Natural Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region of Africa: A Political Economy Perspective

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Natural Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region of Africa

10.1057/9780230304994 - Natural Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region of Africa, Edited by An Ansoms and Stefaan Marysse


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A Political Economy Perspective Edited by

An Ansoms Lecturer in Development Studies, Centre for Development Studies, Université Catholique de Louvain, Belgium

Stefaan Marysse Professor of Political Economy, Institute of Development Policy and Management (IDPM), University of Antwerp, Belgium



Natural Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region of Africa

Preface, selection and editorial matter © An Ansoms and Stefaan Marysse 2011 Individual chapters © contributors 2011 Foreword © David Newbury 2011

No portion 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, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2011 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN 978–0–230–29025–9 hardback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne



All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission.

Contents xi

List of Abbreviations

xii

Preface

xv

Foreword

xix

Notes on the Contributors

xxiv

Part I Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region 1 Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region An Ansoms and Klara Claessens 1.1 Land and development: a disputed relationship 1.2 Access to land in the Great Lakes Region: from local to global challenges 1.2.1 Demographic pressures and the degradation of land 1.2.2 Dealing with a legacy of violence and conflict 1.2.3 The commercialisation of space: land grabbing by large-scale actors 1.2.4 Any alternatives for securing rural livelihoods? 1.3 Agrarian reforms: is there a future for small-scale farming? 1.4 Land reforms: operating in a context of legal pluralism 1.5 Conclusion Notes References 2 Reconciling Custom, State and Local Livelihoods: Decentralised Land Management in South Kivu (DRC) Innocent Utshudi Ona and An Ansoms 2.1 Introduction 2.2 Land practices in South Kivu: operating between custom and law

3 3 4 4 6 10 11 12 16 19 21 22 26 26 28

v



List of Tables and Figures

Contents

2.3

2.4

Three case studies 2.3.1 Mwanda, territory of Kabare 2.3.2 Kamituga, territory of Mwenga 2.3.3 Ruzizi plains, territory of Uvira 2.3.4 Land relations in South Kivu: a more general perspective Decentralisation in the DRC: an opportunity for locally embedded land management and dispute settlement

Notes References 3 A Legacy from the Past Hindering the Future: Land Conflicts in Ituri (DRC) Joost Van Puijenbroek and An Ansoms 3.1 Introduction 3.2 The territory of Aru: violent land conflicts in an obscure politico-commercial context 3.3 Djugu and Irumu: land conflicts in the context of the Hema–Lendu conflict 3.3.1 The territory of Djugu 3.3.2 The territory of Irumu 3.3.3 Dispute settlement in Djugu and Irumu 3.4 The overpopulation of Mahagi 3.5 The illegal exploitation of the forest and land conflicts in Mambasa 3.6 Conclusions and recommendations Notes References 4 Governance of Urban Agricultural Space: Struggle for Land in Kinshasa (DRC) Inge Wagemakers and Oracle Makangu Diki 4.1 Introduction 4.2 Land use and land property: a plurality of rules 4.3 Customary leadership, state agents and plural norms on the Mokali site 4.4 Vulnerability of gardeners and residents on the Mokali site 4.5 Conclusion: an open moment for customary authorities, gardeners and the state

31 31 35 38 40

41 46 47

49 49 50 54 54 56 58 59 60 62 63 66

68 68 70 73 75 78



vi

Notes References 5 In Quest of Legitimacy: Changes in Land Law and Legal Reform in Burundi Dominik Kohlhagen 5.1 Introduction 5.2 Manipulated legality: the instrumental use of statutory law 5.3 Eroded normativity: ancient customs in present-day reality 5.4 Undefined policy: the non-response of Burundi’s elite 5.5 Conclusion Notes References 6 Sharing Scarcity: Issues of Land Tenure in South-east Rwanda Margot Leegwater 6.1 Introduction 6.2 Research setting and methodology 6.2.1 Research setting 6.2.2 Methodological issues 6.3 Externally induced policies imposed on the local level 6.3.1 Land-sharing policy 6.3.2 Villagisation policy 6.4 Land dynamics as social relations: the impact of land-sharing and villagisation policies on the social fabric 6.4.1 Strained social relations 6.4.2 Land access and land conflicts 6.5 Conclusion Notes References 7 Views from Below on the Pro-poor Growth Challenge: Agrarian Policies in the Context of Rural Rwanda An Ansoms 7.1 Introduction 7.2 Socio-economic dynamics at the local level

vii

79 81

83 83 85 88 92 97 99 100

104 104 105 106 106 108 108 112

115 115 117 118 119 120

123 123 126



Contents

Contents

7.3

The impact of national policies: why do small-scale peasants participate so little in growth strategies? 7.3.1 Monocropping and regional specialisation 7.3.2 Land registration and consolidation 7.3.3 The reorganisation of swamplands Conclusions: different layers of pro-poor growth

7.4 Notes References

130 131 134 136 139 142 143

Part II Mineral Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region 8 Local Livelihoods, Global Interests and the State in the Congolese Mining Sector Sara Geenen 8.1 Mining and development: a disputed relationship 8.2 Congo’s minerals: their importance in globalisation and national development 8.2.1 Copper and cobalt 8.2.2 Diamonds 8.2.3 Coltan 8.2.4 Tin (cassiterite) 8.2.5 Gold 8.2.6 Other reserves 8.3 Congo’s political economy: drifting between industrial and artisanal mining 8.4 Industrial and artisanal mining: coexistence, limits and opportunities 8.5 Conclusion: livelihoods of artisanal miners and global interests in Congo Notes References 9 The New Gold Rush: Post-conflict Mining and Trading in the Kilo Belt (DRC) Dan Fahey 9.1 Introduction 9.2 Historical background 9.3 Contemporary mining in the Kilo belt 9.3.1 Modes of production 9.3.2 Artisanal mining as a livelihood strategy 9.3.3 Artisanal mining in post-conflict Ituri

149 149 151 151 153 154 155 156 157 157 161 164 166 167 170 170 173 176 176 177 179



viii

Contents ix

The trade in the Kilo belt’s gold 9.4.1 Structure of the gold trade 9.4.2 Government formalisation efforts 9.4.3 Effects of industrial mining 9.4.4 Effects of UN sanctions Conclusion

9.5 Notes References

10 Constraints, Opportunities and Hope: Artisanal Gold Mining and Trade in South Kivu (DRC) Sara Geenen 10.1 Introducing agency and constraints 10.2 The historical trajectory of a mining town 10.2.1 Early industrial development and the dawn of artisanal mining 10.2.2 The consequences of liberalisation 10.2.3 Crisis and war 10.2.4 Mineral resources for development? 10.3 Agency and constraints in exploitation and trade 10.3.1 ‘This is our land’: legal pluralism and property rights in mining sites 10.3.2 ‘It’s teamwork’: the organisation of reef mining 10.3.3 ‘Who seeks, finds’: constraints, opportunities and hope in reef mining 10.3.4 ‘It’s a never-ending process’: the processing of auriferous rocks 10.3.5 ‘The gold passes through many hands’: the network of gold traders 10.3.6 The tentative absence of industrial actors 10.4 Conclusion Notes References 11 Between Hammer and Anvil: The Predicament of Artisanal Miners in Katanga Jeroen Cuvelier 11.1 Introduction 11.2 ‘Bulongo ni ya bankambo’: the mine of Mbola 11.2.1 The fluidity of power relations in Mbola

181 182 182 183 184 185 187 188

192 192 193 194 195 195 197 198 198 200 201 204 206 209 210 212 212

215 215 220 221



9.4

Contents

11.2.2 The field of tension between ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’ in Mbola 11.2.3 The rupture between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’ in Mbola 11.3 ‘Bulongo ni ya bankambo’: the mine of Kalabi 11.3.1 The fluidity of power relations in Kalabi 11.3.2 The field of tension between ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’ in Kalabi 11.3.3 The rupture between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’ in Kalabi 11.4 Conclusion Note References 12 Triangular Arm Wrestling: Analysis and Revision of the Sino-Congolese Agreements Stefaan Marysse and Sara Geenen 12.1 Introduction 12.2 The Congolese political economy: extraversion, shocks and fragile recovery 12.3 Analysis of the 2007 ‘Protocol’ and the 2008 ‘Convention’ 12.3.1 Terms of reimbursement 12.3.2 Tax exemptions 12.3.3 Guarantees 12.3.4 Impact on Congolese development 12.4 Revision of the agreement 12.5 Conclusion Notes References Index

222 225 227 229 230 232 233 234 234 237 237 238 240 242 243 244 244 245 248 249 250 252



x

List of Tables and Figures

1.1 Evolution of population growth in the Great Lakes Region 1.2 Expansion of arable land in the Great Lakes Region 1.3 Arable land per head in the Great Lakes Region 1.4 Food production per head in the Great Lakes Region 6.1 Land access by group in ‘Mubinda’ (case-study setting in Rwanda) 7.1 Main characteristics of the research settings 7.2 Socio-economic categories defined on the basis of PPA methodology 7.3 Number of households in each socio-economic category 8.1 Global production of cobalt and industrial diamonds 8.2 Mineral reserves in the DRC 10.1 Official export figures of the registered export offices in South Kivu 12.1 Monetary valuation of the volumes of minerals specified in the protocol

5 6 7 7 118 125 127 127 151 157 197 242

Figures 2.1 Land rights on different types of land 2.2 The administrative structure according to the 2008 organic law 8.1 Gécamines copper production (in metric tons) 8.2 Gécamines cobalt production (in metric tons) 8.3 Artisanal and industrial (Miba) diamond production (in millions of carats) in the DRC 10.1 Actors in gold exploitation and the processing of auriferous rocks in and around Kamituga 10.2 Actors and their relationships in gold trade in and beyond Kamituga 12.1 Growth and inflation in the DRC (2000–2009)

30 42 152 153 154 205 207 239

xi



Tables

AFDL AGK ASM BCC CASM CdC CEEC CMKK CNRS CNTB COKA COMILU COPED CPACAM CREC DRC ECRIS EDPRS EMAK EU FAO FAPC FARDC FC FDLR FNI

Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Congo-Zaïre Ashanti Goldfields Kilo Artisanal and small-scale mining Banque Centrale du Congo Consultative Group for Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining Cadre de Concertation (local coalition of civil society groups in Ituri) Centre d’évaluation, expertise et certification Coopérative Minière Madini Kwa Kilimo Commission Nationale de Réhabilitation des Sinistrés Commission Nationale Terres et autres Biens Comité d’Orpailleurs de Kamituga Coopérative Minière de Luna Congo Performance Développement (first certified gold buying business in Ituri) Coopérative Principale des Associations des Creuseurs Artisanaux de Mwenga China Railway Group Limited Democratic Republic of Congo Rapid Collective Inquiry for the Identification of Conflicts and Strategic Groups Economic Development and Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper Exploitants Miniers Artisanaux du Katanga European Union Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations Forces Armées Populaires du Congo Forces Armées de la République Démocratique du Congo Football Club Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Rwanda Front des Nationalistes et Intégrationnistes xii



List of Abbreviations

Forminière FRPI GDP Gécamines GoR HIPC HRW ICG ICJ IDPs IFI IGO IMF I-PRSP ISAR MGL Miba MIRECA MK MLAR MONUC NGO OCC OFIDA Okimo PALIPEHUTU – FNL PDG PEG PNC POLICAR PPRD PRGF PRSP PUSIC RCD RMA RPA RPF

Société Internationale Forestière et Minière Force de Résistance Patriotique d’Ituri Gross Domestic Product Générale des Carrières et Mines Government of Rwanda Heavily Indebted Poor Countries Initiative Human Rights Watch International Crisis Group International Court of Justice Internally Displaced Persons International Financial Institutions Intergovernmental Organisations International Monetary Fund Interim Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper Rwanda Agricultural Research Institute Minière des Grands Lacs Africains Minière de Bakwanga Mineral Resources in Central Africa Mwamba Kabasele Market-led Agrarian Reform Mission of the United Nations in Congo Non-Governmental Organisation Office Congolais de Contrôle Office des Douanes et Accises Office des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto Parti pour la libération du peuple Hutu – Forces nationales de libération Président Directeur Général Programme Economique du Gouvernement Police Nationale Congolaise Police des Carrières Parti du Peuple pour la Reconstruction et la Démocratie Poverty Reduction and Growth Facility Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper Partie pour l’Unité et la Sauvegarde de l’Intégrité du Congo Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie Ressources Minières Africaines Rwandan Patriotic Army Rwandan Patriotic Front



List of Abbreviations xiii

Rwf SAESSCAM Sakima SCCA SDC SOKIMO Somico Sominki TNC UMHK UN UNDP UNHCR UNSC UPC UPDF USAID USGS WDR

Rwandan Francs Service d’Assistance et d’Encadrement du Small-Scale Mining Société Aurifère du Kivu-Maniema Sino-Congolese Cooperation Agreement Swiss Agency for Development Cooperation Société des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto Société Minière du Congo Société Minière et Industrielle du Kivu Transnational Corporations Union Minière du Haut-Katanga United Nations United Nations Development Programme United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees United Nations Security Council Union des Patriotes Congolais Ugandan Peoples Defense Forces United States Agency for International Development United States Geological Service World Development Report



xiv List of Abbreviations

The Great Lakes Region of Africa (i.e. the Democratic Republic of the Congo or DRC, Burundi and Rwanda) has recently endured profound turmoil linked to both domestic and external factors. The power vacuum of the post-Cold War era and the more recent (foreign) insistence on democracy in aid-dependent countries destabilised, to a considerable extent, power relations at all political levels. This created space for new challengers and civil strife. Patrimonial policies, corruption and, more specifically, the behaviour of domestic elites, all previously condoned by the East and West, led to the implosion of economies and a decline in social welfare. Traditional popular and informal coping strategies succumbed to the harsh realities of war, fuelled by global and regional economic competition. Under these conditions, African and non-African political powers and warlords provoked Central Africa’s darkest period since independence. This period (1990–2003) was described in The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa: Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization (Marysse and Reyntjens, published with Palgrave, 2005). With the signing of the Sun City peace agreements in 2003 between the government of the DRC and most of the rebel groups involved, the first ‘Great International African War’ (Reyntjens, 2009) officially ended, and a new, fragile era of reconstruction began. For different reasons, outbreaks of civil strife and war have since reoccurred throughout the region, and may still for different reasons. Firstly, throughout whole regions of the vast DRC where government control has yet to be re-established, violent rebel movements continue to operate. Secondly, in neighbouring Burundi, an interesting political power-sharing exercise is underway whereby the historic ethnic divide becomes subordinated to a fierce struggle for access to power and participation in the government. Lastly, Rwanda, the region’s most secure country in terms of territorial control, continues to politically undermine the region. Moreover, it is the only regional power to reject power-sharing negotiations with its (rebel) opposition movements operating in the DRC and, also domestically, it does not tolerate organised bona fide dissent. However fragile the post-conflict period may be, signs of post-war reconstruction are real and tangible. Current socio-economic data seem xv



Preface

to suggest improvements in the conditions of the region. In the DRC in 2002, for example, economic growth turned positive after years of decline (e.g. growth rates above 5 per cent between 2003 and 2008). With its export-oriented (world market) economy, growth was still positive (i.e. 2.7 per cent) when the international economic crisis hit. In Burundi, progress on reconstruction is mixed and still fragile. Following the end of the international trade embargo on Burundi in 1999, the economy only recovered modestly (i.e. economic growth turned negative with each new shock). However, from 2006 onwards, growth has been sound at rates above 3.5 per cent (short-term projections follow this trend). In Rwanda, post-war reconstruction began earlier. After an initial post-war boom (1994–1996), annual growth (1997–2006) remained strong at 7.4 per cent (or 3.6 per cent in per capita terms). Period growth rates, in comparison, for Sub-Saharan Africa (SSA) and the East African Community were 3.4 and 2.8 per cent, respectively. In 2008, Rwanda’s GDP growth rate even reached 11.2 per cent. Near-term projections are somewhat more modest at around 6 per cent. In these increasingly renewed regional economic and political environments, and in our ever more globalised world, (un)underexploited opportunities still abound. For example, the hydro-electric generating capacity of the DRC is unique. Since the predominant river currents flow from south to north and back, their constant flows are theoretically capable of producing a constant electricity supply for all of Africa. As the enormous investment needed to produce such an output is not forthcoming, almost two-thirds of DRC is without electricity. The country’s rainforests capture about 11 per cent of total world carbon dioxide emissions, yet haphazard and/or uncontrolled logging prevails. Its mineral potential has often been called a geological scandal. With more than 38 per cent of global cobalt production and 28 per cent of world industrial diamond production, it ranks first in the world. Its potential in copper, uranium, gold, tantalum and germanium has already led China to strike its biggest ‘infrastructure deal’ for minerals in Africa. Finally, while DRC’s smaller neighbours Rwanda and Burundi do not have this extent of mineral assets, their agricultural potential has been able to feed the densest population in SSA. The opportunities provided by these resources attract new foreign investments, even after years of disorder and conflict. It remains to be seen, however, if and to what extent these positive trends in economic growth and the income-generating potential of the opportunities previously described will trickle down to the poor. In the DRC, inequality is considerable with a Gini co-efficient of 0.44 (2006



xvi Preface

data). This means that the richest quintile of the population holds more than 50 per cent of total income, ten times more than the poorest. Nearly 60 per cent of Congolese live on less than the World Bank’s calculated $1.25 per person/per day (PPP) poverty line. In Burundi, inequality is less pronounced (Gini of 0.33 – 2006 data). However, poverty in Burundi is still, nevertheless, widespread with more than 80 per cent of the population living in it. Poverty in rural areas is even more pronounced. Rwanda, finally, has advanced somewhat in poverty reduction. The percentage of those living below the national poverty line decreased from 60.3 per cent to 56.8 per cent between 2001 and 2006. In absolute terms, however, there were 560,000 more poor in 2006 than in 2001 (nearly 90 per cent of those resident in the countryside). Rwanda’s economic inequality between 2001 and 2006 (i.e. as measured again by the Gini co-efficient) increased from 0.47 to 0.51. Globalisation brings a new logic to the Great Lakes Region and introduces new players into the domestic economies. The opportunities this trend provides are not, unsurprisingly, equally distributed. Competition between the strong and the weak is particularly present in the rural environment. This occurs both in the agriculture sector (e.g. competition over land rights) and the mineral sector (e.g. competition over mining rights). This book analyses the opportunities for (and constraints on) local participation in economic growth in these sectors. The first part of the book considers contemporary challenges regarding land relations and local livelihoods in the region. Three major conditions characterise land relations in the Great Lakes Region today: (1) competition over land is becoming increasingly fierce as a result of demographic pressure, natural resource degradation and increasing commercial demand. (2) Discussions over land rights are and/or will take place within societies that have recently endured considerable violence or worse (which has profoundly weakened or wrecked the societies of all three countries and led to massive population displacements). (3) The agricultural sector is increasingly confronted with large-scale investors aiming to accumulate considerable quantities of land for commercial exploitation. Together, these upheavals/conditions have had (and/or will have) major consequences for all matters related to land, agriculture and natural resource exploitation in the Great Lakes Region, challenges that extend from the local to the global, and vice versa. The veritable viability of smallholder farming – the predominant livelihood of more than 80 per cent of the region’s population – is now even in question. All of Africa, to varying degrees, is experiencing ‘deagrarianisation’, a process characterised by an increasing detachment of



Preface xvii

rural livelihoods from farming and from access to agricultural land. In the Great Lakes, however, as in much of Africa, there are few alternatives outside this sector. As a result, competition within the land arena is becoming increasingly fierce while the options to generate a decent livelihood are turning bleaker. This engenders a profound societal crisis in which conflicts over land are becoming more numerous and more intense. In a number of cases, they even take a violent turn. The chapters of this first section will present and review this process in greater detail. The second part of the book investigates the ambiguities that characterise the relationship between mining and development in the DRC. In most literature, the physical presence of mineral resources has been considered a curse and, increasingly, the cause of conflict and/or war. The current case of the DRC seems to illustrate this. Nonetheless, the mining sector can theoretically provide wealth and income beyond that garnered by warlords and international commercial interests. It is of central importance to the national economy, the state budget, and it can help support local populations by providing an alternative to agriculture. Throughout the years of war and plunder, local people remained active in the mining sector as artisanal miners and extracted important parts of their revenue from it. Recently improved prospects for intra-national and regional peace may have a profound impact upon the livelihoods and futures of the local population. Naturally, a return of relative security and stability to the region’s states and domestic economic sectors (including mining) will encourage large-scale investment. New (and likely large-scale) investors’ interests will inevitably clash with those of existing smallscale players. In fact, the coexistence of artisanal and industrial mining is one of the most important future challenges. The chapters in the second section of the book will illustrate how large- and small-scale actors interact, and how the latter’s livelihoods are/or will be influenced by events and changes on a much higher level. This book is the combined effort of researchers who conducted locallevel research with peasants and artisanal miners in the Great Lakes Region. Each of us is highly indebted to these local actors’ endless attempts to help us understand the challenges they face in securing their livelihoods. We thank them. We further thank the Institute of Development Policy and Management (University of Antwerp) and the Centre for Development Studies (Université Catholique de Louvain) for their support.



xviii Preface

Over the past 20 years political turmoil has profoundly shaped rural experience in the Great Lakes Region of Africa. But rural research has been slow to take account of such factors; the pace of political events, both military concerns and administrative controls, has presented severe challenges to solid empirical work on agrarian experience in the region. But that is changing. This welcomed book demonstrates that the rural areas again are being taken seriously as the foundation to political, economic, social and cultural understanding in this volatile region. And not a moment too soon. Rural producers account for over 90 per cent of the residents of these areas straddling the great Western Rift Valley at the heart of the continent – including eastern Congo, Burundi and Rwanda. But even while the vast majority of residents are rural, economic emphasis has been focused on a few, mostly urban, residents. So even where impressive short-term growth statistics appear, as in Rwanda over the years from the late 1990s, such national-level indicators veil the vast gap between a very rich urban sector and a vast and very poor rural populace. However, rural realities do not only affect the people who live there and who depend directly on primary production. They also affect state economics, for primary production serves as the essential source of internal food production, as an important domain of state revenues (from agrarian and mining exports), and as a major reason for high levels of foreign aid, sometimes on a massive scale: the poverty of the rural sector can serve as the pretext for vast aid flows from abroad. In addition, as made clear in this book, state land expropriation threatens land access to agrarian producers and artisanal miners. Therein lies the dilemma: are rural areas primarily important to assure the material well-being of the people who farm or mine on them, or are they to be oriented (and re-oriented) to maximizing state revenues? And what is the desired balance between these two goals – complementary in principle but often competing in terms of political realities? The answer to such questions lies in understanding the complex combinations of a multitude of factors, varying in different regions by ecologic potential, demographic density, the extent of state domination, the degree of effective local level mobilization over such issues, xix



Foreword

Foreword

the presence of external power in any particular context (including missions, development projects, etc.), the nature of social dynamics and the integrity and sagacity of local leadership and many other factors. In the end, the only way to account for the interweaving of so many diverse social threads in such a diverse cultural fabric is through patient, meticulous, locally grounded research that accounts for the changing contours of popular initiatives, state power, legal constructs and administrative vision – fine-grained work that fully accounts for the convergence of these diverse factors. It is work that needs account not only for such multiple factors but for the changing nature of their interrelationships – and the degree of convergence or confrontation between the different domains. Understanding whether these different factors support or subvert each other is crucial to assessing both the welfare of the people and the success of the policy – and may well determine not only the economic achievement to come but the political contours as well. Is the state to serve the interests of the people (and which people)? Or are the people (and which people) to serve the interests of the state? Ideally there would be little distinction in these goals. But we do not live in an ideal world; in this region the distinctions are very great – and in all three countries they are growing at a rapid pace. Yet these three states have approached such issues in dramatically different ways. Besides its involvement in the negotiation over lucrative land or mining deals, the state has been almost entirely absent in Congo over the past 20 years – not just because state elites have been preoccupied with other issues but because they are mostly uninterested in implementing a coherent policy. For the past decade the flow of power in eastern Congo has meant that in the rural areas state presence has been almost exclusively predatory. In eastern Congo, whether represented by the formality of the sovereign state (based in distant Kinshasa) or by the reality of an occupying state (based in more proximate Kigali or Kampala), state actors and state armies – and the two have dramatically overlapped in this area over recent times – have treated rural producers in an extractive fashion. It is as if agriculture were seen on the model of agrarian mining: as an exercise of extraction, not nurture; as a process of exploiting nature, not cultivating the soil; as a process of predation, not of production. The effect on the population has been a disaster, marked by shocking mortality rates, massive dislocations and human suffering on a vast scale, as tens of thousands of people have been ripped from the soil on which they depend and sometimes cut down, as if people were simply grain to be harvested or weeds to be extricated. The rural areas in



xx

Congo – which used to be a refuge – are now in a state of prolonged crisis. The mining metaphor is not happenstance. For many youth lacking access to land, or not finding adequate return for their labour, do indeed turn to mineral extraction, as explored in the second section of this volume. However, such menial work, performed under the most brutal conditions, is often tightly controlled, not by the state but by a few cabals organized for maximum extraction and minimal costs – the costs are borne by local diggers renting space, time or shares. But this is ephemeral exploitation. Few benefits accrue to the state, the society or the people. It is another form of predation, a prime example of the pure privatization of Congolese patrimony. In Burundi, a different dynamic is at work, but the end result is not much more satisfying for the people in rural areas. An intense focus on political competition to control the state apparatus has led to the utter neglect of the sector that makes the state viable at all. Burundi depends on agricultural exports and smallholder production for a vast proportion of its domestic production. Yet again, distrust, dislocation, disempowerment and dystopia have marked the rural areas of Burundi; for a generation, fear, flight and fending off force have been too frequent a feature of rural Burundi. The only refuge is in invisibility – but that is no way for the state to encourage exports – or to engage with local welfare, whether in material terms, in health services, in education, in the vivacity of local marketing and commerce, or in encouraging community initiatives or investing in local development projects. Here, as elsewhere, the state simply can no longer – or perhaps chooses not to – attend to the needs of its own citizens. Nor with such a vision, can it even tend to its own sustenance, for neglecting the needs of the people is no way to encourage exports, on which the state itself depends. While in different ways the absence of coherent state presence has characterized the Congo and Burundi, in Rwanda the rural areas are the arena for the over-determination of the state. Here the ‘high modernist’ vision of the vanguard state – a vision of the state leading an ‘inert’ peasantry to new levels of accomplishment and affluence – has led to state intrusion into virtually every domain of agrarian practice: in redefining the legal arena mediating the relationships of people to the land (and sometimes moving them off the land); in prescribing (and sometimes proscribing) which crops are to be grown – and when – irrespective of the intimate mosaic of ecological diversity that characterize many of these delicate agrarian zones; in determining to whom the ultimate products will be sold (and often at what prices); in deciding



Foreword xxi

where the residents will reside and how their habitations will be constructed; and in many other sectors as well. In this developmental state, the first priority for the re-engineering of Rwanda is the transformation of the agricultural sector, and agricultural transformation means changing agrarian relations. To do so, the state seeks not only to reduce the size of the agrarian sector but also to define the peasants’ use of time; but they do so while requiring multiple other obligations – public informational meetings, re-education campaigns, required community work projects, etc. It is as if the beneficence of nature, not human labour, were the principal component to agrarian production – revealing the bureaucrats’ view of peasant indolence and their naïve faith in industrial farming models in an area very different from the broad temperate plains that produced the Mid-West model. Yet here irregular terrain, subtle soil types, distinct moisture regimes and diverse and unreliable rainfall patterns are all interposed in close proximity, creating a delicate mosaic of agrarian diversity in an array which can change from year to year. In such an agrarian arena, local initiative is crucial to the success of the agrarian enterprise; and central control means sacrificing those local initiatives, at the expense of the success of the plan itself. But in a context of state hierarchy (whether colonial or contemporary) the failure to meet planning goals is always attributed to the failure of the peasant sector, never of the components of the plan itself. And any resistance to these intrusive agrarian demands is attributed to ethnic division in this highly ethnicised state where ethnicity has been officially banned. Politics is never absent. Such is the context within which these studies are presented. And a welcome collection it is. For collectively these research findings represent a new wave of researchers willing to reside for long periods in the area they study and committed to working with the actual producers – whether farmers or miners – not exclusively preoccupied with government plans, bureaucratic prescriptions or administrative functionaries. Research of this nature is demanding work, not least because it means working independently of government authorities or disciplinary dogmas – both of which bring along their own concerns, visions, goals and procedures. It also requires listening to the producers as well as speaking to them. It privileges balancing state aspirations with personal needs. It respects ecological realities as well as economic aspirations, and seeks an understanding of agrarian and mining procedures as well as administrative norms. It requires taking account of the pattern of domestic labour as well as the work patterns of state expectations alone – that is, it accounts for cultural norms as well as economic activity. And all



xxii Foreword

this has to be done in a context marked by rapid change and sometimes intense contestation. But it is work that needs to be done, for it takes us beyond the state parameters alone and allows us not only to see the lives of the people on the ground but also to understand the logic of their decisions. Many of these studies attest to the fundamental transformations underway in rural Great Lakes Africa. We should be grateful to the careful work and informed analysis of these researchers, for while we certainly need to understand state-level action in this region we also need to understand the world beyond the state – and the ways these two political universes interact. For in contradiction to those who see rural agrarians and state bureaucrats as inhabiting distinct and separate worlds, in fact these two domains are intimately intertwined: the short-term integrity and longterm sustainability of each depends heavily on the other. Recourse to rent or sale to outside financiers is only a temporary palliative, not a reprieve; indeed while benefitting a few for a short time, such policies may over time only intensify the process of land contestation. We have many studies of the state. This collection does more than pride an update alone: it begins the process of redressing the imbalance between rhetoric and reality, between image and experience, and between the growth of a narrow sector of urban economic statistics and the extension of rural poverty. How the process of immiseration is unfolding in the rural areas – even within the broader indices of national economic growth – is what these articles attest to. And therefore the findings presented here are essential reading, not just for those interested in rural dynamics, but even more by those – donors as well as planners – engaged with state-level policy sectors. David Newbury Smith College Northampton MA, USA



Foreword xxiii

An Ansoms is a lecturer in development studies at the Centre for Development Studies of the Université Catholique de Louvain (Belgium). She holds a PhD in economics and is involved in research on poverty and inequality in the Great Lakes Region. She pays particular attention to the challenges of rural development and pro-poor growth in land-scarce (post-)conflict environments. Klara Claessens holds a master degree in African Languages and Cultures and in Governance and Development. She will start a PhD at the Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp (Belgium) on poverty and inequality in the region of the Great Lakes. Jeroen Cuvelier is completing a PhD in social and cultural anthropology at the Catholic University of Leuven (Belgium), focusing on the social lives and practices of artisanal miners in Katanga. As a researcher for International Peace Information Service (IPIS, Antwerp), he examines the linkages between natural resources and arms trafficking in Central Africa. Dan Fahey is completing a PhD at the University of California, Berkeley (USA) on war in Ituri. He has worked in Congo and Sudan, and taught at Berkeley, Deep Springs College, and San Francisco State University. He also earned a master’s degree in international relations from the Fletcher School at Tufts University. Sara Geenen is an assistant at the Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp (Belgium). She is working on her PhD in development studies. Her research focuses on local actors and global interests in gold exploitation and trade in South Kivu (DRC). Dominik Kohlhagen is a researcher at the Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp (Belgium). He holds MA degrees in law and in anthropology. His research interests focus on the interaction between state law and local law in Africa. He is xxiv



Notes on the Contributors

Notes on the Contributors xxv

currently involved in a research project on land relations in Burundi and Rwanda.

Oracle Makangu Diki holds a MA degree in development economics. He is a junior researcher and teaching assistant at the Université Catholique du Congo in Kinshasa (DRC). Stefaan Marysse is professor emeritus at the Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp (Belgium), and director of ECA (Expertise in Central Africa, Brussels). He co-edited The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa: The Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization, Palgrave, 2005. He is working in the field of political economy, focusing on poverty analysis and weak states, markets and civil society in the Great Lakes Region of Africa. Innocent Utshudi Ona is an assistant at the Université Catholique de Bukavu and at the Université officielle de Bukavu (Democratic Republic of Congo). He is a legal expert who is currently working on his PhD on land relations and agricultural development in South Kivu (DRC). Joost van Puijenbroek studied anthropology at the Universities of Utrecht and Amsterdam (the Netherlands). He has been concerned with Africa over the past three decades. Since 2002 he is working for IKV Pax Christi, where he manages a community-based peacebuilding program in Ituri (DRC). Inge Wagemakers holds a MA degree in sociology, and in conflict and development. She is an assistant at the Institute of Development Policy and Management, University of Antwerp (Belgium). She is working on her PhD on local governance and access to urban resources in the context of rapid urban expansion in Kinshasa (DRC).



Margot Leegwater is an anthropologist and a PhD student at the African Studies Centre in Leiden (the Netherlands). Her research concerns local land access practices in Rwanda and the dialectics of government policies concerning land access and ethnicity with these local practices.




Part I


Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region





1 An Ansoms and Klara Claessens

1.1. Land and development: a disputed relationship In a context of globalisation and liberalisation, Africa is increasingly confronted with the commercialisation of its space. Various so-called large-scale actors – international private investors, ‘investor’ states, and local entrepreneurs – are searching for large quantities of land for the production of food crops or biofuels (Zoomers, 2010). At the same time, a large majority of the population rely upon agricultural activities – and thus access to land – for their main livelihood strategy. Moreover, the increasing demographic pressures have already resulted in increasing competition for land at the local level. The combination of these evolutions accumulates in a fierce clash in the land arena, where power relations clearly play to the advantage of large-scale, more powerful, and better-connected actors. These dynamics of change in agrarian and rural structures have a profound impact on class differentiation at the national and local levels. Rural differentiation is defined by White (1989) as ‘a dynamic process involving the emergence or sharpening of “differences” within the rural population; [ . . . ] it involves a cumulative and permanent process of change in the ways in which different groups in rural society – and some outside it – gain access to the products of their own or others’ labor, based on their differential control over production resources’ (White, 1989: 19–20). Indeed, Bryceson (2002) explains how Africa is involved in a process of ‘deagrarianisation’, defined as ‘the longterm process of occupational adjustment, income earning reorientation, social identification and spatial relocation of rural dwellers away from strictly agricultural-based modes of livelihood’ (Bryceson, 2002: 726). 3





In this process, small-scale peasants are pushed outside the agricultural sector, while land is increasingly accumulated by capital-rich large-scale actors. At the same time, however, it is clear that in many African countries, alternative livelihood strategies in off-farm sectors are not sufficiently present to absorb the labour force of the increasing number of ‘ex-peasants’. It is therefore crucial to find solutions to protect the survival chances of small-scale African farmers in the short run and to ensure the sustainability of their livelihoods in the longer run. This is all the more relevant in the context of the Great Lakes Region, where overall deprivation and poverty are combined with a context of recent conflict and violence. In this chapter, we analyse the contemporary challenges with regard to land relations and local livelihoods. In the first part, we give a short overview of the various evolutions that characterise land relations in the Great Lakes Region. In the second and third parts of the chapter, we look into the scholarly debates on the future of small-scale farming and the necessity for, and type of, agrarian and land reforms that are needed in the current context. In the final part of the chapter, we illustrate how the chapters in this section of the volume contribute to these scholarly debates, and most importantly, how they help us to unravel the complex web of land dynamics in the Great Lakes Region.

1.2. Access to land in the Great Lakes Region: from local to global challenges Three simultaneous evolutions characterise land relations in the Great Lakes Region today. (1) Competition over land is becoming increasingly fierce as a result of rising demographic pressure and the degradation of the available natural resources. (2) Discussions over land rights are embedded within a societal context characterised by many violent episodes in the recent past, which have profoundly distorted the societal tissue in all three countries and led to massive displacement. (3) The agricultural sector is increasingly confronted with large-scale investors aiming to accumulate considerable quantities of land for commercial exploitation. These evolutions impose major challenges on the land arena in the Great Lakes Region, challenges that extend from the local up to the global level. 1.2.1. Demographic pressures and the degradation of land The Great Lakes Region is one of the most densely populated areas in the world. In Rwanda and Burundi, the population density is extremely



4

high, with 394 and 314 people per km2 , respectively. Moreover, the population growth in both countries is continuing at a rate of nearly 3 per cent per year (World Bank, 2010). The population density in eastern DRC is somewhat more modest, with 78 persons per km2 in South Kivu, 125 persons per km2 in North Kivu, and 65 persons per km2 in Ituri. Nonetheless, these rates are considerably higher than DRC’s overall population density of 33 persons per km2 (estimates based upon Kyalangilwa, 2007). Also, in the DRC (as a whole), population growth is close to 3 per cent. Over the course of the past 25 years, the population has more than doubled in all three countries (see Table 1.1). Over 70 per cent of this population still depends upon agricultural activities as the main income source. However, the sector is still – as it was decades ago – mainly characterised by small-scale subsistence agriculture that focuses on survival and the maximal spreading of risks imposed by climatic uncertainties, crop disease, price fluctuations on the market, and so on. The explosion of population has entailed increasing competition for the available space, and ecological pressures on that space have continuously intensified over the past decades (see Table 1.2, showing a steady increase in the proportion of arable land as a percentage of the total land in Rwanda

Table 1.1 Evolution of population growth in the Great Lakes Region

Index (1965 = 100)

350 300 250 200 150

2005

2000

1995

1990

1985

1980

1975

1970

1965

100

Rwanda Burundi DRC Source: World Bank (2010).



An Ansoms and Klara Claessens 5

6


50 40 30

10

2005

2000

1995

1990

1985

1980

1975

1970

0


and Burundi). A growing number of people are facing increasing difficulties in gaining access to sufficient land (see Table 1.31 ) to ensure their survival within the agricultural sector. This is reflected in the evolution of food production per head (see Table 1.4). In all three countries, there is a declining trend, although it is more obvious in Burundi and DRC than in Rwanda. Next to the continuously increasing population pressure, a new challenge is presenting itself for the coming decades. Climate change risks speeding up the degradation of natural resources, and will most definitely have an adverse impact upon the predictability of the agricultural seasons. The process will impose additional risks on the rural population in the Great Lakes Region. 1.2.2. Dealing with a legacy of violence and conflict The situation is further complicated by the many conflicts that have distorted the societal texture in all three countries. The many violent episodes characterising the history of the Great Lakes Region provoked various waves of massive displacement. The land rights of these refugees



20

1965

Arable land as % of total land

Table 1.2 Expansion of arable land in the Great Lakes Region

7 Table 1.3 Arable land per head in the Great Lakes Region

30

20

2005

2000

1995

1990

1985

1980

1975

1970

1965

10

0 Rwanda Burundi DRC Source: World Bank (2010).

Table 1.4 Food production per head in the Great Lakes Region

Index (1965 = 100)

150 130 110 90 70

2005

2000

1995

1990

1985

1980

1975

1970

1965

50




Are per capita

40


have been and continue to be a sensitive topic in the reconstruction processes. In the Burundian context, one should distinguish between two major waves of displacement, each related to a particular violent period in Burundian history. A first wave of displacement took place in the 1970s. Between April and September 1972, 200,000 to 300,000 Hutu were killed by the Tutsi-dominated army. The main target group was educated adult Hutu males. The killings occurred as a response to a local Hutu insurgency during which hundreds or maybe thousands of Tutsi civilians had been killed. This insurgency was seen as an immediate threat by the authorities in Bujumbura (Lemarchand, 2009). The events in 1972 caused the first wave of displacement of Hutu, mainly to Tanzania (ICG, 2000). Their land was occupied by Tutsi families who came from less fertile areas or was confiscated by the state. The refugees of 1972, who are returning now, mostly face a situation where their land is occupied by non-relatives (Kamuni et alii, 2005). A second violent period and refugee flow were initiated by the assassination of the first democratically elected Hutu president, Melchior Ndadaye, in 1993. This event triggered mass-scale ethnic violence; Hutu killed Tutsi in revenge for the assassination while the Tutsi army killed many Hutu in retaliation. In 1993 alone, about 50,000 Hutu and Tutsi were killed (Reyntjens, 2005). This event is perceived as the beginning of a bloody civil war that ended with the signing of a peace agreement in 2000. However, the ceasefire was only completed in 2008 when the last active rebel movement, the PALIPEHUTU-FNL, entered the peace agreements. The land of the refugees of this second violent period had mostly been occupied by neighbours and family. The returning refugees originating from this second violent period therefore tend to have intra-family land disputes (Kamuni et alii, 2005). The importance of land in the post-conflict reconstruction phase is recognised by the Arusha peace agreement of which a whole chapter under the fourth protocol on reconstruction and development is dedicated to the return of refugees and their land conflicts. In this chapter a land reform was promised: ‘Burundi’s Land Act must be revised in order to adjust to the current problems with respect to land management’ (Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement for Burundi, 2000, protocol IV, chapter I, article 8). Up until today, however, the specificities of what that reform should entail continue to be discussed (see Kohlhagen’s chapter in this book). Rwandan history is also characterised by many violent episodes resulting in various waves of refugees with a different ethnic character.



8

‘Old-caseload’ Tutsi refugees fled Rwanda during the turbulent and violent period between 1959 and 1963. In this time frame around independence, a Hutu president took over power, replacing the Tutsi king as the central authority. In the subsequent decades, groups of Tutsi fled the country because of sporadic violence and an adverse political climate – for example in 1973 and certainly during the civil war from 1990 up to 1994. In 1994, an estimated 600,000 Tutsi and moderate Hutu were killed during the genocide. Des Forges has pointed to the fact that frustrated poor peasants did not only kill because of ethno-politico-ideological reasons – they were also driven by the possibility of increasing their wealth and acquiring the property of their victims. By cooperating in attacks, the farmers showed their ‘commitment’, which included a chance to receive rewards in the form of land or livestock (Des Forges, 1999). When the Tutsi rebel group – the Rwandan Patriotic Army (RPA), later transformed into the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) – conquered the country, this resulted in a massive wave of (mostly) Hutu refugees fleeing the Rwandan territory out of fear of revenge. A large majority of these ‘new-caseload’ refugees (about 1.5 million people) sought refuge in neighbouring DRC, leaving behind their properties and land plots. Quite often, these plots were put to use by the population left behind, and by the old-caseload Tutsi refugees or their descendents who returned to the ‘motherland’ after the victory of the RPF. When, in subsequent years, groups of new-caseload refugees returned – voluntarily coming home or compulsorily repatriated – this led to many competing claims on land. The Rwandan Government’s policies of land sharing and villagisation were elaborated to deal with this situation, but were far from successful in terms of social reconciliation (see Leegwater’s chapter in this book). The situation in eastern DRC is even more complex. Reyntjens (2009) describes how one of the triggers of mass-scale violence was the many conflicts over land2 between the ‘indigenous’ Zairian populations and the Banyarwanda (most often related to Rwandan Tutsi) who had lived there for decades (even up to a century). The already tense situation was strongly complicated by the influx of 1.5 million mostly Hutu refugees from Rwanda in 1994, especially in North Kivu. In 1996, the Rwandan Government used the threats faced by the Banyarwanda Tutsi as an argument to support the rebellion of Congolese Tutsi (starting in South Kivu). Rwanda also introduced its own troops on the ground. This eventually culminated in a largescale war that led to the isolation and overthrowing of Mobutu as the president of the DRC. With the help of both Rwanda and Uganda, Laurent Kabila installed himself as the new president. Some





of the Rwandan Hutu refugees were repatriated to Rwanda voluntarily or compulsorily (see above), but large groups fled deeper into Congo and many died when being pursued by the Rwandan army. The RPA’s presence in the Kivus officially ended in September 1997, but Reyntjens (2009) describes how their continuous ‘unofficial’ presence and their dubious role in the extraction of mineral resources reinforced the local population’s anti-Tutsi sentiments. When Kabila turned against his former Rwandan allies in 1998, Rwanda reacted by invading DRC, again justifying its intervention on humanitarian and security grounds (as a response to the threat of the Hutu FDLR3 rebel group). A variety of rebel groups with shifting alliances, and supported by different neighbouring countries (Rwanda and Uganda on the one hand; Angola and Zimbabwe on the other), fought in the ‘first African World War’ (cf. Reyntjens, 2009: 198). Armed groups of all sides specifically targeted civilians, which resulted in massive displacement and had a highly adverse impact upon local living conditions. Today, many people continue to live far from their homesteads and land plots. Even when they have been able to return, they are confronted with competing land claims (see the chapters by Utshudi Ona and Ansoms, and Van Puijenbroek and Ansoms in this book). They also face enormous security risks when they do exploit their land – this is particularly the case for female farmers. 1.2.3. The commercialisation of space: land grabbing by large-scale actors Interestingly – despite its ‘explosive’ reputation – the Great Lakes Region is becoming more and more an attractive investment pole for large-scale investors. Increasingly, investors are searching for large quantities of land for commercial production (Cotula et alii, 2009). Such investors are also discovering the agro-economic potential of the fertile hills in the Great Lakes Region. Eastern DRC has – despite its instability – been an interesting area for local, regional, and international rural entrepreneurs for a long time. These entrepreneurs are most often interested in DRC’s mineral resources (see the later chapters in the second part of this book). Today, however, investors are also discovering the agronomic potential of DRC’s land resources. Chinese investors are, for example, interested in obtaining concessions on millions of hectares (e.g. ZTE4 Agribusiness is planning to invest in an oil palm plantation and hopes to obtain a concession of nearly 3 million hectares; see Centre for Chinese Studies, 2010). However, locally embedded actors such as traders, politicians, churches, and customary chiefs are also increasingly buying up land



10

for investment purposes from small-scale peasants who are trying to overcome situations of distress. In fact, the commercialisation of space is even accelerating with the relative improvements in terms of security in South Kivu and the renovated infrastructure – roads built by the Chinese – between urbanised and rural environments (Hyawe-Hinyi, 2010). In Rwanda, also, large-scale investors are attracted by investment opportunities in the agricultural sector. The Rwandan Government strongly believes in injecting private capital into the agricultural sector (see, e.g. GoR, 2007), and is therefore ready to provide such investors with state-guaranteed land concessions. This seems surprising, given the extremely high population density and fierce competition for land. The Rwandan newspaper New Times, for example, mentions the deal signed between Rwandan government officials and two foreign companies to grow biofuel-generating crops on a concession of 10,000 hectares of ‘marginal’ land near Akagera National Park (Kagire, 2009). In reality, such land grabs often work at the expense of the land rights of the small-scale peasants who previously cultivated the land given into concession. The fact that the injection of foreign private capital into the agricultural sector is by no means a guarantee of success, is provided by the example of Kabuye Sugar Works. An Indian business group bought up this sugar factory in 1997 – the very first privatisation in the postgenocide period – and received a land concession from the Rwandan state on approximately 3000 hectares of swampland in the Nyabarongo Valley. Thousands of peasants were deprived access to these swamplands without any form of compensation. Land held under this concession is, moreover, less productive than alternative methods of allocation (e.g. the cultivation of sugarcane by individual small-scale peasants) could have generated. Furthermore, the employment generated by Kabuye Sugar Works is modest and salaries are much lower than the revenues people could have earned if direct access to the swampland had been maintained (Ansoms, 2009a). 1.2.4. Any alternatives for securing rural livelihoods? Overall, we find that since the 1980s, the world has been facing new challenges and has been confronted with new drivers of change – rising population pressure, increasing demand for food commodities, new types of industry–agriculture connections, and climate change – that severely challenge the agricultural systems. In the Great Lakes Region, these drivers of change have to be addressed within a (post-) conflict context in which access to land is of crucial importance to the livelihoods of the small-scale farmers who constitute the majority of





the population. The options for such peasants to generate their income outside the agricultural sector are generally bleak, certainly in Rwanda and Burundi. In Rwanda, for example, the Government’s Vision 2020 (GoR, 2000) stipulates that the population dependent on agricultural activities should decrease from 85 per cent to 50 per cent between 2000 and 2020. Taking the current population growth into account, this would mean creating 2.2 million new jobs in the off-farm sector (Ronnas et alii, 2010). Ansoms’s chapter in this book however, concludes that finding jobs in the off-farm sector is extremely difficult for a growing mass of nearly landless peasants. Their employment options are often confined to working on other farmers’ land on a temporary basis and for very low wages. It is therefore unrealistic that viable alternative employment options will ‘pop up’ for additional groups of peasants pushed outside the agricultural sector. Small-scale farming is and will remain their major livelihood activity in the next decade(s). However, the potential of smallholder agriculture is increasingly called into question, not only by policy makers operating within the Great Lakes Region, but also at the international level. In the next part of the chapter, we analyse the debates on the potential and future of small-scale farming in the frame of different types of agrarian reforms. We focus particularly upon the contributions and shortcomings of the recent World Development Report, ‘Agriculture for Development’. The discussion on which type of agrarian reform is preferable is closely linked with the debate on the necessity for, and type of, land reform. In the fourth part of the chapter, we focus upon the interest of international donors and recipient countries in securing land rights through formal registration and legally guaranteed land titles. We criticise this view by pointing out the fact that centrally coordinated formal legal procedures are often out of reach for poorer small-scale subsistence peasants. Furthermore, we describe the reality of legal pluralism in which land rights are negotiated on the basis of a combination of formal and informal, modern and traditional institutional frameworks.

1.3. Agrarian reforms: is there a future for small-scale farming? There is considerable empirical evidence that links land consolidation and concentration to improved productivity (for some recent literature, see Hung et alii, 2007 for Vietnam; Lerman and Cimpoies, 2006 for Moldova). Wu and colleagues (2005) advance three potential sources



12

of productivity improvements through land consolidation. First, concentration of plots could facilitate improved land quality management through irrigation and the use of machinery. Furthermore, concentration could reduce certain secondary cultivation costs (labour time, fencing costs, transportation, supervision, etc.). Finally, land concentration might also lead to changes in crop choice allowed by the land improvements. However, there is also extensive literature that finds an inverse relationship between farm size and land productivity. The issue was identified early in the twentieth century (in the work of Chayanov, 1926, on Russian farms), but gained importance with the work of Sen (1962) on India. The influential research of Berry and Cline (1979) and Cornia (1985) also indicated a strong inverse relationship. Dyer (2004), however, found significant flaws in the approach of Berry and Cline, and pointed out the importance of disaggregating data. In their recent work, Johnston and Le Roux (2007) gave a short overview of disaggregated studies and found a diverse pattern of results, ‘with some finding a clear inverse relationship, others a positive relationship and still others describing a convex or concave relationship’ (Johnston and Le Roux, 2007: 357). Turning to the Great Lakes Region, Byiringiro and Reardon (1996) have confirmed that smaller farmers had higher land productivity than larger farmers in the pre-1994 context of Rwanda. Ansoms (2009b) concluded likewise on the basis of post-1994 data.5 However, even if an inverse relationship is identified, one should be careful not to interpret this automatically as a mere reflection of smallscale farmers’ greater efficiency. On the side of the larger farmers, it may be that they have enough alternatives to earn their livelihoods, which decreases their incentive to exploit the potential of their land fully. They may hold it for purposes other than productive ones. They may also consider land as a ‘relatively abundant resource’, even in a landscarce environment, given that they face a lower implicit price for land compared with other production factors (Ellis, 1990). Turning to the side of the smaller farmers, peasants may be obliged to overexploit the land at their disposal. Akram-Lodhi mentions that the greater productivity of small-scale farmers may be a ‘survival mechanism of the poor’ rather than a ‘mechanism of potentially povertyeliminating accumulation’ (Akram-Lodhi, 2007: 560). Examples of these survival mechanisms have been elaborated by other authors. Binswanger and Rosenzweig (1986), for example, indicate the possibility that imperfections on the labour market may prevent labour-selling households from allocating their labour force in the most optimal way,





resulting in overemployment on their own farm, which leads to an inverse relationship. Barrett (1996) adds that food price risks may incite small-scale peasants to opt deliberately to employ their labour force in an excessive way, ‘beyond even their shadow valuation of labor’ (Barrett, 1996). Another issue is whether the inverse relationship will hold in a modernising agricultural sector. A study focusing on the Indian case indicates that ‘the inverse relationship between yields and farm size, although valid for a traditional agriculture, cannot be assumed to exist in an agriculture experiencing technical change’ – certainly when the transformation is of the Green Revolution type (Deolalikar, 1981: 275). Based on data for the Thar Desert in India, Ram et alii (1999) find that the inverse relationship weakened with the increased availability of sizeneutral biotechnology and differences in management input. Bhalla and Roy (1988), on the other hand, reject the hypothesis that a weakened inverse relationship – comparing Indian data for 1970 and 1976 – was the result of technological change induced by the Green Revolution. Another study by Carter (1984) finds that even with post-Green Revolution data for India, a strong inverse relationship continues to exist. The author concludes that ‘these results suggest that small-scale agriculture warrants attention as a base for agriculture development in a land scarce economy’ (Carter, 1984: 144). The debate on the inverse relationship has re-emerged on the agenda of the international community with the publication of the 2008 World Development Report (WDR) ‘Agriculture for Development’. As such, the report is presented as an innovating paradigm for the agriculturefor-development agenda in the new global context (World Bank, 2007: 261). One of the key concerns of the WDR is the identified need for a ‘Green Revolution’ for Sub-Saharan Africa. The report (2007: 1) specifically states that this revolution will have to be essentially different from the Asian Green Revolution, because of ‘Africa’s unique agriculture and institutions’. Given the large majority of the poor whose main livelihood strategy is based upon subsistence agriculture, the report emphasises the need to create ‘a productivity revolution in smallholder farming’. On the other hand, the report is being considered by its critics as ‘the logical culmination of prior rural policy and practice at the World Bank’ (Akram-Lodhi, 2008: 2), ‘staying very close to the assumptions of the old and still dominant paradigm [of neoliberal policies embedded in the Post-Washington consensus]’ (Veltmeyer, 2009: 394). Critics point out the fact that the ‘WDR does not support smallholder farming per se, but



14

commercially-oriented, entrepreneurial smallholder farming’, which in reality will only be applicable to a minority of entrepreneurs (AkramLodhi, 2008). Indeed, the WDR states that ‘not all smallholders will be able to farm their way out of poverty’ (World Bank, 2007: 234). It specifies that ‘economies of scale in the “new agriculture” often are the key for obtaining inputs, technology, and information and in getting products to the market. As agriculture becomes more technology driven and access to consumers is mediated by agroprocessors and supermarkets, economies of scale will pose major challenges for the future competitiveness of smallholders’ (World Bank, 2007: 91–92). Akram-Lodhi (2008: 471) denounces the way in which smallholder agriculture is now declared unviable, after ‘having systematically undermined smallholders by disinvesting and exposing them to “free” market forces on an uneven playing field’. He criticises the almost implicit acceptance of the WDR that smallholders’ dispossession of farmland will continue and even gain speed. Likewise, Veltmeyer accuses the lead authors of the report (2009: 395) of ‘view[ing] the peasantry by and large as an anachronism, seeking to defend a way of life and an economy that is inherently non-viable’. He criticises the WDR’s failure ‘to break out of the old development paradigm of modernisation theory or to critically examine the development dynamics of the post-Washington consensus on the need for a more inclusive form of neoliberalism and a more participatory and equitable form of development’ (Veltmeyer, 2009: 393). Indeed, what neo-liberal policies tend to ignore is that agricultural reforms occur in a space where various social actors have unequal negotiation positions due to the asymmetry of social class power. As a result, small-scale farmers face institutional constraints to consolidate their position (Borras, 2003). By not taking these constraints into account, neo-liberal-inspired policies promoted by the World Bank have, in reality, allowed a ‘matured’ African elite to reformulate public policy and reallocate public resources towards institutional and technological innovations that favour large-scale farming at the expense of ‘backward’ small-scale subsistence farming (Moyo, 2008). Moyo analyses how such ‘concentration from above’ speeds up the exclusionary process in terms of land access. It pushes small-scale farmers out of the agricultural sector at a fast pace, and it favours wealth accumulation in the hands of a limited elite. The model, which presents itself as an alternative to neo-liberal reforms, is promulgated by La Vía Campesina, an international peasants’ movement (for an overview, see Desmarais, 2002). The model




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1.4. Land reforms: operating in a context of legal pluralism The debate on which type of agrarian reform is preferable (neo-liberal policies versus La Vía Campesina) is closely linked with discussions on the necessity for, and type of, land reform that is needed in the context of developing countries. The dominant economic approach to land management, promulgated among others by the World Bank (see e.g. World Bank, 2006; or de Janvry et alii, 2001), focuses on land as a productive factor. The optimal use of this productive resource is best guaranteed through a market-led agrarian reform (MLAR) promoting land transactions in a ‘willing-buyers, willing-sellers formal land market’ (Bryant, 1996: 1543). The MLAR model pleads for minimal involvement of the state and is against the imposition of any maximal ceilings on land holdings. Altogether, this should result in a self-selection process of the most productive producers; accordingly, productivity and agricultural efficiency should increase (for the main arguments of the MLAR literature, see Deininger and Feder, 1998 and Deininger, 2003). Deininger and May (2000) accentuate the fact that this strategy could and in fact should also lead to greater equity – in addition to greater productivity – given that small-scale farmers are more productive in line with the inverse relationship between farm size and productivity. They will thus be the ones consolidating their position in a market-led reform. Securing land rights is mainly regarded by the MLAR model as a legal issue that has to be regulated by formal law allocating official land titles, and guaranteed and managed by central authorities. Protagonists of this view argue that the coexistence and interaction of different legal orders is confusing and causes uncertainties. Such confusion is considered to have a negative impact on tenure security, leading on its turn to lower investment and in the end to a lower development rate. Formal land titles are thus seen as a prerequisite to enhance rural agents’ incentive for investment and to settle land conflicts that have emerged in a context of institutional confusion (Deininger and Feder, 2009).



points to the ways in which skewed power relations allow elites to capture the opportunities provided by agrarian reforms. This progressively affects small-scale peasants’ capacity to secure a decent livelihood within the agricultural sector. Therefore, La Vía Campesina argues in favour of agrarian and land reforms in which small-scale producers’ interests are secured. Protagonists of the movement plead in favour of the idea of ‘food sovereignty’, defined as ‘the right to produce food on own territory’. They strongly encourage peasant activism and empowerment.

