, Pippa, 18, 69, 80 North American Agreement on Environmental Cooperation, 150 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 134 North–South campaigns, 47–50 Nossal, Kim Richard, 143 NOVIB, 105, 111 Nuclear Weapons Freeze Campaign, 43 Nye, Joseph, 98, 128, 130, 135, 140 Oakley, Peter, et al., 108 O’Brien, Robert, 22 OECD Guidelines for Multinational Enterprises, 147 Oliver, Michael, 21

Index Oliviero, Melanie Beth, 24–5 Olson, Mancur, 145 One World Foundation, 112 Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), 56–7, 108, 135 Organization of American States (OAS), 24–5, 31 O’Rourke, Dana, 149 Osgood, Diane, 36, 37, 85–7 Ottaway, Marina, 7–8, 10, 116, 118 Oxfam, 82, 87–9, 93, 98 Oxford Analytica, 59, 143 Pagnucco, Ron, 44 Paiakan, 111 Parliamentary Assembly, 134–5 participation, recommendations on how to expand and assist, 154–6 partnership, 49–50, 64–5, 68, 83, 158 grassrootedness, 92–3 speaking ‘on behalf of’ Southern counterparts, 66–8 Partnership Africa Canada, 41–2, 68, 83 Patomoki, H., 133 Paton, Ron, 96 Paul, James, A., 21 Pax Christie, 40 peace campaigns, 42–5 against the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, 125 Pearce, Jenny, 3, 159 People’s Assembly, 133–5 Perlas, Nicanor, 57, 60 Pesticides Action Network (PAN), 16 Pettifor, Ann, 55 Pettigrew, Pierre, 93, 98, 157 Phillips, Ruth, 148 Pinter, Frances, 119 Plattner, Marc, 9 pluralism as check on power, 145 pocketbook membership, 69–70 poverty pornography, 114 Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers, 157 Pratap, Anita , 28 Prince of Wales, 36 Princen, Thomas, 83

191

Principles for Global Corporate Responsibility, 148 professionalism, 104–5 Public Citizen, 17 public interest, 94, 95–7 Putnam, Robert, 10 Radda Barna, 105 radical communitarianism, 133 Rainforest Action Network, 153 Ramphal, Sridath, 104 Rashbaum, William, K., 124 rational voluntaristic authority, 133 Rauch, Jonathan, 145 realism, 131 Rebick, Judy, 26 Rees, Susan, 64 regimes supporting involvement of CSOs, 136 Reimann, Kim, 94 representation as a legitimacy rule elections, 64, 71, 143 internal democracy, 70–6 membership, 63–70 proportionality, 65 speaking ‘on behalf of’ 66–8, 79 research, critiques of quality, 85 Revenue Canada, 13, 2003 Rice, Andrew, 16 Richmond, Jennie, 21 Riddell, Roger, et al., 107, 198 Rieff, David, 73, 114 Rio, see United Nations Conference on the Environment and Development Risse (Risse-Kappen), Thomas, 19, 44, 81, 115 Ritchie, Cyril, 16 Rittberger, Voker, 82 Robinson, Mark, 108 Roe, E., 105 Ronfeldt, David, 16–17 Rosenau, J.N, 13, 80, 110, 136, 146, 159–60 Rowe, Brian, 107 Royal Dutch Shell, 39–40, 88 Rucht, Dieter, 118 Ruckus Society, 58 Rugmark, 40–1

192

Index

Rural Advancement Foundation International (RAFI), 36–7 Rwanda, 113–14 Said, Yahia, 29, 53, 56 Sainsbury’s, 151 Salamon, Lester, 10, 12–14 Saro-Wiwa, Ken, 39, 109 Saward, Michael, 157 Schmitz, Gerry, 84 Schnabel, Albrecht, 157 Scholte, Jan Aart, 16, 52–4, 58, 80, 93, 110, 128–9, 141–2, 145, 157, 160 Schudson, M., 10 Schweitz, Martha, 72, 149 Scott, Matthew, J.O., 17, 82, 110 Seattle, Battle of assessment of activists, 65, 67, 70–1, 79, 95, 98, 100 history of campaign, 57–60, 99 importance as source of momentum, 30–1 role of Internet in organizing, 17–18 see also World Trade Organization Security Council, 41–2, 131 security, public fears about, 119–25 Self-Employed Women’s Association (SEWA), 78 Seligman, Adam, 5, 7 Sen, Jai, 50 serial protest, 23–4 shareholder dialogues, 153 shareholder proposals, 154 Shaw, Martin, 146–7 Shell, see Royal Dutch Shell Shiva, Vandana, 30, 36, 87 Siegel, Daniel, 9–10 Sikkink, Katherine, 13–14, 19, 20, 30, 74, 113, 115 Simmons, P.J., 3, 24–5, 84–5 Skocpol, Theda, 10–11 Slim, Hugo, 3, 85, 97, 108, 126 Smillie, Ian, 14, 41, 74–5, 83, 105–8, 111–12, 114, 118–19, 141 Smith, Edwin, 107, 145 Smith, Jackie, 13–14 Smith, Peter J., 57–8