In contrast with the MLAR model, others, however, do not regard land as a sure market commodity. They see it as a social, cultural, and political space with great relevance to both the economic and the social livelihoods of smallholder farmers. Protagonists of this view (e.g. see Merlet, 2007) regard land relations as essentially social relations that are embedded within the wider political economy and are shaped by the relative bargaining power of various interest groups within society. To assess the bargaining capacity of small-scale peasants with regard to land, it is important to take a look at the various interacting and contradictory processes that govern land relations, in combination with the position of farmers in these everyday practices. Therefore, it is ‘essential to take account of the ways in which social actors engage in or are locked into struggles over the attribution of social meanings to particular events, actions and ideas’ (Long, 2001: 17). In other words, one should assess how the daily and routinised relations between individuals, groups, networks, and categories produce social and cultural norms that shape patterns of institutional inclusion and exclusion, and how these patterns affect the bargaining capacity of subsistence farmers (Cleaver, 2005). These everyday practices and interactions take place in a situation where different legal fields coexist. They are embedded in a context of ‘legal pluralism’ in which various institutional frameworks (both formal and informal) interact, reinforce, and compete with each other. Griffiths (1986) defines legal pluralism as ‘normative heterogeneity attendant upon the fact that social action always takes place in a context of multiple, overlapping “semi-autonomous social fields” ’6 (Griffiths, 1986: 38). Each social field generates internal rules and symbols but is also sensitive to the decisions and rules that are produced by surrounding social fields (Moore, 1978). It is, moreover, possible to have various kinds of cognitive and normative orders within one social field (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002). When we conceive land tenure as a system of rights and obligations in human relationships, then legal pluralism with regard to land tenure ‘signifies the different sets of rights and obligations concerning land and property, as these reside within multiple social fields or normative orders’ (Unruh, 2003: 355). In this context of legal pluralism, power relations mould and affect the processes of inclusion and exclusion. On the one hand, a situation of legal pluralism can increase the agency7 of more vulnerable groups in society, and have emancipatory potential. Cleaver (2003), for example, points to the way in which ‘institutional bricolage’8 can create space for negotiation, contestation, and different voices to be heard. ‘Rather than





seeing plural and ad hoc institutional arrangements as dysfunctional, we could see their very plasticity as providing scope for shaping social distributions and relationships in more equal and emancipatory directions’ (Cleaver, 2003: 28). Also, Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan (2002) see similar potential in the coexistence and interaction between different legal orders. They believe it is more useful to recognise the ambiguity of rules and the existence of multiple legal systems because this situation gives scope for human agency. Forum shopping is a situation in which disputants ‘use different normative repertoires in different contexts or forums depending on which law or interpretation of law they believe is most likely to support their claims’ (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002: 5). People in conflict can choose the most beneficial arrangements to achieve their specific goal. Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan see forum shopping as a kind of survival strategy in coping with uncertainties in a legal plural context. Forum shopping and institutional bricolage are thus strategies to improve livelihoods since they give scope to human agency. On the other hand, social action and agency are restricted by the world around the actors, who are limited by ecological, social, and institutional constraints that are interlinked. Ecological constraints such as land scarcity can limit the agency of particular groups in society. With rising land scarcity, ‘increasing individualization and commodization of land rights has occurred, and private rights of use and occupancy within customary tenure have become increasingly the norm’ (Englert and Daley, 2008: 4). In this process of individualisation of rights and emerging land markets, the customary solidarity arrangements are eroded; ‘customary rights of access for outsiders ( . . . ) are gradually restricted by the host community, and at later stages, exclusionary processes start to affect weaker categories within that community itself’ (Platteau, 2000: 100). Traditional leaders and powerful actors can practise the politics of exclusion towards those groups in society with less political power. This trend has especially weakened the land rights of groups with secondary resource access, such as women, orphans, immigrants, and so on. A second category of constraints on the agency of vulnerable groups is of a social nature. Long (2001) summarises the idea that human agency and, in addition, power are significantly dependent upon the social network in which actors move and negotiate. In fact, the outcome of a bargaining process in the land arena depends to quite some extent upon the way in which actors are capable of instrumentalising their social capital in support of their claims. The action of forum shopping is a good example of how individual agency is embedded in a complex network



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of negotiated power relations because people with a broader network – and thus a broader knowledge of the overall situation – can use forum shopping more efficiently to support their claims. Finally, institutional constraints also limit the agency of individuals in a particular society. In fact, institutions ensure that things are done ‘the right way’ in cultural and symbolic terms. ‘The right way’ is generally related to those institutions that confirm the dominant world views and that reinforce the existing relations of authority (Cleaver, 2005). According to Douglas (1986: 91), people build institutions through ‘squeezing each other’s ideas into a common shape’. Institutions then govern the individual memory, choices, perceptions, and classifications, by transforming them into authorised forms that legitimate the underlying power relations. Scott (1995), however, differentiates between public transcripts that are ‘designed to be impressive, to affirm and naturalize the power of dominant elites’ (Scott, 1995: 18) and ‘hidden transcripts’, which are the discourses that take place ‘offstage’ within subordinate groups to express what is not allowed in the open. In fact, the power base of social actors determines their ability to define the institutional arrangements within the public transcript (Scott, 1995). This does not mean that poorer, less powerful social actors are passive victims. They may test and challenge the prevailing order through disguised masks of dissent, which Scott defines as ‘infrapolitics’. However, due to the limited knowledge, resources, and capabilities within their reach, the poor are constrained in putting their mark upon the public transcript that defines the bargaining rules between more and less powerful groups (Scott, 1995). Cleaver (2005) argues that the poor, and in addition the more vulnerable categories, engage in public life in adverse terms; ‘they are less able to negotiate the “right way of doing things” to create room for manoeuvre, to shape social relationships to their advantage rather than others’ (Cleaver, 2005: 895). This process of institutionalised exclusion reproduces inequality and dependency. When such exclusion reappears in different arenas, then the categorical distinctions between different social groups transform into ‘durable inequalities’ that last from one social field to the next and eventually become embedded in institutional memory (Tilly, 1998).

1.5. Conclusion We have shown how smallholder farming is increasingly called into question as a viable strategy for enhancing productivity within the agricultural sector. In fact, the whole of Africa is involved in a process





of ‘deagrarianisation’ (Bryceson, 2002), characterised by an increasing detachment of rural livelihoods from farming and from access to land (Rigg, 2006). In the Great Lakes Region, however, as in many African countries, there are few alternative options outside the agricultural sector. As a result, competition within the land arena is becoming increasingly fierce while the options to generate a decent livelihood are turning bleaker. This produces a profound societal crisis in which conflicts over land are becoming more numerous, more intense, and in a number of cases even take a violent turn. The different chapters in this section illustrate this process in more detail. The first three chapters identify how the increasing competition for available space in DRC is resulting in the modification of customary land arrangements and a profound land crisis in which vulnerable population groups are victimised while local elites capture the benefits. Utshudi Ona and Ansoms’s chapter provides an analysis of land practices and the resulting micro-level conflicts in South Kivu. They identify how the land arena is characterised by a situation of legal pluralism in which various formal and informal institutional norms compete with each other. They see an opportunity in the current move towards decentralisation, pleading for the integration of customary traditions managing land relations within these decentralised state structures. Furthermore, they point to the profound need for developing (additional) mechanisms that secure land rights for small-scale peasants and that contribute to conflict resolution. These points are also relevant in Van Puijenbroek and Ansoms’s chapter in which they focus upon the context of Ituri. They explain how competition for land is core to the struggle for political and economic power within the different communities, between local communities, and between local communities and the urban elite. The widely different dynamics – each time dependent upon the local context – imply that the identification of possible strategies for solutions is not straightforward. Wagemakers’ and Makangu Diki’s chapter, finally, sheds light upon the revival and re-interpretation of customary power within local governance of urban land. Furthermore, they deconstruct the role of the Congolese state in land management. They explain how the fragmented status of the Congolese state by no means implies its disappearance from the land arena. The state is represented on the ground by extremely diverse state actors that follow their own agendas. In Burundi and Rwanda, discussions on agrarian and land reforms at the level of the national government are more advanced. Kohlhagen’s chapter on Burundi analyses the many attempts of policy makers to



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develop a land law that formalises land titles. He points to the way in which all texts fail to take full account of the customary rules, while many of these rules are still very much alive in Burundi and play a major role in social regulation. At the same time, however, the traditional normative systems have in many regards eroded, resulting in a generalised lack of socially recognised norms. Kohlhagen therefore pleads in favour of a stronger emphasis on conflict resolution mechanisms in any formally coordinated land management system. Whereas the capacity of the Burundian state to conduct reforms and address land problems is still contested, this is definitely not the case in Rwanda. Leegwater illustrates how a strong Rwandan state elaborated two different policies to deal with the problem of returning refugees in the late 1990s: 1) the sharing of land by the Hutu population with Tutsi refugees who returned after many years in exile; and 2) the forceful resettlement of peasants from dispersed settlements spread over the hills to grouped settlements in a village structure. The implementation of these policies on the ground, however, had an adverse impact upon already strained social relations in the context of a post-genocide society in which the social fabric is far from repaired. Ansoms’s chapter, finally, analyses the (potential) impact of more recently elaborated Rwandan policies to professionalise the agricultural sector. She criticises the way in which monocropping, regional crop specialisation, and land consolidation are presented as productivity-enhancing ‘pro-poor’ policies. She illustrates how a forceful adoption of these policies will most likely lead to increasing divisions between the rural rich and poor, and will deepen the poverty trap for poorer categories of peasants.

Notes 1. The fact that the decline in land per capita is smaller for Rwanda in comparison with Burundi and DRC can only be explained by the fact that the transformation of land into arable land is more obvious in Rwanda. The options for further expansion are, however, bleak (as already 50 per cent of the total surface has been put to use). Moreover, Rwanda is characterised by a high degree of inequality in landholdings. The average trends in land availability do not entirely reveal the problematic situation of a large majority of small-scale actors struggling for access to cultivable land. 2. Reyntjens (2009) points out two types of land conflict. First of all, there is the stringent competition between producers of crops and livestock breeders. Secondly, there are differences in opinion on the concept of land tenure with, on the one hand, corporate ownership and, on the other hand, individual ownership embedded within modern laws protecting private property rights.





3. FDLR stands for Forces Démocratiques de Libération du Rwanda. 4. ZTE stands for Zhong Xing Telecommunication Equipment Company Limited. It is a telecommunications company that set up an agribusiness branch in December 2007. 5. There are to our knowledge no similar analyses that have studied the relationship in DRC and Burundi. 6. The concept of semi-autonomous social fields was initially articulated by the legal anthropologist Sally Falk Moore (1978). A society consists of different social fields such as a village, an ethnic community, an association, or a state. Each field has different loci of authority that overlap and interact with other social fields. Because of this interaction and overlapping, each field is semiautonomous. 7. Agency is defined as the individual actor’s capacity ‘to process social experience and to devise ways of coping with life, even under the most extreme forms of coercion’ (Long, 2001: 16). 8. Cleaver defines ‘institutional bricolage’ as the way in which ‘mechanisms for resource management and collective action are borrowed or constructed from existing institutions, styles of thinking and sanctioned social relationships’ (Cleaver, 2003: 16).

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Ellis, F. (1990) Peasant Economics: Farm Households and Agrarian Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Englert, B. and E. Daley (2008) ‘Introduction: Women’s land rights and privatizations’ in B. Englert and E. Daley (eds) Women’s Land Rights and Privatization in Eastern Africa (Suffolk: James Curry). GoR (Government of Rwanda) (2007) Economic Development and Poverty Reduction Strategy 2008–2012 (Kigali: Government of Rwanda). GoR (2000) Vision 2020 (Kigali: Ministry of Finance and Economic Planning). Griffiths, J. (1986) ‘What is legal pluralism?’, Journal of Legal Pluralism, 24, 1–55. Hung, P.V., T.G. MacAulay, and S.P. Marsh (2007) ‘The economics of land fragmentation in the north of Vietnam’, Australian Journal of Agricultural and Resource Economics, 51 (2), 195–211. Hyawe-Hinyi, T. (2010) ‘Sud-Kivu: De plus en plus de paysans sans terres’, Syfia Grands Lacs, www.syfia-grands-lacs.info (home page), date posted 6 May 2010. International Crisis Group (ICG) (2000) Burundi: Neither War Nor Peace, ICG Africa Report no. 25. Johnston, D. and H. Le Roux (2007) ‘Leaving the household out of family labour? The implications for the size-efficiency debate’, European Journal of DevelopmentResearch, 19 (3), 355–371. Kagire, E. (2009) ‘Gov’t, investors ink $250m bio-fuel deal’, New Times, www. newtimes.co.rw (home page), data posted 16 November 2009. Kamuni, P.M., J.S. Oketch, and C. Huggins (2005) ‘Land access and the return and resettlement of IDP’s and refugees in Burundi’ in C. Huggins and J. Clover (eds) From the Ground Up: Land Rights, Conflict and Peace in Sub Saharan Africa (Pretoria: ISS). Kyalangilwa, J.M. (2007) ‘Nouvelles entités provincials’, http://www. congoforum.be (home page), data accessed 25 May 2010. Lemarchand, R. (2009) The Dynamics of Violence in Central Africa (Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press). Lerman, Z. and D. Cimpoies (2006) ‘Land consolidation as a factor for rural development in Moldova’, Europe-Asia Studies, 58 (3), 439–455. Long, N. (2001) Development Sociology: Actor Perspectives (London: Routledge). Meinzen-Dick, R.S. and R. Pradhan (2002) Legal Pluralism and Dynamic Property Rights, CAPRI working paper, no. 22. Merlet, M. (2007) Land Policies and Agrarian Reforms (Paris: Agter). Moore, S.F. (1978) ‘Law and social change: The semi-autonomous social field as an appropriate subject of study’ in S.F. Moore (ed.) Law as a Process: An Anthropological Approach (London: Routledge and Kegal Paul). Moyo, S. (2008) African Land Questions, Agrarian Transitions and the State: Contradictions of Neo-liberal Land Reforms, Working Chapter Series, Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa. Platteau, J.P. (2000) Institutions, Social Norms and Economic Development (London: Routledge). Ram, K.A., A. Tsunekawa, D.K. Saha, and T. Miyazaki (1999) ‘Subdivision and fragmentation of land holdings and their implication in desertification in the Thar Desert, India’, Journal of Arid Environments, 41, 463–477. Reyntjens, F. (2009) The Great African War: Congo and Regional Geopolitics, 1996– 2006 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).



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Reconciling Custom, State and Local Livelihoods: Decentralised Land Management in South Kivu (DRC) Innocent Utshudi Ona and An Ansoms

2.1. Introduction There is an extensive body of literature that analyses the link between natural resources and conflict, whether referring to internal conflicts (see e.g. Collier, 2007; Ross, 2004; Lujala, 2009) or to conflicts at the international level (see e.g. Klare, 2001). In the context of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), the role of mineral resources in the subsequent waves of violence has been widely documented (UN Panel of Experts, 2002; Olsson and Fors, 2004; Ezekiel, 2007; Garrett et alii, 2009). Little is known, however, about the role of land disputes in the subsequent conflicts that have plagued the region. Nonetheless, land is of crucial importance to the Congolese economy, with the agricultural sector contributing 41 per cent to overall GDP (2007 figures, World Bank, 2009). In addition, it is the most crucial asset for the livelihood strategies of the rural population (amounting to 66 per cent of the Congolese population; 2008 figures, World Bank, 2009). In South Kivu the situation is particularly precarious given its high population density (53 people per km2 ; Ministère du Plan, 2005a). Moreover, since independence, South Kivu has been among the most unstable regions of the DRC. Its territory has been the departure point of different rebellions; it has frequently experienced the spill-over effects of various wars in neighbouring Rwanda; it has been the involuntary host of massive fluxes of refugees; and throughout the various conflicts many of its own population have been displaced (Reyntjens, 2009). These evolutions have profoundly disturbed South Kivu’s social fabric while 26



2

also affecting its productive capacity, particularly within the agricultural sector (Ministère du Plan, 2005b). A large part of the population still derives its income from food crop production. As a result, competition for available land is fierce. In addition, land claims for other than agricultural purposes (e.g. exploitation of mines or forestry resources, environmental protection of certain areas, and various entrepreneurial activities coordinated by large-scale and small-scale artisanal investors) have increased immensely over the past two decades. Therefore, disputes over access to and distribution of land are the root cause of many local conflicts that regularly take a regional dimension. The standard policy response of neoliberal-inspired policy makers to struggles in the land arena is to plead for a market-led agrarian reform (MLAR) in combination with formalised and privatised land titling, guaranteed by an efficient state at the central level. This should result in a self-selection process in which the most productive producers thrive; and, accordingly, productivity and agricultural efficiency should increase. Less efficient players, it is assumed, will be absorbed in offfarm economic sectors (see also Ansoms and Claessens’ chapter in this book). There are two complications, however. First of all, formal registration of land rights and a centrally organised protection of tenure security are rarely or not feasible in the context of weak state capacity – as is the case in the DRC. But even in contexts where the legitimacy of the state is less contested and where central authorities do engage in formally guaranteed privatised land titling and registration, there is contradictory evidence with regard to the usefulness of such a process. Easterly (2008), for example, explains how top-down land reforms in Africa fail to capture real needs at the local level. Land is not just an economic commodity; it is a social, cultural and political space that is relevant to various locally embedded social relations (Merlet, 2007). Privatised forms of land tenure do not take these dimensions into account. In reality, land relations are characterised by a situation of legal pluralism, in which ‘the “law” which is actually effective on the “ground floor” of society, is the result of enormously complex and usually in practice unpredictable patterns of competition, interaction, negotiation, isolationism, and the like’ between various legal frameworks (Griffith, 1986: 39). Legal pluralism is found in nearly all contexts, but particularly in contexts characterised by insecurity – for example, in case of fluctuations in regimes and social power (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002). The context of the DRC certainly fits within this picture.



Innocent Utshudi Ona and An Ansoms 27


For more details on complications of the MLAR approach and on legal pluralism, we refer to the first chapter of this book. In this chapter, we provide an analysis of land practices and resulting microlevel conflicts in South Kivu. We analyse how legal pluralism dominates land relations and transactions, allowing different social actors to navigate opportunistically between several normative repertoires, dependent upon their interests. We show that despite some inventive solutions that may emerge from this, shifting normative frameworks and institutional confusion may also give rise to fierce land conflicts in which vulnerable population groups are often victimised and local elites capture the benefits. From this emerges a profound need for developing (additional) mechanisms that can contribute to conflict resolution while also securing land rights for peasants with small-scale landholdings.

2.2. Land practices in South Kivu: operating between custom and law Traditionally – as in many other African contexts (see Platteau, 2000) – land in South Kivu was owned collectively, but managed by a traditional chief (mwami). It was the Mwami who granted user rights over land to members of his tribe, while receiving tributes (both actual payments in kind and symbolic) in return. Land – next to its economic use – was instrumentalised to express relationships of kinship, mutuality and dependency. Although the Mwami exerted a lot of power, he had to take into account the needs of his community. Even if throughout the course of the colonial and post-independence periods, legal provisions were formulated and altered, traditional leadership continued to exert de facto influence on land relations and transactions. However, and again in line with evolutions in other parts of Africa, continuous population growth has absorbed available space over the past century. Increasing land scarcity entailed a progressive commercialisation and monetarisation of land rights, which weakened traditional customary land arrangements (Platteau, 2000). Modern perceptions of land rights in South Kivu (as elsewhere) increasingly detach the symbolic importance of land from its economic value, with very practical implications. For example, modern ‘contracts’ – even if most are not legal in the pure sense – transfer land rights in ways that are incompatible with the traditions, as they circumvent the authority of the traditional chief. On the other hand, the increased economic value of land has seduced traditional leaders into taking advantage of their customary power by selling off land under their tutelage. This has further



28

eroded the legitimacy of traditional customary arrangements and led to the emergence of ‘new’, more individualised customary rules. Likewise, the increasing commercialisation and commoditisation of land has affected kinship and family relations. Traditionally, the eldest son inherited the family property, together with an implicit obligation to take care of the other members of the family. He distributed portions of land to other inheritors, giving them a user right which did not include the right to transfer the land. In the current context, however, the traditional authority of the eldest son is increasingly contested by other family members who sell land in ways incompatible with traditions. On the other hand, family elders also sell land that they hold under tutelage, ignoring their responsibilities to take care of more vulnerable family members. Both dynamics mostly affect the rights of those who are absent or who are in a vulnerable position (especially orphans, widows and minors). These groups have a limited capacity to defend their rights in a context of institutional confusion in which traditional solidarity mechanisms are increasingly eroded, and are replaced by more individualised opportunistic reinterpretations of land relations. This process is further reinforced by evolutions in the legal system of land management in the DRC. In the colonial era the authorities introduced a land law based on privatised land titles that was meant to engender a rapid valorisation of this natural resource. At the same time, colonial legislation recognised the application of customary arrangements in the case of ‘indigenous land’.1 After independence, the Congolese state adapted the colonial legislation to the constitutional principle of land nationalisation (referred to as ‘loi Bakajika’, formulated in 1966). It is within this line of thought that the 1973 land law – modified in 1980 – exclusively attributes land property to the Congolese state (Article 53).2 The land law differentiates administratively between urban and rural land, and makes a juridical distinction between private and public land (Article 55). With regard to public land, the Congolese state has determined the boundaries of protected areas in line with the need to protect the natural patrimony. However, this negatively affects the rights of peasants and local communities, who for generations have been dependent upon the use and usufruct of land embedded within these protected areas. Within the domain of private land, the law secures land rights through the allocation of individual concessions3 with written registration certificates as proof of title. This provision is applicable to urban land and to rural land managed through the concessionary




30

Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region National territory Private land

Public land

Urban land

Not occupied by local communities

Occupied by local communities

In hands of state

Rights obtained through individual concessions

Rights obtained through individual concessions

No legal provision (yet) on how rights are obtained

Figure 2.1

Land rights on different types of land

system; however, it is not applicable to rural land occupied by local communities. Article 389 specifies that land rights on this customarily ‘occupied’ land will be arranged through a presidential decree that has not yet been formulated to date (see Figure 2.1). There are several problems with the current legal framework. First of all the hiatus in the land law with regard to rural land ‘occupied’ by local communities results in a situation in which no formal provisions exist to arrange de facto user rights in those areas. Second, the law is quite vague on how to distinguish between rural land managed through the concessionary system and rural land ‘occupied’ by local communities. The latter is defined as land that is inhabited, cultivated and exploited in some way or another, individually or collectively, corresponding to customs and local practices (Article 388). In reality, this may result in a situation where elites register land, occupied by peasants, in complicity with customary chiefs declaring the land ‘unoccupied’. Finally, procedures to acquire a concession on land managed through the concessionary system are quite elaborate and (nearly) inaccessible for small-scale peasants with limited knowledge and financial means to pursue the acquisition of registration certificates. The combination of these problems negatively affects the bargaining capacity of small-scale peasants in land relations, and exposes them to considerable threats of expropriation and land grabbing by more informed and more powerful actors. There is, however, another evolution that may have major implications on land management arrangements. The administrative and territorial reform, established through the new 2006 Constitution, has transformed the institutional organisation of the Congolese state from a highly centralised model into a unitary state composed of territorially



Rural land


decentralised entities. This could provide new opportunities for decentralised and more participatory land management systems, a possibility that we will explore later in the chapter. We first consider how local land practices are influenced by both informal and formal institutions in three case study settings.

The first author of this chapter has – together with a larger team4 – conducted in-depth field work in three particular settings: (1) Mwanda, one of six localities that form the groupement IrhanbiKatana, located in Kabare chiefdom, which is part of the Kabare territory (2) Three localities near Kamituga, a mining centre located in Wamuzimu chiefdom in Mwenga territory (3) Several localities in the Ruzizi plains (Uvira territory). Uvira territory comprehends three chiefdoms, of which two chiefdoms (chiefdom of the Bafulero and chiefdom of Ruzizi) cover the Ruzizi plains. On each site, the team concentrated on a number of randomly chosen land parcels that were taken as the unit for observation. For each parcel of land, the research team identified its history, its juridical situation, its economic situation, the identity and rights of the occupant, whether land conflicts were attached to the parcel, and of which type these conflicts were. The team researched the situation of 136 parcels located in six different sites in Mwanda and 51 parcels located in three different sites in Kamituga, and covered a variety of sites in the Ruzizi plains (only a few are mentioned in this chapter). 2.3.1. Mwanda, territory of Kabare The region of Mwanda is of great importance in South Kivu province because of its agricultural production and the possibility of bringing this production to the major urban centres of Bukavu5 and Goma. The region is densely populated, which results in fierce competition over land. Many small-scale peasants are entirely dependent upon subsistence agriculture. Despite the formal provisions of the land law, land acquisition and transactions are often arranged through customary traditions. The most usual traditional contract is called kalinzi, an arrangement through which the Mwami gives a community member the right to occupy a



2.3. Three case studies


plot of land in return for a gift acknowledging gratitude, submission to the chief’s authority, and future political and social loyalty. In the past, this gift most often took the form of livestock; in present times it may also be a monetary gift. The arrangement gives the claimant a perpetual and transmittable user/usufruct right, while imposing the obligation to occupy and exploit the land (or indicate a guardian in case of temporary absence). Over time, the kalinzi procedure has (partly) adapted itself to the new, more individualised conception on land rights. The meaning of the term kalinzi has shifted from a perpetual symbolic contract between chief and peasant towards an individualised one-to-one purchase contract that can take place between any two parties. This transformation process is far from complete, however. Some kalinzi contracts are still oral while others are written; some are paid for in kind, others in money. And despite the tendency to commercialise and monetarise land transactions, there is still an influence of customary traditions. Community members may, for example, seek the advice of the chef de groupement and the signature of the village chief in land transactions. There are also remaining traces of the traditional authority of the eldest son and heir over the family’s land property, given that land is rarely sold without his authorisation. In some cases land cannot be sold outside the community. So despite the fact that land transactions are increasingly embedded in a more individualised and profit-oriented logic, some forms of customary traditions still persist. However, one should not overstate the customary aspects in land transactions as by definition based upon trust, mutuality and solidarity. Secularisation and monetarisation of land rights have also induced situations in which customary chiefs have abused their traditional powers to claim the right to give kalinzi on land already previously transferred through this system. This procedure allows traditional chiefs to extract money from peasants and to reconfirm their superior powers over the peasant population. The practice most often occurs when there is a change in authority. Next to the kalinzi contract, there is the bwasa contract. Whereas – in theory – the right to claim land back in the original kalinzi contract is only possible when the counter-gift has not been paid or when the peasant in question emigrates, the bwasa contract between two peasants implies a temporary user right on land (most often for one season) in return for a rent. The compensation for the user right on land can be ‘paid’ in different ways: either by monetary compensation or compensation in kind. In recent times, bwasa is increasingly paid in money.



32

Although the bwasa contract was already embedded within customary traditions, it has become more prominent in current times. In the context of Mwanda, large plots of land are occupied and controlled by only a few concession holders: most land is held by two large congregations, some individuals with well-paid jobs, and a few local large-scale peasants. With land becoming increasingly scarce, small-scale peasants are more and more obliged to secure additional access to land through the bwasa system with these concession holders.6 In practice, this often results in the (re)production of quasi-feudal relations between a powerful concession holder and an increasingly dependent tenant. In combination with the formal land arrangements (as described in the previous section of the chapter), these transitions in customary systems have resulted in a situation of legal pluralism that dominates land practices and transactions in Mwanda. This institutional confusion, in combination with fierce competition over land, often results in conflicts. Different types of conflicts may be identified. First, there are conflicts emerging over the process of allocation of land concessions. The land law specifies the need for a preliminary inquiry to determine whether a third party could have any rights on the land for which an investor requests a concession. This inquiry is carried out by a state agent at the level of the territory, who transfers the findings to higher-level authorities that are competent to hand over the land concession (Article 193).7 In practice, however, this inquiry often takes place without the presence of any of the peasants involved and, when present, peasants frequently do not understand the stakes due to ignorance with regard to the land law. Quite often, it is only the customary chief who is present, who may be corrupted to declare the land ‘unoccupied’. Registration resulting from such falsified inquiry entails the de facto dispossession of the peasant concerned. The lack of secured ways to prove land rights may also be problematic in relations among peasants. Indeed, peasants increasingly try to secure their rights by putting them on paper using the customary chief or other influential people as witnesses. There are many voids, however, given that the borders of the land are often not mentioned. Moreover, witnesses may ‘change their minds’ later on when bribed by a party involved in the conflict. And in any case, these written but unofficial rights are subordinate to any formal registration process by the state taking place. There are many conflicts emerging on land transfers, often related to the inherent contradictions between old customary practices and new





practices (both customary and state-led) embedded within a more individualised and monetarised logic. Kinship ties that in the past regulated social relations around land are now set aside. Much land is sold without the implication of the customary chief. Eldest sons sell off land without securing the implicit rights of other family members, and other family members use the occasion of family land being distributed by the eldest son to extricate themselves (and the received land) from his influence. The economic value of land further leads to opportunistic reinterpretations of previously established land relations. In some cases, better-off farmers are selling land twice to different persons; or they reinterpret kalinzi contracts by transforming them into bwasa contracts. Such opportunism also occurs when, in the case of a change of chiefs, peasants see themselves obliged to renew the kalinzi contracts concluded with the previous customary chief. Conflicts may further emerge over the land rights of women. According to official law, widows have a right to part of the heritage, and also daughters officially have the right to an equal share of the heritage (Article 759 of the family code). In practice, however, such nontraditional provisions of the legislation are not implemented. As in many other African contexts (see e.g. Joireman, 2008), women did (and do) not play any role in land transaction according to customary traditions: they could not sell, buy or inherit land. Girls could have access to family land to cultivate, but lost these rights at the time of their marriage. Widows were taken care of by their family in law. In more recent times, women often still depend upon their families to secure access to land. However, with the monetarisation of land, customary obligations towards women in the family have increasingly eroded. Most problematic are situations of polygamy, where the rights of the second wife and her children are not at all secured. There are other more trivial conflicts, for example with regard to the borders of land plots. Over time, the exact borders may have become blurred, which then gives rise to discussions. The chance for such conflicts is strengthened by the fact that most transactions have been concluded orally, and written proofs are rare. Of the 136 plots included in the Mwanda research, 77 were the subject of open or latent conflict. Most conflicts concerned discussions on the borders of land (24), but conflicts resulting from the lack of secured land titles (22), and conflicts resulting from opportunistic reinterpretation of land relations (18) were also prominent. Conflicts based on misunderstandings with regard to land transfers (11) regularly occurred, whereas conflicts based on the dubious status of women



34


in land relations (2) were rather scarce. This is likely related to the lower likelihood for such conflicts to be mentioned to the research team as most respondents were male. Of all conflicts, eight were brought before formal institutions for resolution, the others were not.

Kamituga is a mineral resource centre in Mwenga territory. Industrial exploitation started in 1923 by the Compagnie Minière des Grands Lacs Africains (MGL), and was continued by the Société Minière du Kivu (Sominki), created in 1976. The implosion of Sominki in 1997 allowed local inhabitants to occupy the territory previously held by the mining company. Many engaged in artisanal mining (for a more detailed account, see Geenen’s chapter in this book). Several factors have contributed to the fact that the Kamituga region is densely populated. First, mining activities required labour force, which was recruited from other regions. Liberalisation of mineral exploitation in the beginning of the 1980s further reinforced the influx of immigrant labourers (see also Geenen’s chapter). In addition, the more recent wars and resulting insecurity in South Kivu have resulted in several waves of refugees reaching Kamituga. The increased demographical pressure has obviously influenced contemporary land relations. The presence of mineral activities has had a profound impact upon the struggle for land. On the one hand, availability of mining as an alternative non-agricultural livelihood strategy releases pressure on agricultural land in areas peripheral to the mining site. As a result, those remaining in agricultural activities are mostly elder men, women and girls, along with outsider peasants renting land. On the other hand, however, the space required for mining activities (both for digging and for housing those active in the sector) imposes new pressures upon available space in areas more central to the mining activity. The implosion of Sominki in 1997 has created institutional confusion on the status of land located at the mining sites and fuelled competition for available space. Also in areas near the mining site, land is regarded as an extremely scarce and highly valued commodity. Original landowners are increasingly selling or renting out land to ‘outsiders’ who are not members of their community. Kamituga has the administrative status of ‘rural’ land. This means that the formal procedure to acquire land titles either occurs through concessions or – for land occupied by local communities – it is arranged by the presidential decree mentioned in Article 389 of the land law that has never been formulated. The expanding cosmopolitan character of



2.3.2. Kamituga, territory of Mwenga


Kamituga’s centre, however, has resulted in the deployment of landrelated public services that normally only operate in urban areas. The land arena is more and more dominated by non-customary land-tenure system(s) where the influence of state agents increases. Nonetheless, the local customary system of the Barega (the main tribe in Kamituga) still exerts influence on land relations and transactions. Their customary land management system was traditionally less hierarchically organised than the customary system in the territory of Mwanda (previous case study). Land rights originally belonged to the first occupant of the land who cut down the mbala (forest). This very act gave him perpetual and transmissible land rights, but as a counterpart to these rights, the first occupant showed recognition to the customary chief by informing him about the land being occupied. It was generally the physical act of occupying land that determined land rights, however, not the intermediation of the customary chief. The reality of increasing scarcity of land has limited the options for further expansion and pushed customary practices towards the adoption of a more hierarchical system under the rule of the Mwami (more in line with the customary tenure system explained in the previous case study). The research team visited three sites in and around Kamituga: one area rather peripheral to the mining site (groupement of Busse, west of Kamituga), one area on the mining site (groupement of Baligi, south of Kamituga), and one area (east of Kamituga) where people displaced by mining activities had been resettled (they previously lived in the groupement of Baligi). The first site – located some 3 kilometres from Kamituga’s centre – was characterised by quite harmonious land relations. First, all the land users interviewed were descendants of the same ancestor and thus belonged to the same kinship group. Second, the area was located in a region with yet unexploited forests; land was still relatively abundantly available. Finally, the location was quite peripheral to the mining site. At the same time, the local population was strongly involved in mineral activities, which made the stakes of agricultural activities less pressing. The fact that competition for land was less fierce in comparison with other settings was illustrated by the near absence of any land conflicts on the studied plots, and by the fact that nearly one-quarter of these plots lay fallow. The situation in this first setting strongly contrasted with the situation in the neighbouring groupement of Baligi. There, the vicinity of Kamituga made competition for land fiercer. Agricultural activities were less prominent, instead land was used for gold-related activities. Available economic opportunities attracted outsiders who tried to gain



36

access to available space through land rentals. The site8 was originally an agglomeration constructed by MGL to host its labour force. Over time, the setting had become increasingly urbanised, with new households settling in the area. At the time of the research, the agglomeration counted more than 2500 inhabitants. The plots studied were all located on a flank of a hill near the agglomeration. All plots fell under the authority of one family elder, a descendant of the first occupant. The original owner of the plot had not left his family with any written ownership title. Some plots were used by family members or dependents of the family, other pieces of land were used by outsiders paying rent and using these plots for gold-related activities.9 None of the user rights had been registered on paper. The lack of any written evidence in times of increasing land scarcity and competition over rights had, however, inspired the family elder to take precautions to secure his land rights. Interestingly, he had not addressed the cadastre agent but instead had turned to the sector’s agronomist to provide him with a written proof. He hoped to use this ‘title’ to register his landholdings formally at the newly installed land conservation office in Kamituga, once he had gathered the necessary financial means. Such registration would mean that he acquires privatised property titles and, in case of his death, his direct descendants would inherit the private rights. This contradicts the customary traditions where the elder is regarded as the guardian of the extended family’s property. The population of the last site10 originally lived in a locality of the groupement of Baligi that was situated even closer to Kamituga than the one described in the previous case. At some point in time, the mining company obtained the right to displace all the people living within a certain perimeter around the mining site, to allow for organised exploitation of the mine and for the building of a large production centre. The research team visited the area in which displaced clans, originating from the Baligi groupement, had been resettled. The families had moved to a forest zone that, once deforested, provided space for the different clans and families. The relative abundance of space in the resettlement site had a positive impact upon the negotiation process on access to land between clans. In fact, there was still enough space to expand land property in the periphery for those willing to do so. However, more centrally to the agglomeration, land had become scarcer with the increasing demographical pressure. This, in combination with the fact that displacement already decreased the historical and symbolical value of the land, resulted in an increasing marketisation of land. The land conflicts identified were quite similar to those identified in Mwanda, described




38


earlier in the text (opportunistic reinterpretation of previously existing land relations, conflicts over land transfers and conflicts over succession).

The Ruzizi plains have been severely affected by the various waves of war, insecurity and political instability in the Great Lakes Region. These dynamics have resulted in several influxes of refugees installing themselves on land belonging to the local population and its customary authorities. The plains are, for example, the context of a profound dispute between two tribes: the majority tribe of Bafulero, and a minority of Barundi. The Bafulero consider the Barundi as an allochthonous presence (coming from Burundi) that was tolerated without gaining definite land rights on the land they ‘temporarily’ occupied. The Barundi, however, consider their presence as permanent after having lived in this area for centuries. The plains are, furthermore, the context of competing land claims between the protagonists of two different types of agriculture: cultivators and livestock holders. Subsequent waves of violence and the passage of several armed groups led to a severe decline of livestock in the region, with a perverse impact upon livestock raising as a main livelihood activity. However, now that security has returned in most parts, herds are being rebuilt. In many cases, plots originally destined for grazing or the passage of livestock have been occupied by new owners. These livestock owners often attribute to themselves the right to graze or pass over land that has not yet been planted during the dry season. This leads to the de facto loss of user rights without any form of compensation for peasants cultivating these plots. In addition, the plains are slowly becoming attractive again to large-scale landholders. Their claims enter into competition with the needs of the growing local population, which results in pressing land scarcity and a strong competition over land rights. One of the sites visited by the research team was located in Kiliba cité, part of the Ruzizi chiefdom. Originally, agricultural activities in this region concentrated upon sugarcane production for Sucki (a sugar factory created during colonial times).11 It disposed of a registered land concession of 7,000 hectares, of which only 3,000 hectares were suitable for sugarcane production. It had also convinced nearby farmers to engage in sugarcane production through the provision of all the necessary hydro-agronomic and mechanical facilities. Whereas some farmers had plots large enough to cultivate sugarcane individually, others were



2.3.3. Ruzizi plains, territory of Uvira

obliged to consolidate their landholdings and organise themselves in collective paysannats. At the time of the research, Sucki had ceased all production and commercial activity, and its infrastructures were no longer operational.12 This has had a profound impact upon struggles in the land arena. The variety of overlapping and contradicting institutional arrangements that emerged in the vacuum created by Sucki’s absence, has led to an explosion of land conflicts both on Sucki’s concessions and on land cultivated by the paysannats. First of all, 2500 workers lost their jobs. Some of them received permission from Sucki to occupy the large land concessions held by the factory to produce food crops. However, poverty and competition for land has led to disordered land grabbing. On the one hand, certain workers profit from their privilege by renting out land to land-poor peasants. On the other hand, their implicit land rights are contested by other actors in the area. This is very well illustrated on a particular site of 20 hectares in Kagunga. In 1994, the land previously held under concession by the sugar factory was used to host refugees from Rwanda, installed there by the United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR). When they left, it were not, however, Sucki’s ex-employees who recuperated the user rights. Instead, local customary chiefs attributed to themselves the right to allocate the land to local peasants. Logically, this has resulted in conflicts between ex-Sucki workers, customary chiefs and new occupants of the land. Another problem was detected on land held by some of the collective paysannats that previously cultivated sugarcane for Sucki. As individual titles had become blurred over time, members of the paysannats had decided to cultivate their food crops collectively even after the factory ceased its activities. However, conflicts emerged around membership of paysannats. Some previously attached peasants left or sold their shares. Others claimed a right to enter as descendants of original members. Despite a seeming local consensus on the legitimacy of this claim, the children of those who were deceased or had fled, had difficulties in becoming recognised as a member. A final site visited was Uvira cité.13 Despite its urban features and the presence of a city-like administration, the cité is legally and administratively still considered to be rural land. With regard to land relations, Uvira cité is characterised by strong competition between formal and informal institutions. Whereas the official land registration office considers itself as the only authority to negotiate on and hand out land rights, customary authorities continue to exert a large amount of influence. The latter behave as if no formal land provisions exist and reinforce their customary legitimacy in land matters by all means.





The local population, in most cases, acts in line with these customary traditions and seems little interested in formally organised land management and registration systems, which is understandable considering the high costs involved in any formal procedures to register land titles. On the other hand, customary arrangements are also far from univocal. With increasing land scarcity, traditional arrangements have eroded. Moreover, land conflicts have been exacerbated as a result of conflicting interests between old occupants of land who fled the area during different waves of violence, and new occupants who occupied seemingly ‘vacant’ land in the meanwhile. The institutional confusion is instrumentalised by stronger actors to support their land claims at the expense of weaker groups in the population. 2.3.4. Land relations in South Kivu: a more general perspective The case studies described above illustrate the diversity of situations that may emerge in South Kivu’s land arena. Indeed, land relations are embedded within the wider societal context, and this context has been shaped by several evolutions over the past two decades. First of all, South Kivu has been the context of several waves of violence that have profoundly disturbed the societal fabric. The issue of South Kivu’s internally displaced persons (IDPs) and refugees coming from neighbouring countries is far from solved and results in many competing land claims. Moreover, violent threats continue to exist and profoundly restrict people in pursuing their main livelihood activities. Second, actors engaged in such violence have often been inspired by the abundant presence of mineral resources in South Kivu. Small-scale diggers at the local level and new large-scale investors are also interested in the opportunities provided by mining activities. The availability of an alternative livelihood strategy for the local population releases the pressure upon available land resources in some locations (peripheral to mining activities), but intensifies the competition for available space in areas more central to the mining sites. Third, large-scale actors are not only interested in mining activities. They also engage in agricultural cultivation, in forest exploitation, and so on. Their interests often clash with those of the local population living on or near the concession. Fourth, competing land claims also emerge between peasants who concentrate on crop cultivation and those trying to rebuild their herds. Conflicts in the land arena increasingly occur at the level of the community and even kinship itself, given that customary practices that guaranteed land rights in the past have eroded under immense demographic pressure.



40

As a result of all these overlapping evolutions, land relations in South Kivu have become increasingly complex and conflictual. We have described the many ambiguities that exist within formal provisions on land tenure. Moreover, customary institutional arrangements are subject to renegotiation, and/or have been transformed into new customary practices inspired by a more exclusive and individualised logic. Land practices and transactions in South Kivu are thus characterised by a situation of legal pluralism in its extreme form. This allows different social actors to navigate opportunistically between several normative repertoires dependent upon their interests and local power. Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan (2002: 15) describe such a phenomenon as a process of ‘forum shopping’ in which actors base their claims on whichever institutional framework fits their situation best. Despite the inventive solutions that may emerge from this, the shifting normative frameworks – both within the formal and informal sphere – and the resulting institutional confusion give rise to fierce land conflicts. In this struggle for available space, vulnerable groups are often victimised while more powerful and better-connected actors capture benefits. Indeed, in a process of forum shopping, the outcome of the various competing claims depends upon local power relations. From this emerges a profound need for developing (additional) mechanisms that can contribute to conflict resolution while securing land rights for small-scale peasants. In order to have a realistic chance of succeeding, these new mechanisms have to be adapted to the prevailing customary arrangements while at the same time securing the interests of the state at both central and decentralised levels. This difficult cocktail of objectives, moreover, has to be embedded in a context that is still plagued by insecurity.

2.4. Decentralisation in the DRC: an opportunity for locally embedded land management and dispute settlement The tendency towards decentralisation of state power in the context of the DRC provides certain opportunities for locally embedded land management and dispute settlement mechanisms. Figure 2.2 schematically represents the new administrative structure of the Congolese state in line with the 2006 constitutional law (18 February 2006) and the organic law no. 08/016 (7 October 2008). Within the rural setting, territoires are subdivided into communes (for urbanised areas), and secteurs (sectors) or chefferies (chiefdoms; for rural areas).14 The territorially decentralised entities have a juridical personality up to the level of sector/chiefdom.




42 Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region DRC

Provinces

Kinshasa city

Urban setting Communes

Rural setting

Villes

Territoires

Quartiers

Figure 2.2

Communes

Communes

Secteurs

Chefferies

Quartiers and/or groupements

Quartiers

Groupements

Groupements

Villages

Villages

The administrative structure according to the 2008 organic law

The new juridical framework allows them to set up an administration. While not transferring any legislative power, local administrations (up to the level of sector/chiefdom) have the legitimacy to interpret formal procedures and rules (if space for interpretation exists in the law) in line with the particular requirements of the local setting. At the level of each sector or chiefdom, there is an executive committee that executes the decisions of the council of the sector or chiefdom. The members of this council are officially elected in line with the provisions of the electoral code. The executive committee is presided by the chief of the sector/chiefdom. The chief is also responsible for nominating the chiefs at the level of the groupements and villages. In most cases the function of ‘chief’ at lower levels is acquired through inheritance but the chief of the sector/chiefdom may also choose to nominate his own allies. A law specifying the administrative role of groupements and villages is still to be elaborated. Overall, the new administrative structure has (at least theoretically) led to a recognition and integration of customary authorities within decentralised state structures. In practice, it is unclear to what extent implementation of the new policy has advanced. Nonetheless, this decentralised administration – once fully implemented – could offer new opportunities for a more participatory land management system. Four essential questions have to be addressed: (1) Which administrative level should become competent for land management? (2) How can local populations be involved to make the system participatory? (3) What will be the jurisdiction of the decentralised level? (4) What type of organ will be responsible to arbitrate in case of conflicts?



Cités

(1) To answer the question of which administrative level should become responsible for land management, there are three possible choices: the level of the village, the groupement, and the sector/chiefdom. The village level – the smallest administrative entity – seems to offer the advantage of operating most closely on the ground, which may facilitate participation of the local population in the negotiation over land rights. Indeed, currently, distance from the land registration office is one of the major constraints for poorer population groups in pursuing formal acceptance of their land rights. The customary chief at the village level is more connected to local realities. Moreover, this chief – although officially deprived from any authority over land matters – is in practice often involved in land relations and exchange in line with customary traditions. On the other hand, one should take into account that customary norms with regard to land management are far from uniform. Local power relations determine which norms are part of the public transcript. This public transcript is ‘designed to be impressive, to affirm and naturalize the power of dominant elites’ (Scott, 1995: 18). The close connection of the village chief with the local setting – and particularly with specific interest groups within that setting – may result in practices of clientelism. Moreover, the multitude of villages may result in a multiplicity of locally specific norms, and may complicate the ambition to create more clarity in land relations. It is therefore interesting to consider the level of sector/chiefdom – in the person of the chief and the elected council – as the appropriate level to coordinate land practices emerging on the ground. This level – somewhat higher on the administrative chain – could also mobilise necessary financial means and could mediate between different communities in case of emerging conflicts. (2) Now how to ensure that land management and dispute settlement mechanisms respond to locally embedded practices and are elaborated in a participatory way? Local authorities can definitely play a role here, given that the local chief at this level is de facto already often involved in land relations. Moreover, proximity between the local chief and the population creates potential for maximal participation of local groups in how land relations are organised. One should, however, take into account that land struggles are embedded within local socio-political power relations. Additional power in the hands of the local chief – now legitimised by the state – risks weakening further the bargaining position of more vulnerable groups. It is therefore crucial to foresee the need for additional checks and balances by providing the possibility of arbitrage (whether formal or informal) at the sector/chiefdom level.





Despite the fact that sector/chiefdom chiefs are not necessarily assigned through a fully democratic process, a participatory element is guaranteed by the fact that the sector/chiefdom council is elected. The elected council should be legally facilitated to deal with land issues. At this point, it does not have any jurisdiction in this area. Another matter is to make sure that the council is not taken hostage by the sector/chiefdom chief, providing him with an alibi to claim a participatory spirit in the organisation of land relations while imposing his own view in a monopolistic way. Here, the Congolese state could use its formal acceptance of the customary chief’s authority in land matters (including the financial allocations this would entail) as an argument for the chief to accept the sector/chiefdom council’s mandate. This should be monitored by structures higher up the administrative chain. Only in this way can the elected council provide a counterbalance to the interests of local elites that are often connected to the customary chief and his executive committee. The council’s mandate could be further reinforced through the organisation of consultative meetings between council members and representatives of the peasant community. At the same time, heterogeneity among peasants complicates the situation. The implication of peasant organisations’ representatives, for example, does not always offer guarantees that all relevant types of peasants (particularly small-scale peasants and other vulnerable groups) are represented. Overall, it is clear that despite the advantages of decentralised land management, elaboration of a truly participative and consensual system will remain a huge challenge given the variety of interests of different actors operating in the rural environment. (3) The third question is what jurisdiction the local level administration should have in governing land relations. It is important here that we do not plead in favour of a uniform system of formalised land rights that are assumed to replace all existing customary arrangements. Instead, an idea to be considered is the establishment of ‘land counters’ at the level of the sector/chiefdom. This option has been adopted in other contexts, for example, in Madagascar (see also Kohlhagen’s chapter in this book). In this context, land counters are responsible for informing the public about the competences of different administrative levels with regard to land matters, to manage information on non-titled land, to start up and coordinate procedures to recognise informal user rights on land, and to inform land authorities at higher levels (Teyssier et alii, 2007). They actually function as information channels from the national to the local level, and vice versa.



44

The introduction of local land counters should not be seen as a panacea to all problems, however. Indeed, several difficulties have been identified in the experience of Madagascar. There is, for example, a turnover of land counter agents due to their physical isolation and difficult relationships with higher level authorities, competition between existing land authorities at a more central level and the new system with decentralised land counters, and lack of continuity in the funding of the land counters (Thalgott, 2009). Other problems are the risk of clientelistic practices based upon regional or ethnic identities, the risk of migrants’ land rights being ignored, and the risk of sabotage of land counters by land agents at a higher level (Teyssier et alii, 2007). There are also difficulties with regard to validation of plot borders in certification procedures, and problems related to the follow-up of the counters’ functions (Pelerin and Ramboarison, 2006). Nonetheless, the decentralised land-counter experience seems a valuable initiative in an attempt to reinforce locally embedded land management and dispute settlement mechanisms. In the context of the DRC, such land counters could first of all provide local peasants with information on actual situations in the land arena, and on formal and informal procedures for ensuring land rights. The counter would, further, be responsible for guarding and giving access to land archives. Second, the land counter could function as a local public service managing land rights through the delivery of certificates recognising user rights on land. Indeed, at this point the formal procedure assigning land rights facilitates claims that are by no means legitimated within local customary practices. Land certificates would instead have to be handed out in line with local dynamics. One should take into account that local practices are also the result of local-level power structures. Moreover, local land management is not straightforward given that land counters will have to take into account the various interests of small-scale farmers versus large-scale agricultural investors, the competition among small-scale farmers, and the presence of other actors in rural settings (e.g. those involved in the exploitation of mineral resources). To ensure fair outcomes, mechanisms assuring accountability have to be elaborated and should be managed through participatory methods. (4) Finally, and maybe most importantly, the land counter could mediate in case of conflicts. Specific training – potentially provided by local-level non-governmental organisations (NGOs) – could raise awareness among local-level officials of the importance of protecting the land rights of vulnerable groups involved in land conflicts (widows,





orphans, wives implicated in polygamous marriages and their children, etc.). The mediation potential of the land counter could be complemented by the possibility to appeal at the level of the sector/ chiefdom. In short, a decentralised and more participatory land management system that accepts and works with the de facto situation of legal pluralism may help to solve some of the problems embedded in South Kivu’s current land relations conflicts. It could take into account local realities in terms of land practices, their complexity and their variability. Decentralised land management should not be considered as a panacea to all potential conflicts, however. Indeed, the outcome of decentralised land management still depends upon existing normative orders, styles of thinking and localised power relations. In the end, ‘we should always ask, what is the actual effect of [these] particular normative order[s] – whether state or non-state, public or private – on people’s rights over essential resources and on their “access to justice” in the true sense’ (Von Benda-Beckmann, 2001: 1). We should take into account how these normative orders are operationalised by local power holders, and how weaker groups may be protected from exploitative practices that can always emerge.

Notes 1. ‘Indigenous land’ was defined by Article 1 of the decree of 3 June 1906 as ‘land occupied by indigenous people, land that indigenous people live on, cultivate or exploit in one way or the other, in accordance with customs and local practices.’ 2. Part of law no. 73-021 of 20 July 1973, modified and completed by law no. 80-008 of 18 July 1980. 3. Two types of land concessions may be given: perpetual and ordinary concessions. Perpetual concessions can only be given to physical persons with the Congolese nationality, who may then indefinitely enjoy their rights on the land. Ordinary concessions can be given to physical or moral persons of any nationality and last for 25 years, after which they can be renewed. 4. The research team was led by Professor Mugangu Matabaro for the first setting, and by Professor Jean-Claude Mubalama Zibona for the second two settings (both from the Université Catholique de Bukavu). The team was supervised by Professor Paul-Robain Namegabe, and research was carried out by Didiho Muthethe, Imani Mapoli, Muhinduka Di-Kuruba, Furaha Mwagalwa and Utshudi Ona (co-author of this article). 5. The planned extension of Bukavu city towards the north will further increase the socio-economic value of the land resources in Katana in general and Mwanda in particular.



46

6. At the time of the research, nearly all peasants in Mwanda were engaged in bwasa contracts as tenants. The two congregations were involved in nearly 400 and 200 bwasa contracts, respectively. Other concession holders were involved in smaller numbers of bwasa contracts. 7. Part of law no. 73-021 of 20 July 1973, modified and completed by law no. 80-008 of 18 July 1980. 8. This case has been extensively described by Didiho Muthethe, in Mubalama Zibona et alii (2009a). 9. Also, the family elder used one of his plots for the processing of gold. 10. This case has been extensively described by Imani Mapoli, in Mubalama Zibona et alii (2009a). 11. In its heyday, this agro-industrial production unit had a production capacity of 20,000 tons of sugar per year. 12. There are plans to attract new investors, but this is a very sensitive issue. The administrator of Sucki, Faustin Kahegeshe, was involved in attracting new investors. He was, however, killed on 28 January 2010 in unresolved circumstances. 13. This case has been extensively described by Imani Mapoli, in Mubalama Zibona et alii (2009b). 14. The difference between sector and chiefdom is relevant. A sector generally is a heterogeneous entity composed of independent traditional communities, organised upon the basis of customary arrangements, and of which the chief is elected and endowed with public power (Article 66, organic law no. 08/016). The chiefdom (chefferie) operates at the same administrative level, but is generally a more homogeneous entity composed of traditional communities that are organised according to customs and whose chief is determined through custom, recognised by and endowed with public power (Article 67, organic law no. 08/016).

References Collier, P. (2007) The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries are Failing and What Can Be Done About It (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Easterly, W. (2008) ‘Institutions: Top down or bottom up?’, American Economic Review – Papers and Proceedings, 98 (2), 95–99. Ezekiel, A. (2007) ‘The application of international criminal law to resource exploitation: Ituri, democratic republic of the Congo’, Natural Resources Journal, 47 (1), 225–245. Garrett, N., S. Sergiou and K. Vlassenroot (2009) ‘Negotiated peace for extortion: The case of Walikale territory in eastern DRC’, Journal of Eastern African Studies, 3 (1), 1–21. Griffith, J. (1986) ‘What is legal pluralism?’, Journal of Legal Pluralism, 24, 1–55. Joireman, S.F. (2008) ‘The mystery of capital formation in Sub-Saharan Africa: Women, property rights and customary law’, World Development, 36 (7), 1233–1246. Klare, M.T. (2001) Natural Resource Wars: The New Landscape of Global Conflict (New York: Metropolitan Books).





Lujala, P. (2009) ‘Deadly combat over natural resources: Gems, petroleum, drugs, and the severity of armed civil conflict’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 53 (1), 50–71. Meinzen-Dick, R. and R. Pradhan (2002) ‘Legal pluralism and dynamic property rights’, CAPRi working paper No.22 (Washington: International Food Policy Research Institute). Merlet, M. (2007) ‘Land policies and agrarian reforms’, Proposal Paper (Nogent sur Marne: AGTER). Ministère du Plan (2005a) Monographie de la Province du Sud-Kivu (Kinshasa: Unité de Pilotage du Processus DSRP). Ministère du Plan (2005b) Document de stratégie de réduction de la pauvreté – Province du Sud-Kivu (Kinshasa: Unité de Pilotage du Processus DSRP). Mubala Zibona, J.C. with others (2009a) A la recherche de modes alternatifs de sécurisation foncière: Leçons tirées des enquêtes parcellaires menées à Kamituga (Bukavu: Centre d’étude et de formation sur la gestion et la prévention des conflits dans la région des Grands Lacs – CEGEC). Mubala Zibona, J.C. with others (2009b) A la recherche de modes alternatifs de sécurisation foncière: Leçons tirées des enquêtes parcellaires menées dans la Plaine de la Ruzizi (Bukavu: Centre d’étude et de formation sur la gestion et la prévention des conflits dans la région des Grands Lacs – CEGEC). Olsson, O. and H.C. Fors (2004) ‘Congo: The prize of predation’, Journal of Peace Research, 41 (3), 321–336. Pelerin, E. and R. Ramboarison (2006) Etude de cas national: Expérience récente de Madagascar et du Programme National Foncier, International Conference on Agrarian Reform and Rural Development (Rome: FAO). Platteau, J.P. (2000) Institutions, Social Norms, and Economic Development (London: Routledge). Reyntjens, F. (2009) The Great African War: Congo and Regional Peopolitics, 1996– 2006 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ross, M.L. (2004) ‘What do we know about natural resources and civil war?’, Journal of Peace Research, 41 (3), 337–356. Scott, J.C. (1995) Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (London: Yale University Press). Teyssier, A., H. Raharison and Z. Ravelomanantsoa (2007) La réforme foncière de Madagascar ou le pari de la compétence locale, ftp://ftp.fao.org/docrep/fao/010/ a1047t/a1047t03.pdf, accessed 20 August 2010. Thalgott, E. (2009) La réforme foncière à Madagascar, http://www.fig.net/pub/ fig2009/papers/ts04f/ts04f_thalgott_3483.pdf, accessed 20 August 2010. UN Panel of Experts (2002) Final Report of the Panel of Experts on the Illegal Exploitation of Natural Resources and Other Forms of Wealth of the Democratic Republic of Congo, United Nations Security Council (S/2002/1146). Von Benda-Beckmann, F. (2001) ‘Legal pluralism and social justice in economic and political development’, IDS Bulletin, Institute of Development Studies, 32 (1), 46. World Bank (2009) World Development Indicators, CD-ROM.



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3 Joost Van Puijenbroek and An Ansoms

3.1. Introduction Ituri is a district of the Oriental Province, located in the north-east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). It is composed of the territories of Irumu, Djugu, Mahagi, Aru and Mambasa that are in turn subdivided into 45 collectivities and five cités.1 The population is diverse. The largest group is the Alur, representing around 27 per cent of the Ituri population and living predominantly in Mahagi. The second and third groups are the Lendu and Hema (24 per cent and 18 per cent respectively), who live in Irumu and Djugu. In the territory of Aru the Lugbara are the largest group. The territory of Mambasa is largely covered with forest. The main group are pygmies, surrounded by the Bila, Lese and others. Ituri is notorious for the war that took place there between 1998 and 2004. The number of casualties during the period of hostilities is estimated at between 50,000 and 75,000. Although hostilities started between the communities of Hema and Lendu, other communities soon got involved. Several militias were fighting each other in regularly changing coalitions.2 Widely divergent livelihood strategies, superiority and inferiority complexes, and the vastly different socio-economic positions of the different tribes laid the foundation for the various conflicts, which were often framed around competing land claims. The official land administration in the district is very fragile and unable to mediate efficiently in land conflicts. It is predominantly managed through the Service des Titres Immobiliers et Fonciers and the cadastre, and in urban areas by the Service de l’Urbanisme. In total there are 139 agents for all land offices in the entire district of Ituri. 49



A Legacy from the Past Hindering the Future: Land Conflicts in Ituri (DRC)


Only around 30 of them are registered as formal state employees. All the others function in an informal manner. They are insufficiently trained, badly housed, have no or only disorganised records, and receive no official remuneration. It is obvious that these state structures are not capable of providing an efficient structure for land management and conflict resolution (Vircoulon and Liégois, 2010: 10). In the course of 2009, the network Haki na Amani3 together with IKV Pax Christi conducted research on land conflicts in Ituri as they were increasingly being solicited by various stakeholders in the region to play a mediating role. The aim of the research was to gather more insight into the proliferation of land conflicts and to set an agenda for action for local stakeholders. The network composed a research team of 50 researchers who visited all collectivities, except two (Walendu Bindi and Mabendi, owing to lack of security and inaccessibility). Within each collectivity, nearly every groupement was visited4 and a total of 1,640 people were interviewed. In every collectivity and groupement the research team interviewed the local chief, the local notables, the village elders, the local peace committees and other interesting informants. In addition, the network regularly organised community barzas (large-scale popular meetings), to discuss security issues with the local population in collaboration with local authorities. These meetings constituted an interesting additional source of information. The research resulted in a voluminous report that gives a detailed picture of the local dynamics of land conflicts in the different settings.5 It provides an inventory of the proliferation of land conflicts, their characteristics, how long land conflicts have existed, the actors involved in these conflicts, the mediators and so on. In total, 1,318 ongoing land conflicts have been identified, but it is likely that more conflicts exist: conflicts within kin groups and families, for example, are rarely mentioned to outsiders. These are probably underreported in this study.

3.2. The territory of Aru: violent land conflicts in an obscure politico-commercial context The territory of Aru is situated in the extreme north-east of DRC, bordering Uganda and Sudan. There are eight collectivities in the territory, including seven chiefdoms and one sector,6 and there is one cité, the cité of Aru. During the Ituri war, the area was occupied by the Forces Armées Populaires du Congo (FAPC), led by Commander Jérôme Kakwavu, a Banyamulenge originating from North Kivu.7 Contrary to all other



50

militia, the FAPC had no popular or ethnic basis in Aru society. The rebel group occupied the area around the cities of Aru and Ariwara and the northern part of Mahagi because of the attractive financial possibilities. The city of Aru is an important border crossing point. Ariwara, nicknamed Dubai, is an important trading town for the (often illicit) cross-border trade between Uganda, Sudan and DRC. Northern Mahagi is valued for its resources, especially gold and timber (Van Puijenbroek, 2008; Titeca, 2009a). Despite its military power, FAPC did not monopolise the trade chain, and therefore it had to rely on and collaborate with existing locally embedded trade networks. This resulted in interdependency between the FAPC, as the de facto government on the one hand, and the business elite present in the area, on the other. The business elite in question was composed of both Congolese actors and Ugandan businessmen who had vested interests in cross-border trade (Titeca, 2009b). In April 2005, the FAPC agreed to be integrated into the official Congolese army (FARDC)8 or to be demobilised.9 Jérôme Kakwavu obtained the rank of general in the Congolese army. Despite this integration, most FAPC protagonists stayed in Aru and continued their previous occupations under a new hat. The vice-president of FAPC, for example, became the official Administrateur de Territoire in Aru territory.10 The FAPC’s police structures continued to function and the customs agents previously appointed by the FAPC remained in position (Titeca, 2009a) (although the head of the customs agency was replaced).11 Most importantly, the commercial interests of the FAPC-connected business community were protected by the governor of the north-eastern Oriental Province of DRC, himself an important businessman from Aru territory. During the period that FAPC controlled Aru territory it also aspired to manage an office issuing land titles. It established the Service des Titres Immobiliers et Fonciers, an office that had not existed before in Aru territory. As with the police, this office continued to function as a formal state service after 2005. One of the first things the office did was to repress the jurisprudence of all customary courts with regard to land matters in an attempt to neutralise those actors that might challenge its legitimacy. At the time of our research, we identified 216 land conflicts in the different collectivities of Aru territory. Most important in terms of numbers (53 cases) and amplitude of land conflicts is the chiefdom of Zaki. Other conflict-prone areas are the chiefdoms of Kakwa (34 conflicts),



Joost Van Puijenbroek and An Ansoms 51


Kaliko-Omi (28 conflicts) and Lu (28 conflicts). The high number of land conflicts (125) regarding the border between two administrative entities is remarkable. Often these are conflicts inspired by a struggle for livelihoods, usually between two lineages.12 Zaki is by far the largest chiefdom of Aru, with Ariwara being the main city. The chiefdom of Zaki is involved in border conflicts with all surrounding chiefdoms. We registered five conflicts with the chiefdom of Lu, two conflicts with Nio-Kamule, two conflicts with the chiefdom of Kakwa, and four conflicts with the chiefdom of Aluru. Furthermore, many of the land conflicts in Zaki are situated in and around the expanding city of Ariwara. Ariwara does not have the official status of a cité. This implies that all territory is either communal land managed by customary authorities (in most cases) or concessioned13 land. Plot allocation of communal land mainly occurs through customary (usually verbal) arrangements, which often prove to be insufficient for an urbanised context.14 Indeed, the rapid expansion of Ariwara results in the fast commercialisation and monetisation of land. Local communities are increasingly pressured by commercial and other interests to vacate and sell their plots. Problematically, such land transactions may revive latent conflicts between localities and lineages that date back five or more generations. In some cases, disputes over land transactions take a violent turn. This was the case in a conflict between Gawa and Nyaia (both parts of the urbanised area of Ariwara). Both are inhabited by the same Bari clan, although from different lineages. The conflict started in the 1970s, when part of one lineage migrated from Gawa to Nyaia where the other lineage lived. The case was brought to the Tribunal des Grandes Instances in Bunia and finally to the court of appeal in Kisangani. The court of appeal ruled in favour of the immigrants from Gawa in June 2005. The verdict was, however, followed by the destruction of 100 houses of Gawa by Nyaia residents in March 2007 (Radio Okapi, 2007a, b, c; Vircoulon and Liégois, 2010: 13). In October of the same year, disputes on the border between the two communities revived. This time, the Tribunal de Paix of Aru ruled in favour of the Nyaia. This was followed by the destruction of 280 houses of Nyaia by Gawa residents (ICG, 2008: 11; IKV Pax Christi and Haki na Amani, 2009: 45; RCN, 2009: 33). In two neighbouring localities (Laro and Baa), a comparable event took place. The conflict between two lineages found its origin in the contestation over user rights of the Mbale hill. The conflict intensified when people of Laro started selling land there. The case was treated by



52

the then territorial administrator in 1998, again in 2003 by the territorial administrator, and again by the Tribunal de Paix in 2008. All these judged that the hill was part of the locality of Baa. The verdict was followed by a revolt by the Laro, who destroyed up to 150 Baa houses in early June 2008 (Radio Okapi, 2008; RCN, 2009: 33; IKV Pax Christi and Haki na Amani, 2009: 45). Apart from the urbanised context of Ariwara, similar kinds of land conflicts have emerged in and around the city of Aru. There is, for example, a serious border conflict between Aru city and the neighbouring chiefdom of Otso. A particular part of Aru city is claimed as belonging to the chiefdom of Otso. Interestingly, the stretch of land concerned is commercially very valuable. Other conflicts in the city of Aru relate to cases of corruption in the cadastre and within the Service des titres immobiliers et fonciers. In Kakwa, Kaliko-Omi and Lu chiefdoms, conflicts most often concern contestation over administrative boundaries between the chiefdoms, and over boundaries between entities within the chiefdoms (IKV Pax Christi and Haki na Amani, 2009: 69–73; RCN, 2009: 32). Although these conflicts are generally framed as conflicts over administrative boundaries, they are in reality often inspired by fierce competition over land suitable for the cultivation of tobacco as a main cash crop. With the increasing importance of commercial tobacco societies, the competition for available land space has further intensified. Conflicts in these chiefdoms are also related to the contradictory land claims of farmer-peasants and livestock owners. In 1977 the Zairian government – with the support of the World Bank – started the Bureau ‘Projet Ituri’ to promote the production of livestock. In the course of the project, 103 collective pastures were created and managed by a cooperative of livestock owners. Whereas the elite involved in livestock production enjoyed a lot of benefits from the project, the policy had perverse consequences for the livelihood strategies of other population groups who were focusing mainly on food crop production. Today, 93 of these collective pastures are the subject of conflicts related to the location of their borders. A considerable number of conflicts in Aru territory are brought to the Tribunal de Paix in Aru,15 which was installed after FAPC formally ceased to exist. The tribunal faces many difficulties in maintaining its independence from an elite conglomerate that combines commercial, political and administrative interests at the expense of weaker groups. In addition, the tribunal is confronted with corruption in the land management offices that were established by the FAPC, while having to accept




54


their registers as correct. As a result, verdicts are rarely accepted by the local population as a final outcome.

The Ituri war (1998–2004) is often framed around the conflict between Hema and Lendu. Hema–Lendu confrontations, however, are mainly concentrated in only two of Ituri’s territories: Djugu and Irumu. It is generally assumed that the Lendu arrived in Ituri somewhere before or during the sixteenth century and the Hema towards the end of the seventeenth century (Pottier, 2009: 33). During colonial times, the Hema were increasingly regarded as superior to the Lendu – probably as a result of the colonials’ impression that the Lendu were more resistant to their administration (Pottier, 2009). Around 1920, the colonial administration decided that it was necessary to regroup the local ethnic communities in separate areas. In addition, the administration introduced a system of land registration and private ownership, allowing plantations to be carved out of communal land (Vlassenroot and Raeymakers, 2004). These changes initially provided the Lendu with certain advantages (they ‘won’ additional territory and gained a certain level of autonomy). The position of Hema improved, however, when their higher status in the eyes of the colonial administration gave them access to education and allowed them to take up dominant positions in the local administration and in commerce. On the eve of colonialism, Hema dominated both the political and economic landscape (Pottier, 2009). Their position was reinforced even further when the post-independence Mobutu government nominated Hema for nearly all the important posts in the local administration. The ‘Zairianisation’ during the 1970s (for more on this, see Geenen’s chapter in this book) continued to improve the position of Hema, providing a small Hema elite with vast land concessions. The Bakajika land law of 1973 did not change this. Concessions were (and still are) handed out by the state without sufficiently or properly informing the population or consulting the customary chief. During the 1990s, when the Mobutu administration was quasi absent, Hema landowners further enlarged their concessions through corrupt local officials while taking advantage of the illiteracy of Lendu farmers (Vircoulon and Liégois, 2010: 11). 3.3.1. The territory of Djugu The territory of Djugu has 11 collectivities,16 plus the cité Mongbwalu. The main population groups are the Hema and the Lendu. At the time



3.3. Djugu and Irumu: land conflicts in the context of the Hema–Lendu conflict

of our research, we identified 272 conflicts, of which 105 are between Lendu and Hema. Most conflicts (over 70 per cent of cases registered) occur in the area combining the chiefdom of Bahema Nord (42 conflicts) and the sectors of Walendu Djatsi (62 conflicts), Walendu Pitsi (55 conflicts) and Walendu Tatsi (31 conflicts). These areas have been most profoundly marked by the struggle for land between the Hema and Lendu. Land conflicts are most often framed around disputes over land concessions or the borders between the different chiefdoms. In the whole of Djugu territory there are 712 concessions, of which 77 concern big plantations that date back to colonial times. During the ‘Zairianisation’ of the economy in the 1970s, the Hema were able to acquire control over 75 of the 77 big plantations (Prunier, 2008: 183–184). Within that group, the majority of farms were owned by only a few families. Many of the contemporary conflicts are still related to disputed concessions. The 1998–2004 Ituri war started with actions and reactions by both Lendu leaders in Walendu Pitsi and some Hema leaders (based mainly in Bunia). The violence escalated due to a variety of factors including radicalisation of the elites and some of the population, exploitation of the situation by UPDF officers and lack of a functioning judicial system (Fahey, 2009). Actors base their land claims on their de facto occupation somewhere in history. Significant points are the 1974 land law, the 1954–1957 administrative delimitation or the 1933 administrative reorganisation. Furthermore, villages were conquered and re-conquered by Hema and Lendu during the 1998–2004 war. This historical legacy influences the post-war territorial claims. There is a profound reticence to live together with neighbours from the other ethnic tribe, much more so than in the past. In fact, Djugu is today a patchwork of mono-ethnic ‘enclaves’. Sometimes occupants cannot return to their village of origin as it is still occupied by actors from the other side. In the chiefdom of Bahema North, for example, we counted 15 cases of villages claimed by Hema but occupied by Lendu of Walendu Tatsi, Djatsi or Pitsi17 (15 out of 42 conflicts). In the sector of Walendu Pitsi we counted 11 villages that were partly or entirely occupied by Hema, but claimed by Lendu18 (11 out of 55 conflicts). In Walendu Tatsi, 14 out of 31 conflicts concerned the administrative border between Walendu Tatsi and Bahema North, framed around disputed villages. In the sector of Walendu Djatsi, 28 of the 62 conflicts were situated in the groupement Loranu in which the administrative and commercial centre of Fataki is situated. During the Ituri war, self-proclaimed authorities of the area sold many plots to Hema that allegedly belonged to the Lendu.





The shift in control over contested territory also has administrative implications. Occupants of one ethnic tribe do not recognise the official customary authority of the occupied territory of the other tribe. They rather turn to the administration of their own sector or chiefdom of origin. De facto, everybody addresses the authority that suits him/her best. In addition, administrative management differs between the two groups. Hema areas have been identified as ‘chiefdoms’, where the customary chief holds a strong position (recognised by the government), especially with regard to land rights and the protection of the chiefdom against ‘outsiders’. Lendu areas, however, are administratively referred to as ‘sectors’, governed by a chef de secteur who is a state agent, albeit from the area concerned. Customary chiefs in ‘sector’ areas operate at a lower level of the administrative chain (usually groupement). As a result, Hema customary authorities are better connected to and interact more closely with higher-level state authorities. 3.3.2. The territory of Irumu The territory of Irumu is composed of 13 collectivities and the city of Bunia. Local livelihood strategies are predominantly based on cattle farming. Indeed, farmers in Irumu hold 70 per cent of all livestock in Ituri. Irumu is, again, mainly inhabited by Hema and Lendu, but there are other ethnic groups such as the Bira, the Baniari and the Lese. At the time of our research, we identified 316 land conflicts in the territory of Irumu, of which 111 were inter-ethnic conflicts. Conflicts between Hema and Lendu were most prominent (29 cases), followed by conflicts between Hema and Bira (25 cases), and Hema and Alur (ten cases). Most conflicts were registered in the city of Bunia (65 conflicts) and in the collectivities of Basili (43 conflicts) and of Andisoma (29 conflicts). The sector of Walendu Bindi was not visited by the research team for security reasons, but nonetheless we were able to register several land conflicts (19 cases) in which this sector was involved. A large number of conflicts were registered in the chiefdom of Bahema Sud (60 cases), of which 11 were related to the creation of the State Post of Nombe (Poste d’Etat de Nombe) in-between Walendu Bindi and Bahema Sud. In the city of Bunia, the capital of Ituri district, we identified 65 conflicts. The majority of conflicts concerned rather trivial issues like the boundary between two plots. Ethnicity still plays a role though. Ethic conflicts sometimes prohibit people to return to their place of origin. Furthermore, official state agents play an active part in the illegal selling



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of plots of proprietors who fled during the war, or ask for bribes when negotiating the settlement of a conflict. Other hot spots for land conflicts are the collectivities of Basili and Andisoma. Basili is inhabited by multiple ethnic groups (Lese, Bira, Alur, Nande, Hema, Lendu and Lugbara). We identified 43 conflicts, almost all framed around the problem of disputed concessions or related to disputes between peasants and cattle farmers. Many of the conflicts occur between Bira and Hema. In the chiefdom of Andisoma, all land conflicts are related to the return of the original population that fled during the atrocities that took place there during the war in 2002.19 The sector of Walendu Bindi is located in the middle of Irumu. It is the sole – and vast – collectivity in Irumu exclusively inhabited by Walendu Bindi, who are an impoverished group in Ituri society. It is the zone in which the Front Populaire pour la Justice au Congo and the Front de Résistance Patriotique d’Ituri20 operate. A considerable number of conflicts registered by the research team (19 cases) concern territorial disputes between the Walendu Bindi on the one hand and the Hema-dominated surrounding chiefdoms on the other (11 conflicts with Bahema Sud, two conflicts with Bahema Mitego and one conflict with Andisoma). Many of the identified conflicts date from a long time ago. Quite a few of them involve disputes over the exploitation of gold.21 It is not unlikely that the number of land conflicts and border conflicts with neighbouring chiefdoms is underestimated. Moreover, the number could increase once the area is pacified and people can return home. It is often then that they find their land occupied and a land conflict emerges. In Bahema Sud, quite a number of conflicts are about the border with Walendu Bindi (11 cases); another relatively frequent type of conflict is based upon diverging interests of livestock owners and agriculturalists. Many of the conflicts in this locality are somehow related to the creation of the Poste d’État de Nombe. The state office of Nombe administers three localities (Nombe, Lagabo and Lakpa), over which Hema and Lendu have been disputing for decades. Lendu claim to have been present in the area since 1600 and claim that the Hema arrived later. In 1928, the colonial authorities decided that the villages would be part of the Walendu Bindi area (Lendu territory), a situation that was reconfirmed during the administrative reorganisation in the early 1930s. At the same time, Hema held substantial concessions in the area, especially for cattle grazing, paying taxes to Walendu Bindi. In 1940, however, the colonial administrator decided to incorporate the villages into Hema territory. This was endorsed by the administrative reorganisation of





1958. The merger of three Hema chiefdoms into one (Bahema Sud) included the incorporation of the three localities concerned. The decision physically cut off Lendu territory from access to Lake Albert and deprived them of the possibility of levying taxes on fishing rights (see also Pottier, 2008: 435). The administrative reorganisation was, however, not translated into practice until 1966, when the provincial government decided to implement the decision. Lendu strongly contested the territorial ‘transfer’ and engaged in several armed incidents. A referendum in 1993 to solve the matter failed, which led to the creation of a separate administrative area with a special statute, referred to as the Poste d’État de Nombe.22 Incidents continued though, and in 1999 even took the form of open warfare. Up until today, the borders of Nombe area are not well-defined. Whereas Walendu Bindi controls the hills, Bahema Sud continues to administer the lake shore, thus depriving the Lendu community of access to the lake. 3.3.3. Dispute settlement in Djugu and Irumu The prime arbiters in the case of land disputes are the customary authorities, certainly in rural areas. Despite some abuse of power (e.g. if the chief himself is implicated in illegal land sales), this conflict resolution mechanism works relatively well as long as the conflict occurs within a chiefdom/sector. The situation becomes much more complex, however, if a conflict occurs between two different chiefdoms/sectors, as these are often inhabited by communities and chiefs with a different ethnic background. The large number of conflicts about ‘borders’ or who is allowed to live in which village, indicates the limits of customary conflict resolution mechanisms. In some cases, the failure of customary authorities to solve land disputes results in an increased presence of the formal territorial administration. In all active and registered land conflicts, the territorial administrator intervened 60 times in Irumu and 34 times in Djugu. State involvement is, however, not a panacea for the identified problems since state authorities also lack the necessary instruments and negotiating capacity. State agents lack legitimacy and are often (rightly) accused of being involved in corruption. In addition, there is rarely a single legal solution that can be reinforced; therefore a territorial administrator can mediate but rarely resolves a conflict. The juridical path seems to have even less potential as a resolution mechanism in the case of land conflicts. Of all identified conflicts (588), no more than 19 cases in Djugu territory and 32 cases in Irumu territory – mostly by Hema – were brought to the Tribunal des Grandes



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Instances in Bunia.23 Formal juridical instances rarely solve land conflicts. Even when a verdict is given, the conflicting parties often continue to challenge the outcome.

The population of Mahagi is 90 per cent Alur, making it ethnically and sociologically a much more homogeneous area than other territories. It is the most populated territory in Ituri, with an estimated average population density above 300 inhabitants per square kilometre (estimates range between 319 and 365 inhabitants per km2 ). At the time of our research, we identified 356 conflicts in Mahagi territory, a higher number than in any other territory of Ituri. This is quite remarkable when we consider that the surface of Mahagi (5221 km2 ) is the smallest of all territories in Ituri.24 We came across 40 border conflicts, 32 succession conflicts (remarkably high in comparison with other territories where this rarely occurs25 ), 61 conflicts related to the borders of plots, 32 cases of illegal selling, 48 cases of illegal occupation and 143 cases of conflicts over user rights. The population pressure, in combination with problems related to land concessions, lay at the heart of most land conflicts. A relatively low number of conflicts (only 40) concerned disputes over administrative boundaries between chiefdoms. The fact that Mahagi is ethnically more homogeneous than other territories apparently enhances the capacity of chiefs to mutually negotiate a sustainable solution in case of contestation. This does not, however, mean that there are no ethnically inspired conflicts at all. We identified 22 land conflicts in one of Mahagi’s chiefdoms (Walendu Watsi, in the groupement Nzeba), all connected to ethnic strife between Lendu and Alur. The Lendu chief of the locality does not allow the Alur, who fled the Walendu Watsi chiefdom, to return (all 22 conflicts were related to this problem). A comparative issue – but in the opposite direction – occurred with the sale of plots by Alur in the chiefdom of Mokambo that were originally owned by Lendu before the war. Most conflicts in Mahagi territory, however, find their origin in the combination of stringent population pressure and strong competition for available land. Of the 356 conflicts, 80 conflicts were framed around the problem of concessions.26 In contrast to the territories of Djugu and Irumu, concessions in this territory do not primarily concern commercial plantations owned by entrepreneurial individuals. Instead, the largest concessions are owned by institutions like the Roman Catholic Diocese of Mahagi-Nioka, the Protestant Church CECA-20, or



3.4. The overpopulation of Mahagi


by state-led or private-led social service providers like schools and clinics. The Diocese of Mahagi-Nioka has vast concessions, most of them obtained during colonial times. Some of these concessions were abandoned during the war. When they were reclaimed after 2004, the local population reacted violently, destroying cypress trees and coffee plants on the plots. Inera college holds an area of 12,000 hectares under concession. Local peasant communities have attempted to invade these concessions. This has led to a multitude of occupations, which have all been referred to the Tribunal de Paix in Mahagi. The extreme shortage of land affects social relations within local communities that used to be more harmonious. The high prevalence of succession conflicts is only one example of increased social tensions. Increasing competition for land has also affected the authority of customary chiefs. In some cases, the population claims back land that was allocated by customary chiefs to ‘outsiders’ a relatively long time ago. In addition, illegal selling of plots by customary chiefs is leading to a further degradation of customary authority. Next to increased intra-community tensions, land shortage also complicates the relations between communities. The communities of Djupio and Djupagasa (Anghal chiefdom), for example, share a history of intermarriage. This could not, however, prevent the emergence of a conflict over their mutual boundary. The population of Djupagasa claims part of Djupio territory. The dispute took a violent turn, leading to the burning down of houses on both sides, the destruction of harvests, and looting. Inter-community relations are, furthermore, affected by the migratory movements of various population groups. These migratory movements often occur in a chaotic and anarchistic manner,27 where the right of the strongest dominates. Such movements therefore risk laying the foundation for the land conflicts of tomorrow.

3.5. The illegal exploitation of the forest and land conflicts in Mambasa The territory of Mambasa is by far the largest territory, covering over half of the area of the Ituri district. The territory is composed of seven chiefdoms and is a tropical forest area. The composition of the population of Mambasa differs profoundly from other territories in Ituri. Bantu constitute the majority (70 per cent), next to a large group (around 30 per cent) of Mbuti or pygmies. Furthermore, there is an influx of Nande from the Beni-Butembo area (province of North Kivu). Their migration to the area



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is due to the immense shortage of land in North Kivu, but the Nande are also attracted by the opportunities of (illegal) exploitation of timber in the forest. The large majority of land conflicts in Mambasa territory are related to the illegal exploitation of the forest. From 2004 onwards (after the open war period in Ituri ended), timber trade intensified enormously.28 Within the violent anarchy of illegal forest exploitation, community rights and individual opportunistic interests increasingly clash. Pygmies are most vulnerable as they have not been able to secure their land rights since the colonial era. But other population groups are also affected as communities and individual customary chiefs are being played against each other in a game they do not fully grasp. Local chiefs and notables go for short-term individual profits, selling land without knowing the value. This goes against customary traditions and does not take into account the interests of the community at large. At the same time, the presence of the Nande immigrants further complicates the picture. Initially, the Nande could acquire user rights to land quite easily, often for a symbolic price paid to the customary chief. But problems arose once these newcomers started to trade the land – or its trees – to which they had only been granted user rights. Local administrators’ willingness to protect vulnerable, weaker groups is limited as they are frequently involved in the timber looting, or not capable of acting owing to lack of financial means and political weight.29 To start a juridical procedure requires addressing oneself to the Tribunal des Grandes Instances in Bunia, but this tribunal is located far away from the area concerned and the legitimacy of its judgements is limited. Indeed, the presence of the formal state in Mambasa territory is – even by Congolese standards – extremely weak and when present it is often a predatory state in optima forma. All in all, one could say that Mambasa has become a ‘Wild West’ where a politico-military-commercial elite seizes the benefits provided by the vacuum of the state and the richness of the rainforest. Of the 158 conflicts registered by the research team in Mambasa territory, the majority took place in and around Mambasa town and in the chiefdom of Babombi.30 Of the 51 conflicts identified in Babombi, 33 cases are located in Teturi. This is a peak area for forest exploitation and also for Nande immigration. The presence of the Réserve de Faune à Okapi (RFO) has also engendered land disputes. The national park now covers an area of 13,726 square kilometres where game hunting is no longer allowed. Pygmies are especially affected by this as hunting was their traditional livelihood




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activity. The Bantu population further complains about the deprivation of their ancestral lands.

Land conflicts lay at the basis of the 1998–2004 Ituri conflict. The competition for land is core in the struggle for political and economic power between local communities and between local communities and the urban elite. There is no unique pattern, though. This chapter has analysed the diversity of land conflicts in Ituri and shown how land practices are very much determined by the local political economy. In Aru the monetisation of land occurs in a context where a political, military and commercial elite defends its interests. In Irumu and Djugu, land conflicts are mainly the expression of an enduring conflict over economic space between the Hema and Lendu. In Mahagi, land conflicts result from extreme population density that entails land scarcity and affects intra- and inter-community relationships. In Mambasa, finally, land conflicts are framed around an anarchistic exploitation of the forest in a context of immigration and absence of formal state structures, with state agents very much involved in the illicit exploitation. This great variety in land conflicts results from a unique and locally specific combination of governance aspects, demographic aspects, cultural aspects, historical aspects and local socio-economic interdependencies. The official juridical framework has very little influence at the local level owing to problems of inaccessibility, but also because these courts barely grasp the dynamics at the local level. The formal administration lacks legitimacy and has no answer to the long list of complex locally-embedded land conflicts. State agents are frequently implicated in obscure land deals, further affecting the credibility of formal administrative structures. Customary authorities have more legitimacy at the local level but their authority is increasingly contested in a context of growing commercialisation of land rights. Moreover, in the case of interethnic conflict, customary chiefs are often unable to mediate as they (are perceived to) defend the interests of their own community. The population itself navigates opportunistically between the various institutional norms (whether formal or informal) in the land arena. Each group tries to defend what it perceives to be its own legitimate land claims. It is often the top layer of the societal ladder, however, that manages to profit most from the loopholes provided by the weak juridical framework, the administrative fragility, and the questionable authority and legitimacy of customary chiefs.



3.6. Conclusions and recommendations

The paths necessary to arrive at sustainable, mediated solutions for Ituri’s land conflicts will be diverse. In Irumu and Djugu, an initiative of joint history writing could potentially enhance a mutual understanding of land claims and could contribute to the creation of a more constructive environment for conflict mediation. Mixed commissions comprising customary authorities, state administration, representatives of the communities and civil society should be established to monitor, exchange and elaborate mediation strategies. In addition, leadership training that reinforces local-level abilities to reach negotiated settlements, could contribute to the solving of conflicts between communities. In the territory of Aru and Mambasa there is little space for improvement in land management, given the politico-commercial constellation in both territories. In addition, the capacities of civil society in both territories are extremely limited. The creation and training of land committees in the villages and towns for monitoring and conflict resolution should be encouraged, although we should be realistic in our expectations. In the overpopulated context of Mahagi, the only solution seems to lie in a migratory movement westward, in the direction of Haut Uele. It is important, however, to manage migration in a proper way. Currently, most migratory movements take place in an anarchistic manner without respect for the land rights of the local population. This easily provokes new land conflicts. Overall, there is a profound need for a new land code based on decentralised land management and the integration of customary management and modern law. The suggestion of land counters by Utshudi Ona and Ansoms – in an earlier chapter in this book – could be useful. Any solution requires locally embedded strategies that address and incorporate the plurality of systems and actors present in the land arena.

Notes 1. The administrative organisation in DRC is as follows: Ituri is a district of the Oriental Province (one of nine provinces). Every district is divided into territories, every territory is divided into collectivities, every collectivity is divided into groupements and a groupement is divided into localities. A collectivity can either be a chiefdom or a sector. Heads of groupements and localities are usually customary chiefs. Next to this rural administrative organisation, there are cities (villes) and cités. See also Utshudi Ona and Ansoms’ chapter in this book.





2. The main militia groups in the period 1999–2003 in Irumu and Djugu were the Union des Patriotes Congolais (UPC, a Hema militia), the Front Nationaliste et Intégrationiste (FNI, a Lendu militia), the Force de Résistance Patriotique d’Ituri (FRPI, a Lendu-N’giti militia) and the Parti pour l’Unité et la Sauvegarde de l’Intégrité du Congo (PUSIC, a Hema militia). The Forces Armées du Peuple Congolais (FAPC) were mainly active in Aru territory. 3. Haki na Amani is a peace network in Ituri, including the Justice and Peace Commissions of Bunia diocese, Mahagi-Nioka diocese and the parish of Mambasa, the women’s network FOMI, the Council of Churches (ECC) and the NGOs CIC (in Aru) and Aciar (in Bunia). The network started functioning in autumn 2003. The priorities of the network are to enhance reconciliation between communities and community security, and to analyse economic aspects of conflicts (land, gold, timber and oil). 4. In the chiefdom of Mobala (Djugu), three groupements were not visited for security reasons. In Mambasa, eight groupements were not included in the research because of the vast distances. Representatives of four of these groupements were interviewed, however, and the resulting data have been incorporated in the report. 5. For the full report, see IKV Pax Christi and Réseau Haki na Amani (2009) Conflits fonciers en Ituri: Poids du passé et défis pour l’avenir de la paix, http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/congo_documentatie.htm (accessed 2 August 2010). 6. These collectivities consist of the chiefdoms of Zaki, Nio-Kamule, Lu, Kakwa, Otso, Kaliko-Omi, Aluru, and the sector of Ndo. 7. Commander Jérôme Kakwavu originally belonged to the RCD-ML (Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie – Mouvement de Libération) and was in charge of the gold-mining area of Durba. In September 2002 he was driven out of Durba by two other rebel groups. Jérôme retreated to Aru and joined the UPC. Later, Jérôme broke with the UPC. In early 2003, he founded his own militia, the FAPC, with the support of Uganda (Titeca, 2009a). 8. FARDC stands for Forces Armées de la République Démocratique du Congo. 9. See also IKV Pax Christi and Réseau Haki na Amani, 2008. 10. It was only in October 2008 – the time of a more general reshuffling of local administration – that he was replaced. 11. The governor of Oriental Province (who is from Aru territory) appointed his son to the position of head of customs in Aru in March 2008 (ICG, 2008: 8). 12. A lineage is a linear descent group where the members know how they relate to each other on the basis of kinship. It is a category below the category of clan where members are aware of their common ancestors but do not know how their mutual kinship relation is qualified. 13. A concession is privately owned farming land, bought from the Congolese government by a private actor. Formally, the local population has 2 years to contest the allocation of its communal land to a private actor. In reality this proves to be difficult. In addition, many conflicts are framed around the location of the exact boundaries of the concession. 14. Utshudi Ona and Ansoms (elsewhere in this book) mention a very comparable situation in Uvira.



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15. During the period January 2006 to March 2009, 99 conflicts were brought to the Tribunal de Paix, 46 of which involved the Zaki collectivity. 16. These collectivities consist of the chiefdoms of Bahema Nord, Baniali Kilo, Bahema Banywagi, Mambisa and Bahema Badjera, and the sectors of Walendu Pitsi, Ndo Okebo, Walendu Tatsi and Walendu Djatsi. 17. The villages of Bakuire, Tsuga, Jau, Dheur and Thatcha are (partly) occupied by the Lendu of Walendu Djatsi but claimed by the Hema of Bahema North. The villages of Kparnganza, Lossa Ndrema, Ndoyi, Buku, Shaba and Lori are (partly) occupied by the Lendu of Walendu Tatsi but claimed by the Hema of Bahema North. The villages of Dzingano, Uma and Nyama Nyikpa are (partly) occupied by the Lendu of Walendu Pitsi but claimed by the Hema of Bahema North (IKV Pax Christi and Haki na Amani, 2009). 18. The villages of Sanduku, Nyali, Dema, Tsupu, Kidoko, Tsuba, Ndjaba, Godjoka, Labakpa and Boba Mbutchu are (partly) claimed by Lendu but occupied by Hema. 19. On 31 August 2002, the Hema militia UPC attacked the Lendu community in Songolo (not very far from Nyankunde). In retaliation the Lendu attacked the Hema and Bira community in Nyankunde on 5 September 2002 (HRW, 2003: 22–23 and 30–35). 20. The FPJC is a militia group that was founded in October 2008 (IKV Pax Christi, 2009). The FRPI was one of the main militia groups that were active during the Ituri war, and it has always refused to demobilise. 21. Conflicts related to mining activities occurred in the localities of Olongba, Avenyuma, Anyozo-Malo, Zimbisa-Soke, Soke-Kagaba, Avenyuma Sasa, Rona Tulabho, Fahu, Songo Koyi-Baguma, Chadhu-Tsede, Aginzi-Rudjoko/A, Biro/A, Biro/B, Kaguma and Ngasu-Odje (RCN, 2009: 35). 22. It was Provincial Governor Lombeya who created the State Post of Nombe with the three contested villages. Public servants appointed to the post refuse to reside there as they do not feel secure. 23. Djugu and Irumu territories do not have their own Tribunal de Paix; people have to address the Tribunal des Grandes Instances. 24. Mahagi 5,221 km2 , Irumu 8,730 km2 , Djugu 8,184 km2 , Aru 6,740 km2 and Mambasa 36,783 km2 . 25. In Aru there were no cases, in Djugu and Mambasa only two cases, and in Irumu we registered 12 cases, eight of which were situated in the city of Bunia. 26. These conflicts fall into several of the categories identified above. 27. In the past, the Alur moved to the chiefdoms of Anghal II and Djukoth II and to the Ndo Okebo sector (Aru territory). More recently, they started to move to the district of Haut Uele (Watsa territory). This happened massively on 17 February 2010, when a group of over 150 families from War Palara moved to Baku (234 km west of Mahagi in Watsa territory) to occupy plots that – according to them – belonged to the Alur community during the colonial period (OCHA, 2010). 28. In a 2007 survey, we identified 102 companies exploiting 75,000 ha of forest. This survey was far from extensive. Estimates of timber production range from 20,000 m3 in 2004–2006 (Forests Monitor, 2007), to 50,000 m3 a year in 2007 (IKV Pax Christi and Réseau Haki na Amani, 2007: 36–40), up to 175,000 m3 in 2007 (Le Potentiel, March 2008). Official registration at the





environmental office is, however, much lower with a meagre 13,775 m3 in 2007 (Service de l’Environnement, Territoire de Mambasa, 2006–2007; only 28 companies were mentioned). 29. During an interview (March 2007) the head of the environmental office in Mambasa, responsible for logging permits, acknowledged the illicit character of nearly all logging activities. He emphasised, however, that the office has no resources whatsoever and that it cannot take decisions that go against the interests of the political, economic and military elite that are involved in illegal timber exploitation and trade. 30. It was impossible to visit every groupement in Mambasa owing to the enormous distances and the lack of infrastructure. In total, we identified 51 conflicts in Babombi, 50 in Mambasa, 24 in Bakwanza, 15 in Walese Karo, ten in Walese Dese, five in Bombo and three in Bandaka.

References Fahey, D. (2009) ‘Wars within wars: Understanding conflict in the Ituri District of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, 1999–2007’, Paper presented at the ISSS/ISAC Annual Conference 2009, Monterey. Forests Monitor (2007) Timber Trade and Poverty Alleviation in the Upper Great Lakes Region, http://www.forestsmonitor.org (home page), date accessed 2 August 2010. Human Rights Watch (HRW) (2003) Ituri: Covered in Blood, http://www.hrw.org/ reports/2003/ituri0703/, date accessed 2 August 2010. IKV Pax Christi (2009) Analyse de contexte de l’Ituri, http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/ congo_documentatie.htm, date accessed 27 August 2010. IKV Pax Christi and Reseau Haki na Amani (2007) Exploitation du bois, Paradoxe de la pauvreté et conflits dans le territoire de Mambasa (Ituri – Nord-Est de la RDC), http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/congo_documentatie.htm, date accessed 2 August 2010. IKV Pax Christi and réseau Haki na Amani (2008) Processus DDR en Ituri, succès, faiblesses et perspectives, http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/congo_documentatie.htm, date accessed 27 August 2010. IKV Pax Christi and réseau Haki na Amani (2009) Conflits fonciers en Ituri: Poids du passé et défis pour l’avenir de la paix, http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/congo_ documentatie.htm, date accessed 27 August 2010. International Crisis Group (ICG) (2008) Congo: Four Priorities for Sustainable Peace in Ituri, Africa report no 140 (International Crisis Group). Le Potentiel (14 March 2008) ‘Les chefs coutumiers de l’Ituri bradent les fôrets contre quelques cadeaux’, http://www.lepotentiel.com/afficher_article.php, date accessed 21 August 2010. OCHA (2010) Action humanitaire en Province Orientale, rapport mensuel février 2010, http://www.rdc-humanitaire.net/IMG/pdf/po_rapport_mensuel_fevrier. pdf, date accessed 21 August 2010. Pottier, J. (2009) ‘Representations of ethnicity in the search for peace: Ituri, Democratic Republic of Congo’, African Affairs, 109 (434), 23–50. Pottier, J. (2008) ‘Displacement and ethnic reintegration in Ituri, DR Congo: Challenges ahead’, Journal of Modern African Studies, 46 (3), 427–450.



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Prunier, G. (2008) ‘The ethnic conflict in Ituri District: Overlapping of local and international in Congo Kinshasa’ in J.P. Chrétien and R. Banegas (eds) The Recurrent Great Lakes Crisis, Identity, Violence and Power (London: Hurst). Radio Okapi (2007a) ‘25/03/07 Aru: La destruction de plus 160 maisons crée un millier de personnes sans abris’, http://radiookapi.net, date accessed 21 August 2010. Radio Okapi (2007b) ‘31/03/07 Ituri: Conflit de terre à Ariwara, une centaine de maisons incendiées’, http://radiookapi.net, date accessed 21 August 2010. Radio Okapi (2007c) ‘01/04/07 Ituri: Le calme est revenu à Eribu et Nyaia’, http:// radiookapi.net, date accessed 21 August 2010. Radio Okapi (2008) ‘05/06/08: Aru: Plus de 150 cases incendiées’, http:// radiookapi.net, date accessed 21 August 2010. RCN Justice et Démocratie (RCN) (2009) Les conflits fonciers en Ituri: de l’imposition à la consolidation de la paix, http://www.rcn-ong.be/IMG/pdf/RCN_Conflits_ fonciers_Ituri, date accessed 21 August 2010. Titeca, K. (2009a) The FAPC and Socio-economic Governance in the UgandanCongolese Borderlands, Presentation at the Rebel Governance Conference (Yale University). Titeca, K. (2009b) ‘The changing cross-border trade dynamics between northwestern Uganda, north-eastern Congo and southern Sudan’, Working Paper no. 63 (London: Crisis States Research Centre). Van Puijenbroek, J. (2008) La situation post conflit aux territories de Mahagi et Aru, district d’Ituri, Presentation at the conference ‘Governance without government in Africa’s protracted crises’, Egmont Instituut 14 December 2008, http://www.ikvpaxchristi.nl/files/Documenten, date accessed 21 August 2010. Vircoulon, T. and F. Liégois (2010) Violences en brousse: Le ‘peacebuilding’ international face aux conflits fonciers (Paris: Institut Français des Relations Internationales). Vlassenroot, K. and T. Raeymakers (2004) ‘The politics of rebellion and intervention in Ituri: The emergence of a new political complex?’, African Affairs, 103 (204), 385–412.




4 Inge Wagemakers and Oracle Makangu Diki

4.1. Introduction In many rapidly growing African cities, urban agriculture is of increasing importance for the provision of food for the population. At the same time, the larger a city grows, increasingly fewer areas of land are available for agriculture. This is a contradiction many African cities are struggling with. Also, in Kinshasa (our area of study), a struggle exists between agricultural and residential land uses in the city (Nzuzi, 2009). Because of the growing population and the lack of empty land, there is a movement towards the periphery of the city, consequently threatening urban agricultural space (the former ‘green belt’1 around the city). Yet, at the same time, population growth makes urban agriculture even more of a necessity. As in Kinshasa, leaf vegetables are greatly consumed, especially those vegetables which perish rapidly, their production within the city is of great importance. In addition, urban vegetable gardening is one of the coping strategies of a population that faces a lack of employment. So, on the one hand, urban agriculture is an important and much executed urban activity for the growing urban population. On the other hand, rapid population growth creates a lack of space for cultivation. In fact, two needs come into conflict with one another: the need to produce food and the need to have a place to live. During the last few decades, Kinshasa has indeed experienced an exponential population growth and geographical expansion. According to estimates by the national statistical institute of the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo), there were about 6,062,000 inhabitants in Kinshasa in 2000 (Nzuzi, 2008), compared to 1,198,720 inhabitants in 1973 (Flouriot, 1973). Yet, despite this enormous growth, government urban 68



Governance of Urban Agricultural Space: Struggle for Land in Kinshasa (DRC)

planning has been absent, especially in the peripheral municipalities. According to post-colonial law, only the state’s Service des affaires foncières (administrative service of land affairs) has the right to distribute, rent and sell land. However, in reality the state services have rarely taken up this role. The lack of urban planning provided opportunities to political parties, customary leaders and all kinds of administrative authorities to step in. Since independence, these actors have played a major role in the distribution of land, constituting a spontaneous urbanism (Lusamba, 2005; Nzuzi, 2008). This has resulted in ‘land anarchy’, with all kinds of actors selling and managing land and property in the city without clear regulations. Since urban space and land is becoming scarcer and highly contested, the struggle for it is getting harsher. Given that space has already been appropriated in the old city centre (although the struggle for land and space can be tough here as well), the struggle for land nowadays is strongly felt in the urban periphery. Urban agricultural sites are increasingly being threatened and invaded by people in search for land for non-agricultural, mostly residential, uses. At first sight, one might think that the role of the state in this struggle is evident: the establishment of land rights and the protection of these rights require a kind of public governance. However, governance in the DRC (as in many other countries) is not just organised or executed by the state: other private and/or civil society actors have as much control (and often even more so). In some cases, it is even the state itself that is handing out – consciously or unconsciously – services and tasks to private actors, generating a ‘privatisation of the state’ (Hibou, 2004). In other cases, privatisation is happening quite spontaneously when people and organisations start to organise services themselves because of a lack of state services in their area or living environment. This is also the case in the sector of urban planning and management of land. The state or non-state characteristics of an institution or organisation providing specific services are not always particularly clear; these are often mixed forms. This way, ‘mestizo’ spaces (espaces ‘métis’) are created in which different kinds of actors are active and in which local actors can execute their influence (Leclerc-Olive, 1997). In this sense, Lund (2006a, b) speaks of ‘twilight institutions’. Their existence illustrates the fact that governance is neither a static plan nor a fixed way of organising, but rather it is a continuous process in which many actors are involved (Lund, 2006a). Interestingly, we do not only perceive this phenomenon in ‘failed’ or ‘weak’ states; privatisation and twilight institutions exist in all kinds of states. Therefore, study of the governance of public goods,



Inge Wagemakers and Oracle Makangu Diki 69


in any context, needs to take into account all of the actors involved, not just the state. Whether or not we can see such twilight institutions in terms of privatised ways of governing or newly emerging forms of organisation within the sector of urban planning and land management (in the context of ‘threatened’ urban vegetable gardening sites) is the central focus of this chapter. Therefore, we will study the daily governance processes of land on a specific agricultural site of Kinshasa, in order to obtain more knowledge on the way governance of (agricultural) land in the city functions. In the next section, we will look at different existing concepts of land use and property and explain the plurality of rules in the sector of land. In the third section, we will give further details on the roles of customary family members and state agents in the management of land on a particular gardening site. Then, we will analyse the implications of land conflicts for local gardeners and residents. Finally, we will offer some conclusions on the local governance of urban agricultural land and the roles played by different actors and the state. This research was conducted over a period of 15 months (October 2008–January 2010) and consisted of several phases of field research. Throughout this research we followed the ECRIS2 methodology, that is, Rapid Collective Inquiry for the Identification of Conflicts and Strategic Groups, which takes conflict, arenas of action and strategic groups as conceptual departure points (Bierschenk and Olivier de Sardan, 1997).