Smith, William C., 16, 25, 64 Smouts, Marie-Claude, 22 Smythe, Elizabeth, 57–8 Social Accountability 8000, 148 Social Accountability International, 149 social capital and civil society, definition and critique, 10–11 social entrepreneurship, 119 social justice and civil society, 11–12 and supplementary democracy, 141–2 Social Watch, 150 Socialist International, 15 Solomon, Miriam, 128 Somalia, 112 Soros, George, 111 South Asia Partnership, 68 sovereignty, fear of erosion, 143–4 special interests, 91 Spencer, Tom, 124–5 Spiro, Peter J., 66, 72 standard operating procedures, supporting involvement of CSOs, 136 statism, 131 Stiglitz, Joseph, 27 Stone, Diane, 83 Structural Adjustment Participatory Review International Network (SAPRIN), 52 structural adjustment programmes, 50–2 summary of main arguments, 3–4 Sundstrom, Lisa, 110 supplementary democracy objections, 142–6 potential, 140–2 rationale, 137–40 summary, 137 ways of putting into motion, 146–58 Sur, M.A., 108 Taking NGOs Seriously, 88 Tandon, Rajesh, 95 terminator seeds, 36–7 The Body Shop, 151

Index The New Republic, 90 Themudo, Nuno, 13 think tanks, 82–3 Third World Network (TWN), 16, 58 Thomas, Daniel C., 19 Thomas, George, 132–3 Throssal, Harry, 157 trade unions and legitimacy, 64 transparency access to information about CSOs, 74–5 compared with governments and business, 75 World Bank and IMF, 156 Tvedt, Terje, 107 Udall, Lori, 50 UNAIDS, The Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS, 152 Union of International Associations, 12 United Nations conferences, 20 CSO involvement in UN activities, 21–2 importance of conferences to CSOs, 20–1 reform, 134 Secretary-General, 16, 21 United Nations Centre for Human Rights, 118 United Nations Commission on Sustainable Development, 149 United Nations Conference on the Environment and Development, 35–6, 100, 114 United Nations Environmental Programme, 82 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 113 United Nations International Conference on Financing for Development, 99 United Nations Special Sessions on Disarmament, 43 United Nations World Conference on Women, 46–7, 89, 100 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 77

193

Universal Peace Congress, 14 universalism, 133 Unrepresented Nations and Peoples Organization, 109 Utting, Peter, 147–8 Vakil, Anna C., 12 values orientation, difficulty in defining and applying, 95–6 van Dijk, Meine Peter, 108 Van Rooy, Alison, 10, 14, 36, 110 van Tuijl, Peter, 72, 74 Väyrynen, Raimo, 120 Vidal, John, 88 violence, 25–6, 120–3 against protesters, 121, 122 debates over, 120–1 definitions, 120 state as buffer against, 124 see also direct action Vittachi, Anuradha, 112 voice vs vote, 71, 137–9 volunteerism, 105 Waelde, Thomas W., 48 Wahl, Peter, 123, 125 Walker, R.B.J, 133 walking the talk, 103–8 Wallace, T., et al., 105 Wallach, Lori, 17–18, 68, 70, 84, 99, 132 Walter, Andrew, 57 Walzer, Kenneth, 5 Wapner, Paul, 34–5 war on terrorism, 123–5 effects on activists’ tactics, 123–5 Warkentin, Craig, 19, 44 Warren, Mark, 9 Wehling, Jason, 17 Weiss, Thomas G., 107, 118, 145 Wellman, Barry, 69 West, Cornel, 100 whaling, Norway’s industry, 83 Wignaraja, Ponna, 28 Willetts, Peter, 21, 136, 152–3 Williams, Marc, 86, 141 Winters, L. Alan, 67 Wolf, Martin, 123 Wolfensohn, James, 61, 144

194

Index

Women’s Environment and Development Organization (WEDO), 16, 46, 86 Women’s rights as human rights, 45–7 Workers Rights Consortium, 149 Workingmen’s Peace Association, 42 World Bank acceptance of global citizenship rights, 80 Civil Society Liaison officers, 52 Compliance Advisor/ Ombudsman, 150 handbook on CSOs, 93 impact of protests, 61 Inspection Panel, 50, 52, 150 International Development Association, 50, 98 invocations to greater transparency, 156 NGO Liaison Committee, 51–2 Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers, 157 structural adjustment, 50–2 World Conference Against Racism, 99

World Development Movement, 87 World Diamond Congress, 42 World Economic Forum, 16, 123 world forums, 16 World Social Forum, 16, 60, 121 World Trade Organization (WTO) history of demonstrations in Seattle against, 57–60 Ministerial meeting in Qatar, 68 misunderstandings about, 84 see also Seattle Worldcom, 88 Worldwide Fund for Nature (WWF), 14, 82, 88–9 Worldwide Responsible Apparel Production, 149 Yamamoto, Tadashi, 127 Yancey, Jenny, 9–10 Zadek, Simon, 68, 89, 100, 138–40, 147, 155 Zakaria, Fareed, 65 Zepernick, Mary, 59

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