4.2. Land use and land property: a plurality of rules Our research focused upon a particular urban vegetable gardening site, Mokali. It is one of the six official urban agricultural sites of Kimbanseke, a peripheral municipality of Kinshasa.3 Kimbanseke is clearly a product of Kinshasa’s exponential growth. While this municipality as such did not even exist 50 years ago, it is now the most populated one, with 946,372 inhabitants in 2004 (Nzuzi, 2008). As a result, the municipality is continuously challenging its own borders. Kimbanseke used to be part of the former green belt around the city. Over time, however, the site gradually grew into the urbanised municipality it is today (like other municipalities of the city). As a result, gardening sites over the last decade have increasingly been confronted with land being sold and used for residential use, even though originally destined for agricultural production. Even today, the land of the gardening site Mokali is officially public land for agricultural use only. This is fixed in a state decree.4 In 1980, the



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state ‘bought’ the land from the local customary chief through the Ministry of Agricultural Development. In turn, gardeners bought their fiches parcellaires or exploitation rights for a certain piece of land from the state. In the early 1980s, the agricultural site was equipped, organised and managed by an organisation of the French development cooperation linked to the state, which afterwards turned into a state agency responsible for keeping an overview of all gardening activities in the city. The site itself was directly managed by a gardeners’ cooperative. However, during the plunders5 which took place in the 1990s, the whole infrastructure of the site (canalisation system and roads, for example) was destroyed. As a result, the state agency and the gardeners’ cooperatives lost their resources, a large part of their popular support,6 and became too weak and disorganised to manage the site and defend its public and agrarian character. The weakness of these ‘supporting’ organisations resulted in the emergence of a plurality of rules governing land use and land property rights on the gardening site. In addition, the agricultural and public character of this land has become increasingly contested as land becomes scarcer. Local customary leaders and their family members, in particular, are questioning the public character of the land of the gardening site Mokali and are trying to re-appropriate its space. This is possible because of the pluralist concept of law and property on the one hand, and the general confusion and continuous emergence of new, practical norms on the other. In the DRC’s actual land legislation (land law of 1973), both state and customary authorities are recognised. According to state law, all land belongs to the state and the state can grant permanent (concessions perpétuelles) or temporary concessions for pieces of land (Ngoma, 1988). However, although all land belongs to the state, the state also recognises customary authorities and their claims on land based on customary law7 (cf. les terres des communautés locales8 ) (see also Utshudi Ona and Ansoms’ chapter in this book). This double claim on land (of both state and customary authorities) means that people buying a piece of land should first buy it from the customary chief, and thereafter go to the state administration to get an official land title. This system was meant to fade away after some time (with increasing formalisation of land rights); however, reality proves that this dual system continues to exist. The issue of land is clearly placed in what many call a legal pluralist context (cf. Griffiths, 1986; Reyntjens, 1999; von Benda-Beckmann, 2001). Several semi-autonomous social fields operate around the question of land and the state is just one of them, not even necessarily the most important one (Reyntjens, 1999).





In fact, great tensions may exist between different sources of ‘law’, and different rules are interpreted and adapted by local actors depending on their particular context. It is not just state laws that are interpreted and adapted by local actors in their everyday use; so are customary rules. Customary rules ‘have been profoundly changed by decades of colonial and post-independence government interventions, and are continually adapted and reinterpreted as a result of diverse factors like cultural interactions, population pressure, socio-economic change and political processes’ (Cotula and Cissé, 2006: 1). In fact, what we see in central African cities, as, for example, in Kinshasa, is that customary rules have been gradually adapted to the logic of selling and money (Piermay, 1986: 25), or rather, that ‘capitalist’ norms have been inserted into the ‘indigenous’ realities of the city (Jenkins, 2009). Overall, this results in a hybrid and mixed system in which neither customary nor state rules are static. People adapt rules to their own context and create what Olivier de Sardan (2008) calls ‘practical norms’, that is, norms created and followed by actors in the processes of daily governance. Very specific forms of ‘miscegenation’ (métissages) emerge from the interface between different rules and norms (Le Roy and Karsenty, 1996), constituting what could be called ‘living law’ (droit vivant), in which new norms and new behaviours are formed in order to respond to changing needs and realities (Gbaguidi et alii, 2004). Within this process of the formation of new rules or ‘living law’, power and opportunism play an important role. Those who manage to determine the rules of the game are able to govern the land. It is question of obtaining a certain legitimacy for particular rules and practices that suit one’s case. This legitimacy is not at all reserved for the state, and in the same way ‘legitimate’ does not necessarily equal ‘legal’, or vice versa (Jenkins, 2009). In fact, legitimacy could be qualified as a ‘partially transitive quality’ (propriété partiellement transitive) (Leclerc-Olive, 1997), which can be obtained or lost in many different ways. Within the juridical vagueness that is typical for land regulation in Africa, everyone tries to make use of the confusion between norms and different sources of legitimacy in order to serve his/her own interests (Mathieu, 1990: 76). As such, social reputation and power positions determine one’s capacity to impose his or her rules or logic. In the context of Mokali, those who turned out to be the most capable in obtaining a power position within the governance of land were the young members of the local customary family. We could say that they constitute a new social field. Whereas customary leaders were still subordinate to state agents in the 1980s, the situation in Kinshasa has



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completely turned around nowadays. The young relatives of customary authorities modify customary rules to their own benefit, as we will see in the following sections.

Given that the land of the gardening site was ‘bought’ by the state in the 1980s from a former customary leader, it should – according to actual land law – not be subject to customary control in the current context. However, as mentioned in the previous section, the public collective use of the land was not protected well by the state. According to Platteau (1995), this failure of the state to govern a natural resource such as land should not be a surprise, as he argues that the ‘[t]ransfer of village-level common property to state ownership has rarely been successful because effective government supervision is much more difficult than community-level organization’ (Platteau, 1995: 1). However, it is not just government supervision which is lacking on the Mokali site – the ‘community-level organisation’ (or ‘traditional’ leadership) is also in complete disarray. Although customary authority over the site ended when the former chief passed the land on to the state, younger members of the family now re-appropriate land and sell it on. Plenty of people are willing to buy a parcel of land, and land speculation is very common. Young members of the customary family even moved to the gardening site to strengthen their control over the land in order to commercialise it more efficiently. As a consequence of this evolution, the character of the site is changing from public agricultural space to private urbanised property. Family members of the customary chief gave several justifications for re-appropriating the land of the urban vegetable gardening site. Different perceptions of history and the creation of historical narratives are seen here (cf. Berry, 1997). According to one discourse, the land of this site was never bought by the state from the former customary chief. Protagonists of this view say that the state only paid the customary ‘rights’ (the list of goods one should give to obtain user rights on the land from the customary chief).9 As a result, this land had been ‘ceded’ to the state for the purpose of agricultural projects but not ‘sold’ permanently. Another discourse claims that the customary chief has an eternal responsibility to govern his land and therefore has the right to re-appropriate abandoned land and sell it for another purpose. So even if the land has been sold before, when it is abandoned for a long time10 and not ‘put



4.3. Customary leadership, state agents and plural norms on the Mokali site


into value’ (mise en valeur) the customary chief has the responsibility to give it another purpose. Interestingly, on the Mokali site, both abandoned land and used land is being re-appropriated and sold. So-called customary leaders increasingly threaten vegetable gardeners by taking their land by force to sell it to people wishing to build their houses on it. Overall, we found that two very different logics (both reinterpreted, changed and used by different actors) are being confronted with one another: the state’s logic, which says that all land and especially public land belongs to the state and cannot be re-appropriated by customary leaders, and the customary logic of never being able to completely distance themselves from the land of their ancestors. Interestingly, the young generations of the customary family intermingle the logic of both sides to support their claims. On the one hand they refer to the authority of the customary family over the land, whereas on the other they reinterpret the customary rules with regard to the transfer of rights on the land by referring to state law succession rights. Traditionally, the Bahumbu follow a matrilineal system, meaning that only those who are linked to the customary chief through a female relative are part of the customary family. But in reality, children and nephews from both matriand patrilineal lines consider themselves as legal inheritors. They feel they have the right to manage and sell the land that their parents are or were managing. Consequently, ‘so-called customary leaders’ emerge; these are people proclaiming to be and calling themselves customary chiefs because they are somehow related to the customary chief. They sell ‘customary’ land,11 most often without the consent of the customary chief (something which is not even allowed for matrilineal family members, as family members are only allowed to sell with the chief’s consent). On the Mokali site, rivalry mainly exists between two so-called customary leaders. Both are not maternally linked to the customary chief of groupement Mikondo, yet they are part of the (patrilineal) family. Both so-called customary leaders are well aware of the ‘illegality’ of their re-appropriation actions (illegal because of the public character of the land and also because they are not recognised by the real customary authority). They try to secure their position by incorporating state actors in their activities. A so-called customary leader, for example, gave a large area of land to an important magistrate of the city. In another case (see the box below), a so-called customary leader bought the loyalty of military authorities with land. As a result, taking legal action becomes quite hard for both gardeners that are expropriated in the process, and for lower ranking government officials who do not agree with the state of affairs.



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The so-called customary leader Q is the son of a distant maternal (male) cousin of the customary chief, so he himself has a paternal link to the chief and therefore does not hold any rights in the customary family. However, by (mis)using his link with the customary family, he has ‘taken over power’ of his father and he has proclaimed himself customary chief. Moreover, he claims the right to re-appropriate land of the gardening site. He has already sold a lot of land and he also constructed a cemetery on the gardening site of Mokali. This cemetery has caused a lot of protest as gardeners fear unhygienic conditions and contamination of their vegetables, but the cemetery is still there. To protect himself and his activities, Q surrounded himself by military agents to intimidate and threaten possible opponents. Through an agreement with military authorities, to whom he has given some land or revenues from selling land, he has some soldiers at his disposal. The soldiers are there to protect the land or the potential revenues of their own chiefs and, at the same time, those of the so-called customary leader Q. However, between different state actors, power relations play strongly. At a certain point in time, a (former) mayor of Kimbanseke disapproved of the practices of Q. Together with the policemen of the municipality he effectively arrested Q and his military agents, and put them in jail. However, this caused problems for the mayor and the policemen as the military are higher in rank than the police. Under pressure from the military court, they had to let Q and his military agents go. The mayor himself had to appear before the military tribunal to explain his actions. Under the present mayor of Kimbanseke a police commandant also tried to argue for the closure of Q’s cemetery, but he was also arrested by military agents of the military court.

4.4. Vulnerability of gardeners and residents on the Mokali site In the previous section, we showed how the coordination in the natural resource management at the Mokali site has been completely lost. It is often unclear which so-called customary authority sells which land to whom, and whether this sold land was actually unoccupied or not. This



So-called customary leader Q and his network


insecurity makes vegetable gardeners of the Mokali site feel threatened. They fear that within a short term their activities, and consequently their source of income, could disappear when their land is appropriated by some so-called customary chief. Moreover, many of them do not (any longer) have their fiches parcellaires (many were lost during the plunders), which further increases their vulnerability in case they need to prove their land rights. Nonetheless, vegetable gardeners, the president and the cooperative of the agricultural site of Mokali have tried to undertake actions against the selling of this land. Through forming groups, lobbying and physically defending their properties, gardeners have opposed the ‘residentialisation’ of the agricultural site. They have both individual and collective strategies to defend their (use of) land. On an individual basis, vegetable gardeners demarcate the borders of their land parcels. They do this through placing pickets, and some build a small hut next to their garden as a place for vigilance when needed (to deter potential despoilers and thieves). The gardeners who can afford it try to obtain an official property title for their land parcel. Interestingly, this is actually ‘illegal’ as appropriation of public land is officially not possible. Another strategy is continuous cultivation at all times – certainly when the fiches parcellaires are lost – as the mise en valeur has always been an important condition for keeping a parcel of land. When conflicts arise and the land of a gardener is taken, some gardeners who have the means try to bring their case to justice, although these cases do not seem to be very successful. One gardener, the former president of the cooperative, whose land was taken by a so-called customary leader, took legal action but lost a lot of money in court without getting any results. He passed away before a judgement came through. Gardeners also adopt collective strategies in their resistance to land appropriation by so-called customary authorities. When gardeners find out that customary leaders and accomplices are coming (often during the weekend) to re-appropriate a parcel of land, they organise themselves to physically defend the parcel of land. These actions are often coordinated by the president12 of the gardening site, who is also the president of the cooperative. The ability of the cooperative to organise this resistance is, however, quite weak, because of the low membership numbers. The president nonetheless engages in active lobbying, writing letters to state authorities and getting gardeners’ problems into the local media (local newspapers mostly). Occasionally, gardeners contribute by paying for the publication of an article in a newspaper. State authorities sometimes respond with letters or communications, saying it is indeed



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forbidden to build upon the agricultural site, but up until now no action from their side has been undertaken. In the case of concrete conflicts, gardeners may engage in negotiations – together with their president – with the so-called customary leaders. Often these negotiations are held in the local police office and sometimes they lead to a (temporary) settlement among the different actors, without the need to go to court. Recently, a more hopeful development occurred in that the president of the site and some cooperative members contacted the municipality in order to collaborate in protecting the site. They convinced the mayor of the fact that the land of this site needs protection. Thus, the gardeners and especially the president and cooperative members, tried to strengthen their power networks in order to be able to confront those of local customary leaders. Just like other actors, gardeners try to make use of the existence of different sets of norms by applying them to their own interests. They sometimes opt to sell land (also ‘illegally’) before it is appropriated by the customary authority, or they become residents themselves. But most often, they try to defend the agricultural use of the land. As well as the gardeners, their ‘counterparts’, namely the incoming residents, are also quite vulnerable in the land arena. Several residents bought their parcel of land from a customary leader in the beginning of the 1990s (in 1992–1994, after the plunders), although at that time very few people came to live on the site as they feared destructions and insecurity. From 1996 onwards, people started to construct houses, but even then the houses were sometimes destroyed. Most residents came to live on the site in the years 2005–2006 and since then they have not experienced real threats or problems. However, even today, the residents are still in a weak position. First of all, the residents often only have the sales document from the customary leader. And even in cases where some kind of formally recognised property titles were obtained from an administrative state service, one can easily be chased away by another state instance. The current provincial minister of agriculture and rural development (in place since January 2009), for example, claims that land on the agricultural sites – as public property – cannot be sold. The minister sees all constructions on these sites as anarchistic constructions and wants to demolish them (although, up until now this has just been discourse). Secondly, insecurity does not only arise from state actors, but also from the side of customary leadership. Because members of the customary family sell land in a disorganised way without any supervision or coordination, this creates conflicts between so-called customary leaders





and sometimes between ‘clients’, for example when two customary leaders sell the same parcel of land to two persons. When this happens, the clan of the customary leader solves the conflict by giving the second buyer another piece of land that he/she has not chosen but has to accept, whether he/she likes it or not. Therefore, buyers try to secure their land as quickly as possible by putting a small construction on the piece of land. Once a construction is built, one cannot easily destroy this to take over the land, as this would be destructing another person’s property. A third aspect of vulnerability is the fact that many residents rent their land from an owner (who bought the land from the customary leader for purposes of speculation). In fact, it is not the rich who come to live on the agricultural site; it is mostly poor people who cannot afford a parcel of land in other parts of the city. We should not forget the larger context of this whole struggle for land: poverty and urban growth without urban planning. What we actually see is a struggle between people with high needs: people who need a place to live and people who need a place to cultivate food. Those on top of the power chain make use of this struggle to extract personal benefits.

4.5. Conclusion: an open moment for customary authorities, gardeners and the state In theory, the land of the urban vegetable gardening site Mokali is state property, and more specifically, it is public land for agricultural use only. Yet in reality, a variety of actors govern the use of the land on the gardening site. Alleged customary leaders link up strategically with state actors to re-appropriate public agricultural land and sell it for their own profit. As a result, public property is redefined as common property that gradually becomes private property, with customary leaders acting as a kind of real estate agent (cf. Abdoul, 2005; Lusamba, 2005). However, such individual land titles are often (mis)used for speculation rather than for agriculture, and as a result the privatisation of land titles is often not in favour of the poor but benefits the elite instead (Platteau, 1995). It can be seen that the peri-urban area becomes a kind of ‘interface between commercial land markets and customary systems of tenure’ (Lynch et alii, 2001: 162). The struggle for land is also a struggle for authority and political control. Authority and legitimacy are questioned, challenged and possibly redefined. Such moments of struggle in which authority is put into question are called ‘open moments’: ‘particularly



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intense periods of rearrangement of the social order’ (Lund, 1998: 1). Customary leaders, gardeners and the state all defend their own interests under the context of the plurality of rules. ‘The state’, as such, is not a unified actor; rather, it is extremely fragmented in its actions for the governance of public land. Therefore, we could instead speak of a plurality of state actors, all acting and governing in different ways. These ‘fragments’ of the state (Migdal, 2001) link up with each other and with other non-state actors in the management of land. Alleged customary leaders use individual state agents in order to enlarge their power basis. Furthermore, gardeners try to adopt this strategy, with the link that has recently been established between the gardeners’ cooperative and the municipality of Kimbanseke as an example. In the context of lacking a general state policy, securing one’s position through strategic relationships with state actors is probably the best way to obtain and maintain control over land. Indeed, a fragmented state does not mean that actors involved do not have to take the state into account in order to reach their goals. In fact, the state exists within society and society exists within the state; they are in a continuous interaction (Migdal, 2001). Overall, we have used the case of an urban vegetable gardening site to illustrate the fact that governance processes are characterized by a plurality of rules and norms that are continuously used, transformed and reinterpreted in different ways by the different actors. Together, they form the ‘practical norms’ that determine the daily governance of land (Olivier de Sardan, 2008). To a large extent, power relations determine which norms prevail, but these power relations are continuously challenged. As such, further evolution of the daily processes of local governance of urban land, in which both customary and state powers are presently being challenged, will determine the future management and existence of urban agricultural land in Kinshasa.

Notes 1. During colonial times the green belt was meant to be an area around the city for urban vegetable gardening, in order to assure Kinshasa’s food provisioning. 2. ECRIS refers to Enquête Collective Rapide d’Identification des conflits et des groupes Stratégiques. The ECRIS methodology combines ‘regular’ individual and collective field research phases. The ‘regular’ field research phases consist of open interviews and observations around different identified topics. In February 2009, a short collective research phase was executed by




3. 4. 5.

6.

7.

8. 9. 10.

11.

12.

Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region a team of 22 researchers. The collective research phase was important to further explore some questions and issues we discovered during the preceding regular research phase, and to detect new issues and questions to work on afterwards. Acknowledgements go to all researchers who participated in the collective research phase: Jean-Pierre Olivier de Sardan, Aïssa Diarra, Tom De Herdt, Marc Poncelet, Francis Lelo Nzuzi, JeanPierre Mbwebwa, A. Camille Iwewe, Kristof Titeca, Aurélie Konen, Sonia Mrsic-Garac, Thomas Hendriks, Damien Imbongo, Lisette Egboki, Hervé Nlandu, Jean-Marc Kitshiaba, Balthazar Ngoy Kimpulwa, Noël Kabuyaya, Roger Ndjibu, Marcel Mulangwa and Dieudonné Mundala. The city of Kinshasa has 24 municipalities. Departmental decree of 4 September 1980. The plunders (pillages) of the 1990s were started by military agents protesting against the fact that their salaries had not been paid. But the ordinary population also started to plunder, frustrated by the deteriorating economic situation (Bagenda, 2003; Renton et alii, 2007). The plunders in Kinshasa were followed by plunders in other cities, causing the severe destruction of infrastructure and consequently even greater job losses and investment losses than before (de Villers, 1997; Bagenda, 2003). According to recent information (February 2010) from the cooperative of vegetable gardeners of the Mokali site, there are 759 active gardeners on the Mokali site, of which 424 are women and 335 are men. Only 95 are members of the site’s cooperative. However, the cooperative still plays a certain role, given that the president of the cooperative is also the elected and officially recognised president of the whole gardening site and thus of all gardeners. The core idea of the ‘traditional’ customary conception of land is that land does not belong to individuals but to a community, and particularly to their ancestors (who were the ‘first occupants’). A leader of the community can manage the use of the land in the name of the ancestors and to the benefit of the community, but cannot own the land (Lobho, 1988). Yet, over time, this traditional conception of land evolved (in many different ways according to the context and locality) in line with the new logics of privatised property and monetary trade (see also Utshudi Ona and Ansoms’ chapter in this volume). Terres des communautés locales refers to land on which local communities live, cultivate, exploit and conduct activities. Several opinions about this transaction exist; unfortunately, we could not trace what the state actually paid. There is a lot of abandoned or neglected land on the agricultural site of Mokali. Some plots were earmarked for infrastructure, but this infrastructure was never built. This land is now empty. Also, since the destruction of the canalisation system, some gardens are very difficult to cultivate and consequently have been abandoned. Land that has been re-appropriated on the vegetable gardening site of Mokali is being sold for about US$200 to US$500 (depending on the capacity of the buyer) per parcel of 200 m2 . The president of the gardening site of Mokali is a vegetable gardener himself with several gardens. He is actually a president ad interim because the previous president passed away.



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Abdoul, M. (2005) ‘Urban development and urban informalities: Pikine, Senegal’, in A. Simone and A. Abouhani (eds) Urban Africa: Changing Contours of Survival in the City (Dakar: Codesria Books). Bagenda, P. (2003) Le Congo, malade de ses hommes. Crimes, pillages et guerres (Bruxelles: Editions Luc Pire). Berry, S. (1997) ‘Tomatoes, Land and Hearsay: Property and History in Asante in the Time of Structural Adjustment’, World Development, 25 (8), 1225–1241. Bierschenk, T. and J.-P. Olivier de Sardan (1997) ‘ECRIS: Rapid Collective Inquiry for the Identification of Conflicts and Strategic Groups’, Human Organization, 56 (2), 238–244. Cotula, L. and S. Cissé (2006) ‘Changes in “Customary” Resource Tenure Systems in the Inner Niger Delta, Mali’, Journal of Legal Pluralism, 52, 1–29. de Villers, G. (1997) Zaïre: la transition manquée 1990–1997 (Paris: L’Harmattan), Cahiers Africains, no.27-28-29. Flouriot, J. (1973) ‘Croissance de l’habitat’, in J. Flouriot, R. de Maximy and M. Pain (eds) (1975) Atlas de Kinshasa (Kinshasa: Institut Géographique National). Gbaguidi, A.N., H. Sippel, G.R. Woodman (2004) ‘Chapter 5: stories of local vitality: comparative conclusions on the research findings’, in G.R. Woodman, U. Wanitzek, H. Sippel (eds) Local Land Law and Globalization (Münster: Lit). Griffiths, J. (1986) ‘What is Legal Pluralism?’, Journal of Legal Pluralism and Unofficial Law, 24, 1–55. Hibou, B. (2004) ‘From privatising the economy to privatising the state: An analysis of the continual formation of the state’, in B. Hibou (ed.) Privatising the State (London: C. Hurst & Co.). Jenkins, P. (2009) ‘African cities: Competing claims on urban land’, in F. Locatelli and P. Nugent (eds) African Cities: Competing Claims on Urban Spaces (Leiden, Boston: Brill), pp. 81–107. Leclerc-Olive, M. (1997) ‘Espaces “métis” et légitimité de l’Etat: l’expérience malienne’, in Gemdev (ed.) Les avatars de l’Etat en Afrique (Paris: Karthala). Le Roy, E. and A. Karsenty (1996) ‘Introduction générale’, in É. Le Roy, A. Karsenty, A. Bertrand (eds) La sécurisation foncière en Afrique. Pour une gestion viable des ressources renouvelables (Paris: Karthala). Lobho, L.D. (1988) ‘La stratégie foncière et la politique agricole au Zaïre avant l’indépendence’, in Lapika Dimomfu (ed.) Problèmes fonciers et politiques agricoles en Afrique Centrale: Actes de la rencontre internationale des sociologues et anthropologues de l’Afrique Centrale, Kinshasa 27–29 Janvier 1988 (Kinshasa: CERDAS). Lund, C. (1998) ‘Struggles for Land and Political Power: On the Politicization of Land Tenure and Disputes in Niger’, Journal of Legal Pluralism, 40, 1–22. Lund, C. (2006a) ‘Twilight Institutions: An Introduction’, Development and Change, 37 (4), 673–684. Lund, C. (2006b) ‘Twilight Institutions: Public Authority and Local Politics in Africa’, Development and Change, 37 (4), 685–705. Lusamba, K.M. (2005) Le rôle des chefs coutumiers dans la production de la ville: le cas de la ville de Kinshasa-Est, Mémoire du Diplôme Interuniversitaire d’études approfondies en Développement, Environnement et Sociétés,



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FUCaM – FUSAGx – UCL – ULG (Louvain-la-Neuve: Université Catholique de Louvain). Lynch, K., T. Binns and E. Olofin (2001) ‘Urban Agriculture under Threat: The Land Security Question in Kano, Nigeria’, Cities, 18 (3), 159–171. Mathieu, P. (1990) ‘Usages de la loi et pratiques foncières dans les aménagements irrigués’, Politique Africaine, 40, 72–81. Migdal, J.S. (2001) State in Society: Studying How States and Societies Transform and Constitute One Another (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ngoma Ngambu (1988) ‘Politiques et problèmes fonciers au Bas-Zaïre’, in Lapika Dimomfu (ed.) Problèmes fonciers et politiques agricoles en Afrique Centrale: Actes de la rencontre internationale des sociologues et anthropologues de l’Afrique Centrale, Kinshasa 27–29 Janvier 1988 (Kinshasa: CERDAS). Nzuzi, F.L. (2008) Kinshasa: Ville et Environnement (Paris: L’Harmattan). Nzuzi, F.L. (2009) ‘Croissance urbaine et recul de la ceinture verte maraîchère à Kinshasa’, Congo-Afrique, 438, 567–591. Olivier de Sardan, J.-P. (2008) ‘Researching the practical norms of real governance in Africa’, APPP Discussion Paper, no.5 (London: Overseas Development Institute, on behalf of Africa Power and Politics Programme). Piermay, J.-L. (1986) ‘Le détournement d’espace. Corruption et stratégies de détournement dans les pratiques foncières urbaines en Afrique centrale’, Politique Africaine, 21, 22–36. Platteau, J.-P. (1995) ‘Reforming land rights in Sub-Saharan Africa: Issues of efficiency and equity’, UNRISD Discussion Paper, no.60 (Geneva: United Nations Research Institute for Social Development). Renton, D., D. Seddon and L. Zeilig (2007) The Congo: Plunder & Resistance (London and New York: Zed Books). Reyntjens, F. (1999) ‘Legal and judicial pluralism in Africa South of the Sahara’, in F. Van Loon and K. Van Aeken (eds) 60 maal recht en 1 maal wijn. Rechtssociologie, Sociale Problemen en Justitieel beleid/Sociology of Law, Social Problems and Legal Policy (Leuven: Acco). von Benda-Beckmann, F. (2001) ‘Legal Pluralism and Social Justice in Economic and Political Development’, IDS Bulletin, 32 (1), 46–56.



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5 Dominik Kohlhagen

5.1. Introduction Government officials and international donors have been discussing the reform of Burundi’s statutory land law since the 1990s. The current land code, which was promulgated only in 1986, is mainly a compilation of former colonial laws and retained most of the shortcomings of preceding texts. Under the 1986 code, the country saw a significant increase in land conflicts and many illegal land allocations. Other problems, such as growing demographic pressure and new demands for land by returning refugees are adding to tensions produced by the absence of genuinely operational and equitable rules governing land. It is not only statutory law that encounters problems of efficiency and legitimacy. Like most African countries, Burundi is characterised by a complex situation of legal pluralism, where state law coexists and interacts with other normative systems. One of the failures of colonial and post-colonial state law was its inability to take account of customary rules. Nonetheless, many of these rules are still very much alive in Burundi and play a major role in social regulation (Weilenmann, 1997; Kohlhagen, 2008b, 2009a). With regard to land relations, however, the traditional normative systems have in many ways eroded. Rather than being perceived as legitimate law, many customary rules are today invoked at best for opportunistic reasons. As this chapter will show, one of the major difficulties in proposing a reform of Burundi’s land law is an almost generalised lack of socially recognised norms. Currently, almost three-quarters of conflicts that are brought before the court in Burundi are related to land. Many of these conflicts end up in the High Court after years of judicial procedure and appeals, but 83



In Quest of Legitimacy: Changes in Land Law and Legal Reform in Burundi


even at this stage only few decisions are successfully implemented on the ground. Popular resistance against the enforcement of court rulings is very common in Burundi, and criminal offences like ‘recalcitrance’ (rébellion) or ‘removal of land boundaries’ (enlèvement de bornes) are among the most important ones in terms of legal statistics. If judges are not directly attacked or threatened during the execution of their judgments, in many cases, the plants they use to mark the boundaries of litigious plots are found uprooted some days later (Kohlhagen, 2008b). Some authors link the resistance to court decisions in Burundi to the prevalence of customary or other local judicial authorities (Weilenmann, 1997). Most conflicts are indeed first submitted to the traditional bashingantahe councils, which, although they have changed a lot over time, are still widespread throughout the country and continue to play an important role in local conflict resolution (Ntahombaye et al., 1999; Nindorera, 2003; van Leeuwen and Haartsen, 2005; Kohlhagen, 2010a). Frequently, conflicts are also brought before administrative or church officials, local authorities like the nyumbakumi and the chef de secteur, before ad hoc commissions or ‘legal clinics’ set up by NGOs.1 Institutional plurality, however, does not mean that people genuinely rely on or believe in all these institutions, nor that they recognise them as more legitimate than state courts. People seize opportunities and practise ‘forum shopping’2 when conflicts arise. As a matter of fact, most authorities, be they recognised by local people or under state law, encounter the same problem: usually, their decisions are contested or ignored by one of the parties in conflict. As a result, many conflicts are actually dealt with by violent means. Almost every day, Burundian radio stations and newspapers report grenade attacks or killings of ordinary people who were simply at odds over the demarcation of a land plot. By focusing almost exclusively on conflict resolution, most studies on Burundian land law do not sufficiently probe the reasons as to why so many conflicts occur in the first place (van Leeuwen and Haartsen, 2005; Manirakiza et alii, 2007; Ntampaka, 2008). Especially with regard to effective land management, the most important question is not where people go and what they do in case a conflict arises but rather is related to the institutions and rules that people rely on to ensure life in a conflict-free environment. Essentially, the question is about legitimacy and socially binding norms. What norms do people regard as mandatory to regulate access to land and use of natural resources? At present, Burundians encounter significant obstacles to consensus on this very basic question. Violence, fear and lack of rules mean that tensions over land in Burundi are very close to what Emile Durkheim termed anomie



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(‘normlessness’), referring to the breakdown of social values and socially accepted norms (Durkheim, 1897). Many land conflicts today cannot be solved because people do not agree on a common normative repertoire. This chapter analyses how this situation relates to state policies and state land law, and how the repeated attempts to reform the land code failed to respond to steadily growing tensions. The following section focuses on statutory law, showing its instrumental use by colonial and post-colonial state officials to the detriment of ordinary Burundians throughout history. The third section questions the historical evolution of customary arrangements with regard to land relations at the local level. It stresses the progressive erosion of fundamental social regulation mechanisms since the introduction of present-day state law. The final section describes the ways in which today’s political elites (try to) respond to these multiple problems.

5.2. Manipulated legality: the instrumental use of statutory law The most obvious reason for the discrediting of normative rules among ordinary Burundians is the repeated manipulation and instrumentalisation of statutory provisions by state officials. In recent years, several studies and reports have reflected this problem (ICG, 2003; Gatunange, 2004; UNOPS-UNDP-CNTB, 2007). The best known examples relate to the spoliation of land following the departure of refugees and internally displaced people (Gatunange, 2005; Hatungimana and Ndayishimiye, 2003; ICG, 2003; IDMC-NRC, 2009; van Leeuwen and Haartsen, 2005). Especially after the 1972 massacres and in the years following the outbreak of civil war in 1993, many Burundians were forced to flee their homes.3 In many cases, the land they left behind was occupied by neighbours or local administrators, and quite frequently these occupations were sealed by documents countersigned by state officials. In 1976, a decree formally legalised some of these transactions, limiting the rights of former owners to partial compensation.4 One year later, in 1977, another decree extended the prescription of land ownership to customary land: all land occupied for a period of 15 years, whether the initial occupation was intentionally illegal or not, was to be automatically transformed into full ownership.5 In 1986, the land code lengthened the prescription period to 30 years.6 This implied that from 2002 onwards, this controversial legal provision started to benefit the new occupants and deprived most returning refugees (most returned after 2002) from their former land.



Dominik Kohlhagen 85


As a result of the various changes in statutory law, most refugees trying to recover land after their return are facing insurmountable obstacles. To deal with these problems, the government created a number of special commissions in charge of dispute settlement and reallocation of stateowned land to landless returnees. The first two commissions, created in 1977 and 1991, were followed in 2002 by the Commission Nationale de Réhabilitation des Sinistrés (CNRS) that in 2006 was replaced by the Commission Nationale Terres et autres Biens (CNTB). The CNTB has been installed in all provinces and has parallel competences to the official first-instance courts for all conflicts involving a returnee. Instead of solely applying statutory law, the commission first tries to achieve a mutual agreement between the parties in conflict. However, besides the instalment of these dispute settlement mechanisms, the Burundian government never fundamentally questioned the instrumental use of law from which most problems originated. Although international attention and recent reform initiatives mainly focus on the returnee issue, the land problems encountered in Burundian society are actually of a much more general nature. As a matter of fact, the instrumental use of law and public institutions to force arbitrary reallocation of land has a longstanding tradition in Burundi and is almost part of the structure of national legislation. The problem is not only that land services, communal administrations and courts are corrupt or clientelist. The core problem is that most of the spoliations and land grabs were at some point legalised, giving corruption and clientelism an almost normative character. To a large extent, statutory law in Burundi facilitates and even encourages practices that most people perceive as arbitrary, inequitable and unjust. The 1986 land code, which retained most of the ambiguities in former legal texts, did not succeed in cutting short the logics of arbitrariness (and possibly did not even wish to do so). Under the logics of colonial law, only land that is formally registered with a land title is legally defined as coming under full ‘ownership’ (propriété) and enjoys the effective protection of state law. Customary or locally recognised rights which are not registered are subtly distinguished from this category as being mere ‘private rights’ (droits privatifs). This distinction has important practical consequences. Unlike registered ‘ownership’, unregistered ‘private rights’ are only protected from state intrusion as long as the land is effectively used for farming or grazing. Unregistered land that is left for more than 2 years without being ‘used’ in one of these two ways is automatically considered as ‘wasteland’ (terres vacantes) and belongs to the state.7



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In theory, all land users can escape the stranglehold of the state by registering their customary land rights under the titling system. Implicitly, the land code even foresees the progressive disappearance of customary land tenure and its replacement by the titling system.8 When the code was promulgated, this assumption was perfectly in line with the land policy guidelines published in 1975 by the World Bank, which advocated the ideal of converting all ‘customary’ land rights into what are termed ‘legal’ land rights (World Bank, 1975: 21). According to this perception, that prevails in most post-independence land reforms in Africa, ‘the most successful land reforms include those whereby [customary] tenants become [freehold] owners of the land they operate’ (World Bank, 1975: 34). The idea of increasing the protection of customary land rights could consequently only be perceived as a counterproductive measure. As in most African countries, however, the registration procedure in Burundi is not only complicated, long and expensive. It is also disconnected from social reality. Land registration offices (Services des titres fonciers) only exist in three cities – Bujumbura, Gitega and Ngozi. Before submitting their demand to one of these offices, applicants have to hire a geodetic surveyor from Bujumbura, report the precise land limits to the national cadastral services and demarcate the land boundaries with stones made of imported concrete. The majority of people in the countryside, used to marking land boundaries at best with perennial border plants, are totally unfamiliar with these procedures. In addition, for most of them, the price they would have to pay for the concrete is already higher than the market price of their land plots, not to mention the cost of the surveyor and the taxes for cadastral services. In fact, right from the start, the intention of the titling system was clearly not to serve the rural masses. On the contrary, when it was introduced under colonialism, access to the system was strictly limited to a very small and privileged group: the European colonisers. Land registration was mainly an instrument of power through which the colonial state could legitimise its control over land. It was only on the eve of independence, in 1960, that Burundians themselves were effectively allowed to register their land. However, in many respects, the titling system is still an exogenous system for most Burundians. Culturally, it is rooted in legal traditions imported from Europe. Economically, it is unaffordable. Politically, it mainly serves those who are close to the power apparatus of the state. In 1981, one of the best-known specialists in Burundian law, René Massinon, described the ambition to generalise the titling system in Burundi as a mere ‘illusion’ (Massinon, 1981: 1). Some 30 years later, indeed, the number of registered land





plots is still insignificant: only some 46,000 land plots are effectively registered (Republic of Burundi, 2008: 3), barely more than 1 per cent of the country’s surface area. Since the end of the 1980s, several studies have reported similar evidence from other African countries, stressing the need to give more recognition to customary law and local arrangements within the legal system of the state (Le Roy et alii, 1986; Lavigne Delville, 1999; Toulmin et alii, 2001). Since then, different land reforms in Africa have followed this recommendation, either by identifying and formalising customary land occupancy under a centralised land management system9 or by recognising the right of local and customary authorities to administer land10 (Manji, 2006; Colin et alii, 2009). According to a report published in 2003 by the World Bank, ‘it is now widely realized that the almost exclusive focus on formal titles in the 1975 paper was inappropriate, and that much greater attention to the legality and the legitimacy of the existing institutional arrangements will be required’ (Deininger, 2003: 45). Today, several strategic documents of Western donors underline the importance of taking account of local and customary systems in land reforms (EU Task Force on Land Tenure, 2004; French Development Cooperation, 2009). In Burundi, decentralisation of land management in line with these ‘new wave’ land reforms has been recommended on different occasions since discussions on reform started in the early 1990s (Bouderbala, 1992; Leisz, 1998; SDC, 2007). In order to stop benefiting a small minority only, the land management system of the state does indeed have to adapt to its social environment and to take account of the needs and realities of rural farmers. That said, such a policy requires a thorough knowledge of rules and processes people actually perceive as legitimate to govern use of land and access to natural resources. A closer look at research done on land management at the local level reveals, however, that many Burundian customs have in fact eroded and been deprived of their foundations.

5.3. Eroded normativity: ancient customs in present-day reality Despite the great number of recent publications on land problems in Burundi, very little fieldwork has been carried out on local land-tenure mechanisms. Most in-depth studies on customary land regulation date back to the first years of independence (Sohier, 1962; Verbrugghe, 1965, 1970; Bukera, 1970; de Clerck, 1971; Ndayisenga, 1974). Later



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publications rather concentrated on state law and its implementation (Massinon, 1981; Nimpagaritse, 1983). The most recent studies are mainly interested in conflict analysis (Manirumva, 2004; Suguru, 2004; Manirakiza et alii, 2007; van Leeuwen and Haartsen, 2005). For 40 years now, no significant fieldwork has been done on customary land law, tenure security and local land management outside conflict situations in the Burundian context. The privileged focus on conflict analysis probably explains why the only local legal institution that found its way into books, articles and expert reports in recent years is the council of bashingantahe (ICG, 2003; Gatunange, 2004; van Leeuwen and Haartsen, 2005; Ntampaka, 2006). As judicial authorities, however, the bashingantahe have never been in charge of land administration. They are basically facilitators of dispute resolution. In ancient customary law, the allocation of land plots, and control over land and tenure administration were the exclusive responsibility of the Mwami, the local chiefs, and their batware sub-chiefs. Nowadays, however, these authorities no longer exist. All of them disappeared in the 1960s and have never been replaced. Quite surprisingly, until now, this remarkable lack of customary land authorities has never been questioned in any research work on land relations in Burundi. The absence of in-depth studies on local land management since the 1970s is probably the main reason for this knowledge gap. The historic importance of the Mwami and of the chiefs in terms of customary land tenure is beyond doubt. Until the end of the monarchy in 1966, all ethnographic literature described the Mwami as the preeminent owner of all land (Meyer, 1916; Mworoha and Ndayishinguje, 1981). Whereas most lawyers interpreted the Mwami’s prerogatives as some kind of exclusive ownership (Verbrugghe, 1965; de Clerck, 1971), religious writers emphasised the Mwami’s spiritual role as protector and guarantor of fertility (Rodegem, 1966). Whatever his exact significance, the pre-eminence of the Mwami was embedded in a complex cultural matrix of beliefs and practices. According to an ancient proverb, ‘umwami aguntugira mu vyawe’, ‘The Mwami protects your property’ (Lemarchand, 1970: 305). The Burundian king was believed to be born holding sorghum grains in his hand, and his supernatural powers were celebrated in the annual fertility ritual umuganuro (Meyer, 1916; Simons, 1944: 194; Mworoha and Ndayishinguje, 1981: 82). He was obviously more than just a monarch who happened to own all the land. In most parts of the country, land was allocated in the king’s name by local chiefs and sub-chiefs. The individual plot given to a family – the so-called itongo – was hereditary within the patrilineage, but it could





always be withdrawn in the case of disagreement between the family and the chief. Whereas some authors perceived this system as inegalitarian and stressed the imbalance of power between chiefs and owners (Botte, 1974), others emphasised the checks and balances that obliged a chief to be a ‘good’ chief and to protect those who cultivated his land if he did not want people to leave for another chiefdom (Mworoha, 1977: 192). In any case, the traditional system can be described as a clientelistic system in which rights to land had a very personalised character. At different levels of society, land rights were determined by personal links. Under the traditional ubugererwa system, families could in turn surrender parts of their plots to landless people who, in return, were obliged to complete some work for the family (Trouwborst, 1962: 24–25). Unlike land ownership in Western societies, Burundian customary land law did not rely on a direct link between the land and its user. Anthropologists even argued that the bond between a land user and ‘his’ chief was perceived as more important than the bond between the user and his land (Trouwborst, 1959). It is difficult to determine to what extent the traditional system was altered under colonialism. In colonial literature, land relations were mainly apprehended through the lens of private property, which unquestionably led to many misinterpretations. In particular, the rights of the chiefs were understood by colonial authorities as much more exclusive than they were historically. The progressive monetisation of the economy also transformed the traditional, rather symbolic, repayment between chief and client into some kind of mandatory rent. This change added to the political and economic supremacy of the chiefs (Gahama, 1983: 320–329). In addition, the colonial system strengthened the power of the chiefs in the judicial sector, to the detriment of the bashingantahe, who traditionally played a pre-eminent role in this field (Gahama, 1983: 314). A couple of years before the end of colonialism, in December 1959, colonial authorities radically changed their approach and abolished chieftaincy. Among ordinary people, the role of the chiefs was by that time associated rather with the idea of oppression than with the ‘traditional role as the benevolent protector of the weak and the ultimate source of assistance to the needy’ (Lemarchand, 1970: 124). Some months after the dismissal of the chiefs, in July 1960, a degree on land tenure transformed all unregistered land into state-owned land. The decree guaranteed all farmers permanent rights to the land that they had been allocated by their chief and provided for the possibility to



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register these rights under the titling system. In 1977, another reform suppressed the last trace of the ancient system, the ubugererwa, under which families could surrender parts of their plots to landless people for a limited period of time. Those people who used land under the ubugererwa also received permanent rights and the possibility to register their land. At first sight, the 1960 and 1977 reforms seemed favourable for rural farmers who gained individual ownership over the land they were cultivating without being dependent any longer upon any superiors. But, as mentioned previously, only a very small part of the land has been registered 50 years after the 1960 decree. According to statutory law, all other (unregistered) land is supposed to be governed by ‘custom’, but no legal text gives any indication as to what should be considered as such ‘custom’. In fact, the supposed normative field that the land code named ‘custom’ has above all become a field of growing normlessness. Most Burundians still implicitly derive what they perceive as their ‘customary rights’ from a personalised authority that no longer exists. Whenever they are asked about the legitimacy of alleged land rights, most people refer to the name of a former chief. However, the perpetuation of customs deprived of their foundation frequently turns out to be problematic. Boundaries that were once known by local authorities can now be easily contested. Land abandoned by refugees can be taken over with the complicity of neighbours, as no chief now knows anything about the real owners. Today, the capacity to allege customary land rights in Burundi basically comes down to the capacity to afford the price of credible witnesses. Once a conflict arises, the profound uncertainties characterising ‘customary’ rules make it almost impossible to reach consensus. Inheritance rights, traditional obligations, questions of legitimacy, authority of people and institutions: many rules have become contestable, and many rules are indeed contested. Also, in other contexts of legal pluralism, changes in customary rules are now a well-known phenomenon (Woodman et alii, 2004; Cotula, 2007). In Burundi, however, law and normativity have eroded to such an extent that land conflicts regularly result in massacres and violence. Despite this normative erosion, the underlying values and logic of customary law still play a very important role in Burundi. Several recent field studies, for instance, show the importance of the values associated with the institution of bashingantahe (Ingelaere, 2009: 98–117; Uvin, 2009: 58–66; Kohlhagen, 2010a)11 : self-control, truthfulness, moral





integrity. Dispute resolution very much relies on logics different from those dominating in state law. Negotiation, conciliation and arbitration continue to play an important role, whereas only very few people recognise written state law as an effective means to mitigate conflicts. Not only the bashingantahe but also state administrators and even judges in state courts refer to customary values and logics to settle disputes (Kohlhagen, 2009a, b, 2010a). This very complex reality of legal and institutional pluralism poses additional challenges for policy makers in Burundi. The country obviously lacks land authorities people genuinely recognise as such, and traditional rules governing access to land have to a large extent eroded. Nevertheless, people still recognise common principles that, despite all efforts to generalise state law, clearly prevail in everyday life. If the Burundian state intends to propose a regulatory framework that really helps in administering the use of land and natural resources, it has to clearly identify the needs and expectations that arise from this tense situation. Unfortunately, for the moment, land policy in Burundi is far from responding to coordinated and coherent objectives intended to serve ordinary Burundians.

5.4. Undefined policy: the non-response of Burundi’s elite After the enactment of the 1986 code, there were three major reform initiatives. The first one was the most innovative and most ambitious. Funded in the early 1990s by the Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations (FAO), its intention was to consolidate all land laws into a ‘rural code’ (code rural) designed to integrate all issues related to natural resource management.12 The forestry code and the mining code as well as water rights were to be taken into account in order to develop a coherent and comprehensive text. It was planned to comprehend, in a first phase, a concise and understandable framework law that would contain general guidelines and principles. Later on, the text was to be completed progressively with sectoral laws on land-tenure security, agricultural development and natural resource management, including areas like the use of water and forests, environmental law and mining law. The preparatory work of the FAO initiative underlined explicitly that future legislation had to be based on the needs and knowledge of rural farmers. It emphasised the shortcomings of a generalised registration system, stressing that ‘Burundi, as a country of micro-properties with a highly fragmented and compartmentalised agrarian landscape, is the



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epitome of the situation that does not suit the Torrens [titling] system’13 (Bouderbala, 1992: 17). The project was intended to increase the protection of local and customary land rights and arrangements. In order to reduce interpersonal conflicts and abuses by local officials, the project foresaw a special ‘land investigation procedure’ (enquête foncière) under which an independent state authority could investigate litigious land limits and enforce physical demarcation (Bouderbala, 1994: 27–30). The FAO project responded rather well to the specific problems of Burundi. Although, in general, the project provided for protection of local arrangements from state intrusions, it nevertheless foresaw prerogatives for the state to impose land limits by force in the case of conflicts that could not be solved locally. This meant that the need to prevent abuses of state authorities, on the one hand, and the call for alternatives to failing customs, on the other hand, were judiciously balanced. The initiative even led to a set of concrete legislative proposals (Bouderbala, 1994). The government, however, never formally adopted the code rural. After the first democratic elections that took place in June 1993 and the subsequent killings of two elected presidents in October 1993 and April 1994, the country entered into a period of political and military turmoil that put an end to the land reform process. The idea of land reform was renewed with the peace agreement signed in Arusha in 2000. The agreement provided for a ‘revision’ of the existing land code ‘in order to adjust it to the current problems with respect to land management’ (Protocol IV, Chapter 1, Article 8 i. of the agreement). Except for the need to respond to problems encountered by returnees, however, the peace agreement gave no details with regard to the precise content of the projected ‘revision’. In 2003, under a transitional government, the land code reform was again put on the political agenda. Unlike the initiative in the 1990s, this new project was not preceded by a preliminary study, nor did any policy document define its general objectives.14 As proclaimed in Arusha, the reform was conceived as a mere ‘revision’ of the existing land code. The consultants in charge of the review were essentially the same as those who compiled the 1986 land code. Unsurprisingly, the draft code that was finished in 2004 had the same structure as the 1986 text, retained most of its terminology, its legal mechanisms . . . and its shortcomings. A remarkable difference, however, was the length of the new draft: it was even longer than the already very technocratic 1986 code, reaching a record number of 650 articles. One noteworthy innovation of the 2004 text was the institution of a new procedure allowing communal administration to issue ‘acts of





notoriety’ (actes de notoriété) as a legally recognised proof of local tenureship. At the same time, the draft code renamed customary tenure as ‘ownership’ (propriété coutumière). Consequently, it placed local land tenure and registered rights on the same level and, at least in theory, provided them with the same legal protection. Most ambiguities of the 1986 code remained unchanged, however. To put it simply, the draft text only gave legal recognition to an already common popular practice whereby people validated land transactions by a written document countersigned by their communal administrator. The proposed revision did not call into question the whole apparatus of legal mechanisms marginalising unregistered land. The 2004 draft was, again, overtaken by political events. In 2005, a new Constitution was approved by referendum and the first democratic elections since the war (1993–2005) took place. Following political stabilisation, the resumption of cooperation programmes led to a quick rebirth of the general idea of land reform, but without reference to the 2004 initiative. The Swiss Agency for Development Cooperation (SDC) and the European Union launched a programme on ‘decentralised land management’ whose main objective was to finance the creation of experimental ‘land desks’ (guichets fonciers) in charge of certifying socially accepted land occupation at the commune level (123 in total). Based on first experiences in Madagascar, the certificates were to become an affordable alternative to expensive land titles delivered by the national land services. The experience was supposed to sensitize people in the countryside to alternative approaches towards land titling, to allow the participative elaboration of a new national land policy and, eventually, to lead to the drafting of a new land code (SDC, 2007). In February 2008, the European donors were followed by the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), who announced its intention to support a revision of the land code in the short term. Chemonics, the company in charge of implementing the USAID programme, named as its director the former environment minister who had been a leading proponent of the 2004 reforms. Instead of writing a new code based on local experiences, Chemonics planned a rapid revision based on the 2004 draft to enable them to present a ‘new’ code before the renewal of their contract with USAID at the end of the US fiscal year in September 2008. Two years before the national elections, the Burundian government expressed a preference for this rapid-result approach compared to the European long-term project. In April 2008, the second vice-president announced the government’s intention to draft a new code as soon as possible.



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At the time, the ‘land desk’ experience of the European donors was only in its preliminary phase, and no single ‘land desk’ had yet been put in place (Habwintahe and Nkurunziza, 2008a, b). Although the initial European project foresaw extensive field experience before integrating the ‘land desk’ model into a new code (SDC, 2007: 37), the Europeans agreed to join the accelerated reform initiative. The compromise that was found with the Burundian government and the Americans implied the inclusion of a participative component, in accordance with the initial European project. The reform process thus allowed the holding of ‘communal consultations’ to gather opinions from ordinary people about the reform. Based on these consultations, a strategic document, the ‘Land Policy Letter’, was written to define the guidelines for the new code. For the first time, the reform explicitly intended to integrate public demands and to respect a certain degree of transparency. The timing of this innovative work, however, raises questions. Formally, the new reform process started on 11 June 2008, when the second vice-president set up an inter-ministerial committee to prepare a ‘Land Policy Letter’ (Lettre de Politique Foncière) and to revise the 1986 land code. Soon after, popular consultations were organised outside the capital. These consultations communales closed on 27 August. Fewer than 3 weeks later, on 15 September, the committee presented the final version of the ‘Land Policy Letter’. The new code, which was supposed to be based on the content of the letter, was ready only 2 weeks later. On the last day of the US fiscal year, 30 September 2008, a ‘validation workshop’ of the new draft was organised in Bujumbura. After some subsequent modifications, the revised text of the land code was adopted on 29 June 2009 by the Council of Ministers and became the first draft land law submitted to the National Assembly since 1986. Given this timing, the alleged ‘participative’ character of the process appears to be rather superficial (Kohlhagen, 2008b, 2010b). Nevertheless, the produced texts provide for some significant new guarantees of tenure security of rural farmers. Most of the planned actions in the ‘Land Policy Letter’ (Republic of Burundi, 2008) are intended to make land management procedures more transparent. An important emphasis of the letter is on decentralisation and on the creation of new land services at the commune level. As in the 2004 draft code, the general idea is to create administrative structures in order to validate local land ownership and land transactions formally. This time, the proposed reform is based on the Malagasy ‘land desk’ model and foresees the creation of the same kind of local structures as the programme documents of the European donors. The reference to the





land policy of Madagascar is also more than obvious. The policy letter not only bears exactly the same name,15 it also has the same general structure and even replicates some of its content. Unlike the Malagasy document, however, the Burundian Land Policy Letter also provides for some very directive and interventionist measures that contrast sharply with the idea of improving tenure security and strengthening rights of smallholder farmers. Without detailing the ways and means of implementation, some of its content is replicated from another foreign land policy document: the ‘National Land Policy’ of Rwanda (Republic of Rwanda, 2004). Like its Rwandan counterpart, the Burundian Letter foresees the determination of a minimum area for land plots and the proscription of land divisions under this minimum. It also provides for a restructuring of the traditionally scattered habitat through a ‘villagisation’ policy and, without giving any further details, even announces a birth control policy. Despite its ambitious targets, the Burundian Land Policy Letter proposes only very few concrete measures. It also contradicts the draft land code, which does not really call into question previous legislation. The question remains what will now happen with this last reform project. In the past, all democratic elections in Burundi were – almost ritually – preceded by a debate on land code reform, and in the end all reform attempts failed. For the moment, it is unclear whether the 2008 draft will actually be implemented. Although it was submitted to parliament in September 2009, its vote was repeatedly postponed until after the communal and national elections in mid-2010. Even if the text was promulgated, however, it remains clear that change also has to occur in people’s minds as well as in legal texts. Real reform should call for more equity, less arbitrariness and a new power balance between political elites and smallholder peasants. Revealingly, the 2008 reform initiative attracted relatively little attention in the media. Only the most important moments, such as the official launching of the so-called public consultations, the presentation of the Lettre de Politique Foncière and the adoption of the draft code by the government retained some attention. Many newspaper articles interpreted the reform in their own way. Most recent news about the reform process does not even mention such significant elements as the decentralisation of land management, the relationship between rural farmers and the state or the obsolescence of certain legal provisions. The reform is rather associated with the repatriation of refugees from Tanzania or the proliferation of neighbourhood and family disputes over



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land. Interestingly, those questions are not really addressed by the draft code. Also, in political discourse, the true content of the reform is rarely referred to. Several months after the validation of the draft code, the secretary general of the committee in charge of the preparation of the draft declared to reporters that ‘it is too early for me to speak about the main innovations contained in the next land code.’16 Some weeks before this declaration, the president of the republic, in his New Year speech in 2009, stated, however, that the code had already ‘been given to several Burundian citizens for review and consideration’ and that the results had been favourable.17 That said, in his speech, the president himself did not specify in any way the elements and orientations of the reform. In many ways, it is more the idea of initiating a reform that appeals in Burundi than its true content. By some, it is understood as an agrarian reform or as a way to remedy abuses and land spoliations of the past. Others see it as a response to land disputes or as a means to overcome land shortage. After successive aborted reform initiatives, neither the press nor Burundian citizens seem to perceive the need to question the intentions of yet another project added to the list. Meanwhile, the crisis of Burundi’s land-tenure system continues to intensify dramatically. The failure of the state to fulfil the task it assigned itself to secure land tenure stands beyond doubt. For about a century, the state robbed, despised and devalued the land of small farmers. The current legal situation still facilitates these abuses and does not provide for effective protection of small-scale farmers from expropriation or eviction. The crisis not only affects the relationship between citizens and state institutions, however. It is at the grassroots level that land insecurity literally undermines Burundian society. Indeed, over 70 per cent of conflicts before court are land disputes (Kohlhagen, 2009b: 25). The vast majority of them involve family members who grew up together. And, all too often, these conflicts culminate in bloodshed. Today’s problems are largely owed to the erosion of customary land management systems under present-day state law.

5.5. Conclusion The major problem that land policy has to address in Burundi is an imminent danger of social collapse. It is no longer ethnic groups or





social classes that kill each other, it is also – and perhaps primarily – families. Society is shaken to its foundations over land issues. In the capital, the central importance of land problems is now commonly recognised. Fortunately, all recent reform initiatives addressed the need to break with colonial legislation. Although none of these initiatives has effectively led to a new code, it is likely that popular legal practices will receive better legal recognition in future. In this regard, the 2008 project certainly took a step into the right direction, but the measures it proposes are not sufficient. After disregarding traditional land practices for a century, the central state will have to do more than just transplant a one-size-fits-all policy from an island in the Indian Ocean. In Burundi, unlike Madagascar, customary land authorities no longer exist and ancient customs have to a large extent eroded. Today, on most Burundian hills, it is not possible to find a consensus on questions as crucial as the land rights of women, inheritance schemes or the sharing of family land. In the short term, land policies will probably have to put a much stronger emphasis on conflict regulation. After decades of destructive policies, the Burundian state now has to provide locally specific answers to the lack of socially accepted norms. It has to help people to find ways to live together again, to settle their ever-growing conflicts and to share their common natural heritage in a sustainable and culturally acceptable manner. In the interest of peace and national conciliation, state institutions and state courts should consequently give priority to negotiated solutions and compromise over strict enforcement of written law or supposed customary rules. In the long term, Burundi needs a land code that is truly adapted to social reality. This requires policy makers to acquire precise knowledge of the real expectations of ordinary Burundians. Genuine public consultations and a genuine public debate have to be organised over a period of at least 1 year. A real land reform has to respond to ordinary people’s need for access to land without fear of state intrusion. It also has to provide answers to people’s need for alternatives to failing customary rules and authorities. Possessing values and logics different from those of present-day state law, people frequently perceive state institutions as substitutes for former customary authorities. They ask local officials to mediate in conflict situations or expect communal administrators to allocate land like ancient chiefs. Sometimes, such demands are opportunistic. Usually, they also reveal a very specific perception of the role of the state. This perception needs to be understood and to be taken into account in future reforms.



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In any case, after 20 years of fruitless debates, land policy has to meet one major additional challenge. It has to restore confidence in the capacity of the state to conduct reforms and to address land problems. If it fails to convince Burundian people to believe in its goals, it will repeat yet again the grave mistakes of the past.

1. For a general survey of local judicial authorities throughout the country see Kohlhagen (2009a: 22–28). The nyumbakumi and the chef de secteur are former administrative authorities which are no longer recognised under state law but still play an important role in conflict resolution. 2. Terminology adopted from von Benda-Beckmann (1981). 3. Inter-ethnic violence and massacres have occurred on several occasions in Burundi, in 1965, 1969, 1972, 1988, 1991 and after 1993. 4. ‘Décret-loi n◦ 1/191 du 30 décembre 1976 portant retour au domaine de l’Etat des terres irrégulièrement attribuées.’ According to its title and to its first three articles, the decree provided for the recovery of illegally attributed land. In article 4, however, the decree foresaw the full legalisation of all illegal attributions of plots smaller than four hectares. This provision allowed massive regularisation, see Vandeginste (2009: 82). 5. ‘Décret-loi n◦ 1/20 du 30 juin 1977 étendant le système de la prescription acquisitive aux immeubles régis par le droit coutumier.’ Before this decree, prescription rules only applied to registered land. 6. Article 29 of the 1986 code. 7. Article 231 of the 1986 code. 8. Article 329, for instance, stipulates that customary land rights are protected by statutory law ‘even if they are not yet recognised by a registration certificate’ (‘lors même qu’ils ne seraient pas encore constatés dans un certificat d’enregistrement’). 9. Benin, Burkina Faso, Guinea and the Ivory Coast, for instance, launched such identification programmes to localise and formally recognise customary land rights without issuing individual land titles. The general idea of these projects was to map customary occupancy in so-called ‘rural land plans’ (plans fonciers ruraux) that were to become a kind of simplified cadastre. 10. Examples of such policies can be found in Ethiopia, Madagascar, Mozambique, Namibia and Tanzania. 11. According to these studies, rather than the bashingantahe as individual people (who have also lost a lot of their legitimacy), it is indeed the values associated with them (referred to in Kirundi as bushingantahe) that are still a very important part of social life. 12. Projects TCP/BDI/9155 and TCP/BDI/2251 (phase d’identification et d’orientation, 1991–1992), project TCP/BDI/2355 (préparation et rédaction d’un avant-projet de code rural, 1993–1994) of the FAO technical cooperation programme. 13. ‘Le Burundi, pays de micropropriétés au paysage agraire très morcelé et compartimenté, est l’exemple même de la situation qui ne convient pas au système Torrens.’



Notes

14.

15.

16.

17.

The Torrens system refers to Sir Robert Torrens who originated the system of land titling and registration in New South Wales (Australia) in 1858. Even the preliminary studies and the project reports produced for the FAO initiative in the 1990s were obviously not taken into account. One of the rare reports on the post-Arusha draft states, for instance, that the FAO project foresaw compulsory registration of all land: ‘ce code n’était pas réaliste en prenant un enregistrement systématique des terres rurales en vue de faire accéder la population au crédit’ [sic] (N.N., 2004: 2). This is the exact opposite of the true objectives of the FAO draft. Madagascar and Burundi are the only countries in the world to name their land policy document Lettre de Politique Foncière; see: Republic of Madagascar (2005). ‘C’est encore trop tôt pour que je m’exprime sur les principales innovations contenues dans le prochain code foncier’ (source: ‘Bientôt un nouveau code foncier qui remplace celui de 1986 jugé inadapté,’ Burundi Tribune, 24 March 2009). The speech is reproduced on the website of the Burundi government at www.burundi-gov.bi (accessed 30 October 2010): ‘Nous rappelons que le nouveau code foncier a été donné à plusieurs citoyens Burundais pour avis et considérations pour sa révision est satisfaisant [sic]. Pour le moment, il reste que les procédures législatives légales [sic] pour cette révision.’

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100 Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region

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Sohier, A. (1962) ‘L’étude et l’application du droit coutumier’, in ARSOM (ed.), Livre blanc, Witboek (Brussels: Royal Academy for Overseas Sciences). Suguru, S. (2004) Etude sur les conflits sociaux liés à la gestion des propriétés foncières de Gatakwa en zone Kigwena, province Bururi (Bujumbura: Observatoire de l’Action Gouvernementale). Toulmin, C., P.L. Delville and S. Traoré (2001) The Dynamics of Resource Tenure in West Africa (Oxford: James Currey). Trouwborst, A. (1959) ‘La mobilité de l’individu en fonction de l’organisation politique du Burundi’, Zaïre, XIII (8), 787–800. Trouwborst, A. (1962) ‘L’organisation politique et l’accord de clientèle au Burundi’, Anthropologica, IV, 1, 9–43. UNOPS-UNDP-CNTB (2007) Mission d’étude sur la problématique foncière et les solutions alternatives face aux défis de la réintégration et réinsertion des sinistrés au Burundi. Rapport finale [sic] (Copenhagen: PEM-Consult). Uvin, P. (2009) Life after Violence. A People’s Story of Burundi (London and New York: Zed Books). van Leeuwen, M. and L. Haartsen (2005) Land disputes and local conflict resolution mechanisms in Burundi. Final, complete English version (Bujumbura: CED-Caritas). Vandeginste, S. (2009) Law as a Source and Instrument of Transitional Justice in Burundi (Antwerp: University of Antwerp). Verbrugghe, A. (1965) ‘Le régime foncier coutumier au Burundi’, Revue Juridique de droit écrit et coutumier du Rwanda et du Burundi, V (2), 59–82. Verbrugghe, A. (1970) ‘L’évolution de la propriété foncière coutumière au Burundi’, Revue Juridique et Politique, Indépendance et Coopération, XXIV (4), 1201–1206. von Benda-Beckmann, K. (1981) ‘Forum Shopping and Shopping Forums: Dispute Processing in Minangkabau Village’, Journal of Legal Pluralism, 19, 117–159. Weilenmann, M. (1997) Burundi: Konflikt und rechtskonflikt. Eine rechtsethnologische Studie zur Konfliktregelung der Gerichte (Frankfurt am Main: Brandes and Apsel). Woodman, G., U. Wanitzek and H. Sippel (2004) Local Land Law and Globalization. A Comparative Study of Peri-urban Areas in Benin, Ghana and Tanzania (Münster: Lit Verlag). World Bank (1975) Land Reform Sector Policy Paper (Washington, DC: The World Bank).




6 Sharing Scarcity: Issues of Land Tenure in South-east Rwanda

6.1. Introduction Access to land is of crucial importance in Rwanda where the population density is the highest in Africa, many people have been displaced and land is a scarce resource. Even before the 1990–1994 war and the genocide in 1994, there was severe competition for land and a shortage of off-farm income-generating opportunities, which resulted in unequal land distribution, rapid processes of land dispossession, increasing incidences of land disputes and greater social tension (Andre and Platteau, 1998). In recent years, land scarcity, land inequality and land disputes have aggravated even further (Van Hoyweghen, 1999; Bigagaza et alii, 2002; Des Forges, 2006; Pottier, 2006; Wyss, 2006). Land in Rwanda may be scarce but it is still the most important productive asset for the majority of the population, 90 per cent of whom are engaged in subsistence farming. Access to land is also related to ethnicity.1 Before the war, the political climate under former Hutu-dominated governments was unfavourable to Tutsi and many fled the country. During the genocide, competition for land was one of the forces that drove the violence, which was not only directed at Tutsi but also at people involved in land disputes or who owned large holdings (Andre and Platteau, 1998). The war and the genocide led to many people being displaced and with the massive return of refugees in the aftermath of the genocide, the question of repossession of land and other assets became urgent2 (Nyamarushwa, 2004; Musahara and Huggins, 2005; Pottier, 2006). Any decisions the current government takes to resolve the crisis over land therefore have ethnic implications (Musahara and Huggins, 2005; Des Forges, 2006). For example, the Rwandan Patriotic Front, the Tutsi-dominated party that is currently in power, has distributed 104



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large tracts of pastoral land to Tutsi refugees who have returned to Rwanda, without demonstrating a similar commitment to other landless Rwandans. General studies of land issues tend to analyse land tenure from an economic angle, regarding it as merely a productive resource and neglecting its social and political dimensions. However, culture, power and material resources are of equal importance as together they shape the course of economic and social activity and change. Berry argues that ‘culture and politics neither imitate nor distort economic activity: all three are interrelated dimensions of social processes’ (Berry, 1993). Property rights to land are also fundamentally about social relations: ‘They are not about the link between a person and a thing (object of property), but rather about the relations between people with regard to a thing’ (MeinzenDick and Mwangi, 2009: 7–8). As land tenure is derived from social relationships and institutions, changed property rights lead to redefined social relationships. Changes in land tenure and property rights thus have implications for the entire social fabric of rural communities (Berry, 1993; Meinzen-Dick and Mwangi, 2009). This chapter analyses how changes in land-tenure arrangements in the aftermath of the 1994 genocide have impacted on social relations in a Rwandan peasant community where survivors, perpetrators and returned refugees have had to find a way to live together and share the space available, a situation which has led to tensions and suspicions. In addition, the population was confronted with increasing scarcity of land due to higher population pressure. Local access to land and land relations have been influenced by two government policies implemented in the late 1990s: (1) the sharing of land by the Hutu population with Tutsi refugees who have returned after years in exile; and (2) the forceful resettlement of peasants from dispersed settlements in the hills to ones in a group village structure. This chapter examines these policies and their impact on already strained social relations in the context of a post-genocide society where the social fabric has not yet been repaired and fear and mistrust still prevail.

6.2. Research setting and methodology The fieldwork this chapter is based on was carried out between July and December 2008 and in August 2009 in ‘Mubinda’,3 a village in southeast Rwanda some 20 kilometres from the town of Kibungo in Ngoma district in the former Kibungo Province.4 About 45 interviews were held with peasants (individuals, couples and parents with children) and with



Margot Leegwater 105


local authorities. Although Rwanda is a small country, each region has its own pre-genocide and post-genocide history. The findings presented here are indicative of the former Kibungo Province only.

Mubinda is a village of nearly 5,000 inhabitants and some 1,000 houses that are spread out along a long (dirt) main road. It is part of a regional centre which has several primary schools, two secondary schools, two medical centres and five different churches. The area is considered to be relatively well-off because of the bananas it grows, which are transported to Kigali for sale on a daily basis. With a few exceptions, the people of Mubinda are peasants who mainly cultivate for their own consumption. They work full-time cultivating their own fields or are engaged as (temporary) agricultural labour in someone else’s field as many people in Mubinda do not have much land of their own to cultivate. Almost half of the respondents5 cultivate less than 0.5 hectares and about 30 per cent have between 0.5 and 1.5 hectares.6 However, Mubinda can be regarded as a fairly wealthy village as two-thirds of the respondents own cows or goats, or both. About 60 per cent of the livestock owners have cows, almost 20 per cent have goats, and well over 20 per cent have both.7 Mubinda’s economy is not well connected to economic opportunities beyond the local level. Most people only have access to monetary resources by selling part of their harvest or through agricultural labour, in which more than half of the interviewees were engaged. Depending on the season, they work as labourers two or three times a week. For four hours work a day they can earn 500 Rwandan francs (about US$1) or they may be paid in kind. Compared to other areas of Rwanda this is relatively good.8 Almost a third of respondents indicated that they made use of labourers to cultivate or to herd cows. About 20 per cent of those interviewed had another job, for instance as a bricklayer or repairman, from which they earned additional income. 6.2.2. Methodological issues In the introduction we mentioned the ethnic connotations of land policies. Ethnicity and land have a huge impact on socio-economic life and are, therefore, sensitive topics. This is especially true of ethnic issues given the country’s horrific past and the fact that the current authorities do not allow any reference to ethnicity (Thomson, 2009). The current government has, for example, removed all ethnically related references from policy documents and identity cards in an attempt to accentuate



6.2.1. Research setting

people’s shared Rwandan identity. However, ethnicity is still an important social reality (Reyntjens, 2005) and a relevant issue to take into account in this study, especially because Hutu in the research area have had to share their land with returning Tutsi. The sensitivity of this issue, however, made it impossible to ask direct questions concerning a person’s ethnicity or ethnically related conflicts. Due to the prevalence of the public transcript and the sensitivity of the subject, all reference to ethnicity was avoided in questions about current relations between the 1994 Hutu refugees, the old caseload Tutsi refugees and the Tutsi genocide survivors. Instead we talked about ‘the three groups’, an expression that everybody understood. Furthermore, local people did not readily talk about land problems and land conflicts. Scott’s concepts of public and hidden transcripts play an important role here. These transcripts arise when ‘the power of social forms embodying etiquette and politeness requires us often to sacrifice candor for smooth relations with our acquaintances’ (Scott, 1990). They occur in social subordination when the subordinate (out of prudence, fear or the desire to find favour) aligns to the public discourse to appeal to the expectations of the powerful. However, in addition to public discourse or transcript, there is a hidden transcript that takes place ‘offstage and beyond direct observation by the dominant and that confirms, contradicts, or alters what appears in the public transcript. The hidden transcript is produced for a different audience and under different constraints of power than the public transcript. The discrepancy between the two reveals the impact of domination on public discourse’ (Scott, 1990: 1–5). The discrepancy between the two transcripts is considerable in Rwanda. Ingelaere uses the term ‘rehearsed consensus’ to show this as well as the Kinyarwanda word ubwenge, which refers to a subtle communication code. The rehearsed consensus is the dominant and dominating discourse (or public transcript) in post-genocide Rwanda and the authorities are passing this on to the population in sensitisation campaigns, commemoration ceremonies, speeches, re-education programmes and communal labour activities. The cultural concept of ubwenge is a specific way of communicating in which what one says, does not necessarily correspond to what one thinks. Instead, it is the status of (and connection between) the conversation partners or their relationship with the surrounding socio-political environment that needs to be served in a conversation. With this communication code, truth and lies stand in a dialectical relationship (Ingelaere, 2009). Sitting opposite a Western researcher, respondents are inclined to hold on to the rehearsed





consensus and ubwenge. They do not easily open up and explain their feelings of anger or frustration to an outsider, in order to avoid running into trouble with the local authorities.

When studying the recent history of land access and policies in Mubinda, its population can best be divided into three main groups. The largest is Hutu, many of whom fled to Tanzania when the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) entered the area at the end of April 1994. Of all the Hutu interviewed in this study, only a few had not left the country,9 and most had returned in 1996 or 1997. These refugees are called ‘new caseload refugees’ or ‘1994 refugees’ and within this group there are some people of mixed Hutu-Tutsi descent. The second group are Tutsi (and their descendants) who fled earlier massacres between 1959 and 1963. When the RPF took power in Rwanda in July 1994, they returned to Rwanda, arriving while Hutu were still taking refuge in Tanzania. These Tutsi are called ‘returnees’, ‘59-ers’ or ‘old caseload refugees’. The third and smallest group are Tutsi who were living in Rwanda in 1994, survived the genocide and never left the country.10 Of these three groups, new caseload Hutu refugees and old caseload Tutsi refugees have been most affected by the land-sharing policy, while the whole of the population has been targeted by the villagisation policy. 6.3.1. Land-sharing policy Hundreds of thousands of old caseload Tutsi refugees returned to Rwanda in 1994. They often had nowhere to go. After they had fled the country in the 1960s, the remaining population appropriated their land, which was then confiscated and reallocated by the authorities. The 1993 Arusha Peace agreement, signed by the then Hutu government and the RPF, foresaw the return of these Tutsi refugees and made regulations to cover the eventuality. The treaty was signed in August 1993 and recommended that refugees restrain from reclaiming their former land so as to ensure peaceful coexistence. The provision was that the state would give them alternative land (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004). When the RPF took over power in July 1994, this recommendation became part of its land policy. To facilitate the resettlement of the old caseload Tutsi refugees, the government freed up considerable amounts of national park or forest land and other vacant land. However, this was not sufficient and refugees began to settle on land parcels abandoned by the 1994 Hutu



6.3. Externally induced policies imposed on the local level

refugees. They felt it was their turn to take the land and homes of the 1994 Hutu refugees, most of whom they labelled génocidaires11 (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004). But when the Hutu refugees returned in large numbers in December 1996, major problems arose. By then, the authorities had developed the idea of land sharing, whereby the 1994 Hutu refugees had to share their fields with the old caseload Tutsi refugees. This was seen as ‘the solution to a potentially explosive encounter’ between old caseload Tutsi refugees and returning 1994 Hutu refugees (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004: 4).12 Interestingly, the land-sharing policy was not based on any firm legislation or a decree that would have given it a legal basis. The government described the policy as a participatory process in which the majority of the population participated to avoid the real danger of renewed violence (Republic of Rwanda, 2001). In theory it was voluntary but reality proved to be different. Local authorities ‘simply required farmers to divide their fields – generally in half – and to make the second part of their land available to [Tutsi] returnees with no payment or other kind of compensation’ (Des Forges, 2006: 363). The land-sharing policy was mainly carried out in the eastern part of the country because this area had seen the largest number of returning refugees (Des Forges, 2006). The local governor of this region held public consultations prior to the mass return of refugees that were aimed at sensitising local leaders and representatives on how to receive the Hutu refugees and encouraging the old caseload Tutsi refugees and 1994 Hutu refugees to share their land. After these consultations, a landsharing arrangement was set up that became operational at cell level. Each cell formed a local commission of two old caseload Tutsi refugees, two 1994 Hutu refugees and two persons who had not fled the country who supervised the policy (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004; Bruce, 2007). Many Hutu in Mubinda had fled to Tanzania when the RPF took control of the region and on their return most of them found old caseload Tutsi refugees cultivating their fields and living in their homes. At first, the 1994 Hutu refugees were housed in tents and were not allowed to reclaim their houses or their plots of land. Then they were ‘encouraged’ by the local commissions to share their plots with the old caseload Tutsi refugees. As ‘owners’ of the plots, the 1994 Hutu refugees were allowed to choose the part or, in the case of more plots, the plot, they wanted to keep. Land sharing occurred without compensation and each field was supposed to be shared equally. Only people with very little land were exempt from sharing. Tutsi genocide survivors in Mubinda did not




generally have to share their land as it was felt that they had suffered enough during the genocide.13 In discussions about the land-sharing policy during the research, most respondents were reluctant to talk about their feelings and opinions, and none explained how the sharing arrangement had come about. Instead their replies focused on the sensitisation campaigns through which the local authorities had tried to convince the Hutu population that ‘the returned old caseload Tutsi refugees were also Rwandans with rights to a place to stay and to land’ (Interviews 2008). Interestingly, this almost identically phrased dominant discourse or public transcript was raised by both old caseload Tutsi refugees and 1994 Hutu refugees. However, although one or two respondents suggested that, after sensitisation, Hutu would be willing to share their land voluntarily, the majority of the respondents (especially the 1994 Hutu refugees) claimed that sharing was ‘compulsory’ and ‘a law’. Despite the fact that most respondents replied in line with the public transcript concerning land sharing, a lot of the respondents (old caseload Tutsi refugees and 1994 Hutu refugees alike) expressed their discontent by using some form of hidden transcript, indirectly stating how the land-sharing policy had wronged them. Many 1994 Hutu refugees, for example, complained that after sharing their land, they were left with little or no land for themselves or to pass on to their children. A second complaint was that the authorities did not always divide land up equally but favoured old caseload Tutsi refugees, a friend or acquaintance, or often themselves. A third complaint regarded the behaviour of old caseload Tutsi refugees. According to a Hutu refugee, some old caseload Tutsi refugees (he did not want to say how many) combined land claims in the case-study region with successful claims to their former lands in their region of origin. Some Tutsi refugees sold the plot they had received through land sharing and moved to a region where there was more land available. A final concern among Hutu respondents, which was often made after one of these complaints, was their lack of power to contest land-sharing agreements. Oda for instance stated: ‘No, it made no sense to be angry, because it [land sharing] was compulsory and there has been a lot of sensitization concerning this’ (Interview, December 2008). While most respondents did not expose their hidden transcripts, two Hutu respondents, Mercia and Sylvestre, were clearly willing to abandon the public transcript and depicted a rather worrying image. Sylvestre argued that the land-sharing policy was painful for him and others who had returned from exile because they were not allowed to reclaim




their houses or harvest their occupied fields. Even trying to look inside their house was forbidden. According to him, the old caseload Tutsi refugees were sometimes mean and could sell their harvests while the 1994 Hutu refugees’ children might be ‘dying of hunger’. The situation became tense and there was a lot of insecurity: ‘people could lift you from your bed at night to beat you up’ (Interview, July 2008). Mercia’s reaction showed that she still feels unhappy about the situation: ‘I was not pleased when we had to share; to give a plot to someone you don’t know while it is not your will, it is something that really hurts. There are times that you lack something in your field that you can find in the field that you gave up and it is you who planted this and the other person will not give it to you. You gave away this field for free and he does not want to give you this thing and he even refuses. This really hurts. But because it was compulsory you had to do it’ (Interview, July 2009). Most old caseload Tutsi refugees had fewer difficulties with the fact that they had to share the land they had occupied in the absence of the Hutu new caseload refugees. Their comments regarding the land-sharing policy instead referred to tense social relations at the local level. They expressed their concern about the lack of support among Hutu for the land-sharing policy. After sharing, Hutu sometimes moved the boundaries to enlarge their parcel of land at the expense of an old caseload Tutsi refugee, and others tried to hide some of their plots to avoid sharing them. Tutsi refugees also referred to the deep distrust between them and the 1994 Hutu refugees. One interviewee mentioned: ‘In those days we also understood them, imagine someone who comes back from exile and had a bad life and he finds people occupying his belongings. When they returned, they were afraid of us, and we were also afraid of them and said “My God, these Interahamwes14 will kill us” and they said “We have nothing to say, even though they had taken our goods, the government will support them and protect them” ’ (Interview, October 2008). It is difficult to ascertain how deeply land sharing has affected the social relations between the groups involved. When asked about the current relationship between parties who shared land, both givers and receivers would usually stick to the public transcript and argue that there were no problems. But ‘it is difficult to look into the heart of someone else’, as one old caseload Tutsi refugee said. For Rwandans, the heart is where the truth lies, but at the same time it is inaccessible to others. Because of the violence experienced in their midst, they say that their hearts have changed because human beings changed into an inhuman state (Ingelaere, 2007). It is therefore unclear whether other old




caseload Tutsi refugees truly understand the reluctance of their Hutu neighbours to share, or whether they feel this reluctance is unfounded. Nor is it clear whether the 1994 Hutu refugees blame the authorities, who ultimately instigated the policy and sometimes violated the rules, or whether they bear a grudge against the old caseload Tutsi refugees. The implementation of land sharing in Mubinda did not occur peacefully. The sharing policy was controversial; people had to be ‘persuaded’ to share their land and it occurred in a compulsory fashion. In addition, the land-sharing policy had an enormous impact on land-tenure security. Peasants who had occupied and cultivated plots of land for many decades were suddenly confronted with a situation in which their access and user and transfer rights to land were being called into question. 6.3.2. Villagisation policy In December 1996, while implementing the land-sharing policy in parts of Rwanda, the government also launched its national villagisation policy, the imidugudu programme. Imidugudu (sing: umudugudu) in the Rwandan language means grouped settlements.15 The programme was initially set up to provide accommodation for returning old caseload Tutsi refugees in response to the acute housing shortage after their mass return from exile. Initially UNHCR and other NGOs funded the villagisation policy as an emergency measure but the government decided to not only accommodate homeless people. They aimed to completely abolish the country’s traditionally dispersed housing pattern by regrouping the entire rural population in villages. And even those who had a house were supposed to move to an umudugudu. What was originally drawn up as an attempt to resolve an immediate housing crisis became a rigorous and highly controversial plan that involved relocating all Rwandans into grouped settlements. The new focus of the villagisation policy was disputed by international donors who opposed the idea of regrouping the entire population and, as a result, UNHCR and other international donors withdrew their financial support (Bigagaza et alii, 2002). The villagisation policy was based on the assumption that resettling the population in villages would facilitate the provision of services, like schools and healthcare centres, and would contribute to national security as the settlements offered greater safety than the traditionally dispersed homesteads (Human Rights Watch, 2001). In addition, the villagisation policy was supposed to contribute to reconciliation




and reintegration as the imidugudu programme was intended to benefit every group in society equally. Old caseload Tutsi refugees, new caseload Hutu refugees and Tutsi survivors would live together in close proximity and this integration would ideally lead to more relaxed interethnic relations. Thirdly, the policy was supposed to ensure a more efficient and centrally controlled use of rural space that would result in more land being available for cultivation and improved land management. Space for habitation would be separated from agriculture and grazing land, and houses would be built on the least fertile land. It was also assumed that living in grouped settlements would facilitate cooperation between farmers (Van Hoyweghen, 1999; Eltringham and Van Hoyweghen, 2000; Hilhorst and van Leeuwen, 2000; Human Rights Watch, 2001; Pottier, 2002; Musahara and Huggins, 2005). Furthermore, the government intended to stimulate modern, larger-scale agricultural production methods. Distancing peasants from their fields, a deputy reasoned, would cut their emotional attachment to a piece of land and make them treat it as something of economic value and see it in terms of its productive capacity. This would enhance a process by which less productive farmers would increasingly become detached from agricultural livelihood strategies. Land would then be transferred to the most productive actors and the labour of others would be absorbed in the farm and off-farm sector (Human Rights Watch, 2001). The villagisation policy was carried out initially, and most rigorously, in the eastern part of the country. By the end of 1999, 90 per cent of the population of Kibungo Province were living on newly constructed housing sites (Van Hoyweghen, 1999; Human Rights Watch, 2001). In Mubinda, about a quarter of the population was already living on or near the main road and the villagisation policy meant that the rest of the population had to move. They were resettled on 20 by 30 metre plots on or near the main road in Mubinda after they had destroyed their original houses. In most cases, the authorities provided the plots of land and also the materials to construct new houses. Houses were also built on land belonging to other citizens, with compensation rarely being paid. The villagisation policy had several consequences. First of all, old caseload Tutsi refugees often gained from the policy by acquiring property. They were usually the first to be resettled in the imidugudu when donor money and support were still available. Most Hutu, however, felt that they lost out in the resettlement policy and experienced deterioration in their situation. They were forced to destroy their old homes and move but, by this time, donor money for the villagisation policy had




frequently dried up and people had to build their own houses. Furthermore, they felt that the villagisation policy served the interests of others, meaning the old caseload Tutsi refugees, and many were frustrated by the treatment they received from the (often Tutsi) authorities. Many Hutu therefore perceived the villagisation policy as ethnically discriminatory (RISD, 1999; Hilhorst and van Leeuwen, 2000; Human Rights Watch, 2001; Bigagaza et alii, 2002; Pottier, 2002). The villagisation policy was further contested, mostly by Hutu, due to the fact that after moving to an umudugudu many people had lost land in real terms (RISD, 1999; Human Rights Watch, 2001). People whose land was taken for the umudugudu were generally not compensated, despite government promises that they would be by the new occupants (Jones, 2000; Human Rights Watch, 2001; Wyss, 2006). Others lost land because the authorities redistributed it to old caseload Tutsi refugees or appropriated it for their own private exploitation. A nationwide study in 2000 by the ADL (Rwandese Association for the Defence of Human Rights and Public Liberties) showed that 66 per cent of the population who were living in an umudugudu said they had no land,16 while some 21 per cent claimed that they had smaller parcels than when they lived in their previous houses (Human Rights Watch, 2001). The Hutu population resented being displaced from their farmland, and after resettlement often lived much further from their fields because the intended redistribution of land never took place. They claimed that they were working fewer hours in their fields and harvested less because it was a lot of work to transport the harvest home and take manure to their fields. They were also less able to protect their fields from damage by animals and theft (Hilhorst and van Leeuwen, 2000). Although most respondents in Mubinda did not comment on their life in the umudugudu, the following remark by Mercia (who already criticised land sharing, above) is illustrative of the feelings of resentment: ‘I do not need this umudugudu, it would be better if the old caseload [Tutsi] refugees were here because they did not have fields before. I could have stayed on my hill, where I was born, near my fields. Nowadays it is a long way, it takes 2 to 2.5 hours to get there. You work, but not like someone who can be next to his field. There are even times that you put things down and later someone has stolen them because it is too far [to guard it] . . . . At present we are suffering a little because we always have to buy food. We do not produce, the harvest is not like it used to be because it is far away and going there takes a lot of time . . . . The umudugudu does not help a lot, even when they say that it is development’ (Interview, July 2009).





The previous sections discussed the land-sharing and villagisation policies in the context of Mubinda. For the majority of the population, these policies have led to a restriction of access to land and increased landtenure insecurity. As mentioned earlier, access to land and land-tenure security do not only have economic dimensions but also political and social implications. Both policies have resulted in resentment among the majority of the population and have had a negative impact on social relations. These are now examined to assess the impact of the government’s policies on local land dynamics and the wider social fabric. 6.4.1. Strained social relations When people were asked to describe the social life in Mubinda, almost every respondent answered: ‘relations are good’. As poverty is prevalent in Mubinda, people explained how they depend on friends and neighbours in times of need, lending each other money and visiting neighbours who are ill. This might imply that people feel a sense of communal solidarity, but they still try to confirm the public transcript. However, quite a few statements revealing the hidden transcript showed that local social relations were not as harmonious: ‘There is no relationship [between neighbours] . . . . If you are ill, that is your problem. You are going to be cured and you look for ways to live on your own . . . . Rwandans are like that. Instead of taking care of someone who is ill they only take care of themselves . . . . No way will they rely on the family of others’ (Interview, October 2008). Jean, an old caseload Tutsi refugee whose wife had been ill for a long time, also stressed this lack of communal solidarity: ‘Here there is no community life because no one can come to help you out. There is no real contact between people, even between neighbours. Imagine that there is no one who can even come and cultivate for you. Even the people you came from Tanzania with, are not concerned with your affairs; that is to say that it is everyone for himself. So there is no solidarity’ (Interview, October 2008). When specifically asking about relations between the three groups (the 1994 Hutu refugees, the old caseload Tutsi refugees and the Tutsi genocide survivors), most people still stuck to the public transcript and assured us that relations were fine. Some of the Hutu respondents, however, gave examples illustrating the opposite. Epimaque, for



6.4. Land dynamics as social relations: the impact of land-sharing and villagisation policies on the social fabric

instance, explained that people do have problems with the other groups but keep them in their heart. ‘I for instance, my wife is a Tutsi who came from outside, from Tanzania. That means that there was a big problem, her family did not want her to marry me. People asked her “How are you going to live with such a person? You yourself know that they are not good people.” People who came from outside [old caseload Tutsi refugees] always want to know: “Who are you? What do you do?” They are always interested in ethnicity issues’ (Interview, October 2008). Evariste and his Congolese wife, Angeline, also indicated that relations between the three groups are not good: ‘The state always tries to refuse the segregation of people, but there is always something bad that stays in the heart of people, it is hate’ (Interview, December 2008). This was illustrated too by the experiences of Paul, a 1994 Hutu refugee who had been in prison for 10 years on charges of genocide and who mentioned existing tensions between Tutsi genocide survivors and Hutu (ex-) prisoners. He told us about a genocide survivor who allowed neighbours to take their cattle onto his field but had refused to accept Paul’s animals. He was convinced that the reason for this was his prison sentence, as they had not had any prior personal problems. Not only Hutu feel victimised in their contacts with old caseload Tutsi refugees and Tutsi genocide survivors. The latter are also confronted with hateful words. Soline, an old caseload Tutsi refugee, mentioned that the genocide ideology17 still exists in Mubinda and claimed that people sometimes show this in their remarks (Interview, November 2008). This was confirmed by Tutsi genocide survivor and local authority Spéciose: ‘Yes, it is always there, people always speak badly. They pretend that they sympathize with us, but they don’t. I can give you an example: let’s say that my mobile phone falls on the floor and its display is broken. Even if it is not damaged, the telephone will not be like it was before. It is the same thing with us because the genocide has affected us Rwandans; we cannot be as we were before, there is always something inside us’ (Interview, December 2008). Behind the public transcript of good social relations and communal solidarity there is another reality in which hate and ethnic segregation still prevail. In announcing the hidden transcript, some respondents revealed that social life in Mubinda is to a large extent based on mistrust, fear and (ethnic) tensions. The social fabric that was destroyed by the war and the 1994 genocide is far from repaired. Restricted access to land, land conflicts and grudges against land sharing have put further pressure on this social fabric.





Most people in Mubinda depend on their land for a living but many lost land following the government’s land-sharing and villagisation policies. Land holdings have become extremely small and almost half of the respondents own less than 0.5 hectares, some 30 per cent have between 0.5 and 1.5 hectares, while one family has an exceptional 60 hectares. Compared to national figures, this average amount of land is low. An agricultural survey carried out by the Rwandan government in 2006 mentions a national average of 0.72 hectares (Koster, 2008). The way people obtained their land rights differs between the three groups because of the historical developments and policies implemented. Hutu have mainly obtained access to land through inheritance, purchase and/or rent. Indeed, the majority of the 27 respondents had inherited land from their parents. Three younger people had, however, not inherited anything and about a third of the Hutu interviewed had been able to rent an (additional) plot of land. Another increasingly important way of accessing land is through the land market. Half of the Hutu respondents had bought a plot, and for nearly 20 per cent of them this was the only plot of land they owned. The small Tutsi minority that had survived the genocide were mainly women. I interviewed four women from among this group and all had secured access to land through inheritance, either from their parents, their deceased husbands or family members. Their land had not been touched during land sharing and their plots were, therefore, much larger than those of their Hutu neighbours. However, despite relatively larger properties, these survivors were not always capable of taking advantage of their land because they had physical and mental problems. The old caseload Tutsi refugees had mainly accessed land through the land-sharing policy that obliged Hutu residents to share their landholdings. In a later stage, three of the 12 respondents accumulated additional land by buying or renting more plots. Table 6.1 shows how each group obtained land. Respondents in Mubinda claimed that conflicts over land occurred regularly. However, when asked about them in more detail,18 only a few respondents confirmed their own involvement in land disputes.19 Gasarasi and Musahara showed the impact and prevalence of land conflicts in the former Kibungo Province on a larger scale. Their study stated that 65 per cent of respondents had previous experience with land conflicts and that 52 per cent of the land conflicts were related to land sharing, followed by inheritance and family problems (24 per cent), and land scarcity (16 per cent). Land conflicts and restricted



6.4.2. Land access and land conflicts

118 Land Relations and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region Table 6.1 Land access by group in ‘Mubinda’ (case-study setting in Rwanda)

18 16

12 10 8 6 4 2 0 Hutu (N = 27)

Inherited

Survivors (N = 4)

Purchased

Rented

Tutsi refugees (N = 12) Shared

access to land can generate discontent and tensions, leading to hatred and divisions within families and communities (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004).

6.5. Conclusion The political and social dimensions of land in Rwanda are as important as its economic dimension. Land tenure and land rights are primarily social relations and changed property rights thus lead to redefined social relations and affect the entire social fabric of a community. Since the war and genocide ended in 1994, these social relations in south-east Rwanda have remained strained. Despite a public transcript that pays lip service to reconciliation, respondents confirmed that there is a lack of communal solidarity. They also mentioned continued tensions among old caseload Tutsi refugees, new caseload Hutu refugees and Tutsi genocide survivors. The social fabric has not yet been repaired and mistrust, fear and (ethnic) tension are ever present. Land conflicts and land-tenure insecurity have been exacerbated by the introduction of two government programmes: the land-sharing



Number of plots

14


policy and the villagisation policy. By ignoring sensitivities at the local level and rigidly implementing these policies, the existing tense social relations have been extended. As the social fabric is still very weak and will weaken even further as land-tenure insecurity and land conflicts increase, there could easily be renewed (ethnic) violence.

1. Classification as Hutu, Tutsi and Twa (who are considered a pygmy people) has existed since pre-colonial times, but only as social categories. During colonial rule, Belgian officials changed this classification into a clear ethnic hierarchy. Images of ethnicity came to be accepted even by many within Rwanda and ethnic stratification became a strong feature of Rwandan social reality (Newbury and Newbury, 2000: 836). 2. For a more general account of repossessions, see Johan Pottier’s Re-imagining Rwanda (Pottier, 2002: 186–190). 3. To ensure the safety of respondents, the name of the sector is not mentioned and the names of the village and all the respondents have been changed. 4. Before 1 January 2006, Rwanda was divided into 12 provinces, of which Kibungo Province was one. Today there are four provinces: Northern, Southern, Eastern and Western, and Kigali City. The administrative units in Rwanda are (in descending order of size) province, district, sector, and cell or village. 5. Quantitative data are used to give an idea of the economic situation of peasants in Mubinda. Due to the relatively small number of interviews held, the data are merely indicative and do not profess to be absolute. 6. These figures correspond with data that Gasarasi and Musahara (2004) present in their study of land problems in Kibungo Province. 7. Having livestock, especially cows, is important because they are a form of capital that can be sold in times of need. Their milk also provides an additional source of income and the animals’ manure improves soil fertility. 8. For a comparison of wages, see Ansoms (2009). 9. When the RPF entered the northern and eastern parts of Rwanda, people fled to Tanzania in large numbers. Media reports at the time reported that these parts of the country were nearly empty (Overdulve, 1997: 54). 10. As ethnicity is a sensitive issue, I could not ask about a person’s ethnicity directly. I presumed that someone who had left Rwanda in 1994 and lived in exile for a few years was Hutu, but some Tutsi also fled during this period. On the other hand, some of the old caseload refugees are Hutu. 11. Génocidaire is French for a person who participated in the genocide. 12. Interestingly, some spontaneous land-sharing agreements had already been made, often by Tutsi genocide survivors but also by some of the remaining Hutu population (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004: 4–5). 13. This is in contrast with the findings of Gasarasi and Musahara who state that: ‘Land sharing was applied in the same manner to land parcels of Tutsi genocide survivors and to those of returning 1994 Hutu refugees, contrary



Notes

14.

15.

16. 17.

18.

19.

to the once popularised assertion that land sharing was targeting the land of ethnic Hutu’ (Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004: 5). Some of the Tutsi survivors in Mubinda shared their land on a voluntary basis. Interahamwe (‘those who stand together’ or ‘those who fight together’) is the militia that carried out and supported the killing of Tutsi and moderate Hutu during the genocide. Since implementing a decentralisation programme in 2006, an umudugudu is nowadays the administrative entity that covers one or a few hills (previously referred to as cellule). Before they moved to an umudugudu, 47 per cent of these people were landless (Human Rights Watch, 2001: 42). Genocide ideology has become a dominant accusation and a label that seems to embrace other terms like negationism and divisionism (Waldorf, 2009: 109). Other literature concerning land issues in Rwanda also mentions that land conflicts are increasing (Van Hoyweghen, 1999; Gasarasi and Musahara, 2004; Huggins and Clover, 2005; Des Forges, 2006; Pottier, 2006; Wyss, 2006; Lankhorst and Veldman, 2009). In a recent study, Lankhorst and Veldman (2009) found many conflicts concerning land sharing in other parts of Rwanda. The types of conflicts people mentioned were mostly conflicts within families over inheritance and those between neighbours about the boundaries of plots.

References Andre, C. and J.P. Platteau (1998) ‘Land relations under unbearable stress: Rwanda caught in the Malthusian trap’, Journal of Economic Behavior & Organization, 34 (1), 1–47. Ansoms, A. (2009) Faces of Rural Poverty in Contemporary Rwanda: Linking Livelihood Profiles and Institutional Processes (Antwerp: Universiteit Antwerpen). Berry, S. (1993) No Condition is Permanent: The Social Dynamics of Agrarian Change in Sub-Saharan Africa (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press). Bigagaza, J., C. Abong and C. Mukarubuga (2002) ‘Land scarcity, distribution and conflict in Rwanda’ in J. Lind and K. Sturman (eds) Scarcity and Surfeit: The Ecology of Africa’s Conflicts (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies). Bruce, J. (2007) Drawing a line under the crisis: Reconciling returnee land access and security in post-conflict Rwanda, HPG Working Paper (London: Overseas Development Institute). Des Forges, A. (2006) ‘Land in Rwanda: Winnowing out the chaff’ in F. Reyntjens and S. Marysse (eds) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs: Dix ans de transitions conflictuelles: annuaire 2005–2006 (Paris: L’Harmattan). Eltringham, N. and S. Van Hoyweghen (2000) ‘Power & identity in post-genocide Rwanda’ in R. Doom and J.F.J. Gorus (eds) Politics of Identity and Economics of Conflict in the Great Lakes Region (Brussels: VUB University Press). Gasarasi, C. and H. Musahara (2004) The Land Question in Kibungo Province (Kigali: Editions de l’Université Nationale du Rwanda).




Hilhorst, D. and M. van Leeuwen (2000) ‘Emergency and development: The case of Imidugudu, Villagization in Rwanda’, Journal of Refugee Studies, 13 (3), 264–280. Huggins, C. and J. Clover (2005) From the Ground Up: Land Rights, Conflict and Peace in Sub-Saharan Africa (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies). Human Rights Watch (2001) Uprooting the Rural Poor in Rwanda (New York: Human Rights Watch). Ingelaere, B. (2007) ‘ “Does the truth pass across the fire without burning?”: Transitional justice and its discontents in Rwanda’s gacaca courts’, Discussion paper, no. 2007.07 (Antwerp: Institute of Development Policy and Management). Ingelaere, B. (2009) ‘Do we understand life after genocide? Centre and periphery in the knowledge construction in/on Rwanda’, IOB Working paper, vol. 2009.01 (Antwerp: Institute of Development Policy and Management). Jones, L. (2000) ‘The evolution of property use in Rwanda’, Refugee Survey Quarterly, 19 (3), 130–150. Koster, M. (2008) Fragmented Lives: Reconstructing Rural Livelihoods in Post-genocide Rwanda. Unpublished document. Lankhorst, M. and M. Veldman (2009) La proximité de la justice au Rwanda: Rapport socio-juridique sur les modes de gestion de conflits fonciers (Brussels: RCN Justice & Démocratie). Meinzen-Dick, R. and E. Mwangi (2009) ‘Cutting the web of interests: Pitfalls of formalizing property rights’, Land Use Policy, 26 (1), 36–43. Musahara, H. and C. Huggins (2005) ‘Land reform, land scarcity and post-conflict reconstruction: A case study of Rwanda’ in C. Huggins and J. Clover (eds) From the Ground Up: Land Rights, Conflict and Peace in Sub-Saharan Africa (Pretoria: Institute for Security Studies). Newbury, D. and C. Newbury (2000) ‘Review Essay – Bringing the peasants back in: Agrarian themes in the construction and corrosion of statist historiography in Rwanda’, The American Historical Review, 105 (3), 832–877. Nyamarushwa, L. (2004) Land Tenure and Conflicts in Burundi (summary) (Nairobi: Nairobi African Centre for Technology Studies). Overdulve, C.M. (1997) Rwanda: Volk met een geschiedenis (Kampen: Kok). Pottier, J. (2002) Re-imagining Rwanda: Conflict, Survival and Disinformation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Pottier, J. (2006) ‘Land reform for peace? Rwanda’s 2005 land law in context’, Journal of Agrarian Change, 6 (4), 509–537. Republic of Rwanda (2001) Brookings Initiative in Rwanda: Land and Human Settlements (Kigali: Ministry for Lands, Human Resettlement & Environmental Protection). Reyntjens, F. (2005) ‘The privatisation and criminalisation of public space in the geopolitics of the Great Lakes region’, Journal of Modern African Studies, 43 (4), 587–607. Rwanda Initiative for Sustainable Development (RISD) (1999) Land use and villagisation in Rwanda, Land use and villagisation workshop, Kigali. Scott, J.C. (1990) Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven: Yale University Press). Thomson, S. (2009) Resisting Reconciliation: State Power and Everyday Life in Postgenocide Rwanda. Unpublished PhD thesis.






van Hoyweghen, S. (1999) ‘The urgency of land and agrarian reform in Rwanda’, African Affairs, 98 (392), 353–372. Waldorf, L. (2009) ‘Revisiting Hotel Rwanda: Genocide ideology, reconciliation, and rescuers’, Journal of Genocide Research, 11 (1), 101–125. Wyss, K. (2006) A Thousand Hills for 9 Million People. Land Reform in Rwanda: Restoration of Feudal Order or Genuine Transformation? Fast Country Risk Profile Rwanda (Bern: Swisspeace).


Views from Below on the Pro-poor Growth Challenge: Agrarian Policies in the Context of Rural Rwanda An Ansoms

7.1. Introduction At the dawn of the new millennium, the international community placed the fight against poverty as the top priority on the development agenda. The emergence of this new development paradigm did not erase the international community’s belief in the necessity of economic growth as a trigger for development; as Bhalla states, ‘Growth is the core of economics. Inequality may be its heart, but growth is its soul . . . . Every country, irrespective of ideological persuasion, has worshiped at the altar of growth . . . . Without growth, concerns about poverty and inequality will only become greater concerns’ (2002: 13). But the general understanding of growth as the essential element shifted, such that it is now seen as a necessary but insufficient condition for achieving poverty reduction. This shift was evident in the replacement of Structural Adjustment Programmes by Poverty Reduction Strategy Papers (PRSPs). Rwanda implemented its first PRSP policy from 2002 to 2005 (see GoR, 2002), and a second Economic Development and Poverty Reduction Strategy (EDPRS) will be implemented over the 2008–2012 period (see GoR, 2007). The development literature presents essentially two interpretations of ‘pro-poor growth’. One approach regards economic growth as ‘propoor’ when poverty decreases in absolute terms (see Ravallion and Chen, 2003; Kraay, 2006). This has been the case in Rwanda. Between 2001 and 2006 annual economic growth was 4.6 per cent (i.e. 2.7 per cent per capita, World Bank, 2006). At the same time, poverty (based on 123



7

a national poverty line of 250 Rwandan francs – Rwf) decreased from 60.3 per cent to 56.8 per cent of the population. Another approach to pro-poor economic growth stresses the importance of equity, as it requires that growth disproportionately benefits the poor (e.g. Kakwani and Pernia, 2000; Klasen, 2003). The second interpretation of ‘pro-poor growth’ would conclude that since Rwanda’s Gini coefficient increased from 0.37 to 0.44 between 2001 and 2006 (GoR, 2006a) growth has definitely not been pro-poor, quite the contrary. Besides the literature dealing with the growth–poverty–inequality connection on an aggregate scale, a significant body of work focuses on the structure of growth as a crucial element in the growth–poverty link (e.g. Thurlow and Wobst, 2006). Christiaensen and Demery (2006) concluded that, in general, agricultural growth is more pro-poor than growth in other sectors, and in line with this finding there is a renewed appreciation of the agricultural sector’s importance in overall growth strategies. For example, the recent World Development Report, the first in 25 years to be devoted to agriculture, was entitled ‘Agriculture for Development’ (2007). However, focusing on rural-centred strategies in the creation of growth provides no guarantee of a pro-poor effect. The link between agricultural growth and poverty reduction relies upon the extent to which the poor participate in growth strategies. And this depends, in turn, upon local institutional arrangements (access to markets and technology, risk-reduction mechanisms, etc.; see World Bank, 2005) and the distribution of crucial assets, particularly land (Deininger and Squire, 1998; de Janvry and Sadoulet, 2000; Ravallion and Datt, 2002). In Rwanda, the hypothesised pro-poor impact of agricultural growth is limited by the low participation of poorer rural categories or groups in the growth process. This chapter aims to complement current understandings of pro-poor growth by considering the views from below. It considers how peasants perceive specific policy measures included in the Rwandan government’s ‘pro-poor’ rural strategies. The concluding section presents policy recommendations for enhancing the translation of pro-poor rhetoric into reality. The chapter’s findings are based upon field research1 conducted from May until July 2007 in six imidugudu (Kinyarwanda: sing. umudugudu2 – an administrative division) in the Southern Province of rural Rwanda (see Table 7.1). These particular imidugudu were selected for their divergent characteristics, both in terms of ‘average wealth’ (i.e. very poor to quite well off) and location (i.e. very remote to very central). In each umudugudu, I interviewed between 11 and 14 focus groups composed




125

Location

Wealth and employment opportunities

Specificities

A

very close to Kigali city and location of a large market that provides Kigali with food and meat

among the better-off imidugudu in the sample (referring to the average peasant’s situation) but big social gap between large-scale farms (often owned by outsiders) and local peasants, other off-farm employment opportunities besides agriculture (specifically in the brick-making business) were numerous but less since several of these activities have been stopped by Rwandan authorities to be reorganised and formalised.

lot of temporary immigrant workers.

B

less remote and small commercial centre on its own; fertile region, less hilly

best-off umudugudu in the sample (average peasant’s situation), population lives mainly from agriculture, extensive monocropping of cassava and coffee, lots of production for the market, cassava was affected by disease but situation improves.

C

very close to Gitarama city, region with average fertility, less hilly

among poorer imidugudu in the sample (average peasant’s situation), lots of employment opportunities besides agriculture in the past (brick-making, bicycle taxi), but not anymore due to (temporary?) ban by Rwandan authorities.

external actor (German NGO) has set up a development project (marshland modernisation with rice cultivation).

D

very remote and poorly accessible, overpopulated, infertile soils

poorest umudugudu in the sample (average peasant’s situation), extreme land scarcity, lots of agricultural labour but limited employment opportunities in the local setting, both within the agricultural and non-agricultural sectors; significant group looks for temporary work elsewhere; high prevalence of chronic malnutrition

distrust among local population.



Table 7.1 Main characteristics of the research settings


Location

Wealth and employment opportunities

Specificities

E

less remote, households live dispersed over hill and no real centre; quite fertile region

among poorer imidugudu in the sample (average peasant’s situation), wide gap in well-being of different social categories; lot of social conflicts; few peasants are self-sufficient, few other employment opportunities besides agriculture, less agricultural commerce than before due to disease that affected cassava (main crop).

lot of people are in prison or are ex-prisoners; Ministry of Defence has a coffee-washing installation in this umudugudu.

F

remote, but small commercial centre on its own, quite fertile region with clayish soil

among better-off imidugudu in the sample (average peasant’s situation); lots of banana production to make banana beer that is sold in ‘boutiques’ on the main road, lots of other commerce in local ‘boutiques’.

Source: Descriptions based on own selection of case-study areas.

of local actors of a particular socio-economic category (see Table 7.2). These categories appear in various contexts based on a customary social categorisation used by the Rwandan peasant population to refer to differences in livelihoods and overall socio-economic living conditions (see Ingelaere, 2007). Table 7.3 shows the frequency of each category in the six imidugudu.

7.2. Socio-economic dynamics at the local level All imidugudu are in one way or another confronted with structural constraints imposed by land scarcity, overpopulation and a limited potential to diversify the local economy beyond subsistence agriculture. Indeed, the problems of all Rwandan peasants relate to constraints in access to land, labour and capital markets, and to markets for agricultural and non-agricultural goods and services. One obvious characteristic of all of the case-study settings is the existence of numerous interconnections among rural actors, both within



Table 7.1 (Continued)

127

Category

Characteristics

1.

Umutindi nyakujya (Abatindi nyakujya) The most vulnerable

Destitute, beg for their livelihood, no land, no animals, live from working on other people’s lands, but not very capable in terms of labour, ignorant, not respected, discriminated against.

2.

Umutindi (Abatindi) The vulnerable

Very poor, live from working on other people’s lands, very little land with low harvests, no animals, no access to health care or schooling.

3.

Umukene (Abakene) The poor

Poor, land to produce food for their family but no surplus for the market, often work for others, no savings.

4.

Umukene wifashije (Abakene bifashije) The non-poor

Poor with a bit more land, few animals, besides subsistence production they have a small income to satisfy a few other needs (e.g. school fees for children).

5.

Umukungu (Abakungu) The wealthy

Rich in terms of food security, large farms (often with banana or coffee groves and/or forest), rich soils, some animals, enough food, employ others on own farms, at times get access to paid employment (higher-skilled jobs), have savings.

6.

Umukire (Abakire) The very wealthy

Rich in terms of revenue, land, animals, monetary revenue (coming from paid employment as civil servants or in trade), savings at official bank, prosperity often pushes them to live in urban centres.

Source: Government of Rwanda (2001, 2004a).

Table 7.3 Number of households in each socio-economic category PPA category

Imidugudu (data based on participatory mapping done in 2001) A

Unknown Umutindi nyakujya Umutindi Umukene Umukene wifashije Umukungu Umukire Total

B 2

12 131 52 6 7 208

4 7 109 7 129

C 8 3 3 211

D 2 57 49 13

32 257

E 4 6 151

F 24 2 8 134 28

18 121

179

196

Country wide∗ in 2001 (%) 2.3 20.4 53.6 20.9 1.8 0.9 100.0

Source: Based upon own research; last column is based upon Government of Rwanda (2006b).



Table 7.2 Socio-economic categories defined on the basis of PPA methodology

and between socio-economic categories, and within and between different physical settings. The extensive ‘horizontal’ interconnections among local peasants of the same socio-economic category are most visible in the various local initiatives undertaken collectively. Mutual-help groups are typically small informal groups of farmers who ‘trade’ labour by working or ‘rotating’ on each other’s fields. Along with these small solidarity webs there are a multitude of more organised associations (rotating savings and credit societies, mutual production of cash crops, rotating livestock, joint organisation of off-farm activities, etc.), most of which focus on a particular developmental goal within a specific arena. These groups, which often depend wholly on member contributions and thus typically exclude the poorest peasants, have no ambition to stimulate broader cohesion and trust; indeed, they generally have extremely rigid rules and procedures to avoid ‘free-rider’ behaviour, thus limiting their ability to support a member encountering serious problems. There are other mechanisms that show a more ‘vertical’ organisation and connect peasants with different socio-economic statuses within a specific setting. A livestock guardianage system, for example, gives poorer categories access to large or small livestock. Social interconnections are even more apparent on the local labour market, where small-scale peasants with insufficient land sell their labour to gain additional income. This is most obvious in umudugudu D, where the problem of land scarcity is most pressing and the majority of local peasants earn their main (and sometimes entire) income from wage labour. In imidugudu A, B, C and E, most inhabitants are only partly dependent upon their wages from agricultural labour. Poorer farmers supplement their on-farm income by working for their better-off neighbours. However, in all settings competition for jobs is fierce. This has resulted in situations in which the evolution in wage rates has not kept pace with food price rises on local markets. As a result, the purchasing power of net food buyers has decreased significantly (at least in the 5 years preceding the research). On the non-agricultural labour market, employment opportunities are volatile and scarce altogether. Non-agricultural jobs are typically seen as sidelines, a way to spread risk and diversify income. In the recent past these were more available in imidugudu A and C, where informal brickmaking enterprises provided the better-off categories with a profitable opportunity to invest locally, and provided poorer categories with remunerative jobs. However, the decision of Rwandan authorities to abolish these activities (at least temporarily) cut off this source of income. Nonagricultural work is still pursued by individuals trained as plumbers, masons or carpenters, who mostly still invest their occasional incomes




129

in agriculture. Participation in merchant trades is also seen as a side activity, although some better-off boutique and shop owners do generate the main part of their incomes from such trade. Even within a local setting, the forms and scales of trade can be very diverse, as in umudugudu B, where in the same locations I found large-scale next to small-scale trade, and trade of cash crops and crop surpluses next to distress sales of food crops. Interconnections between better-off and poorer peasants are also manifest on the land market, where diverse forms of land transactions are enacted. In some cases, land is rented out by richer categories to poorer peasants. I regularly came across abatindi households living in a house and on a plot of land that someone had given them out of compassion. Sometimes older peasants from better-off categories who are incapable of cultivating their land rent out plots to poorer peasants, who have been able to acquire some money. In umudugudu F, poorer peasants sometimes engage in an ikibara system. They get access to land (rather than money) in return for their labours. They get user rights on half of the surface that they prepare for cultivation, with the harvest from the other half going to the original owners. These arrangements, which often last for several years, are seen as a form of vertical solidarity by both better-off and poorer categories. Sometimes – increasingly – the arrangements are less benevolent, however. In exceptional cases, poorer peasants have been known to rent out land to better-off farmers. The most exploitative system I came across, known as the kotsa imyaka system, was found in umudugudu D (and somewhat less in umudugudu B), where poorer farmers with an urgent need for cash have had to resort to selling their harvest prematurely for a price much lower than they would have received at harvest time. This practice, of course, reinforces community power imbalances and represents a frank exploitation of the most vulnerable. Aside from interconnections among different categories of peasants within the local environment, there are also interconnections among peasants of different settings. Though all farmers aim for self-sufficiency, they depend on trade to sell occasional surpluses or to cover for occasional deficits. Market and food price mechanisms thus have a profound impact upon living conditions. Yet in all the settings I studied, the market power of small-scale farmers was obviously limited, and the reasons for their attachment to the principle of self-sufficiency were clear: they are wary of depending upon volatile and unpredictable markets in which they have no power. When queried about whether cooperatives could act as a buffer to mitigate or prevent exploitation, most felt that



An Ansoms

such a cooperative could itself become a mechanism of exploitation. Poorer socio-economic categories in umudugudu B, with their negative experiences of a marshland cooperative, rejected the idea entirely. Another illustration of interconnections among different settings is to be found in the movements of labour. In settings D and F younger people with insufficient landholdings were obliged to leave their imidugudu in search of income-generating opportunities, while settings A and B, to an important degree, depend on migrant labourers from distant regions. These labourers naturally increase competition for jobs on the local labour market, sometimes causing animosity and strife between local and external labourers (e.g. in umudugudu A). The variety of issues arising in the analyses of the study settings illustrates their complementarity. They also underline the diversity of problems that rural Rwandans must confront. The rural setting is often presented as a homogeneous environment. In reality, the opportunities and constraints that peasants face may differ within and between settings. This diversity, accordingly, requires nuanced and diverse policy approaches. In the next sections I will consider the (potential) impact of national policies on these settings, and offer a tentative answer as to why poorer categories of peasants participate so little in ‘pro-poor’ growth strategies.

7.3. The impact of national policies: why do small-scale peasants participate so little in growth strategies? In general, the Rwandan government’s mission to reengineer rural society has three main objectives (see Ansoms, 2008, 2009a). First, policy makers aim to transform the agricultural sector into a professionalised motor for economic growth. Unfortunately, the strategic elements of rural policies (i.e. professionalisation and modernisation) favour competitive and commercial farmers while enfeebling small-scale peasants. Second, policy makers have a vision of upgrading rural life by introducing ‘modern’ tools and concepts into local practices. But this part of the mission also seems to involve some intention to mask the true extent of poverty and inequality in the rural areas. Finally, policy makers hope to transform Rwanda, from the highest to the lowest level into a goal-oriented society. Overall, these processes have resulted, within the agricultural sector, in a ‘survival of the fittest’ – or more accurately, a ‘survival of the largest’ – scenario, while those disregarded by these new rural policies have had to face uncertain employment prospects (Ansoms, 2008: 30; see also Des Forges, 2006). The sections that follow




An Ansoms

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7.3.1. Monocropping and regional specialisation One of the objectives of the Rwandan government is to encourage the adoption of monocropping, that is, the cultivation of one particular crop per plot. In addition, each region, according to government plans, should specialise in particular crops based on its agro-bio-climatic conditions and in accordance with market needs. Article 63 of the land law specifies that productive land use ‘shall be based on the area’s master plan and the general structure on land allocation, organization, [and the adoption] and use of specific plants certified by relevant authorities’ (GoR, 2005). Both policies are intended to allow Rwandan farmers to realise economy-of-scale effects and expand market exchanges. To achieve these objectives, the policy plans follow a rather top-down approach. The local authorities decide which crops have a comparative advantage, and peasants are then guided towards the adoption and cultivation of these crops (see Ansoms, 2009a). Policy-imposed crop cultivation is not a recent idea. Both Belgian colonial administrators and the pre-1994 Habyarimana government practiced ‘forced cultivation’ with little success. Pottier and Nkundabashaka (1992) explain how in 1986 agronomists and vulgarisateurs promoted monocropping (next to combinations of beans and maize or soya and maize) as the only sound cultivation technique, and they point to the disastrous results of this ‘top-down’ approach in agricultural extension. Newbury and Newbury (2000) (referring to the same period), point to the dangers of state-induced practices, which often favour technical insights on climatic conditions and the suitability of land over the knowledge and abilities of the peasants themselves. They also highlight the danger of elites redirecting policies to their own benefit. Indeed, the issue of monocropping is controversial for several reasons, and in other contexts researchers have long pointed to the advantages of mixed cropping as a strategy to minimise risk and maximise profit (e.g. Webster and Wilson, 1966; Ruthenberg, 1971).



examine the Rwandan government’s mission to re-engineer and modernise rural life in terms of a number of policy interventions in local settings. Specifically, I focus on (1) the introduction of monocropping and regional crop specialisation, (2) the official registration of land titles and the consolidation of land parcels, and (3) the reorganisation of swamplands. As I will argue, the implementation of these policies has had, or is likely to have, an adverse effect on the ability of poorer peasants to participate in agricultural growth.

Nonetheless, when I asked peasants their opinions on mono- versus multicropping, the first reaction was often in favour of monocropping. I have clear indications that these answers were deliberately in line with the public transcript.3 In fact, at the state’s request, district and sector agronomists have provided education and training to local peasants on the desirability of monocropping. As a result, participants produced socially desirable answers in fixed phrases that I heard over and over again about how monocropping ‘prevents crops from standing in each other’s way’ and testifies to ‘an openness of spirit’. When questioned further, however, participants often revealed the many advantages of multicropping as a practice that diversifies risk and offers insurance against famine and one-sided food patterns, especially for poorer peasants. As one umukene participant in umudugudu D said, ‘multicropping is a way to be cautious; you may loose on one side and win on the other.’ In addition, poorer farmers chose to multicrop by combining crop types that are complementary (e.g. beans and bananas in umudugudu B, beans and maize or sorghum and cassava in umudugudu D, soya and maize in umudugudu F). Indeed, multicropping is considered a more flexible system when there is a shortage of manure, which is a prerequisite for monocropping. On the subject of whether monocropping is more or less productive than multicropping, opinions differed. Most participants acknowledged the potential of monocropping to be more productive. However, with monocropping productivity levels are more volatile, dependent upon both controllable factors beyond the reach of many peasants (e.g. access to manure, the right seed and sufficient land) and uncontrollable factors (e.g. climatic conditions and crop diseases). In umudugudu C, a participant pointed to successful experiments with monocropping conducted in the area by the Rwanda Agricultural Research Institute (ISAR), a government agency. But later in the interview all participants seemed to suggest that the potential productivity benefits do not outweigh the risks involved, especially for the poorer categories of peasants (i.e. those below the level of abakungu). The issue of regional specialisation (with each region concentrating on a few crops) also evoked mixed feelings in various settings and among both poorer and better-off categories. On this subject, focus groups often began the discussion with arguments in favour and against regional specialisation, rather than prefacing their remarks with socially desirable answers. Arguments in favour of this policy were most often put forward by members of the more prosperous focus groups. In umudugudu B, a participant stated that their region had long specialised




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in cassava and that this had produced good results and healthy profits. Similarly, in umudugudu E, better-off peasants immediately mentioned the profit potential of regional specialisation, especially the possibility of stocking and selling the product in collaboration with others to yield a good price. Nonetheless, practically all of the better-off peasants in all imidugudu are firmly attached to the principle of self-sufficiency and resist depending on the market for essential foods. It is only after they have reached a state of self-sufficiency with the variety of crops they cultivate that they do not mind cultivating another productive and profitable crop on the remainder of their land. Arguments against regional specialisation (especially as put forth by participants of several focus groups in umudugudu F) focused first on the large diversity of soil types that exist, even within a local setting. One participant in umudugudu D pointed out that cultivating the same crop year after year leaves the soil ‘tired’, and that rotation is necessary to protect the soil’s quality. There were also risk-related arguments. Specialising in one crop renders peasants extremely vulnerable to crop loss from diseases and adverse weather conditions that frequently hit the locale. Dividing one’s resources between different crop types with different cultivation cycles both acts as financial insurance and mitigates the risk that a disease affecting a particular crop will endanger the entire harvest. Participants pointed out further that different categories of peasants, each with their particular needs, may prefer a different range of crop types; as one participant put it, ‘one may be neighbours, but not from the same family.’ For example, poorer peasants who live from day to day cannot invest exclusively in crops with long cultivation cycles. Participants of poorer focus groups in imidugudu B and D in particular pointed to the importance of cultivating sweet potatoes so that their children have food even when they are waiting for other crops to mature. In umudugudu E an umukene participant suggested that when the state ‘imposes’ a particular crop it should offer a subsidy to poorer peasants to buffer the family’s food needs before the crop can be harvested. Most respondents also did not consider the option of crop exchange and trade on local markets as a viable strategy that would sustain regional specialisation. In umudugudu D, such an approach is ruled out by their isolation; indeed, a participant in the umudugudu authorities’ focus group remarked that ‘the conditions for monocropping to work are to have a reliable market and good roads.’ I received similar reactions in other settings. The reluctance of peasants to depend on the market is further due to the poor integration of local markets and the limited



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bargaining power of local growers. Prices are mostly set by intermediary brokers, who profit from regional crop surpluses and shortages while individual peasants remain relatively powerless in the trading chain. Overall, one may conclude that forcefully restricting peasants to the cultivation of a few crops in a monocropping system makes little sense. Indeed, the extreme variety in soil types, even within the same locality, and in climatic conditions makes it very difficult for local administrators to select the ‘right’ crops for each region under their control. Without the availability of risk insurance to protect them and with mechanisms that increase their bargaining power on markets, small-scale peasants will likely resist monocropping and regional specialisation. 7.3.2. Land registration and consolidation Another objective of the Rwandan government is to register all landholdings and regulate all land transactions through formal legal procedures (GoR, 2005; see Article 26).4 By securing official land titles, the government aims for increased investment in land conservation and quality improvements (GoR, 2004b). The land law is intended to tackle the problem of land fragmentation by prohibiting the division of land into parcels smaller than 1 hectare in size (GoR, 2005, see Article 20). In 2000, three-quarters of all households did have landholdings smaller than this, with the average household owning 0.71 hectares (Jayne et alii, 2003). Meeting the legal requirement can be accomplished either by avoiding the division of land plots or by consolidating plots. For example, people with adjacent plots may cultivate them together, each keeping their own part of the harvest (based upon plot size); or brothers and sisters may manage their land inheritance collectively instead of dividing it up. Another option is for rural investors to accumulate land, which, in line with government intentions, should lead to larger production units and improved productivity. At the time of my research (2007), most participants were poorly and only partially informed about the details of the new land law. In several imidugudu some people mentioned that a major advantage of land registration is that it can reduce conflicts over land within families and between neighbours. Another advantage would be the clarity it brings to land transactions. Some respondents had reservations about the extent of bureaucracy that would be involved, and others were clear that they did not want to pay for a land title and that a land registration fee would be a burden on poorer socio-economic categories. Various factors also may forestall successful land registration. Peasants are highly




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reluctant to reveal the true extent of their property holdings (to the research team, to one another, and most certainly to the authorities), and respondents expressed concern that registered titles could be used as a basis for taxation. The government’s goal of land consolidation was considered even more problematic. In various settings respondents saw land consolidation as ‘possible in the marshlands’ (where it was already taking place) but ‘impossible in the hills’, where land ownership is seen, in principle, as an individual right. ‘People have their own ways of doing things,’ said one respondent, and they value their individuality in making agricultural decisions. A participant in umudugudu D put it very clearly: ‘You cannot touch upon the land of another. If you do that, he will cut you into pieces.’ A fellow participant added that campaigning for plot consolidation would be equivalent to an act of aggression towards others. Focus group participants raised several practical objections to consolidation in combination with joint cultivation. They noted that adjacent plots do not necessarily have the same fertility and productivity for a certain crop type. In addition, people have different capacities in terms of ‘physical and moral force’; specifically, individuals from different socio-economic categories might find it nearly impossible to agree on a joint project. Better-off peasants in particular did not seem inclined to link their land and production decisions to poorer categories. Poorer peasants, for their part, expressed concern that land consolidation could lead to an erosion of their land rights. A participant in the umukene wifashije focus group in umudugudu D explained that people with different-sized land holdings ‘play a different game’. One participant in the umutindi group added that the rich, for example, harvest cassava after 5 years, whereas the abakene harvest parts after some months in order to feed themselves. Similar statements were made in other focus groups in the various settings. Even within families, the idea of keeping inherited land consolidated by cultivating it collectively is problematic. Responding to my question as to whether it would be possible to manage a farm collectively (i.e. ‘without subdivision’) among brothers and sisters, one member of the umukene wifashije focus group in umudugudu D said that the family member with the most power would take the largest part of the harvest. Another person agreed that communal management of an inheritance is simply impossible, to which someone else added that they could end up by killing each other. Overall, peasants are reluctant to register their landholdings. The government’s registration law is based upon a vision of the state as the single



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granter of property rights, but in reality formal land law is only one of a number of normative frameworks that include customary systems. Rwandan peasants operate in a context of legal pluralism in which various institutional rules interact, reinforce and compete with one another (see Griffith, 1986; Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002). They see formal law as only one device to determine or secure land rights, and this results in a partial adoption, partial reinterpretation and partial ignorance of formal narratives when they are translated into the local setting. It is also not always clear to them how an official registration of landholdings could help them: relatively land-rich peasants fear a situation in which the authorities would know their true holdings, and poorer peasants do not see the utility of registration and fear official interference in production decisions. In addition, all fear that the Rwandan authorities may use registration information for taxation. Land consolidation is even more controversial. Peasants seem attached to their individual right to make decisions concerning their landholdings and point to their different needs as an issue that makes communal land use problematic. 7.3.3. The reorganisation of swamplands The government’s current swampland policy is inspired by the same objectives as the land policy: to maximise agricultural output while using land more efficiently and productively. However, the approach adopted for the swamplands is different from the one applied in the hills. Instead of assigning individual property titles to local peasants, Article 29 of the land law says that ‘swampland belongs to the state. It shall not definitively be allocated to individuals and no person can use the reason that he or she has spent a long time with it to justify the definitive takeover of the land’ (GoR, 2005). As no private property rights on swamp plots can be allocated to individuals, the government assumes the role of principal swampland developer. This approach may take two forms. In some locations the government makes swampland available, as a concession, to private investors (cfr. imidugudu A and B). In others, the national government mandates local authorities to allocate marshland plots to farmer groups that use collective cultivation systems (cfr. imidugudu C, D, E and F). All of the settings in this study are located near a swampland. In imidugudu C, D, E and F (and partly in umudugudu B5 ), the swampland reorganisation policy took the form of promoting collective production systems, either coordinated by an external NGO or left entirely to the initiative of local authorities and influential social actors within the




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umudugudu. In these settings, marshland associations have progressively claimed user rights that were previously in the hands of individual peasants. Although swampland reforms affect peasants in very different ways, some general patterns are evident. First of all, in nearly all cases, financial considerations effectively preclude participation from the poorer groups in swampland associations. In imidugudu B, C, D and E, this was explicitly mentioned as an important constraint. The swampland association entry cost, though differing widely in different settings (i.e. from hundreds up to thousands of Rwf), has an immediate impact upon access. Besides an initial membership fee, payments are often required for seed and other materials. Some associations combine cultivation activities with cooperative savings accounts, which are sometimes linked to cooperatives operating at a higher administrative level (i.e. district or province). As a result, the de facto entry cost can rise quite dramatically. In settings D and E my sources also mentioned ‘ignorance’ (or a lack of social relations) as a factor preventing farmers from joining a swampland association. Many peasants, I was told, did not anticipate ‘how associations would take it over’ and only became aware of the impact of collectivisation when the associations were ‘full’ of better-informed and better-connected farmers, chasing individual users from their swampland plots. Furthermore, national policy makers impose the uniform technical solution of monocropping upon all local settings and enforce regulations that require the cultivation of specific crop types (market-oriented ‘high-value’ crops such as rice, sugar cane, maize, etc.) (GoR, 2007: 68). In effect, cultivation practices used in the marshlands are a pilot experience with policies that Rwandan authorities want to implement in the hills. In none of the settings have there been government consultations with the local population on whether the proposed (or implemented) technical ‘solutions’ are suitable for the locale’s climate and socio-economic environmental context. Local authorities supervise the implementation of national policies as they derive their legitimacy mainly from compliance with national priorities, regardless of their appropriateness at the local level (see Ingelaere, 2007; Ansoms, 2009a). They also tend to advance the welfare of local elites as opposed to the poorer peasants. As a result, the overall trend of the swampland reorganisation policy is one of increasing polarisation and exclusion of poorer categories from access to swampland plots. Even in terms of overall productivity, the results of swampland reorganisation so far seem to be mixed. The peasants working the marshland in umudugudu C cultivate rice. The result, in terms of productivity,



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has been disastrous because the wrong seed type was selected and because part of the marshland is too dry for rice cultivation due to an uncompleted dike. Many peasants left the marshland dissatisfied with the participating NGO (the marshland developer), but local authorities would not reconsider their crop choice. In umudugudu E the marshland is cultivated by associations that have divided their plots into two parts; half of the land is cultivated communally, and half is cultivated individually by members. Monocropping is increasingly adopted in the communal part as this is monitored more closely by authorities. However, in their individual plots peasants continue to multicrop as they consider it as more productive. In umudugudu F monocropping is often used in the marshland area, although peasants did ‘admit’ that their associations sometimes practice multicropping (e.g. soya and maize). They know it is against official policy, but they find it more profitable. There are also cases in which swampland concessions have been given by the government to a private investor or to influential individuals who function as gatekeepers between the local and the external worlds. In umudugudu B peasants were obliged to cultivate maize that was compulsorily sold to the marshland manager at a below-market price (until 2007 when the manager’s concession was repealed). In a case of swampland restoration near umudugudu A (see Ansoms, 2009b), thousands of small-scale peasants were dispossessed without receiving any compensation when the Madhvani Group, a private investor buying the Kabuye Sugar Works sugarcane factory in 1996, received a concession of more than 3,000 hectares of swampland. At the time of my research, both the investor as well as individual peasants from the wider surroundings of the factory cultivated sugarcane. An analysis of the project led to two important conclusions with regard to the success of the privatisation. First, the productivity of individual small-scale farmers was considerably higher than that of the privatised company. The Madhvani Group’s current allocation of 3,000 hectares is thus not optimal in terms of overall output and productivity. In addition, I found that a production system in which individual peasants have free crop choice would be equally productive (in terms of the monetary value per hectare) to that of the individual peasants producing compulsory sugarcane. Further, free crop choice would have improved swampland access for poorer peasant categories, who do not have the financial means to invest in sugarcane production. Overall, one may conclude that swampland reforms have contributed to the replication of structural forms of poverty and inequality




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7.4. Conclusions: different layers of pro-poor growth Over the last 5 years, the Rwandan government has implemented its first Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper (PRSP). Nonetheless, the decrease in poverty has been limited, while inequality has increased. The low pro-poor character of the first Rwandan PRSP illustrates the government’s inadequate understanding of how poverty works at the local level and how national policies can adversely affect local living conditions. This chapter has tried to broaden current awareness of rural poverty by studying it from a local perspective. The rural policies examined in this paper – the adoption of monocropping and regional crop specialisation, land registration and plot consolidation, and swampland reorganisation – are guided by a logic of improving efficiency and realising economic growth with the ultimate goal of reducing poverty. The ‘views from below’, however, reveal that their poverty-reducing effects may well be limited. Potentially, these policies might be counterproductive by increasing divisions between the rural rich and poor and by deepening the poverty trap for poorer categories of peasants. The problem is not only with the policies, but also with their rigid top-down implementation. This denies rural residents of all categories their essential flexibility and freedom to air their views and/or participate in policy elaboration and implementation from the bottom up. Pro-poor growth is not just a matter of advancing the growth rate in the hope that the trickle-down effect will reduce poverty. Policy makers should understand which groups make up the poor, and what role they can play in economic growth. Elaboration of a set of pro-poor policies for the rural economy should start with an identification of the opportunities and constraints of various rural categories within diverse local settings and the positive and negative roles of these categories in the bargaining process over available resources and opportunities. Such analysis can then feed back into an integrated pro-poor policy that targets the poor both directly and indirectly.



within and beyond the swampland arena. In fact, interviewees refer to pre-existing socio-economic categories to differentiate between those who have profited from the marshland policies (umukungu) and those who have lost out (umukene). Because those with the financial means have a clear advantage in acquiring access to swamplands, the reorganisation programme in fact contributes to the polarisation of socioeconomic categories in the wider societal sphere.

First, pro-poor objectives can be realised indirectly by targeting nonpoor groups (abakire, abakungu and abakene bifashije) with growth strategies that have a maximum trickle-down effect. Better-off categories could play an important intermediate role in trade chains between largescale traders and subsistence peasants with small surpluses. Therefore, growth-enhancing policies should stimulate regional coordination and collective action to improve the bargaining position of local rural agents on regional markets. In umudugudu B, I saw how the abakungu fulfil this role by providing an outlet to poorer categories. In umudugudu D, however, the abakungu use their intermediate position in an exploitative way: confronted with distress, poorer neighbours are obliged to sell their crops prematurely at a low price, allowing the abakungu to engage in speculation. Indeed, the risk of elites appropriating the gains from policies that target the poor indirectly is real and should be controlled through careful monitoring, and by enabling the various groups of poor themselves to speak out. Second, better-off categories can play an important role within their local environments as investors in non-agricultural activities. The Rwandan government’s ambition to increase non-agricultural employment fits in with Vision 2020 policy’s objective to decrease by 2020 the proportion of agricultural-dependent persons from 85 to 50 per cent (GoR, 2000). However, stringent official registration procedures and environmental and taxation regulations have imposed serious constraints on non-agricultural investment for small-scale local actors. Clearly, policies related to the non-agricultural economy should enhance the capacity of local investors to engage in such activities. The trickle-down effect of non-agricultural investment by local better-off categories in the rural economy is probably higher than when large-scale outside investors participate in this sector. Most importantly, along with indirect approaches direct approaches for helping the poorer categories must be deployed in the form of inclusive growth-oriented policies. However, it must be recognised that there are three essentially different categories of poor with different needs: the abakene, who still farm although their landholdings are unable to achieve self-sufficiency; the abatindi, who have marginal small landholdings and are dependent on off-farm wage labour (mainly in the agricultural sector); and the abatindi nyakujya, who are entirely marginalised. The latter play almost no role in growth-oriented strategies because their agricultural output is often constrained by physical limitations. The two other categories, however, do have the potential to participate in growth creation.




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Policies to improve the role of abakene peasants in economic growth should focus on the removal of institutional constraints that confine them to risk-averse survival strategies. The total lack of any buffers for this category blocks them from engaging in potentially profitable agricultural activities that entail a degree of risk. Highly accessible smallscale credit programmes might provide such a buffer. At this point, however, credit providers focus on maximum profits for minimal risks. This favours large-scale producers with ambitious production plans and sufficient collateral to engage in these credit programmes. Government institutions, therefore, have a major role to play in the promotion of small-scale credit initiatives. This conclusion calls into question policy makers’ focus on the private sector to solve the lack of rural credit. Rotating savings and credit associations often exist at the grassroots level and could be an important mechanism to channel funds to local communities. For example, a thorough study of Banques Populaires operations before 1994 and an application of its successes might provide a breakthrough in terms of how to proceed. In addition, the government could enhance the risk-coping potential of peasants through flexible insurance mechanisms (potentially linked to credit systems). This would allow peasants to adopt more risky strategies without the threat of complete collapse in one-time failures. It could even inspire abakene households to engage in market-oriented production, despite their limited landholdings. An additional and crucial aspect is initiatives to improve the bargaining capacity of poorer peasants in local and regional markets. Again, collective action leveraged through financial support from donors and the state seems the only way to achieve this. It is also important for these peasants to believe that their voices are heard within the collectives. If not, the collectives may become instruments for imposing yet more agricultural obligations on the farm population. Furthermore, the availability of buffers may even inspire the entrepreneurial abakene to set up small-scale non-agricultural businesses. Policies may stimulate this by linking local to regional and national trade chains for non-agricultural goods. Abatindi households can finally join in growth policies through the wage labour market. Given the current ecological boundaries, this category will become more important and numerous in the near future. From my interviews with Rwandan peasants I learned that the idea of living without land is very difficult for them. They see few options besides farming, and often their livelihood prospects are bleak. The automatic link between (agricultural) wage labour and ‘being poor’ in the perception of the rural population is obvious. This perception is



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grounded in a world in which the demand for labour is limited while the supply of non-skilled labourers is high. Policies, therefore, should work on both sides of this chain. On the one hand, Rwandan policy makers should facilitate and stimulate investment in labour-intensive off-farm activities. This may be done directly through organising labourintensive works (constructing roads, infrastructure projects, etc.). What is even more important is to encourage local better-off categories to invest their profits locally in small-scale businesses instead of turning to the cities. On the other hand, Rwandan authorities could improve the quality of the unskilled labour force with training initiatives for a variety of sectors. This would also enhance the bargaining position of the labour force in wage negotiations. Overall, this chapter concludes that pro-poor growth requires more than combining growth with a reduction in the percentage of poor. The ‘rural poor’ consist of different categories of peasants with very diverse needs, opportunities and constraints. The well-being of all socioeconomic categories, poor and non-poor, is interlinked and interdependent. This makes the local economy a hybrid system; and, therefore, creating pro-poor growth is a hybrid process. It is not only a matter of targeting a particular group, focusing on a particular sector or introducing (seemingly) efficiency-improving techniques. Pro-poor growth entails a wider process of societal change in which overall economic development proceeds with the active participation of the relatively deprived socio-economic categories that will benefit from policies that target them directly and indirectly (e.g. through a trickle-down effect). The current focus in pro-poor growth literature on macro-level developments should be complemented by micro-level perspectives that add nuance and complexity. We need to enrich our insights into the opportunities and constraints that different livelihood categories face and that affect their participation in growth strategies.

Notes A longer version of this paper has previously been published as A. Ansoms (2010) ‘Views from below on the pro-poor growth challenge: The case of rural Rwanda’, African Studies Review 53 (2): 97–123. 1. For a full overview of the methodology, see Ansoms (2010). 2. Rwandan households are typically scattered over the hills. The umudugudu (plural: imidugudu) is the administrative division that corresponds with one or a few hills. The term was originally reserved for villages created by the post1994 villagisation policy to house-returning (mostly Tutsi) refugees. Under this policy, non-refugees (often Hutu) also were required to leave their houses




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in the hill to settle in a structured village. The policy was highly contested by international organisations such as the Human Rights Watch. Now the term is used to indicate the administrative division that previously was referred to as a cellule. 3. Ingelaere (2010) gives a more detailed account of ‘self-censorship among the population with regard to elements that do not fit into the official public transcript’. This illustrates the ‘discrepancy between “image” and “reality” ’ in post-genocide Rwanda. 4. The registration process, to be finished by 2014, receives important financial support from DFID (United Kingdom). 5. In umudugudu B, one part of the swampland had been given into concession to a private investor, until he was sent away by local authorities in 2007. From that point onwards, the swampland was managed by a cooperative. Another part was managed by a military agent who had been present in the region as from 1994 onwards. Since 2007, he had adopted the principle of collective production systems on his concession.

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Thurlow, J. and P. Wobst (2006) ‘Not all growth is equally good for the poor: The case of Zambia’, Journal of African Economies, 15 (4), 603–25. Webster, C.C. and P.N. Wilson (1966) Agriculture in the Tropics (London: Longmans). World Bank (2007) World Development Report 2008: Agriculture for Development (Washington: World Bank). World Bank (2006) World Development Indicators, Online database. World Bank (2005) Pro-poor Growth in the 1990s: Lessons and Insights for 14 Countries (Washington, World Bank).





Part II


Mineral Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region





8 Sara Geenen

8.1. Mining and development: a disputed relationship The relationship between mining and development is characterised by ‘contentiousness’ and ‘ambiguity’ (Bebbington et alii, 2008: 887): ‘Contentious because mining has so often delivered adverse social, environmental and economic effects for the many, but significant gains only for the few; ambiguous because of the abiding sense [ . . . ] that just maybe mining could contribute much more.’ The most outspoken denouncers of these adverse effects on growth and equity are the advocates of the ‘resource curse’ thesis (Auty, 1993; Sachs and Warner, 1995). The thesis suggests that the abundant presence of natural resources generates a number of economic (mainly Dutch disease1 and revenue volatility) and political effects (bad governance, corrupt institutions), which will eventually undermine a country’s development. Other authors have elaborated on this thesis by saying that the presence of (lootable2 ) natural resources (and the greed for these resources) is a cause of civil conflict (Collier and Hoeffler, 1998). Their model is based on utility theory: rebels will conduct a civil war if the perceived benefits outweigh the costs of rebellion. The theory has the merit of drawing attention to the importance of economic factors and the particularities of ‘war economies’ (Keen, 1998), which are ‘parasitic’, ‘illicit’ and ‘predatory’. But the ‘greed’ argument has its limits and seems to be more convincing in explaining the duration of armed conflicts than the causes (Ballentine and Sherman, 2003: 267). Despite the contentious contribution of mining to development, investments in the mining sector are still widely applied as a development strategy. The World Bank has encouraged investments in largescale mining and mining legislation reforms. But due to the fact that 149



Local Livelihoods, Global Interests and the State in the Congolese Mining Sector

globally more and more people are involved in artisanal and smallscale extraction, the Bank’s attention has also diverted to these sectors. In 2001 the Bank created a Consultative Group for Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining (CASM), which would develop policy guidelines and implement projects. Yet attracting funding proved to be difficult, because ‘this sector [artisanal and small-scale mining] is not recognized as an economic sector’ (CASM website: www.artisanalmining.org). Donors and policy makers still fail to grasp the sector’s dynamics. Still, artisanal and small-scale mining are extremely important in terms of production and in terms of securing local livelihoods. According to the International Labour Organization, artisanal and small-scale mines accounted for 15–20 per cent of the world’s non-fuel mineral production in the beginning of the twenty-first century (Hentschel et alii, 2003: 19). By ‘artisanal’, we mean a non-mechanised, manual mode of production, which is highly labour-intensive, but does not require much capital investment. The difference between artisanal and smallscale is that the former may involve only individuals and families and is purely manual, while the latter is, to a certain extent, mechanised. ‘Industrial’ production, on the other hand, is both large-scale and mechanised. It does require a large capital, but a smaller labour force per unit of production. The tension between large-scale and small-scale production modes (who sometimes have claims on the same land, often resulting in evictions or violent clashes) is present in mining sites all over the world. In the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), it is likely to become even fiercer in the coming years, as the country has now entered a ‘post-conflict phase’, after decades of economic crisis, state decline and violent conflict. Eastern DRC, which hosts large reserves of mineral resources, has been especially affected by violent conflicts. During the ‘liberation war’ in 1996–1997, the AFDL coalition (Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Congo-Zaïre) headed by Laurent Kabila and backed and steered by Rwanda, defeated the Mobutu regime. During the second war (1998–2003) or ‘first African World War’ (Reyntjens, 2009) several rebellion groups backed by Rwanda and Uganda fought against the Congolese regime. Some parts of eastern Congo are still very insecure, but officially the war has ended and the post-conflict reconstruction has started. In the next part of this chapter we assess the importance of Congo’s mineral commodities (production and reserves) in global terms. We give a brief overview of the evolutions in production of the most important minerals, their role in national development and the key actors involved. In the third part we give a historical overview of the political



150 Mineral Resources and Local Livelihoods in the Great Lakes Region

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8.2. Congo’s minerals: their importance in globalisation and national development The DRC is often referred to as the classical example of the ‘resource curse’, but what exactly are Congo’s mineral resources and what is their importance in global terms? It is true that the Congolese subsoil contains reserves of a wide range of rare and precious minerals. But only in the production of cobalt and diamonds does Congo currently play a globally significant role (see Table 8.1). 8.2.1. Copper and cobalt The southern province of Katanga hosts a large part of the ‘Central African Copperbelt’, stretching from Angola to Zambia and containing over 10 per cent of the world’s copper and 49 per cent of the cobalt reserves (5 million tons of cobalt) (USGS, 2009a). The copper reserves are very important and of high quality, but the Congolese copper production is currently of minor importance on the world scale, although over the past 2 years there has been a considerable rise in production capacity (USGS, 2009c).3 The Katangese cobalt production is, however, significant on a world scale (see Table 8.1). Cobalt is produced as a by-product of copper, but also as a primary product.

Table 8.1

Global production of cobalt and industrial diamonds

Cobalt

Share in global production (%)

Diamonds (industrial)

Share in global production (%)

DRC Canada Zambia Russia Cuba

38 13 12 10 6

DRC Australia Russia South Africa Botswana

28 25 20 12 10

Source: Author’s table based on USGS (2009).



economy of Congo’s mining sector. We show how the sector has drifted between industrial and artisanal exploitation. The fourth part then questions the current coexistence of industrial and artisanal mining and the viability of artisanal mining as a livelihood. The different contributions in this book offer interesting perspectives to provide an answer to this question. They are broached in the conclusion.

Industrial copper and cobalt production started in Katanga at the beginning of the twentieth century by the Union Minière du HautKatanga (UMHK). UMHK’s successor Gécamines (a state-owned company, created after the nationalisation in 1967) ranked among the world’s top five producers of copper and cobalt until the mid-1980s, with an annual production of about 400,000 to 500,000 metric tons of copper and 16,000 tons of cobalt. During the period 1968–1974, Gécamines also accounted for about 70 per cent of state revenues (Bezy et alii, 1981: 83), but in 1975 copper prices fell dramatically. The demand for cobalt, however, remained high and prices even boomed in 1975– 1980. From 1979 on, copper prices also recovered (Bezy et alii, 1981: 187). In 1982 Gécamines again recorded a peak production of 542,600 metric tons of copper. From the late 1980s on however, production of both copper and cobalt steeply declined. It fell to 200,000 metric tons of copper at the beginning of the 1990s and even below 30,000 metric tons in 1994 (see Figures 8.1 and 8.2). At this time Gécamines was facing bankruptcy. When the 1998–2003 war finally came to an end, the international climate was again favourable for investments in industrial copper and cobalt production. The rising global demand (especially in emerging economies like China and India) and resulting booming prices caused a veritable ‘metal mania’. This incited international mining companies to start new projects in the DRC and to conclude a number of joint venture contracts with Gécamines (e.g. Tenke Fungurume, Anvil Mining, First Quantum (World Bank, 2008: 107)). In 2008 there were 325 mining companies active in Katanga, of which ten were traded on

600,000

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Figure 8.1

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Source: World Bank (2008), 103 and KFW (2007), 29.




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16,000 12,000 8000

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Figure 8.2 Gécamines cobalt production (in metric tons) Source: World Bank (2008), 103 and KFW (2007), 29.

international stock exchanges (World Bank, 2008: 14). Moreover, the metal mania pulled thousands of unemployed Congolese to the mines. There would be an estimated 50,000 to 150,000 miners (NiZA, 2006: 9; KFW, 2007: 28; De Koning, 2009: 7) digging for ‘heterogenite’ (an ore consisting of 25 per cent copper and 10 per cent cobalt). In comparison to the 1990s, the production of cobalt increased to about 14,500 tons in 2006, which represented 25 per cent of global production (KFW, 2007: 29). In 2007, Congo’s share of global cobalt production rose to 38 per cent (see Table 8.1; USGS, 2009a). Cobalt (in the form of raw ore, since processing plants and refineries have been abandoned since the 1990s) is mainly exported to China, the world’s leading producer of refined cobalt (USGS, 2009b). Unfortunately, the global economic crisis heavily impacted on the mining sector in Katanga (Cuvelier, 2009). Many industrial companies, which were waiting for the results of the review of the mining contracts and often starting up their activities, closed down again. Among artisanal miners, the crisis caused high levels of unemployment and resulting social tensions. 8.2.2. Diamonds Diamonds are located in Western and Eastern Kasai, and also in the north-eastern province of Orientale. These regions are believed to hold almost one-quarter of the world’s diamond reserves in terms of carats (150 million carats, World Bank, 2008: 15). In the beginning of the twentieth century the Belgian company Forminière (Société Internationale Forestière et Minière du Congo) started alluvial mining in the Tshikapa area in Western Kasai. In 1960 Forminière was replaced



4000


30

20

10

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2001

1997

1989

1993

Artisanal

Figure 8.3 Artisanal and industrial (Miba) diamond production (in millions of carats) in the DRC Source: World Bank (2008) and Banque Centrale du Congo (BCC).

by Miba (Minière de Bakwanga), in which the state held 80 per cent of the shares. Miba production was concentrated in Western and Eastern Kasai. As can be seen in Figure 8.3, industrial production decreased from the late 1970s onwards. In 1982 artisanal production was ‘liberalised’ by Mobutu, which attracted thousands of diggers to the diamond mines. Since this moment, annual artisanal production has systematically exceeded industrial production. Currently about 90 per cent of Congolese diamonds is artisanally extracted by an estimated 700,000 to 1 million diggers in Kasai (World Bank, 2008: 57). It must also be noted that, on average, the value per unit of the artisanally mined stones is higher than those extracted industrially. The artisanal deposits (mostly alluvial) contain more gemstones than the deposits which are exploited by Miba4 (World Bank, 2008: 116). Still, in general, both industrial and artisanal production mainly consist of diamonds for industrial applications (65 to 75 per cent), rather than gemstones. For industrial diamonds, the DRC is the world’s top producer. In 2007 its production amounted to 28 per cent of total world production (USGS, 2009a). Congo’s share in the global gemstone production, however, was at 6 per cent in 2007. Here, the leading countries are Botswana (28 per cent), Russia (25 per cent) and Canada (19 per cent). 8.2.3. Coltan Congo’s eastern provinces host a number of rare mineral deposits, such as coltan. Coltan is an abbreviation for columbite-tantalite, a



Industrial

1985

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mineral from which the metals tantalum and columbium (also known as niobium) are extracted. In the beginning of the twenty-first century, the growing demand from the electronic industries (especially mobile phones) caused a ‘coltan boom’ in eastern DRC and attracted thousands of miners and small traders. In 2000 the official exports mounted to 560 metric tons (KFW, 2007: 31). But the coltan boom did not last. In January 2001 coltan prices began to fall, reaching less than a third of their peak in October 2001. This was due to a decline and a subsequent stagnation in the global demand for electronic components (Pole Institute, 2002). In 2007 Congo held the fifth place of coltan producers with a total (official) production of 120 metric tons of columbite-tantalite (the world’s total production was 262,000 metric tons gross mass, of which almost 95% was produced by one single country, Brazil (USGS, 2009e)). However, much of the Congolese production is traded in unofficial trading houses and is therefore unrecorded, or it is under-declared at the border posts. It is, therefore, extremely difficult to give an estimation of the real coltan production. But it is known that Congo’s tantalum reserves have a strategic importance. The eastern provinces are estimated to host 25 to 65 per cent of global reserves (KFW, 2007: 26). 8.2.4. Tin (cassiterite) During colonial times, tin was produced by MGL (Minière des Grands Lacs) in North and South Kivu. In the 1940s, Congo was the second biggest tin producer in the world (after Bolivia (KFW, 2007: 31)). In 1976 nine mining companies merged in the newly created Sominki (Société Minière et Industrielle du Kivu), in which the state held 28 per cent and private shareholders (mostly Belgian) 72 per cent. When Sominki closed down in 1996 the entire cassiterite (tin ore SnO2) production became artisanal. Artisanal miners have since then continuously produced cassiterite in North Kivu (Bisie in Walikale territory being the most important in terms of production), Maniema (Kasese and Kalima), South Kivu and Katanga (Garrett, 2008: 30–31). During the coltan boom, cassiterite was considered as a mere rest product of coltan. But in recent years the tin price has risen again, and production increased. Global tin production was 320,000 metric tons in 2007 (USGS, 2009), leading production countries being China, Indonesia, Peru, Bolivia and Brazil. DRC is a small actor in this market. During the first 6 months of 2007, recorded exports of cassiterite from North Kivu were 4,019 tons, compared to 2,904 tons for 2006 and



Sara Geenen


3,599 tons for 2005. In South Kivu, reported exports were 2,974 tons in 2006 compared to 3,149 tons in 2005. However, this seems to be an underestimation, since production is largely artisanal and not always recorded.

In the Ituri region, industrial gold extraction started in 1926 by a Belgian company, Société des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto. In 1966, activities were taken over by OKIMO (Office des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto), a 100 per cent state-owned enterprise. Until 1974, production levels were at about 3 to 4 tons per year. From then on, it declined to 500 kilograms–1 ton in the 1980s (World Bank, 2008: 120). In 1996 Ashanti Goldfields acquired the mining rights for the Mongbwalu area. They did not start exploration until after the 1998–2003 war. In South Kivu and Maniema, gold was first exploited by MGL and later by its successor Sominki (which mainly extracted cassiterite). Sominki produced between 450 and 650 kilograms in the 1980s, which fell to 300–400 kilograms in the 1990s. At the start of the liberation war in 1996, Sominki closed down and sold its titles to the Canadian Banro Resources Corporation. Since 1996, the industrial gold production has been close to zero. Artisanal production, however, is currently much higher than the former OKIMO and Sominki production. An estimated 5200 kilograms per year are exported from the Ituri and Haut-Uélé districts in Orientale Province, while those from South Kivu would be around 4800 kilograms per year (USGS, 2009d). The estimated production is thus about 10 tons annually. This represents only a tiny percentage of global exports (a total production of 2,340 tons per year, USGS, 2009d). Actually the estimated figure of 10 tons is based on exports from neighbouring countries and import figures, since more than 80 per cent of gold production leaves the country through unofficial commercial networks, outside of governmental regulation or control. From Orientale Province, much gold is smuggled to Uganda (Kampala), whereas from South Kivu, the gold usually transits through Burundi (Bujumbura) or Tanzania. Both in Ituri and in South Kivu, mining companies are currently exploring and setting up new projects (see also Dan Fahey and Sara Geenen in this book). Banro holds the titles to four gold sites in South Kivu and Maniema (Twangiza, Namoya, Luguhwa and Kamituga). In Ituri, Ashanti Goldfields Kilo (AGK, joint venture of OKIMO and AngloGold Ashanti) conducted exploratory drillings in Concession 40 in and around Mongbwalu.



8.2.5. Gold

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Apart from cobalt, copper, diamonds, coltan, cassiterite and gold, the Congolese underground holds many other rare and possibly strategic minerals. In Katanga one can find zinc, silver, germanium and uranium deposits. The Shinkolobwe uranium mine is now closed for industrial production. However, the uranium reserves remain attractive for artisanal exploiters (World Bank, 2008: 15). In the eastern provinces there is tungsten and wolframite. There is methane gas in Kivu Lake and oil in Lake Albert. An estimation of the reserves can be found in Table 8.2.

8.3. Congo’s political economy: drifting between industrial and artisanal mining In the Congo case, all elements of a resource curse seem to materialise: abundant presence of mineral resources, poor governance, economic decline and civil war. Throughout its history, the mining sector has played an important role in Congo’s economy, and is closely linked with the broader political economy of Zaire and Congo. Industrial exploitation of mineral resources started in the 1920s and rapidly expanded, thanks to the growing demand for primary commodities on the world market and the increasing interests of Belgian investors. The large state-owned mining companies quickly worked towards a capitalistic intensification of the production process and a ‘stabilisation of manpower’ (Bezy et al., 1981: 27) by providing some basic Table 8.2 Mineral reserves in the DRC Mineral

Part in global reserves (%)

Diamonds Copper Cobalt Gold Tantalum Zinc Tin Germanium

25 6 34 >1 25−65 3 7 ?

Possible reserves (in tons)

Potential value (average 2005 prices) (in billions of USD)

>500 Millions of carats 70,000,000 5,000,000 500 200,000 6,000,000 800,000 17 130 90 34 15 4 2 ?

Source: KFW (2007), 26.



8.2.6. Other reserves

infrastructural and social services to their workers, their dependents and the community at large. Apart from housing for workers and families and access to electricity and water, they also provided schooling, healthcare and recreational facilities. Gradually, all aspects of the worker’s life came to be controlled by the mining companies. This meant a crucial step in the colonial system and a significant change in the lives of many Congolese. The heavy exploitation of mineral resources during the colonial era slowly declined after 1960. The Belgians granted Congo political independence, but retained economic power through control of key industrial mining operations. Western interventions and Congo’s internal politics combined to produce a period of instability from 1960 to 1965, which ended when Western governments helped Mobutu Sese Seko to take power in a coup. Mobutu sought to centralise political and economic power in the Congolese government and nationalise the most important companies, but this had disastrous effects on Congo’s economy and mineral production. The 1973 Zairianisation measures nationalised all companies, plantations and other businesses owned by foreigners. In the mining sector, Zairianisation measures mainly targeted the regime’s ‘cash cows’ in the copper and cobalt sector and some large gold and diamond producers.5 However, the new owners and managers, all connected to Mobutu’s patrimonial network, were ill-prepared for their tasks. Due to bad management and bad maintenance of the infrastructure, industrial production dwindled. The only sector where industrial production levels were still increasing was copper. Yet in 1975, copper prices fell dramatically on the world market. This had a heavy impact, not only on the copper sector, but on the entire Zairian economy, since the state was heavily reliant on copper exports for its foreign exchange earnings. One of the measures taken by Mobutu to counter the negative impact of the Zairianisation measures was to alleviate the state’s control on the exploitation of mineral resources, hence the law on the ‘liberalization of the exploitation and trade in precious minerals’ (gold and diamonds) in 1982.6 These measures were presented as a way for Congolese nationals to benefit more from the enormous potentials their country held. The new law allowed all Congolese citizens to possess and transport diamonds, gold and other precious stones. Besides, they could apply for mining and export licences. The law further specified that all exploiting actors and exporting companies had to be registered, so as to guarantee some control over the sector, and to redirect the trade through official circuits.




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The new law provoked an influx of artisanal diggers and traders to the mining sites. Also, the total output of the mining sector started to increase again. While, in 1982, artisanal diamond production accounted for almost 1 million carats, in 1983, it had already increased to almost 6 million carats, and in 1986 to 14 million carats (Dietrich, 2002: 6). By assessing export figures in 1983 and 1984, Tshibanza and Tshimanga (1985) conclude that the liberalisation measures had a short-term positive effect on official export figures and state revenues. However, the authors warned of an increase in smuggling and the presence of piratecomptoirs, especially in the east. The latter were able to offer better prices and had better access to financial resources than the officially registered comptoirs. As a result, the eastern provinces came to be entirely oriented towards the neighbouring countries, especially Burundi and Kenya, where minerals coming from Congo were smuggled and exported to the world market by Lebanese, Indo-Pakistani and national traders. It was clear that in the 1980s, Mobutu’s policies produced a structural economic and financial crisis. Despite liberalisation and stabilisation measures and a structural adjustment programme, Zaire’s financial situation did not improve. In the early 1990s, the country increasingly fell into the grip of hyperinflation, currency depreciation, a deteriorating infrastructure and declining productivity. Besides, foreign aid completely dried up. By the mid-1990s, the national government’s budget was almost entirely dependent on revenues from diamond exports. The ‘informalisation’ of mining activities continued during the 1990s, and was considerably reinforced during the war periods (1996–1997 and 1998–2003). After the ‘liberation war’ (September 1996 until May 1997), the Kabila regime wanted to reform the mining sector and make it more independent from major Anglo-American companies (Kennes, 2002: 163). Several contracts that were concluded just before the war were renegotiated and agreements for provisional exploration activities were granted to international companies. But the government found itself in a weak negotiation position, as it needed funds quickly and was vulnerable to concluding unbalanced agreements that were favourable to the mining companies and government officials rather than to the Congolese state. At the same time, the new regime was trying to replace the former politico-commercial networks (local politicians and businessmen loyal to Mobutu) with their own. This resulted in conflicting tendencies of reconstruction and criminalisation (Kennes, 2005). On the one hand, foreign companies proved to be eager to invest in the country and concluded many exploration and exploitation agreements. On the



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other hand, new rent-seeking networks were formed around the new government, so that the benefits of these agreements continued to flow to the politico-military elites, instead of to the Congolese population. In the course of the 1990s, as a result of a military coup, international sanctions and a civil war in Burundi, the mineral flows (through the so-called pirate-comptoirs) were also redirected towards Kampala. During the second Congo war (1998–2003), Uganda and Rwanda reinforced their role as transit countries and were directly involved in the plundering of Congo’s resources. Existing politico-commercial networks inside the DRC linked up with armed groups and with external financiers. This further enhanced the criminalisation of the mining sector. The control over exploitation sites and trade routes became an incentive and a means to finance the war for Congolese rebel groups, the Congolese national army and for the neighbouring countries. For this reason the conflict came to be considered as a purely mineral resources-driven conflict, which even reinforced the case of presenting the DRC as an example of the resource curse. However, several authors have demonstrated that the greed for natural resources was a symptom of the war, rather than its cause, and that economic interests were inseparable from political interests.7 After 2003, when a peace agreement was reached, some companies that had signed contracts in the 1990s resumed their activities.8 Many newcomers were attracted by the enormous potentials in the country and sought to sign joint venture contracts. For most commodities production shows an upward trend after 2003. But the Congolese economy remains extremely extraverted and vulnerable to external shocks. This became clear in 2008–2009, when the international financial crisis heavily impacted on the national economy, and on the Katangese mining sector in particular. A possible turning point in the history of Congolese mining was the conclusion of a cooperation agreement between the DRC and a group of Chinese enterprises. Much needed infrastructure works will be carried out in exchange for guaranteed access to copper and cobalt reserves that will be exploited by a Chinese–Congolese joint venture (see Marysse and Geenen’s contribution in this book). This agreement confirms the renewed interest of large-scale actors in the Congolese mining sector. However, as we have said, this sector is currently dominated by artisanal mining. In the next section we therefore reflect upon the possible competition and coexistence between industrial and artisanal production modes in mining.




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Let us first of all have a look at the official legal framework. In 2002, the Kabila administration adopted a new mining law,9 which was established under the guidance of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). The law and the subsequent mining regulations10 provide the legal framework for acquiring mining titles and trade permits. This formal framework differentiates between three modes of production, subject to different tax regimes and permit systems: industrial mining, small-scale mining and artisanal mining (see Section 1). The influence of the international financial institutions in the new mining law is obvious in the primacy of private sector development and the priority of large-scale projects. Whereas the sector was previously dominated by public enterprises, the aim now is to attract private investments in exploration and exploitation. In this context, the Congolese government should adopt the role of a regulator instead of an operator (through the state-owned mining enterprises). The mining law also contains more provisions for large-scale and industrial mining than for artisanal and small-scale mining or ASM. Yet the most important future challenge is the coexistence of artisanal and industrial mining. In mining areas all over the world, concessions are being contested by small-scale and large-scale actors. Sometimes this results in violent confrontations between artisanal miners and private or state security forces. The large-scale actors perceive the diggers as threats, whereas local diggers often react to physical relocation, dispossession of land and degradation of the community’s resources (Ballard and Banks, 2003: 299). These contestations are usually rooted in divergent views on land ownership. On the one hand, large-scale actors insist on the fact that they have legally acquired concessions and titles. Small-scale actors, on the other hand, assert that they have the traditional right to work the land (Hilson, 2002; Bush, 2009, see also Cuvelier’s contribution in this book). This way, the former adhere to state law (their titles have been officially registered), while the latter base themselves on customary traditions and traditional law. Both are trying to secure their titles, but small-scale actors often find out that the non-state norms they are adhering to clash with state regulations. The tensions and open conflicts between large-scale and small-scale actors in mining are frequently portrayed as battles between David and Goliath. Artisanal diggers are said to ‘invade’ concessions, whereas



8.4. Industrial and artisanal mining: coexistence, limits and opportunities

industrial companies are ‘wiping away’ the diggers. Diggers are either portrayed as victims of the destructive forces of global capital, or as resistance fighters protecting their traditional land rights. While in many cases diggers are indeed in a weak bargaining position, it is important to acknowledge that industrial and artisanal exploitation do not always and should not, in principle, clash. The reason is that industrial and artisanal production modes have very different logics. There are, for example, technical limits to artisanal exploitation methods. The deeper one digs, the more difficult it becomes to evacuate large volumes. When a mining pit reaches more than 40 metres in depth, it is dangerous, and according to Congolese law prohibited, to continue artisanal exploitation. Moreover, investments are needed in order to avoid collapsing tunnels, to evacuate the groundwater and to circulate oxygen. Other sites are more difficult and dangerous to exploit in an artisanal way because the minerals are very finely dispersed in the rocks, so that one needs to use chemical methods (mercury) in order to extract the gold. In this case, industrial production techniques are needed. Industrial methods are also more profitable in deposits where the mineral substances are dispersed over a larger area and where large volumes of stones have to be extracted. But industrial production requires a lot of investment and mechanisation. Therefore, each possible mining project is to be carefully judged on its feasibility and profitability. The feasibility of a particular mining project depends upon a range of factors: available reserves, volume of stones to be extracted, distance of the mining site from transport routes, necessary treatment of minerals, need for a processing factory and so on. Some sites are more suitable for small-scale or artisanal mining. Artisanal miners usually work in teams of five to ten or 50 diggers, who are each responsible for a specific phase in the production process (see also Fahey’s and Geenen’s contributions in this book). Artisanal mining is extremely labour-intensive and working conditions are often difficult. But some deposits cannot be accessed by large machines and are thus better suited to labour-intensive methods. Sometimes artisanal miners also exploit superior, high-grade layers, leaving the inferior, lower-grade layers for possible industrial companies. This process of exploiting superior layers is called écrémage (skimming) in the Congolese context. As Stewart (1989: 48) summarises: ‘large low-grade deposits are ideally suited to capital-intensive methods while small high-grade deposits are ideally suited to labour-intensive methods.’ The type of deposit, to a great extent, determines the type of activity (IMF, 2005: 46).




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At this point, however, industrial and artisanal mining in Congo compete with each other rather than coexisting next to each other. This is at least partly due to a lack of clarity at the legal level. The mining law, for example, does not specify how competing claims between industrial and artisanal actors to the same site can be resolved, or how exactly the existence of artisanal mining in industrial mining areas should be dealt with. One provision that is included in the law is the demarcation of special zones designated for artisanal mining. Whereas the data on exact numbers, superficies and situations differ, it is clear that few artisanal mining zones have been established until now (Pact Congo, 2010: 52). Besides, these artisanal mining zones are not always suited to do artisanal mining. In Katanga, 150,000 miners were supposed to occupy six zones that were established in 2005. ‘But five of the zones had closed 1 year later due to economic and technical difficulties. The one zone presently operating is too small a surface area to accommodate the miners and, in any event, the zones are some distance from urban centers and transport infrastructure’ (World Bank, 2008: 61). The lack of attention towards artisanal mining is remarkable, given the fact that it is a very important production mode and source of employment at the moment. It is estimated that 90 per cent of mineral production in DRC comes from artisanal miners. Estimates on the number of diggers in the county vary from 500,000 to 2 million (World Bank, 2008: 56). According to Pact Congo (2008: 10–11), there would be about 1 million diggers in Eastern and Western Kasai, 150,000 in Katanga, 200,000 to 300,000 in North and South Kivu, and 100,000 to 150,000 in Orientale Province. While so few areas have been designated for artisanal mining, a large part of the national territory has been carved up for industrial exploitation. The World Bank (2008: 17) presents figures as of September 2007: 4,353 exploration permits have been granted, 471 exploitation permits, 59 small-scale permits and 476 other permits/authorisations. Private companies hold 4,246 of these exploration permits and 166 of the exploitation permits without any agreement with the state. An important problem is that many of the exploration permits are held for speculation rather than for serious exploration work (World Bank, 2008: 22). It is also important to note that the small-scale (but mechanised) sector is not strong. This is due to the limited investment opportunities and tenure insecurity for small-scale permit holders. The existence of large concessions holds a constant threat of forced removals, as we have already witnessed in Katanga and in Kasai (World Bank, 2008: 57–58). Since artisanal miners and their families often



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entirely depend on mining for their livelihoods, they are unwilling to move from the sites they occupy. Besides, the average income for a miner is significantly higher than the revenues they may get from other activities, so reintegrating these miners in other livelihoods is difficult. According to the World Bank (2008: 47): ‘conflicts between artisanal and industrial producers are the Achilles heel which jeopardizes the future of mining in Congo.’ At this point, an important question to consider is whether artisanal and small-scale mining offer opportunities for development. In the literature there seems to be a consensus that, in spite of some negative social (children abandoning school), health (use of mercury) and environmental (erosion and reduced soil fertility) consequences, it does. First, since artisanal mining is mobile, flexible and requires little capital, it allows the mining of resources that would otherwise not be profitable. The flexibility of informal work can also be a response to the peaks in world demand for commodities (see Marysse, 1997). Second, artisanal mining creates rural employment and thus might halt rural-urban migration. Third, small-scale projects are often owned by local entrepreneurs and could, through their local embeddedness, contribute to local development. It also creates opportunities for small-scale enterprises in the local communities. Furthermore, artisanal mining: ‘is complementary to existing social structures in developing countries. For example, it is often seasonal, which fits well with agriculture in certain areas’ (Andrew, 2002: 118, see also Hilson and Yakovelva, 2007: 115). Finally, several authors have also emphasised the possible contributions of small-scale mining to national development through the creation of employment, taxes and foreign exchange earnings.

8.5. Conclusion: livelihoods of artisanal miners and global interests in Congo In the DRC, mineral large-scale and small-scale mining have long been considered as contributing to conflict and underdevelopment, rather than to development. However, the mining sector offers a range of opportunities at different levels. At the level of the national economy, the mining sector has always played an important role. If well governed, it can generate a lot of revenue for the Congolese state. At the level of individual livelihoods (artisanal) mining also offers a range of opportunities. Since the Congolese economy is extremely extraverted, it heavily depends on evolutions at the international level. When the prices of raw




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commodities are booming, many international and local actors become interested in mining. When prices fall, this has a direct impact in Congo. In any case, the current post-conflict context seems to be increasingly attractive for international investors. Multinational companies are showing their interest, as well as a group of Chinese state-owned enterprises. All this could possibly have very positive impacts on Congo’s development. However, ‘virtually all mining areas of the DRC face the challenge of balancing artisanal and small-scale mining activities with the growing presence of large scale mining’ (CASM, 2007: 18). Tensions and conflicts over mining sites are rampant, as industrial companies consider artisanal miners as intruders on their territory, whereas artisanal diggers view the granting of concessions as depriving them of their traditional rights to land and livelihoods. We argue that industrial and artisanal production modes can coexist and that certain initiatives can help to protect and improve the livelihoods of artisanal miners. First of all, an artisan’s tenure security may be improved by the creation of artisanal mining zones. Secondly, artisanal miners’ cooperatives should be recognised and they should be able to obtain a small-scale mining permit. They should also be able to receive technical assistance and thus enhance their productivity. Three case studies in this book illustrate how large-scale and smallscale actors interact, and how the livelihoods of small-scale actors are influenced by events and evolutions at a larger scale. Dan Fahey describes the livelihood of artisanal mining in the Ituri district, and assesses how it will be affected by planned industrial mining operations. He draws some cautionary lessons for other parts of Congo and Africa where artisanal and industrial mining interests collide. The Congolese state has so far been incapable of overseeing the resumption of industrial mining, and the formalisation of artisanal mining and gold trade. It is currently too weak and too focused on rent-seeking to work with civil society and industry to create a new structure that accommodates artisanal and industrial production. Drawing on a very specific case study in South Kivu, Sara Geenen describes the actors and the multiplicity of practical norms involved in gold exploitation and trade. She argues that diggers and small traders – often portrayed as the victims of greedy multinationals or armed groups – exercise agency, while being constrained by a number of practical norms that govern their activities. With the imminent presence of industrial actors on the scene, challenges are arising, but there are also opportunities for small-scale actors.



Sara Geenen

In his chapter, Jeroen Cuvelier makes two arguments about domination and resistance in the Katangese mining sector. Using two different case studies he shows that the state’s management of the mining sector is guided by a rationality of ‘controlled sovereignty’ and a rationality of ‘paternalism’. On the other hand he contends that, as a result of the fluidity of power relations in the mining sector, artisanal miners sometimes receive opportunities to publicly voice ‘hidden transcripts’ aimed at criticising the state’s abuses. A fourth case study looks into the challenges and opportunities presented by the ‘cooperation agreements’ on the exploitation of mineral resources concluded between the Congolese government and a group of Chinese state-owned enterprises. These enterprises will step into a joint venture with Gécamines to get access to copper and cobalt reserves. The contribution by Stefaan Marysse and Sara Geenen aims at analysing these agreements and at assessing their likely impact on Congo’s development. It demonstrates the renewed interest of large-scale actors and the way the Congolese state and the international community deal with this.

Notes 1. Dutch disease is an economic phenomenon in which the revenues from natural resource exports cause an increase of the real exchange rate and a wage increase, which makes tradable sectors less competitive in the world market. This will in turn lead to a greater dependence on natural resources and hence a greater vulnerability to price changes. 2. See Le Billon (2001: 569): ‘The lootability arises in part from the fact that resources [ . . . ] are often easily accessible to governments and rebels alike with minimal bureaucratic infrastructure. Furthermore, resource extraction activities are, to a greater degree than other economic activities, spatially fixed.’ 3. ‘With some 70 million tons (Mt) of reserves, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) comes second after Chile (88 Mt).’ But the Copperbelt reserves hold higher copper grades and are thus of better quality than the Chilean reserves (Custers and Matthysen, 2009: 28). 4. The artisanally mined deposits contain 20 per cent of gemstones, or highvalue stones used for jewellery. The deposits exploited by Miba contain only 5 per cent gemstones. The rest are raw diamonds used for industrial applications. 5. Zairianisation measures targeted, among others, Gécamines, Miba and OKIMO. The gold and cassiterite sector in the Kivus, however, to a large extent escaped Zairianisation measures. 6. Promulgated on 5 November 1982 and 1 December 1982. 7. This has recently been argued by Lemarchand (2009) and Prunier (2009) and follows a broader argument put forward by Cramer (2002) and Ballentine and Sherman (2003) among others.




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8. During the 1995–2000 period some important contracts were signed. Gécamines concluded an agreement with the Lundin Group for the development of the Tenke Fungurume copper deposit. Gécamines also signed a contract with the Forrest-Outokumpu Group (GTL-STL) and with Anvil Mining (Australia). Furthermore, OKIMO concluded agreements with Mindev and Barrick. Sominki entered into a partnership with Banro Resources for the development of gold deposits. Finally, MIBA signed an agreement with Sengamines for diamond exploitation. 9. ‘Loi n◦ 007/2002 du 11 juillet 2002 portant Code Minier’ (mining law). 10. ‘Décret n◦ 038/2003 du 26 mars 2003 portant Règlement Minier’ (mining regulations).

References Andrew, J.S. (2002) ‘Potential application of mediation to land use conflicts in small-scale mining’, Journal of Cleaner Production, 11 (2), 117–130. Auty, R.M. (1993) Sustaining Development in Mineral Economies: The Resource-curse Thesis (London: Routledge). Ballard, C. and G. Banks (2003) ‘Resource wars: The anthropology of mining’, Annual Review of Anthropology, 32, 287–313. Ballentine, K. and J. Sherman (2003) The Political Economy of Armed Conflict: Beyond Greed and Grievance (Boulder CO: Lynne Rienner). Bebbington, A., L. Hinojosa, D.H. Bebbington, M.L. Burneo and X. Warnaars (2008) ‘Contention and ambiguity: Mining and the possibilities of development’, Development and Change, 39 (6), 887–914. Bezy, F., J.P. Peemans and J.M. Wautelet (1981) Accumulation et sousdéveloppement au Zaïre 1960–1980 (Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses universitaires de Louvain). Bush, R. (2009) ‘ “Soon there will be no-one left to take the corpses to the morgue”: Accumulation and abjection in Ghana’s mining communities’, Resources Policy, 34, 57–63. Communities and Small-Scale Mining Project (CASM) (2007) Artisanal Mining in the DRC: Key Issues, Challenges and Opportunities, Draft Prepared for Discussion at the DRC Donor Coordination Meeting (Washington: World Bank). Collier, P. and A. Hoeffler (1998) ‘On economic causes of civil war’, Oxford Economic Papers, 50 (4), 563–573. Cramer, C. (2002) ‘Homo economicus goes to war: Methodological individualism, rational choice and the political economy of war’, World Development, 30 (11), 1845–1864. Custers, R. and K. Matthysen (2009) Africa’s Natural Resources in a Global Context (Antwerp: International Peace Information Service [IPIS]). Cuvelier, J. (2009) The Impact of the Global Financial Crisis on Mining in Katanga (Antwerp: International Peace Information Service [IPIS]). De Koning, R. (2009) Artisanal Mining and Post-conflict Reconstruction in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Stockholm: Stockholm International Peace Research Institute [SIPRI]). Dietrich, C. (2002) Hard Currency: The Criminalized Diamond Economy of the Democratic Republic of Congo and Its Neighbours (Ottawa: Partnership Africa Canada [PAC], The Diamonds and Human Security Project).



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Garrett, N. (2008) Walikale. Artisanal Cassiterite Mining and Trade in North Kivu: Implications for Poverty Reduction and Security (Washington: World Bank, Communities and Small-Scale mining Project [CASM]). Hentschel, T., F. Hruschka and M. Priester (2003) Artisanal and Small-scale Mining. Challenges and Opportunities (London: International Institute for Environment and Development [IIED]). Hilson, G. (2002) ‘Land use competition between small- and large-scale miners: A case-study of Ghana’, Land Use Policy, 19 (2), 149–156. Hilson, G. and N. Yakovelva (2007) ‘Strained relations: A critical analysis of the mining conflict in Prestea, Ghana’, Political Geography, 26 (1), 198–199. International Monetary Fund (IMF) (2005) IMF country report 05/373: DRC Selected Issues and Statistical Appendix (Washington: IMF). Keen, D. (1998) The Economic Functions of Violence in Civil Wars (London: Oxford University Press for the Institute of Strategic Studies). Kennes, E. (2002) ‘Footnotes to the mining story’, Review of African Political Economy, 29 (93), 601–606. Kennes, E. (2005) ‘The mining sector in Congo; the victim or the orphan of globalization?’ in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa. The Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization (New York: Palgrave Macmillan). KFW Entwicklungsbank (2007) Les ressources naturelles en République Démocratique du Congo – Un potentiel de développement? (Frankfurt Am Main: KFW Entwicklungsbank). Le Billon, P. (2001) ‘The political ecology of war: Natural resources and armed conflicts’, Political Geography, 20, 561–584. Lemarchand, R. (2009) The Dynamics of Violence in Central Africa (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press). Marysse, S. (1997) ‘La libération du Congo dans le contexte de la mondialisation’ in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs. Annuaire 1996– 1997 (Paris: L’Harmattan). Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa (NiZA) (2006) The State vs. The People. Governance, Mining and the Transitional Regime in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Amsterdam: Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa). Pact Congo (2008) Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining and Livelihoods in Africa (Washington: Pact, Washington: Communities and Small-Scale Mining [CASM], Amsterdam: Common Fund for Commodities [CFC]). Pact Congo (2010) Promines Study. Artisanal Mining in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Washington, Kinshasa: Pact Congo). Pole Institute (2002) The Coltan Phenomenon. How a Rare Mineral has Changed the Life of the Population of War-torn North-Kivu Province in the East of the DRC (Goma: Pole Institute). Prunier, G. (2009) Africa’s World War: Congo, the Rwanda Genocide, and the Making of a Continental Catastrophe (New York: Oxford University Press). Reyntjens, F. (2009) The Great African War. Congo and Regional Geopolitics, 1996– 2006 (New York: Cambridge University Press). Sachs, J. and A. Warner (1995) Natural Resource Abundance and Economic Growth (Cambridge: National Bureau of Economic Research). Stewart, D.F. (1989) ‘Large-scale versus small-scale mining. Meeting the needs of developing countries’, Natural Resources Forum, 13 (1), 44–52.




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Tshibanza, M. and M. Tshimanga (1985) ‘Matières précieuses et libéralization. Esquisse d’un bilan provisoire’, Zaïre- Afrique, 196, 337–340. USGS (2009) Mineral Commodity Summaries 2009 (Washington: US Department of the Interior). USGS (2009a) 2007 Minerals Yearbook. Congo (Kinshasa) (Washington: US Department of the Interior). USGS (2009b) 2007 Minerals Yearbook. Cobalt (Washington: US Department of the Interior). USGS (2009c) 2007 Minerals Yearbook. Copper (Washington: US Department of the Interior). USGS (2009d) 2007 Minerals Yearbook. Gold (Washington: US Department of the Interior). USGS (2009e) 2007 Minerals Yearbook. Niobium and Tantalum (Washington: US Department of the Interior). World Bank (2008) Democratic Republic of Congo: Growth with Governance in the Mining Sector (Washington: World Bank, Oil/gas, mining and chemicals department, Africa Region).



Sara Geenen

9 Dan Fahey

9.1. Introduction This chapter examines gold mining in the Kilo belt of the Ituri district in north-east Democratic Republic of the Congo.1 Since its start just over a century ago, gold mining in the Kilo belt has transformed from artisanal and small-scale mining (ASM)2 to industrial production, and then back to ASM.3 Now, as Ituri emerges from a bloody conflict, gold mining is poised to become a mix of industrial and ASM production. The trade of gold has also evolved from being completely state controlled, to a loosely regulated system in the informal economy, to a structure of elite networks with ties to armed groups and foreign governments. With the return of industrial mining, the state will control the trade in industrially produced gold but elite networks are likely to continue to dominate the trade in gold produced by ASM. The changes in the production and trade in gold have been shaped by the larger political economy in Congo. These changes roughly follow Congo’s path from colonialism to the neo-patrimonial rule of Mobutu Sese Seko, to the wars of the 1990s and 2000s. In the last few years, large parts of Congo, including the Ituri district, have transitioned to a fragile post-conflict phase in which the legacies of past resource exploitation influence contemporary processes of development. Belgian colonial rule in Congo (1885–1960)4 created a political economy oriented around the production and export of natural resources including rubber, ivory and minerals. Power in colonial Congo rested in the trinity of the colonial state, corporations and churches, which individually and collectively established hegemony over Congo’s people and resources. Colonial power exerted itself in a variety of ways: ‘In 170



The New Gold Rush: Post-conflict Mining and Trading in the Kilo Belt (DRC)

its regulation of agriculture, particularly from the 1930s on; its energetic recruitment of labour for mines and plantations; its tight control over population movement and intricate web of restrictions upon African subjects; [and] its vigorous promotion of Christian (especially Catholic) evangelism’ (Young and Turner, 1985). Despite some belated colonial efforts to improve the welfare of local populations (MacGaffey, 1987), the overall political economy during the colonial era was a brutal system of exploitation that supported an export economy and stifled the political and economic development of the Congolese people. After Congo’s independence in 1960, political power shifted to Congolese politicians and military officers but economic power largely remained in the hands of foreign mining and agricultural companies (MacGaffey, 1987). Following several years of instability, the details of which have been discussed elsewhere (Young and Turner, 1985; Coquery-Vidrovitch et alii, 1987), the ascendancy of Mobutu Sese Seko to power in 1965 effectively reunited political and economic power in the Congolese state. Mobutu instituted a neo-patrimonial regime in which private and public interests were blurred, which helped to ensure his survival by co-opting and undermining potential rivals in civil society and government institutions (Bratton and Van de Walle, 1994). Mobutu’s neo-patrimonial rule had profoundly negative effects on political and economic developments in Congo. Starting in 1966, Mobutu nationalised industries and land titles, in line with an emergent economic nationalist ideology in many less developed countries (Young and Turner, 1985). The failure of Mobutu’s nationalisation policies during the 1970s, called ‘Zairianisation’, plunged the country into an economic crisis, from which it never recovered (MacGaffey, 1987). Another result of Mobutu’s neo-patrimonial rule was the emergence of unofficial or informal economic activity. The growth of informal economic activities in Zaire/Congo was closely tied to the processes of economic regress and state collapse. While participation in the informal economy represented an important survival strategy for many Congolese people, it lacked any genuine growth potential (Marysse, 2005). Mobutu’s disastrous rule was unfortunately followed by a series of devastating wars. Some scholars have characterised these wars as simple civil wars that were caused or prolonged by rebels’ desire for control of Congo’s abundant natural resources, including gold (e.g. Collier and Hoeffler, 2004; Ross, 2004). Indeed, there are clear links between Congo’s natural resources and war (UNSC, 2001a; ICJ, 2005), but theories based on the premise that the wars in Congo were primarily internal



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or civil wars are conceptually and factually flawed (Fearon and Laitin, 2003; Gleditsch, 2004; Sambanis, 2004). Such theories fail to account for the significant and arguably dominant role of Rwanda and Uganda in initiating and sustaining the first (1996–1997) and second (1998– 2003) wars in Congo. Reyntjens, Prunier and other regional experts have noted the significant international character of the wars in Congo, and highlighted the importance of the extraterritorial extension of Rwanda’s civil war into eastern Congo as a main reason for the onset and duration of the wars in Congo (Prunier, 2009; Reyntjens, 2009). Marysse has similarly noted: ‘The violence, conflict, and war that are ravaging the Great African Lakes Region are the consequence of an intricate cluster of internal and external factors’ (Marysse, 2005). The wars in Congo between 1996 and 2003 were in fact polywars of numerous international and internal conflicts that overlapped and intersected in space and time (Fahey, 2009). The nature of the wars in Congo is important for understanding the evolution and structure of the war economy in Ituri. Pugh and Cooper broadly define a war economy as including ‘all economic activities carried out in wartime’. Within the war economy, they distinguish a ‘combat economy’ of economic activities to support armed groups and their war aims, and a ‘shadow economy’ of general economic activities not regulated by the state (Pugh and Cooper, 2004). The shadow economy includes a ‘coping economy’, which is economic activity undertaken by populations trying to maintain basic living standards during a time of war (Pugh and Cooper, 2004). This chapter will illustrate how the legacies of colonialism, neopatrimonial rule and war are evident in the contemporary post-conflict development phase in the Kilo belt. The chapter begins with a review of the history of gold mining and recent conflict in the Kilo belt (section 2). It describes the modes of production in the Kilo belt (section 3), and discusses the trade in gold (section 4). It concludes with a review of the main themes of gold production and trade in the Kilo belt (section 5). This analysis is based on information gathered through a variety of qualitative research methods. The primary sources of information came from fieldwork I conducted between 2007 and 2010 in the Kilo belt, the Ituri district and Kampala, Uganda. I interviewed approximately 150 miners, businessmen, activists, bureaucrats, politicians and former rebel soldiers. I also witnessed various artisanal production methods in the Kilo belt and observed the sale of gold through the commodity chain as far as Kampala, Uganda.




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The main area of gold exploitation in the Ituri district of north-east Congo is the Kilo belt, a gold-bearing greenstone belt covering most of Ituri’s western Djugu Territory. Since the start of colonial production in 1905, mining in the Kilo belt is estimated to have produced 198,000 kilograms of gold; of this amount, 46,000 kilograms of gold came from Mongbwalu and its immediate surroundings (AngloGold Ashanti, undated). The Congo Free State started mining gold in the Kilo belt after it suppressed resistance from local populations (Meesen, 1951; Bakonzi, 1982). From 1905 to 1919, gold mining in the Kilo belt was artisanal and involved ‘skimming’ gold from rivers and topsoil (Bakonzi, 1982). The difficult working conditions in the Kilo belt were made tougher by the lack of food and adequate medical care (Northrup, 1988), as well as the harsh treatment Congolese workers received from Belgian colonial authorities who sought to maximise production at minimum cost (Bakonzi, 1982). Starting in the 1920s, the colonial state made numerous changes to increase gold production. In 1920, new management undertook a process of industrialisation to enable underground reef mining, excavation and rock crushing (Bakonzi, 1982). In February 1926 the colonial government created the parastatal Société des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto (SOKIMO, known as Kilo-Moto),5 which expanded industrial mining and built housing, schools and hospitals for the workers (Bakonzi, 1982). SOKIMO’s improvements in the treatment of workers and changes in recruitment of labour led to a more permanent labour force by the end of the 1930s in the Kilo mining area (Northrup, 1988). The result of these changes and expanded industrial mining operations was increased production; annual production doubled from 2756 kilograms in 1930 to 5537 kilograms in 1939 (Bakonzi, 1982). During the 1940s and 1950s, gold production fluctuated as surface deposits became depleted, leading to greater emphasis on underground mining (Bakonzi, 1982). Belgian and corporate authorities exclusively controlled the trade in gold throughout the colonial era. Following Congo’s independence in 1960, industrial mining in the Kilo belt steadily declined. The effects of the loss of senior management (mostly colonial agents) were exacerbated by the lack of investment in equipment and operations, leading to degradation of the mines and mining equipment, diminishing mining yields, exploitation of reserve areas, and declining research and prospecting (Bedidjo, 2007).



9.2. Historical background

The post-independence decline of Kilo-Moto accelerated during the neo-patrimonial rule of Mobutu Sese Seko. On 15 July 1966, during Mobutu’s first year in office, the government nationalised SOKIMO and created a new agency, the Office des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto (OKIMO, or Kilo-Moto). OKIMO was given exclusive mining and exploration rights over 83,000 square kilometres in the Ituri and Haut-Uélé districts of Province Orientale, but it inherited a mining operation in decline. During the 1970s, OKIMO was unable to successfully halt the decline in production due to financial difficulties, an overall declining economy and enclavement of mining areas due to degraded infrastructure (Bedidjo, 2007). On 2 April 1981, the Mobutu regime liberalised the mining sector and permitted artisanal mining for the first time. During the 1980s and early 1990s, OKIMO entered into agreements with foreign mining companies, but this failed to halt the decline of gold mining (Bedidjo, 2007). At the same time, increasing numbers of local people and Congolese from other areas undertook artisanal mining in the Kilo-Moto concessions, driven by the lure of wealth, unemployment, and the erosion of OKIMO’s production and authority (CdC, 2007). The liberalisation of the mining sector also enabled local businessmen to engage in the gold trade. As the value of the Congolese franc declined, gold provided businessmen in eastern DRC with a ‘dependable hard currency’ for their regional trade (Nabeta et alii, 1997), and prompted the creation of many large gold-buying businesses, called comptoirs, that funnelled gold and other minerals to traders in Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi (Raeymaekers, 2004). The series of wars in Congo that started in 1996 strongly affected the production and trade of gold in the Kilo belt. During and after the first Congo war, rebel leader-cum-President of the Democratic Republic of Congo Laurent Kabila renegotiated the contract for gold mining in the Kilo belt several times (Bura, 2005; DRC, 2005, 2007; HRW, 2005; Kennes, 2005). However, this did not lead to a resumption of industrial activity, due to political instability and the start of the second Congo war in August 1998. Shortly after the start of the second war, the invading Ugandan army occupied Ituri and established control in the Kilo belt with the help of its ally, the Congolese rebel group RCD6 (UNSC, 2001b). The UN Panel of Experts documented how Ugandan military officers used their authority to establish commercial networks and to gain ‘unprecedented control of the economy of the eastern and northeastern Democratic Republic of the Congo’ (UNSC, 2001a). This control enabled Ugandan officers and traders to easily bring consumer goods and other merchandise from Uganda to Congo, and to take looted items




and natural resources, including gold, from Congo to Uganda. During 2002 and 2003, there were several battles for control of the Kilo belt’s goldfields (HRW, 2005), but the Ugandan army largely succeeded in keeping control of the gold mines in the hands of its allied rebel groups. After Uganda withdrew its army from DRC in May 2003, it continued to actively support several Congolese armed groups to preserve the ‘elite networks’ of resource extraction and commercial trade, especially in the Ituri district (Kassem, 2003). One ally of the Ugandan government was the rebel group FNI,7 which controlled most of the production and trade of the Kilo belt’s gold (HRW, 2005). FNI established its own governmental structure, including an agency for mines and energy that granted new concessions and levied taxes and fees upon artisanal miners (UNSC, 2006). As one miner told me, ‘During the war, the rebels would just take the gold we found. Maybe they would give something small to the miners, but sometimes they just took it.’ FNI used wealth generated by gold mining and trading to support its activities, and even traded gold for weapons (HRW, 2005). The trade in gold from the Kilo belt followed several routes out of Congo, all of which led to Kampala, Uganda. Although FNI was focused on acquiring profits from artisanal mining, it also derived revenue from allowing industrial exploration in the Kilo belt. Since 2000, the South African mining company AngloGold Ashanti had a contract with the Congolese government to mine the Kilo belt; the joint venture was known as Ashanti Goldfields Kilo (AGK) (Fahey, 2008). However, the persistence of conflict prevented AGK from establishing a presence in the area until November 2003, when FNI allowed AGK to start an exploration programme around Mongbwalu in return for money and other benefits (UNSC, 2005). The war economy effectively came to an end in mid-2005, when United Nations troops took control of the Kilo goldfields from FNI and other Congolese rebel groups. In April 2005, the United Nations Organisation Mission in the Congo (MONUC) based a Pakistani infantry company at Mongbwalu; this stabilised the security situation and enabled AGK to expand its exploration activities in the Kilo belt. The period since 2005 is discussed below. This brief historical overview highlights several themes relevant to the production and trade of gold in the Kilo belt’s post-conflict era, which is the subject of the remainder of this chapter. The production and trade of gold evolved from a tightly controlled enterprise of mixed artisanal– industrial mining benefiting the colonial state and the parastatal mining company, to a largely artisanal activity that profited the Mobutu regime and emerging informal trade networks, to a war economy based on



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9.3. Contemporary mining in the Kilo belt Contemporary mining in the Kilo belt is dominated by labour-intensive methods of production. Gold miners work in underground mines, in deep pits and in shallow mudflats to produce gold that is ultimately traded in Dubai and other foreign lands. Despite difficult working conditions and small profit margins, in the last three decades artisanal mining has become the main livelihood for tens of thousands of people in the Kilo belt. 9.3.1. Modes of production There are three types of artisanal and small-scale mining in the Kilo belt: underground mining, open pit mining and alluvial mining. These operations produce two types of gold: l’or sec and amalgame. L’or sec consists of flecks and small nuggets in unconsolidated mineral deposits in riverbeds or topsoil, is obtained through open pit mining and alluvial mining, and is approximately 90–95 per cent pure. Amalgame gold is extracted from rocks that are obtained through underground mining and open pit mining. Specialised transporters (transporteurs/euse) or the miners themselves take the rocks from a mining site to one of approximately 200 workshops where young men and women (broyeurs/euse) crush the rocks. Once the rocks are pulverised into a fine dust, the powder is processed to extract the gold. Amalgame gold produced in the Mongbwalu area is approximately 82–90 per cent pure. In Mongbwalu town, l’or sec commands a roughly 10 per cent higher price than amalgame gold, depending on the supply and market prices (Fahey, 2008). There are three colonial-era, underground mines near Mongbwalu: Adidi, Senzere and Makala. The largest and most productive of the three was the Adidi mine, located 4 kilometres north-west of Mongbwalu town; however, in December 2007 the provincial government closed the Adidi mine, ostensibly because of the mine’s unsafe working conditions



artisanal production and elite trading networks. The path from mixed artisanal–industrial production and formal trade to artisanal production and informal trade has taken place in the overall context of the demise of the Zaire/Congo state and decline of the formal economy. Artisanal mining and informal trading are now entrenched parts of the regional political economy, but in the post-conflict era these livelihoods are threatened by the resumption of industrial mining and other factors.

(Fahey, 2008). Senzere and Makala have continued to function since Adidi’s closure. Inside the underground mines, foreurs (men using hammers and picks to break off rocks) work in shifts to extract rocks (also known as quartz) containing gold ore. In addition to the foreurs, other people working inside the mine include site bosses, men who bring in charcoal for rocksoftening fires, men who maintain the generators that pump water out of the mine, and male and female transporteurs who carry the rocks out of the mines. Working conditions in the underground mines are extremely dangerous and deaths from collapse and asphyxiation are common, though largely unrecorded (see also Sara Geenen’s chapter in this book). Gold is also mined in approximately 150 pit-mining sites in the Kilo goldfields (Orientale, 2010). The number of workers at each site varies from a few dozen to a few hundred. These sites are generally located in riparian areas, flood plains or at tailings sites. There are semi-permanent camps adjacent to many pit mining sites where miners, and in some cases their families, live. Alluvial mining is the third type of gold mining in the Kilo belt. This mining takes place in rivers and riparian areas, where men, women and children sift through mud and look for pieces of gold. Many rivers in the Mongbwalu area have been diverted to create shallow mudflats where sifting can take place. In addition, some semi-industrial mining operations use dragues, or small watercraft that use powerful pumps to suck up sediment from the river bottom, which is then washed to procure gold. 9.3.2. Artisanal mining as a livelihood strategy There are no reliable statistics for employment in the Kilo belt, but there may be 100,000 people directly engaged in underground, pit and alluvial mining in this area (Orientale, 2010). The paucity of formal employment in the Kilo belt leaves artisanal mining and its related activities as the most attractive livelihood option for many of the area’s residents. The work itself is physically demanding and hazardous. In addition, mining in the Kilo belt is associated with social ills and unstudied environmental effects. Incomes are unpredictable and usually inadequate to meet basic needs. As one Mongbwalu native told me: ‘We are living on gold but we don’t resemble it.’ The challenges of artisanal mining are illustrated in the results of a 2007 survey conducted by the Cadre de Concertation (CdC), a local coalition of civil society groups in Ituri. In August 2007, CdC surveyed



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miners in Mongbwalu and nearby mining communities about the effects of mining on the artisans, their communities and the environment (CdC, 2007). According to the survey results, the physical effects of gold mining and production include diseases due to exposure to rock dust, mercury, cyanide and acid; a decrease in life expectancy due the demands of the work; miscarriages among women workers; and death and disability due to mine collapses (underground) and slides (pits). The adverse community effects of mining include family separations and divorce; mining by children resulting in illiteracy; sexual abuse of women; and abandonment of agriculture in favour of mining. These findings highlight the dangers and fragility of artisanal mining as a livelihood strategy. Artisanal mining is a boom-and-bust profession in which income is usually minimal although miners will occasionally have windfalls. Gold miners around Mongbwalu typically earn $40–60 a month, which is insufficient to support an individual – let alone a family – given the local cost of living (Fahey, 2008). Yet artisanal mining remains the best livelihood option for many people in the Kilo belt because it requires little more than labour and minimal tools such as shovels and buckets to acquire gold. The allure of artisanal mining lies in the promise of making a large discovery. The potential for a windfall keeps artisanal mining a viable and popular livelihood strategy in the absence of other lucrative employment options in the area. Miners who do strike it big often cease mining and spend their money on ‘women, alcohol, and meat’ until they are completely broke again, at which point they return to mining. The local civil society coalition, CdC, is trying to educate miners about financial management and encourage people to invest their earnings in agriculture and other business opportunities; that is, to leverage gold earnings for more stable and potentially profitable livelihood options. Indeed, several businessmen in Mongbwalu are former miners who used their earnings for upward social mobility. Although earnings from gold mining are unpredictable, taxes are a constant. Under Congolese law, OKIMO is supposed to regulate gold mining in the Kilo belt, but the decline of the state under Mobutu and during the war years opened the door for other actors to profit from the labour of the miners. The production of gold in the Kilo belt currently involves a complex system of taxation by actors including local chiefs, Congolese army officers, local and provincial officials, and OKIMO agents. The structure of artisanal mining varies depending on the location; for example, OKIMO sells mining rights in some areas, while local chiefs or army officers sell mining rights in others.




CdC has identified 30 separate taxes and fees levied upon gold miners, traders and mine operators in the Kilo belt (CdC, 2007). For artisanal and small-scale miners, these include buying mining permits, paying 20–30 per cent of their production to mine operators, and giving three dollars per week to mine operators for payoffs to the Congolese army (FARDC) or police (PNC). Miners or operators who fail to pay these charges and fees are often subjected to administrative, military or police harassment, extortion and arbitrary arrests (CdC, 2007). Artisanal mining is thus a difficult livelihood, fraught with physical dangers, social problems, and numerous taxes and fees. Yet it remains popular due to the promise of wealth and the lack of viable alternative livelihood choices in this part of Ituri. As Ituri emerges from years of war, the return of industrial mining and government regulation will present new challenges to artisanal mining. 9.3.3. Artisanal mining in post-conflict Ituri In the last three decades, artisanal mining has evolved into a livelihood that straddles the formal and informal economies, where legal regulation and illegal predation coexist. As Ituri moves into a post-conflict phase, the Congolese government and international entrepreneurs are eager to re-start industrial mining and to exert greater control over the production of the Kilo belt’s gold. Artisanal mining is so firmly entrenched in the political economy of the Kilo belt that it will remain an important livelihood for decades to come, but industrial mining and government regulation are likely to push artisanal mining to areas of marginal productivity, thereby negatively affecting local livelihoods. The primary threat to artisanal mining in the Kilo belt comes from the planned resumption of industrial gold mining. As discussed above, Ashanti Goldfields Kilo (AGK), the joint venture between AngloGold Ashanti and OKIMO,8 has the contract to mine the Kilo belt. The resumption of industrial mining has symbolic importance, as it signals Ituri is stable enough for foreign investment. And the pressure for industrial mining is strong due to the size of the gold deposits in the Kilo belt and the recent surge in world demand for gold (Schwartz, 2010). Based on the results of exploratory drilling between 2005 and 2007, AGK estimates there are 83,000 kilograms of gold in the area where it will conduct its first mining operations.9 But there are also downsides. AGK will have to displace thousands of artisanal miners who are currently working in the area where AGK plans to start its operations – near Mongbwalu – potentially creating massive unemployment and social upheaval. AGK will also control the gold it



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produces, cutting out local businessmen, who will be competing for the reduced production of marginalised artisanal activities. Indeed, before AGK can industrially mine gold, it must establish control over a site where artisanal and small-scale mining is pervasive. AGK took the first step in this regard by orchestrating the December 2007 closure of the Adidi mine. Although the provincial government officially shut down Adidi to protect the health and safety of the miners in this notoriously dangerous mine, this was in fact the first step in AGK’s plan to enclose the area around Adidi and clear it of artisanal miners to facilitate industrial operations (AngloGold Ashanti, 2007, 2007a). Prior to its closure, approximately 2,000 miners worked inside Adidi, and the closure of the Adidi mine resulted in considerable tension in and around Mongbwalu (Towalis, 2008). The closure affected not only the miners but also investors, who had purchased supplies such as fuel and tools for use inside the mine. Also impacted were those who transported, crushed and processed the rocks to extract gold. Local authorities reported that approximately 5,000 people lost work. Following the shutting down of the mine, miners and others affected by the closure were prepared to demonstrate in Mongbwalu and at AGK’s compound. Local mining leaders and representatives of Cadre de Concertation (CdC) helped defuse the situation by convincing disgruntled miners to forego a potentially violent demonstration. Many former Adidi miners adapted by seeking employment elsewhere. Some former Adidi workers have moved to the other underground mines, but these mines are not able to accommodate all those who lost jobs at Adidi. Many male miners have left Mongbwalu to work at other sites in the Kilo belt, often leaving their families behind in Mongbwalu. The potential for future conflict in the Kilo belt remains strong, however, because the closure of the Adidi mine strained already tense relationships between AGK and the local mining communities. To improve its image in the community and facilitate its own access to the Kilo belt, AGK has undertaken some infrastructure projects, such as rebuilding some roads, but these efforts are met with scepticism. Local people do not necessarily see these as benevolent acts but rather as the incomplete fulfilment of AGK’s contractual obligations (Fahey, 2008). In addition, there are high expectations that AGK will provide new infrastructure and formal jobs in a manner similar to that of OKIMO. Many of Mongbwalu’s miners are the children and grandchildren of miners who worked for Kilo-Moto, and they expect that AGK will build housing, schools, hospitals, and provide thousands of jobs, just like Kilo-Moto did (Bakonzi, 1982). For several years AGK has talked about organising




several small projects at tailings sites to employ local miners (SRK, 2009), but miners’ advocates are sceptical about the levels of employment these projects will provide in comparison to the number of miners who will be displaced in other areas (CAFOD, 2010). Overall, a failure to close the gap between AGK’s plans and the expectations of the mining community at Mongbwalu could result in social unrest and, potentially, conflict. In addition to AGK’s plans for industrial mining, increased national government involvement in the Kilo belt may negatively affect artisanal mining. In 2008, OKIMO reasserted its authority in the Kilo belt and started to sell mining rights, but it is doing so in an extremely haphazard manner. For example, in 2009 OKIMO issued rights to a Korean enterprise for a stretch of the Nizi River where OKIMO had already sold mining rights to artisanal miners. Moreover, through the February 2010 joint venture agreement between AngloGold Ashanti and OKIMO, OKIMO has taken control of approximately 2,000 square kilometres of the concession, thereby enabling it to sell new mining rights across a vast territory. OKIMO has also recently sought to exert greater control over foreign investment in artisanal mining in the Kilo belt. Local miners are trying to protect their livelihoods by attracting foreign capital to buy the physical assets they need to extract the area’s natural assets, but OKIMO has recently blocked several independent investment attempts. For example, in 2008 OKIMO chased away a Canadian businessman who promised to invest in generators and other equipment for artisanal miners in exchange for a percentage of the production. In another case, during 2009, an association of pit bosses in the Mongbwalu area (called ASTRAMIN) travelled to Kampala and obtained promises of funding from Ugandan investors, but OKIMO and other government authorities prohibited this investment, citing dubious national security concerns. With the start of industrial mining on the horizon, investment may become vital to sustaining current levels of artisanal mining employment, but OKIMO’s interventions may limit such efforts.

9.4. The trade in the Kilo belt’s gold The growth of artisanal mining and erosion of state control in the Kilo belt during the last few decades facilitated the growth of gold trading as a livelihood strategy. As with artisanal mining, gold trading has evolved due to a variety of domestic and international influences, including state decline, the rise of the informal economy and war. In the post-conflict



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era, gold trading in the Kilo belt is a livelihood in flux due to various influences, including Congolese government efforts to better regulate the gold trade, the likely resumption of industrial gold mining and United Nations’ sanctions.

Until the Mobutu era, the government and parastatal mining companies completely controlled the trade in gold. The rise of artisanal mining in the 1980s made it more difficult for the government to control the trade. Businessmen from Ituri and North Kivu started to purchase gold directly from eastern Congo’s artisanal mining areas and sell it in Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi (Raeymaekers, 2004). To guarantee purchasing rights, some businessmen invested in the tools and supplies needed by artisanal miners. During the war years of the 1990s and 2000s, the trade in gold from the Kilo belt became consolidated among several traders who had social and political connections to various armed forces in control of the mining areas and trade routes (UNSC, 2005; Fahey, 2008). As was the case during the war years, in post-conflict Ituri the trade in gold remains controlled by a relatively small group of major traders, known as négociants. These traders acquire gold through networks of minor négociants who operate throughout the Kilo belt and funnel the Kilo belt’s gold to Bunia, the main trading town in the Ituri district.10 There are approximately 50–60 négociants in Bunia, but of these, there are ten major négociants who buy from the smaller négociants and control the vast majority of gold exports from Bunia. Eight of the major négociants reportedly sell their gold in Kampala, while the other two take their gold to Butembo.11 Some of Bunia’s major négociants have connections with specific buyers in Kampala; however, others sell their gold depending on who offers the best price. From Kampala, most gold is exported to Dubai, although there is reportedly increased penetration in the gold trade by Chinese businessmen. 9.4.2. Government formalisation efforts Most of the gold traders are not formally registered and do not pay taxes to the Congolese national government, as required by the national mining code (HRW, 2005). Yet the trade conforms to local rules and processes, which require négociants to pay several taxes and fees to a range of government agencies. In order to avoid paying taxes and fees in the formal and informal economies, some négociants operate clandestinely



9.4.1. Structure of the gold trade

in storefronts where they appear to sell commercial goods such as food or hardware, though their real business is buying gold. The structure of the gold trade is thus highly decentralised, but the Congolese national government has recently taken steps to try to better control and formalise gold trading. In December 2008 the DRC ministries of mines and finance issued a joint decree that is intended to make it easier for comptoirs, or large buying houses, to legally engage in the trade of gold, diamonds, cassiterite, wolframite, coltan and copper (DRC, 2008). The new decree consolidates and reduces the official taxes and fees for gold exports by officially registered comptoirs to 2.25 per cent of the export value and 1 per cent of the purchase value.12 While the reduction in taxes and effort at formalisation is a welcome step forward that could encourage a greater proportion of the gold trade to take place officially within Congo, there is no export tax in neighbouring Uganda (URA, 2008/09; UEPB, undated); consequently, gold buyers in Kampala can offer a better price, providing a financial incentive for businessmen to smuggle gold out of Congo and trade it in Kampala. The difficulty of formalising the gold trade is demonstrated by the fact that, as of August 2010, there were only two official gold traders in Ituri. The first comptoir, called COPED, opened in May 2009 in Bunia. Run by two Kenyans of Indian ancestry and a Congolese businessman, COPED closed in early 2010 due to financial problems, but is expected to re-open by year’s end. A second comptoir, called OKIMO, opened in mid-2009 and has offices in Mongbwalu and Bunia. OKIMO is a joint venture between OKIMO and Mikuba Mining, which is a Lebanese-run company. The COPED and OKIMO comptoirs control only a very small portion of the gold trade. They face several challenges, including capturing part of the gold trade from established négociants and competing against operators who ‘have been offering above market prices to control the market, while making back their margins on the savings they incur through avoiding paying official export taxes’ (UNSC, 2009). As a result, the comptoirs export only a small fraction of the gold produced in the Kilo belt. Between June 2009 and July 2010, COPED and OKIMO gold exports combined were only 154 kilograms, worth $5 million (CEEC, 2010). COPED has exported gold to London, Dubai and India. OKIMO exports gold exclusively to Beirut, Lebanon. 9.4.3. Effects of industrial mining In addition to increased government involvement in the gold trade, the resumption of industrial mining in the Kilo belt is likely to have



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a significant impact on gold trading in Ituri. The company and the government will control the gold that AGK – the joint venture between the Congolese state and the South African mining company – will produce. This will enable them to exclude the local négociants and comptoirs. The effects on the livelihoods of the traders are difficult to predict, because they depend on many factors, including future levels of production at current and new artisanal sites in the Kilo belt. But just as the closure of the Adidi mine resulted in less gold flowing out of the Kilo belt, the start of industrial mining in some of the Kilo belt’s richest goldfields is likely to result in less gold for traders, thereby affecting their livelihoods. The onset of industrial mining could also provide opportunities for some gold traders to transition into new livelihoods. Although much about AGK’s plans remains unknown, there may be new opportunities for men and women with business acumen and social and political connections to shift from the trade in gold to the trade in supplies for the industrial operations. In this way, the gold traders could become a foundation for new economic growth in the Kilo belt (Kennes, 2005).

9.4.4. Effects of UN sanctions In 2005 the UN Security Council belatedly addressed the links between the exploitation of the Kilo belt’s gold and war in eastern Congo by placing several Congolese and Ugandan gold traders on its sanctions list. The Security Council accused these traders of violating UN sanctions intended to curb the flow of arms in eastern Congo (Fahey, 2008). In addition to coming years too late to address Ituri’s worst violence, the sanctions’ effectiveness was limited by the fact that the governments of DRC and Uganda failed to enforce them by restricting the movement and activities of sanctioned individuals and companies (UNSC, 2006, 2008a, 2008b). While the effect of the sanctions on funding for armed groups is unclear, other effects are more evident. UN sanctions appear to have caused gold trading to become more clandestine, and therefore more firmly embedded in the informal economy. There is no imminent local or regional threat to the livelihoods of the gold traders in DRC or Uganda, as shown by the (in)actions of those two governments and the slow pace of Congolese efforts to formalise the trade. However, the risk for gold traders comes when they export to Dubai or Europe, where some buyers of Congolese gold have refused to do business with sanctioned companies and individuals (Metalor, 2005; UNSC, 2007). A successful strategy to avoid complications in contacts with Dubai or Europe is for




sanctioned individuals and companies to create new front companies to mask their activities (UNSC, 2009). UN sanctions also appear to be responsible for the immense drop in Uganda’s official gold exports during 2008–2009. In March 2007 the Security Council added Uganda’s two largest gold exporters, UCI and Machanga, to the sanctions list for their roles in trading in gold from conflicted areas of Ituri and North Kivu. This listing prompted gold buyers in Dubai to stop buying from UCI and Machanga. As a result, Uganda’s official gold exports declined by 85 per cent between 2006 and 2009 (UBOS, 2010). Yet the flow of gold out of eastern Congo through Kampala has not reportedly declined; therefore, Kampala’s major gold traders are apparently seeking to avoid the scrutiny of the UN Security Council by shifting the trade further into the informal sector (UNSC, 2009).

9.5. Conclusion In the last century, the production and trade of gold in the Congo’s Kilo belt have undergone a series of changes due to national and international influences. Belgian colonial authorities initiated small-scale gold production in 1905 using forced labour and artisanal methods, but later increased output by improving working conditions and by mixing artisanal and industrial methods. During the Mobutu era, failed nationalisation policies and overall economic decline led to the demise of industrial mining in the Kilo belt, but these same forces prompted the growth of artisanal mining as a livelihood strategy. Whereas the colonial trade in gold was firmly under governmental or parastatal control, the erosion of governance under Mobutu and the development of the informal economy led to the emergence of gold trading as a livelihood strategy for Congolese businessmen. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, the production and trade of the Kilo belt’s gold were integrated into the regional war economy. Armed groups, including the Ugandan army, fought to control artisanal production in the Kilo belt, and elite commercial networks with ties to armed groups traded the Kilo belt’s gold. The production and trade of the Kilo belt’s gold contributed to the duration of the recent wars in Ituri but, since late 2005, the political economy in the Kilo belt has evolved into a post-conflict state. Tens of thousands of people – including many former rebel soldiers – are engaged in artisanal and small-scale mining, and hundreds more are engaged in the trade of the Kilo belt’s gold. Although artisanal mining



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and informal gold trading are important livelihood options in the warravaged Ituri district, national and international processes threaten their future viability. The largest near-term influence on the production and trade of the Kilo belt’s gold is the planned resumption of industrial mining by Ashanti Goldfields Kilo (AGK), a joint venture of the Congolese government and South African mining giant AngloGold Ashanti. Industrial gold mining has symbolic and economic importance in a region trying to move forward from war, but will likely employ only a fraction of the artisanal miners it displaces from the Kilo belt’s richest goldfields. AGK will directly sell the gold it produces on the world market, thereby leaving local gold traders to compete for a shrinking volume of gold artisanally produced in more remote and less abundant areas. The trade in gold has already been impacted by United Nations Security Council sanctions, which in 2005 belatedly tried to sever the links between armed conflict and the exploitation of the Kilo belt’s gold. The Security Council’s application of targeted sanctions against some of the Kilo belt’s biggest gold traders may have contributed in a small way to the end of the war in Ituri. However, sanctions have also apparently pushed the gold trade further underground at the same time that the Congolese government is trying to formalise and regulate gold trading. The actions by AGK, the Security Council and the Congolese government may, all together, have significant negative effects on the livelihoods of gold mining and trading in the Kilo belt. Kennes suggests that a strong civil society sector can protect the livelihoods of artisanal miners, and prevent their exploitation by corporations or national and foreign elites (Kennes, 2005). There is a strong civil society group in the Kilo belt, the aforementioned Cadre de Concertation (CdC), advocating for transparency and corporate responsibility. However, the shifting legal and institutional environment in the Kilo belt impedes CdC’s work. The absence of clear and enforceable rules about the corporate responsibilities of AGK to the community, and about the authority of various government agencies and agents to regulate gold mining and trading, are impediments to CdC’s efforts to reorient the production and trade of gold in the Kilo belt to improve the social and economic conditions in the region. The new gold rush in the Kilo belt since the end of the war therefore offers cautionary lessons for other parts of Congo and Africa where artisanal and industrial mining interests collide. The ghosts of colonialera mining haunt the Kilo belt, creating expectations among the population that a resumption of industrial mining will create thousands of jobs




and result in new hospitals, schools, housing and other infrastructure. The lack of transparency by AGK and the Congolese government has fed these expectations and led to rising tensions between the artisanal mining community and the company and government. The Congolese state has so far been incapable of overseeing the start of industrial mining, and the formalisation of artisanal mining and the gold trade. The state is too weak and too focused on rent-seeking to work with civil society and industry to create a new structure in the Kilo belt that accommodates artisanal and industrial production, and harnesses the wealth of informal economic trade for the public good. The challenge for the future is, therefore, to design a structure for gold exploitation in the Kilo belt that balances the benefits for the mining company, the government and the local populations. During the last century, mining in the Kilo goldfields has produced tens of billions of dollars in gold for governments and companies, but only a tiny fraction of this wealth has stayed in the region, as evidenced by the poor infrastructure, lack of hospitals, inadequate schools and overall poor living conditions of the people in this part of Ituri. The resumption of industrial mining and the formalisation of the economy may provide both symbolic and tangible benefits to local communities and the region, but if improperly managed they could create conflict and perpetuate the legacies of exploitation and underdevelopment in the Kilo belt.

Notes 1. The Kilo belt is also known as Concession 40, but throughout this chapter I will refer only to the Kilo belt. 2. Artisanal and small-scale mining refers to ‘mining by individuals, groups, families or cooperatives with minimal or no mechanization, often in the informal (illegal) sector of the market’ (Hentschel et alii, 2003). 3. Throughout this chapter I use ASM and artisanal mining interchangeably. 4. From 1885 to 1908, the Congo Free State was the personal property of Belgium’s King Leopold II. From 1908 to 1960, Congo was a Belgian colony. 5. SOKIMO was a joint public–private venture in which the colonial state retained a 55 per cent stake. 6. Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie. 7. Front des Nationalistes et Intégrationnistes. The UPDF handed over control of Mongbwalu to FNI on 1 May 2003. 8. In a joint venture agreement, which was finalised in February 2010, AngloGold Ashanti owns 86.22 per cent of AGK, and the remaining 13.78 per cent is held by OKIMO. 9. This equates to US$3,274,530,940 based on the 11 June 2010 world price of gold (1227.10 $/ounce, 39.45 $/gram, 39,452.18 $/kg).



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10. Ariwara (Aru territory) is the other major trading town in Ituri, dealing in gold originating mainly from Haut-Uélé district. 11. The major négociants transport their gold via airplane between Bunia and Butembo or Kampala; some transport gold by road through Mahagi-Paidha and on to Kampala. Some Bunia-based négociants occasionally travel directly to Dubai to trade their gold, but the normal practice is reportedly to sell gold to buyers in Kampala. 12. The 2.25 per cent export tax is allocated as follows: 1.25 per cent to various national government agencies (Ministry of Mines, OFIDA, CEEC, OCC, Public Treasury), and 1 per cent on the value of purchases goes to the provincial government.

References AngloGold Ashanti (2007) ‘Presentation at the Merrill Lynch Metals, Mining and Steel Conference’, May 2007. AngloGold Ashanti (2007a) Quarterly Report, December 2007 (AngloGold Ashanti). AngloGold Ashanti (2008) Report to Society 2008 (AngloGold Ashanti). AngloGold Ashanti (undated) AngloGold Ashanti’s Activities in the Democratic Republic of Congo (AngloGold Ashanti). AngloGold Ashanti (undated) ‘New road paves the way for economic development in DRC’, http://www.anglogoldashanti.co.za/subwebs/informationfor investors/reports08/roads-DRC.htm, accessed 8 February 2010. Bakonzi, A. (1982) ‘The gold mines of Kilo-Moto in Northeastern Zaire: 1905– 1960’, Ph.D. Dissertation (Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin-Madison). Bedidjo, L. (2007) ‘Situation préoccupante a l’Office des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto’ (Bunia: Centrale Congolaise Du Travail – CCT). Bratton, M. and N. Van de Walle (1994) ‘Neopatrimonial regimes and political transitions in Africa’, World Politics, 46 (4), 453–489. Bura, D.F. (2005) Quelques incidences observées dans l’exploitation artisanale d’or en Ituri Depuis le régime de libéralisation d’exploitation des ressources minières, et perspectives d’actions futures (Bunia). Cadre de Concertation (CDC) (2007) Enquetes sur l’exploitation artisanale d’or en Ituri Effectuées en territoires de Djugu et d’Irumu (du 16 au 22 Août 2007) (Mongbwalu: CDC). CAFOD (2010) CAFOD Analysis of Anglo Gold Ashanti’s Proposed Tailings Retreatment Project in Mongbwalu, Democratic Republic of Congo (London: CAFOD). CEEC (2010) Antenne de Bunia, Official Statistics (Bunia: CEEC). Collier, P. and A. Hoeffler (2004) ‘Greed and grievance in civil war’, Oxford Economic Papers, 56 (4), 563–595. Coquery-Vidrovitch, C., A. Forest and H. Weiss (1987) Rébellions-révolution au Zaïre, 1963–1965 (Paris: Editions l’Harmattan). Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) (2005) Assemblée nationale commission spéciale chargée de l’examen de la validité des conventions à caractère économique et financier conclues pendant les guerres de 1996–1997 et de 1998, 26 June 2005 (Kinshasa: Government of Congo).




Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) (2007) Commission de revisitation des contrats miniers, Rapport des Travaux, Vol. 1 (Kinshasa, Ministry of Mines). Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) (2008) Arrêté interministériel No. 0533/Cab.Min.Mines/01/2008 et No. 275/Cab.Min/Finances/2008 (Kinshasa: Government of Congo). Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) (2009) Le Première Ministre, Decret No. 09/11 du 24/04/2009 portant mesures transitoires relatives à la transformation des entreprises publiques, 24 Avril 2009 (Kinshasa: Government of Congo). Fahey, D. (2008) ‘Le fleuve d’or: The Production and trade of gold from Mongbwalu, DRC’, in S. Marysse, F. Reyntjens and S. Vandeginste (eds) L’Afrique des grands lacs, Annuaire 2007–2008 (Paris: L’Harmattan). Fahey, D. (2009) ‘Explaining Uganda’s involvement in the DR Congo, 1996– 2008’, Paper presented at the International Studies Association conference, New York. Fearon, J. and D. Laitin (2003) ‘Ethnicity, insurgency, and civil war’, American Political Science Review, 97 (1), 75–90. Gleditsch, K. (2004) ‘A revised list of wars between and within independent states, 1816–2002’, International Interactions, 30 (3), 231–262. Hentschel, T., F. Hruschka and M. Priester (2003) Artisanal and Small-scale Mining: Challenges and Opportunities (London: International Institute for Environment and Development and WBCSD). Human Rights Watch (HRW) (2005) The Curse of Gold (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch). International Court of Justice (ICJ) (2005) Case Concerning Armed Activities on the Territory of the Congo (Democratic Republic of the Congo v. Uganda), General List no. 116 (Den Haag: International Court of Justice). Kassem, M. (2003) Chairman, Panel of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Letter to H.E. Mr. Kofi Annan, United Nations Secretary General, 20 October 2003. Kennes, E. (2005) ‘The Democratic Republic of the Congo: Structures of Greed, Betworks of Need’, in C.J. Arnson and I.W. Zartman (eds) Rethinking the Economics of War: The Intersection of Need, Creed, and Greed (Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press). MacGaffey, J. (1987) Entrepreneurs and Parasites: The Struggle for Indigenous Capitalism in Zaire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Marysse, S. (2005) ‘Regress, war and fragile recovery: The case of DRCongo’, in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa (New York: Palgrave Macmillan). Meesen, J.M. (1951) Monographie de l’Ituri; Histoire, géographie, économie (Brussels: Publication de la Direction de L’Agriculture, Des Forêts, de L’Élevage et de la Colonisation). Metalor (2005) ‘Metalor and the Democratic Republic of the Congo’, press release, 2 June 2005, www.metalor.com (home page), accessed 8 February 2010. Nabeta, L., J. Tumusiime, and T. Kakembo (1997) ‘Ugandan economy sees red over Sudan, Zaire wars’, The Monitor (Uganda). Northrup, D. (1988) Beyond the Bend in the River: African Labor in Eastern Zaire, 1865–1940 (Athens: Ohio University).



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Province Orientale (2010) Bureau Minier Isole de District de L’Ituri, ‘Rapport annuel, exercice 2009’, 15 January 2010. Prunier, G. (2009) Africa’s World War (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Pugh, M. and N. Cooper with J. Goodhand (2004) War economies in a regional context (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers). Raeymaekers, T. (2004) ‘The political economy of Beni-Lubero’, in K. Vlassenroot and T. Raeymaekers (eds) Conflict and Social Transformation in Eastern DR Congo (Gent: Academia Press). Reyntjens, F. (2009) The Great African War: Congo and Regional Geopolitics, 1996– 2006 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ross, M. (2004) ‘How do natural resources influence civil war? Evidence from thirteen cases’, International Organization, 58 (1), 35–67. Sambanis, N. (2004) ‘What is civil war? Conceptual and empirical complexities of an operational definition’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 48 (6), 814–858. Schwartz, N.D. (2010) ‘Uncertainty restores glitter to an old refuge, gold’, The New York Times, 12 June 2010. SRK Consulting. (2009) Ashanti Goldfields Kilo Tailings Retreatment Project: Environmental and Social Adjustment Plan, Report No. 393291, January 2009 (Illovo: South Africa). Towalis, F. (2008) ‘Tension sociale à la cité de Mongbwalu’, Les Coulisses, No. 185–186, 20 December 2007 to 25 January 2008, p. 11. Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) (2010) Statistical Abstract, June 2010 (Kampala: Uganda Bureau of Statistics). Uganda Export Promotion Board (UEPB) (undated) ‘Export incentives’ http:// www.ugandaexportsonline.com/incentives.php, accessed 11 January 2010. Uganda Revenue Authority (URA) (2009) Uganda’s Domestic Tax Laws, FY 2008/09 (Kampala: Uganda Revenue Authority). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2001a) Report of the Panel of Experts on the Illegal Exploitation of Natural Resources and Other Forms of Wealth of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2001/357 (New York: United Nations Security Council. United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2001b) Addendum to the Report of the Panel of Experts on the Illegal Exploitation of Natural Resources and Other Forms of Wealth of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2001/1072 (New York: United Nations Security Council). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2005) Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2005/30 (New York: United Nations Security Council). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2006) Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2006/53 (New York: United Nations Security Council). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2007) Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2007/423 (New York: United Nations Security Council). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2008a) Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2008/43 (New York: United Nations Security Council). United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2008b) Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2008/773 (New York: United Nations Security Council).




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United Nations Security Council (UNSC) (2009) Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2009/603 (New York: United Nations Security Council). Young, C. and T. Turner (1985) The Rise and Decline of the Zairian State (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press).


10 Sara Geenen

10.1. Introducing agency and constraints The dominant discourse on mineral resources and local livelihoods in the DRC emphasises people’s constraints. For most, the exploitation of mineral riches does not contribute to improved livelihoods; small diggers are forced by master traders and/or armed groups to work in the mines, with the profits from mineral exploitation and trade flowing to criminal networks (Global Witness, 2004, 2005, 2009; Pole Institute and International Alert, 2004; Human Rights Watch, 2005; NiZA, 2006; Prendergast and Lezhnev, 2009; Enough, 2009; Sullivan and Atama, 2010). This discourse, accepted in international policy circles and by the media, fails to grasp the more complex local realities. This chapter offers an agency perspective, focusing on people’s opportunities and the way they deal with them. Agency-oriented sociologists view human beings as social agents capable of solving problems, taking decisions and intervening in the social world around them. Therefore, ‘the notion of agency attributes to the individual actor a capacity to process social experience and to devise ways of coping with life, even under the most extreme forms of coercion’ (Long, 2001: 16). Of course, opportunities are not boundless. They are restricted by institutions; very broadly defined as ‘the rules of the game in a society’ (North, 1990: 40). Institutions shape individuals’ room for manoeuvre and provide the constraints within which they can act and pursue their own interests. The literature usually differentiates between formal and informal rules and institutions. Informal rules are defined as codes of conduct, socially embedded norms of behaviour and conventions. ‘Informal’ in this case applies to institutions and activities that exist 192



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apart from official state structures and processes. Formal rules, on the other hand, are official rules emanating from state law, which govern the public sphere. In reality, the formal and informal are not ‘physically separate locales of power and action’ (Nordstrom, 2001: 219). They interact constantly with people and goods moving incessantly into and out of the worlds of ‘formality’ and ‘informality’. Acknowledging the inadequacy of this dichotomisation and arguing that socially embedded norms and conventions might be more influential than state norms, Olivier de Sardan (2008: 15) introduces the exploratory concept ‘practical norms’. ‘Practical norms’ govern day-to-day realities, they are implicit and often automatic and routine, but they are also subject to change. It is recognised that in any environment, a wide variety of norms and institutions coexist. The coexistence of different institutional frameworks, and thus multiple normative orders with different sources of legitimacy and authority, is often referred to as ‘legal pluralism’ (Griffiths, 1986). Individual actors can use this diversity. They can and do navigate between institutional frameworks and address various institutions, depending on which best serves their interests (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002). This enhances an actor’s opportunities, but it may also increase the number of constraints because of the power relations at play (see also Ansoms and Claessens’ chapter in this book). This chapter deals with constraints and opportunities in the gold sector. We look at the agency of social actors and determine which practical norms guide their relationships. Using a case-study approach, the aim is to describe different groups of actors and the multiplicity of practical norms in Kamituga, a mining town in South Kivu. Data have been collected from historical archives and fieldwork (March–April 2008 and July–August 2009). The first section of this chapter gives an historical overview of mining in Kamituga. The second section discusses agency and constraints in exploitation and trade.

10.2. The historical trajectory of a mining town The purpose of this section is to place our case study in a historical perspective. The decay of industrial production and the boom of artisanal mineral exploitation can be related to some key events and evolutions: the rise of industrial production and the creation of a mining town during colonisation, the Zairian economic crisis of the 1970s, the liberalisation of the gold and diamond sectors in 1982, the severe economic crisis of the 1990s and the armed conflicts of 1996–1997 and 1998–2003.



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In the 1920s, gold deposits were discovered in Maniema and South Kivu. The Belgian company MGL (Minière des Grands Lacs Africains) started industrial gold production in Kamituga, situated about 180 kilometres south-west of Bukavu. Shortly after independence, however, political troubles, violent insurgencies and a weak administrative apparatus disrupted industrial production. In the mid-1970s, nationalisation measures and commodity price instability on the world market forced different mining companies to restructure. In 1976, nine mining companies in eastern Congo merged into the newly created Sominki (Société Minière et Industrielle du Kivu). The Zairian state held 28 per cent of the shares and private shareholders 72 per cent. Sominki’s two most important commodities were cassiterite (i.e. SnO2 – a tin oxide mineral) and gold. Gold exploitation was concentrated in the Mobale mine in Kamituga. According to the mining law established during colonial times, the Kamituga concession was divided into different zones. Zone A was the ‘core of the concession’ and was only accessible for the original inhabitants of local villages and the personnel of the mining company. Zone B covered a larger area of 40 kilometres in diameter around Mobale mine. Though Zone B was still part of the concession, there was no active industrial mining therein. The area was meant for agriculture and the provisioning of the workers. In the seventies, local people already started digging in some gold shafts that had been abandoned by MGL. MGL and its successor Sominki did not do much to prevent this, as long as the diggers stayed in the outskirts of Zone A and Zone B, and did not penetrate into the main sites that were still in production. However, from 1974 onwards, many people also started to infiltrate in Mobale. They were encouraged by the constantly rising gold prices, and sought to complement their incomes by selling gold ore to local traders. Among these ‘illegal diggers’ there were also Sominki workers. They stole the richest ores during their shift. These thefts represented a considerable loss to the company. Some estimated that 100–200 grammes were stolen each working shift (Interview, 5 September 2008). Given three shifts a day and 20 working days a month, this would represent a loss of between 72–144 kilograms per year. This is a considerable amount, given that Sominki’s annual gold production between 1976 and 1990 varied from 400 to 600 kilograms.



10.2.1. Early industrial development and the dawn of artisanal mining

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In 1982, President Mobutu announced the ‘liberalisation of the gold and diamond sector’. The public, seeing this as consent for local people to exploit the mining concessions, rushed to the gold sites. In 1987, it was estimated that 30 per cent of the young men in South Kivu had left their villages and fields to go to the mining sites (Dupriez in Vlassenroot and Raeymaekers, 2004: 206). The illegal diggers inside Mobale mine also came to be better organised and were called ‘Ninjas’ (Bulambo Katambu, 2002 and interview in Bukavu, 27 July 2009), referring to stock characters in kung-fu films. The movement flourished because of the complicity of the mining police and the ill-paid guards at the main entrance. They offered protection for the diggers and traders, in exchange for a part of the production. Illegal digging offered a range of opportunities to everyone involved and increased the agency of the local population. First, it substituted or augmented official wages (which could not keep up with food price rises). Second, the illegal extraction and sale of gold was a simple way to acquire desirable consumer goods (e.g. fancy clothes and radios) and a certain status in the local community. It also provided excellent opportunities for wealth accumulation (MacGaffey, 1987). Bulambo Katambu (2002: 139) describes, for example, that the Ninja members were doing rather well in Kamituga. They had three meals daily, fancy clothes, popular consumer goods and belonged to a new middle class. Some built houses in Kamituga and in Bukavu, Kitutu and Mwenga. One even acquired a coffee plantation in North Kivu. Illegal digging, finally, was a way for diggers to ‘appropriate’ physically the gold mine areas and their deposits as their own – a form of resistance to the company and the state. This view was commonplace among a group of young men, some of them intellectuals, who developed strong feelings against ‘Western domination and dictatorship’. Bulambo Katambu (2002) says that for many, especially the young, joining the Ninja movement and reclaiming this land were public statements and tangible acts to proclaim the space as their own. 10.2.3. Crisis and war While artisan exploitation was booming in the 1980s, industrial gold production was heavily affected by poor economic policies and the decay of physical infrastructure. As a result, Sominki was forced to look for a buyer. In 1995, the Canadian company Banro expressed their interest in a possible takeover. In 1996, they acquired the majority of



10.2.2. The consequences of liberalisation

Sominki shares. However, in September 1996, AFDL (Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Congo-Zaïre), headed by Laurent Désiré Kabila and backed by Rwanda, started its rebellion against the Mobutu regime and launched its march on Kinshasa. By November, Kamituga was plundered and its director, in an attempt to secure the underground level for possible future exploitation, ordered to flood the Mobale mine (Sominki, 1997a). Banro thus never started exploration or exploitation works. On 29 March 1997, Sominki went into liquidation (Sominki, 1997b). At the time, Banro was negotiating for its mining titles both with the Mobutu regime and with Laurent Kabila, who then had his headquarters in Goma. They were thus hedging their bets. The negotiations with the Mobutu government resulted in the creation of a new company: SAKIMA (Société Aurifère du Kivu-Maniema) on 6 May 1997, a few days before the seizure of Kinshasa by AFDL forces (Baracyetse, 1999). In this new company, the share of the Zairian state fell to 7 per cent, while Banro controlled the remaining shares. This was little appreciated by the new regime headed by Laurent Kabila. Besides, there were other complaints about the ongoing SAKIMA operation (e.g. their refusal to make redundancy payments). On 4 August 1998, the RCD (Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie) rebellion broke out, challenging the Kabila regime. The director of SAKIMA, Alexis Thambwe, was one of its founding members (Tull, 2005: 168). Victor Ngezayo, a businessman with Rwandese roots and the director of RMA (Ressources Minières Africaines, another subsidiary of Banro) also supported the rebellion. Thus two protagonists on the Banro side were directly involved in the rebellion. In response, President Laurent Kabila deprived Banro of its mining titles on 31 July 1998 and created a new company: Somico (Société Minière du Congo). The creation of Somico was presented as a kind of indigenous (or national) response to a perceived external threat or aggression. From 1998 to 2003, the Kamituga region witnessed various confrontations between Mayi-Mayi groups, FDLR (Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Rwanda), and the RCD which controlled the centre of Kamituga. RCD also attempted to control taxation in the Mobale mine (Vlassenroot and Raeymaekers, 2004). Thus, the gold chain became integrated into the new war economy. Armed groups tried to establish control over production and trade in order to finance their war efforts (UN Security Council, 2001, 2007 and 2008). In the meantime, Banro did not agree with the court’s decision to hand over its concessions to Somico and appealed the decision.




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However, on 16 January 2001 President Kabila was murdered and ten days later succeeded by his son, Joseph. During the new president’s first visit to the United States, a Banro delegation invited the Congolese government to negotiate a ‘gentlemen’s agreement’. And so it was done. On 21 December 2001, Banro announced having concluded a protocol of understanding with the Congolese state. The agreement, which transferred all titles and rights to SAKIMA and lengthened the time frame for concessions from 25 to 30 years, was signed on 19 April 2002. Banro now holds the titles on four gold concessions: Twangiza, Lugushwa, Namoya and Kamituga. At this moment they have concluded exploration in Twangiza and are starting in Lugushwa. Tin concessions were completely neglected as they were judged unprofitable. 10.2.4. Mineral resources for development? The role of mineral resources in conflict financing has been described extensively by researchers, both academic and activist. Few have, however, considered the potential of mineral extraction and trade for post-conflict development (Garrett and Mitchell, 2009; Mitchell and Garrett, 2009). Contributions can take place at two levels: at the level of the national (or provincial) budget, and at the level of local livelihoods. Looking at official export figures for South Kivu (Table 10.1), it is clear that the officially exported quantity of gold, and thus the contribution to the national budget through official taxes, is limited. Table 10.1 also shows the names of the officially registered gold export offices in South Kivu. In 2007 there were three, in 2008 two. The cost for opening a gold export office in the DRC was very high until 2008 (US$50,000). In 2009, it had been reduced by 90 per cent (i.e. to US$5000). But only one new office opened its doors in 2010 Table 10.1

Official export figures of the registered export offices in South Kivu

Export office

NAMUKAYA AUREX CONGO COTRACOM Total

2007 Exported quantity (in grams)

2007 Value (in US$) (in grams)

2008 Exported quantity (in grams)

2008 Value (in US$) (in grams)

90, 716.50 7, 640.56

1, 571, 527.00 132, 371.36

57, 102.90 /

1, 072, 265.00 /

7, 505.80

133, 603.00

7, 531.13

90, 748.30

105, 862.86

1, 837, 501.36

64, 634.03

1, 163, 013.30

Source: CEEC and Division des Mines, South Kivu.



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(Intermines). The export office Namukaya (better known as Congocom, its former name) maintains a near monopolistic position in the official exports of gold from South Kivu. But many traders go directly to Bujumbura or Kigali where independent export offices are able to offer higher prices (due to the lower taxes they pay). When comparing official export figures and estimated production figures, it is clear that the bulk of gold production from South Kivu is smuggled out to neighbouring countries1 (see also Dan Fahey’s chapter in this book). The contribution of mineral exploitation and trade to development can also be placed at the level of individual livelihoods. When analysing this, we should look at the agency of different actors involved in gold mining and trade, taking into consideration the practical norms that govern and sometimes constrain their interactions. This is what we do in the next section.

10.3. Agency and constraints in exploitation and trade In this section we first discuss legal pluralism and property rights in mining sites. Next, we describe the organisation of a reef mining project (a system of underground shafts and tunnels to mine the gold that appears in quartz veins or reefs). We then explore the agency of individual miners and analyse their constraints, opportunities and hopes. We also consider a range of other actors active in the production process. Then we describe the trading network and some practical norms that govern trade relations. Lastly, we discuss the tentative absence of industrial actors from the scene. 10.3.1. ‘This is our land’: legal pluralism and property rights in mining sites Property rights are crucial, since they determine who has access to which resources and what incentives are available for investors (MeinzenDick and Pradhan, 2002: 1). The same is true in the mining sector. In Kamituga, the official claim holder for the mining concession (according to statutory law) is Banro. Nevertheless, Banro has not yet started its exploration activities in Kamituga and is not physically present in the concession. Instead, local miners are extracting gold from artisanal mining shafts. According to estimates by the local Mines Division, there are 150–200 mining shafts in and around Kamituga. Some are abandoned industrial shafts but most are new. The exploitation of each of these shafts was initiated by a PDG (Président Directeur Général), also called a shaft owner. They are often former Sominki workers (or their parents




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were) with considerable experience in the gold sector.2 The shaft owner acts both as an investor and as an organiser. He provides the necessary tools (shovels, chisels, etc.), engages a team of workers and caters for their food – and possibly other needs – until the shaft starts ‘producing’ (i.e. when the team reaches the gold vein). Besides, as a team leader he organises the work (see later). But since they work in a company’s concession, the so-called shaft owners are not the official owners. In this institutional environment, property rights are flexible and constantly open to negotiation. In fact, local miners and shaft owners are working in a context of ‘livelihood uncertainty’ (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002: 22). Therefore, they use various strategies for obtaining and securing access to mining sites. Shaft owners endeavour to ‘legitimise’ their claims by referring to their ‘traditional’ rights to the land that their ancestors lived and worked on (see also Cuvelier’s contribution in this volume). As one interviewee told us, ‘We only take what is ours; it’s the land of the Congolese.’ Another miner said: ‘We are born here, our parents worked in the company. Being their children, we have the right to work in these mines.’ The claims they make are addressed to different actors and institutions which are often overlapping. For example, they might address state representatives, customary chiefs, military leaders, local leaders, associations and NGOs at the same time. All these institutions generate law, broadly defined as, ‘cognitive and normative orders generated and maintained in a social field’ (Meinzen-Dick and Pradhan, 2002: 3). The coexistence of multiple legal orders is referred to as legal pluralism. It allows people to navigate between different institutional frameworks depending on their personal interests and local power, a process known as ‘forum shopping’ (Benda-Beckmann, 1981). Shaft owners usually go ‘forum shopping’ once the exploitation of the shaft has started. Firstly, they address the local branch of the Mining Administration, which issues licences (carte d’exploitant artisanal). According to the mining law, each digger must buy such a licence (at US$40, renewable each year). The administration is aware that a simple digger cannot afford to buy this card every year, and so the shaft owner often pays one licence per pit. This legitimises his claim and gives him a certain degree of security. Secondly, shaft owners address the customary authorities who traditionally decide on the distribution of land. According to our interviews, shaft owners pay one to four renge (one renge equals 1.26 grammes) of gold per month to the traditional chief (about US$30–120). The amount not only depends on the arbitrariness of the customary chief, but also on bilateral negotiations with the shaft



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owners. Occasionally the military, the police and the judiciary also levy taxes (all interviewees said that the payments to the military have been drastically reduced since the end of the war). An additional strategy to secure mining titles is to become a member of an association. In Kamituga, two associations support shaft owners. One is COKA (Comité d’orpailleurs de Kamituga), which presents itself as a trade union that ‘defends the interests of the artisan miners’ and intervenes in conflicts around mining issues. The other is CPACAM (Coopérative Principale des Associations des Creuseurs Artisanaux de Mwenga). This organisation has 70 members. It provides technical support to shaft owners and also intervenes in disputes.

10.3.2. ‘It’s teamwork’: the organisation of reef mining One shaft owner may employ between ten and one hundred miners, depending on the availability of manpower, the size of the shaft and the expected production. The work is done manually and makes use of shovels, chisels and other small tools. Only a few shaft owners have been able to invest in machines like water pumps and compressors. The lack of modern technical equipment obviously imposes considerable constraints upon exploitation. For example, many teams get stuck when groundwater wells up. During the rainy season, this seriously hampers production. It is also very dangerous for the miners. Secondly, the periodic lack of oxygen is the cause of many illnesses and deaths (this could be remedied using simple compressors). A ‘reef mining’ project requires a considerable investment in working tools, but also in preparatory works and catering for the workers. In some cases, teams have to work for up to 1 year or more before they reach a gold vein and shaft owners invest a lot of money (which they at their turn borrow from the traders). The first task for the team is to dig a tunnel, which has to be shorn up with wooden trunks; a task carried out by specialised workers (i.e. the boiseurs). The latter are usually experienced, middle-aged ex-Sominki workers. After them, the foreurs intervene. This category of workers extracts the auriferous rocks, cuts them into smaller stones and then proceeds into the tunnel. The work of the foreurs is physically very demanding and is typically done by men aged between 20 and 40. They usually have a certain degree of experience in reef mining. Next come the peleteurs, mainly younger and/or less experienced men. They clear out the quartz for processing (see later). The recruitment of workers by the shaft owner is generally based on friendships and (extended) family relations.




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Every reef mining project is governed by practical norms. Whereas the diggers have no written labour contracts, there are oral conventions between shaft owners and diggers. Generally, the initial agreement is as follows: one-third of the extracted rocks are used to reimburse the expenses incurred by the shaft owner, one-third falls to the shaft owner himself and one-third is equally distributed among the other workers (normally regardless of their category, but the distribution may be negotiated). Since remuneration comes in kind (i.e. in a quantity of rocks), it is commonplace to evacuate one metre of quartz to cover the expenses, one metre for the shaft owner and one metre for the workers. Hence, the quality of the rock determines whether a worker will make profit or not. Serious conflicts may arise after having reached the gold vein if a shaft owner suddenly modifies these conventions and claims a larger share for himself. Typically, he would try to justify this by claiming he had investments to recoup beyond those provided for in the initial agreement. In other words, the power imbalance between shaft owners and diggers might lead to a unilateral cancellation of the initial agreement.

10.3.3. ‘Who seeks, finds’: constraints, opportunities and hope in reef mining This brings us to the question as to whether individual actors can and do profit from these activities. Are there opportunities for accumulation and investment? Is there a possibility for social mobility? And finally, what motivates men to engage in gold exploitation? The popular and dominant image of a gold mining settlement is that of a ‘doomed’ place where consumerism, alcoholism, prostitution and moral decay are rampant. This does not seem like a place where opportunities for wealth accumulation and investment arise. It is true that, in general, diggers in Kamituga like to sell their production on the spot and spend their earnings on alcohol, women and fashionable clothes, instead of saving and investing. These phenomena intensified during the armed conflicts of the 1990s (Vlassenroot and Raeymaekers, 2004). Even today there might be several reasons for this: the constant need for cash, a general feeling of insecurity, and the threat of state intervention and/or theft. The institutional (i.e. banking) environment does not encourage people to save or invest either. However, some individual cases do stand out as examples of wealth accumulation, social mobility and agency. COMILU (Coopérative Minière de Luna) is one small-scale mining company which contracts about 200 workers. It is managed by Gerard Kyabinya, an ex-Sominki



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worker who began artisanal exploitation in the early 1990s and since has benefited handsomely from its production. He has successfully invested part of his earnings in Bukavu in real estate and automobile sales, and in improvements to his mining facilities. He is now a very rich and influential person in the local community. Apart from being the manager of COMILU, Kyabinya is also president of the digger’s association CPACAM and pastor in a revivalist church. In having such different jobs on the side, it is obvious that he occupies an important position in the community and can be considered an ‘indigenous capitalist’ (MacGaffey, 1987).3 From our interviews and informal conversations, it is clear that Kyabinya serves as a role model for many diggers and small-scale traders. We also observed a certain change in the spirits of young gold diggers, compared to the war period: they start thinking about investments. One interviewee stressed: ‘[. . .] There have been some changes, yes. In the old days, the youth was not thinking rationally, while now they have an ideal, they dream about investing’ (Interview, 3 April 2008). Men like Kyabinya, who has become a successful businessman and social figure, inspire young people and show that upward social mobility is possible. Besides, they now have improved access to Bukavu, the provincial capital, thanks to a newly rehabilitated road. The physical accessibility of Kamituga encourages young entrepreneurs to do business and to invest locally. These observations suggest a positive motivation for engaging in gold exploitation. In almost all our interviews, the work in the gold exploitation or trade is indeed judged positively by miners and traders themselves. Respondents say that it provides a decent and relatively stable income; it allows them to feed their families and send their children to school. Some of them also refer to the fact that mining generates quick revenues: ‘For a digger like me, the money we find is easy money, whereas a farmer has to wait so long for the harvest’ (Interview, 2 April 2008). Another digger said: ‘I love this work in the gold sector because you can go to bed as a poor man and wake up as a rich man’ (Interview, 6 April 2008). Indeed, having observed work in Kamituga’s various mining pits and having spoken to various diggers and shaft owners, one must conclude that everyone is driven by hope. There is first of all the hope of the team that the shaft will lead to a rich gold vein, and, secondly, the hope of individual diggers that their portion of rocks will contain some gold dust. One of the most important aspects of this work is the variability in income, because it is almost impossible to know beforehand how rich a certain deposit of rocks will be. According to almost all respondents,




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their income depends on ‘luck’ and can never be predicted (Interview, 7 April 2008). This spirit of hope (as a driving force) is beautifully expressed in the name of one of the shafts we visited ‘Who seeks, finds’. Although, at first glance, ‘It all depends on luck’, there are other factors such as experience that influence the outcome of a mining project. We found that shaft owners often have considerable experience in the mining sector. As (children of) former Sominki workers, they know the mining sites very well and they do not start a reef mining project ‘blindly’. They know which shafts have been abandoned by MGL or Sominki and which veins are still worth exploiting. Moreover, they have the technical and geological knowledge to direct their tunnels towards the gold veins. The case of Jean-Baptiste, a shaft owner, illustrates this. Jean-Baptiste is 45 years old and has six children. He was born in Kamituga and worked for Sominki in the eighties. Having lacked the opportunity to study at that time, he has recently decided to begin his university studies at one of the four divisions of universities in Kamituga. In order to pay for his studies, he works as a miner. In 2008, we met him in Mero. He constituted a team together with some fellow students. Unfortunately, they had to abandon the shaft a few months after our visit due to the mounting groundwater. In January 2009, Jean-Baptiste invested in a new shaft in Misagi, another mining area in Kamituga. Being an ex-Sominki worker, he knew that this area contained a particularly rich vein. He says that they base themselves on old geological maps which, although not up-to-date, give a pretty good indication of where to direct your tunnel. ‘While proceeding’, he explained, ‘we also communicate with each other, and hammerblows indicate when another team is coming too close.’ At the time of our last visit in August 2009, they had already dug a 60-metre long tunnel with a team of five diggers. Their work had to be temporarily stopped since Jean-Baptiste lacked the money to buy fresh batteries for their torches. This case illustrates how shaft owners have agency (e.g. his studies and new shaft) but also face constraints (e.g. a need for fresh batteries). Finally, we touch upon the broader question of what motivates people to work in the gold sector. In the debate on artisanal mining, some authors highlight ‘push factors’ while others stress ‘pull factors’ that attract people towards the mines (Hilson, 2009: 3). The ‘demandpull’ school of livelihood diversification states that people are subsisting



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adequately from farming, but choose to diversify in order to generate higher economic returns. This school has been largely informed by accounts of ‘rush-type’ activities: the discovery of new gold sites leads to a ‘rush’ and the short but intensive and chaotically planned exploitation of the new mining site. The people involved are very mobile. They set up mining camps which they are willing to abandon as soon as returns are no longer adequate. In the ‘distress-push’ school there are two main accounts. The first says that people get involved in artisanal mining because they are desperate to escape poverty. The second view claims that artisanal mining has become a permanent activity in some places in Africa’s rural economy and that ‘despite being fuelled by poverty, artisanal mining is more than just a “rush activity”, that it is a deeplyrooted industry [. . .] which offers a range of economic opportunities for people from all walks of life’ (Hilson, 2009: 3). Considering the historical trajectory of the mining sector in Kamituga, and the many statements we collected from interviewees about their work, we tend to agree with the last view. In Kamituga, artisanal mining is the principal means of surviving and generating an income. For some, it is a means to invest and evolve economically. The presence of an experienced, skilled workforce makes the Kamituga case particular. It stands in contradiction to popular accounts of the chaotic, unplanned ‘gold rush’, which are quite popular and influential in donor circles.

10.3.4. ‘It’s a never-ending process’: the processing of auriferous rocks There are further stages in the production process once the rocks have been ‘harvested’ (see figure 10.1). As we have said, a miner receives his salary in kind (i.e. a certain quantity of auriferous rocks, which he will have to work and re-work before being able to sell the gold). After the auriferous rocks are extracted from the mining shaft, they are transported to a loutra, a fenced-off parcel of land where the stones are crushed into fine powder. This powder is then washed in a basin to separate the gold dust from the ‘waste’. In this parcel, we usually find a guard who is paid by the loutrier, the owner of the parcel (he receives part of the production). We also find mamans twangaises, women who are hired by individual diggers to pulverise their production. These women are paid US$1.4 per iron bucket; each containing 13–15 kilograms of stone.4




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Miners (boiseurs, foreurs, peleteurs)

205

Twangaises

Shaft owner

Loutrier

MINING SHAFT

LOUTRA 1

Biporistes Maman bizalu Maman tora/ children Loutrier

Gold ore and processed ore Waste Transportation (sometimes involves another category, the ‘transporters’, who are paid per weight) Owner (power over other actors)

LOUTRA 2

Figure 10.1 Actors in gold exploitation and the processing of auriferous rocks in and around Kamituga Source: Author’s diagram based on own fieldwork.

The mamans twangaises are employed on an ad hoc basis by individual diggers or by groups of diggers and they have no contract. This makes them vulnerable. When the stones appear to contain little gold dust, diggers are not likely to pay the mamans twangaises. On the other hand, diggers repeatedly denounce the mamans twangaises for stealing valuable stones and selling them on their own account. Indeed, some women admit that they might hide stones in their underclothes. In any case, this work is physically very demanding and many suffer from pulmonary diseases and vertebral column deformation due to the harsh working conditions (International Alert and LEAD, 2009: 47). When the stones are pulverised into fine powder, the powder can then, if necessary, be sifted. The miners wash their own production in a water-filled basin of about 1 by 2 metres long and 1.5 metres deep in which an iron plate (called a karaï) is used to separate the ‘sand’ and the gold dust. They do this by slowly turning the plate around so that the heavier gold particles are separated. The smaller gold particles, however,



Guards

sink to the bottom of the basin. After 2 or 3 months, depending on the frequency of use, the basin is emptied and the owner can reprocess this sand for additional profit. The loutrier sells the part of the sand that is left in the parcel or the basin to others, usually younger men or women, to be further worked and re-worked. This happens in a second plot, which is often located further away from the mining sites and closer to the centre of the town. These loutras can be very spacious and host several areas, each accommodating a specific processing activity: water basins, water streams, parcels for pulverising the production and fireplaces for purifying the gold dust (with nitric acid). People come here to work their production because they need water streams, for example, which are not publicly available elsewhere. A first specific category of actors who intervene in the re-working of the sand are the biporistes. They use the bark of a banana tree (called biporo), into whose pores the gold dust sticks, to wash the sand. They are often organised in teams of four to six men and might produce some 3–10 mishale (measure equal to 1/10 of a renge) per day for between US$9 and 30. A second category are the mamans bizalu who buy a quantity of sand (waste) for US$2–3, wash and work it, and if necessary crush it again, in order to find some gold dust in it. They can earn between US$3–6 a day for 1 to 2 mishales. A third category (mainly women and children) is present in the loutra and gathers the leftovers. They crush, wash and sift the waste once more to extract any remaining gold dust. The women involved in this activity are commonly called mamans tora. Their daily revenues vary between US$1 and 3. As is obvious from these descriptions, the participants in the production process are manifold. The production process itself is almost endless, since the ‘waste’ produced by one actor can be bought and further processed by another. At the various stages, the local population somehow tries to profit from the gold business.

10.3.5. ‘The gold passes through many hands’: the network of gold traders After processing, the gold has to be sold and transported to international markets. The gold passes through many hands when entering the networks of gold traders at the local and regional levels (see figure 10.2). Gold at the local level is sold in ‘buying offices’, while some petty traders also go directly to the mining shafts and the loutras to buy ‘at source’. The number of buying offices in Kamituga is not stable since




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EXP. Loutrier Small trader

Boss (intermediary trader)

Master trader

Export office

Local

Regional

Figure 10.2 Actors and their relationships in gold trade in and beyond Kamituga Source: Author’s diagram based on own fieldwork.

smaller offices often face bankruptcy. However, there are a number of well-established ‘big buying offices’. They have often existed for a long time, have a big turnover and are locally well known. The owners of these offices (patrons, ‘bosses’ or intermediary traders) usually live and work in Bukavu and travel frequently to Kamituga to manage their businesses. Some have a number of offices in different neighbourhoods in Kamituga, or even in other mining sites like Lugushwa or Fizi. A boss often combines the gold trade with other business, such as clothing, transport, fuel and so on, which are transported to the interior. These people can become very successful businessmen. In August 2009 we did a survey to identify all of the buying offices in Kamituga.5 We obtained a list of 17 big offices, and at least 50 small offices which might be commission agents of the big offices or independent small offices. About 20 to 25 offices are officially registered; the other ones operate illegally, or work under the cover of an official office.6 The system of commission agents is widespread. This system allows a boss to officially register and pay taxes for one office when, for example, he really operates three. It is also a strategy to diversify the supply, and thus guarantee a constant supply of gold, and to avoid risk. The recruitment of agents in these offices is done on the basis of friendships or family relations. Family relations can be disadvantageous because they may involve a lot of moral obligations, as one of our interviewees explained. Most of the time, agents and bosses refer to each other as ‘friends’ and identify ‘familiarity’ instead of family relations as the most important criterion for recruitment. Relations are multiple, complex and often overlapping. In this section we limit ourselves to relationships between agents and bosses. Buying



Agent

offices in Kamituga are usually staffed by one or two agents, who are each entrusted with specific tasks. One agent is charged with ‘heating’ the gold in nitric acid so as to remove the impurities. This process is called ‘heating’, ‘burning’ or ‘cleaning’ the gold and produces highly toxic fumes from the burnt acid.7 A second agent does the weighing, negotiations with the clients, payment and accounting. To make the office operational, the boss places a sum, varying from US$1000 to 20,000, at the agent’s disposal. The trader/agent uses this money to buy small quantities of gold from the diggers. To weigh the gold, traders use very simple balances. They hold the balance between thumb and forefinger and balance the amount of gold with suitable weights. These weights include a range of coins, matchsticks and toothpicks. In the process, cheating frequently occurs. In fact, commission agents depend for part of their profit on the manipulation of the weights. One agent explained to us that a coin of one kanta should normally weigh 0.7 grams. To make some profit, you should manipulate your kanta to 0.9 or 1.0 gram. The 0.7 is transferred to the boss, whereas the agent keeps 0.2 or 0.3. He concluded that ‘an agent must be a bit of a thief’, although the bosses are all well aware of this practice, as are most customers. We might, therefore, call this ‘institutional cheating’. Apart from this, agents and bosses have some practical arrangements with respect to the agent’s remuneration. Usually, the boss evaluates his profits at the end of the month, and the agent receives a percentage. Thus, their salary is not fixed. It depends on the quality of the relationship, and on the level of monthly profits. Almost all agents publically affirm that they are satisfied with this agreement, and that the levels of trust between them and their bosses are high enough to ensure that their profit shares are fair. Once the agent has bought a sufficient quantity of gold, he sends it to the boss, who is normally based in Bukavu. Traders in Bukavu buy at a price that is slightly higher than the price in Kamituga (about US$1–2 per renge higher). The prices in Bukavu and in Kamituga keep up with the world market price, although not everyone is equally informed about ‘global’ price evolutions. Some traders follow it on internet or on the radio; others say they are not informed. In April 2008, one renge was bought at US$31.5–33 per renge in Kamituga, while in Bukavu traders paid US$33–34.5. The boss sells to the export offices in Bukavu at US$37.5–41 per renge, thus making a profit (gross margin) of about US$5 per renge. To sum up, many different actors are involved in the gold trade at the level of South Kivu. Instead of becoming more and more centralised, transactions involve a whole range of smaller and bigger actors. The




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reasons for this are threefold. Firstly, diggers supply small quantities of gold dust to the agents. They tend to sell immediately and do not wait until they have a larger quantity to sell. Therefore, they remain dependent on small, local traders in Kamituga instead of going directly to larger traders in Bukavu. Secondly, supply comes from many dispersed, remote and difficult to reach mining sites. This makes it unprofitable for a master trader to set up his business in the vicinity of the mining shafts. Thirdly, setting up a big office in the interior makes a trader vulnerable to theft, or military or state control. The more complex the network and the more ‘informal’ and personal the exchanges, the more difficult it is for the state and others to take control over the transactions. 10.3.6. The tentative absence of industrial actors An interesting characteristic of the production and trading process described above is the (near) absence of industrial actors in Kamituga. This does not mean that they have ceased to exist. Today, Banro is still holding mining titles but it is absent and is not taking any concrete steps to re-start prospection in Kamituga, although they have always announced that they would (Interview, April 2008). Somico, still referring to the 1998 presidential decree, is also claiming the mining titles. In 2007 Somico management occupied Sominki’s former offices and announced they would start exploiting the Mobale mine. In August 2007 they concluded a partnership (a US$50 million investment) with Swiss mining company Aurex, a former export office in Bukavu (Beltrade Info, 2007). The partnership, though, has never become operational as tensions emerged between Aurex and Somico headquarters in Kinshasa (and even within Somico). These tensions are clearly linked to political conflicts between pro-Somico and pro-Banro politicians at the national and provincial levels.8 In brief, Somico has no machines, nor any money to invest. An Aurex representative is currently negotiating with the government in Kinshasa to acquire the mining titles (personal communication, April 2010). In the meantime, Aurex is financing a few mining shafts around Kamituga and has put ten ball mills at the disposal of the diggers. The ball mills crush larger quantities of quartz, and thus do the work of the mamans twangaises. The diggers who want to process their stones in Aurex’s ‘factory’ are obliged to sell their production to Aurex. It remains, however, a mystery to what extent Aurex is already involved in the gold extraction, what arrangements they have with the miners and to whom they sell their production. In the near future, the question of how to reconcile the industrial and artisanal sectors will definitely come to the fore (see also the chapters



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by Dan Fahey and Jeroen Cuvelier in this book). This is already hotly debated by the Congolese government and external donors, but practices on the reconciliation of industrial and artisanal mining disputes are full of contradictions. The mining law, for example, hardly speaks about the artisanal sector except for the claim that, ‘mining sites should be set at the disposal of artisan producers’. Yet, in practice, most of the territory has been divided into concessions for industrial companies. On various Congolese mining sites, tensions and even open conflicts are emerging between local communities and mining companies.9 This issue will become more and more important as the debate moves towards the role of mineral resources in post-conflict development.

10.4. Conclusion This chapter has studied the constraints and opportunities of actors involved in the gold mining sector. Our analysis focused on the agency of miners and traders, and considered the practical norms that govern and sometimes constrain their interactions. Let us briefly consider a few conclusions we can draw from this case study. In the 1970s and the 1980s, the Kamituga area was administered as the private property of a mining company. People were not allowed to build houses, to open shops or to mine gold for themselves. However, they managed to circumvent these rules and negotiate with the company’s management over a more lenient application of the rules. Currently, no official property rights can be granted to individuals in Kamituga since the area is still situated in Banro’s concession. Accordingly, people cannot rely on state law to secure titles to land and mining pits. But the (physical) absence of the title-holder also allows for relatively easy access to the mining shafts. Someone who is able to invest in tools and manpower can quite easily become a shaft owner. In order to secure their titles, shaft owners navigate between different institutions (‘legal pluralism’). But at the same time, they are continuously confronted with the threat of an industrial actor (re)appearing in the local setting and (re)claiming the mining titles. This chapter has also demonstrated how the ‘formal’ and ‘informal’ sphere cannot be separated, as evidenced by public authorities levying non-official taxes and artisanal gold producers and traders paying official taxes on gold, but smuggling the same gold across the border. Institutions, defined here as ‘the rules of the game’, in the Congolese gold sector are usually not governed by state law. In order to describe these institutions, we have used Olivier de Sardan’s ‘practical norms’




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as an exploratory concept. The aim was to empirically describe some of these practical norms which govern relationships between people, rather than to provide an in-depth analysis. Between shaft owner and miners and between commission agent and trader, no official or written contracts exist. All contracts are based upon personalised and reciprocal relationships and ‘arrangements’. Even between traders and miners, these arrangements exist: once a miner (a ‘client’) becomes more familiar to the trader, he can be granted special privileges and, very importantly, credit. This is crucial in a context where official credit and saving systems are absent (which considerably hampers opportunities for investment). Instead, miners, shaft owners and commission agents take loans from sponsors. In many cases this helps them in their work, but it also brings moral obligations and dependencies between the actors involved. We have also described how shaft owners and miners agree to distribute production. Although these practical norms are always open for negotiation, they guide the relationships between miner and shaft owner. Similarly, the trading agent and his boss have arrangements concerning the distribution of profits. Still, cheating frequently occurs and is part of the practical norms. Cheating in a way forms ‘room for manoeuvre’ and creates agency for the subordinate actors (see Scott, 1995), like commission agents (who manipulate the weights) or mamans twangaises who hide precious stones. The chapter provided other examples of agency. The Ninja, for example, were surviving amid an economic and institutional crisis, looking for opportunities to buy consumer goods and to accumulate wealth, and opposing an industrial company. Also today, local ‘entrepreneurs’ are seeking opportunities to invest. They exercise agency, which may in some cases result in accumulation and investment. Those who managed to accumulate often leave for Bukavu. But very recently traders have also started to invest locally, which might have a positive trickle-down effect on the local economy. A final example of agency can be found among the shaft owners, who, in a situation of legal pluralism, actively negotiate with different state and non-state agencies. Using Kamituga as a case study we have shown who are the actors involved in artisanal mining, why they work in the gold sector and what their constraints and opportunities are. If the Congolese government and/or external actors want to take steps towards a reform and formalisation of the Congolese mining sector, it is important to take the potential impact upon the livelihoods of actors operating in artisanal mining into account.



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1. Real production is estimated at about 4 tons per year (Interview at the ‘Division de Mines’, Bukavu, 21 March, 2008 and interview with Eric Kajemba, Observatoire Gouvernance et Paix, 28 March 2008). According to Garrett and Mitchell (2009), 95 per cent of gold production in North and South Kivu is smuggled out. 2. In March–April 2008, we interviewed eight shaft owners. Six of them had more than 10 years of experience, one of them between five and ten and one between 0 and 5 years of experience. 3. Indigenous capitalists are local entrepreneurs who have made use of opportunities, mostly in the second economy, and have accumulated capital. MacGaffey (1987) argues that these local entrepreneurs are a vital element in answering the questions of how Zaire actually functions. 4. This iron bucket is also called a loutra. Another meaning of the word is the basin in which the production is washed. The word loutra has thus three meanings. 5. We managed to identify at least 90 per cent of all operational buying offices. We did not identify individual small traders, such as women who are selling food at the market, but who also buy and sell gold. 6. We have a list of 25 officially registered offices for September 2008, 23 in October and 26 in November. 7. Nitric acid is used to determine the purity of the gold and to remover impurities, since gold is insoluble in it. Another process involves the use of mercury to recuperate gold from the ‘waste’ because gold dissolves in mercury, forming amalgam alloys (but does not react with it). 8. President Kabila is said to be pro-Banro since he has negotiated the 2002 agreement. The vice-governor in South Kivu is pro-Aurex. Somico is supported by Yerodia (former Minister of Foreign Affairs [1999–2000] and former vice-president in the transitional government) and has a strong basis in Kinshasa. 9. For example, in Luhwindja (Twangiza) the local community is opposing Banro because the latter want to relocate a number of families from the concession.

References Baracyetse, P. (1999) L’enjeu géopolitique des sociétés minières internationales en République Démocratique du Congo (ex-Zaïre) (Buzet: SOS Rwanda-Burundi). Beltrade Info/ACP (2007) ‘50 millions de dollars américains pour relancer les activités de la Somico à Kamituga’, Beltrade, n◦ 11. von Benda-Beckmann, K. (1981) ‘Forum Shopping and Shopping Forums: Dispute Processing in Minangkabau Village’, Journal of Legal Pluralism 19, 117–159. Bulambo Katambu, A. (2002) Capitalisme minier et droits de l’homme en RDCongo. La croisade des Nindja contre la Société Minière et Industrielle du Kivu (Huy: Les Editions du Trottoir). Dupriez, H. (1987) Bushi: l’asphyxie d’un peuple (Bukavu, ADI-Kivu). Enough (2009) A Comprehensive Approach to Congo’s Conflict Minerals (Washington DC: Enough Project).



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Garrett, N. and H. Mitchell (2009) Trading Conflict for Development (Aston Sandford: Resource Consulting Services). Global Witness (2004) Same Old Story. A Background on Natural Resources in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Washington: Global Witness). Global Witness (2005) Under-mining Peace: Tin- the Explosive Trade in Cassiterite in Eastern DRC (Washington: Global Witness). Global Witness (2009) Faced with a Gun, What Can You Do? War and the Militarization of Mining in Eastern Congo (Washington: Global Witness). Griffiths, J. (1986) ‘What is Legal pluralism?’, Journal of Legal Pluralism and Unofficial Law 24, 1–55. Hilson, G. (2009) ‘Small-scale mining, poverty and economic development in sub-Saharan Africa: An overview’, Resources Policy 34, 1–5. Human Rights Watch (2005) The Curse of Gold. Democratic Republic of Congo (New York: Human Rights Watch). International Alert and Laboratoire d’Economie Appliqué au Développement (LEAD) (2009) La femme comme objet d’exploitation socio-économique dans la dynamique des guerres au Sud-Kivu (Bukavu: International Alert). Long, N. (2001) Development Sociology: Actor Perspectives (London: Routledge). MacGaffey, J. (1987) Entrepreneurs and Parasites. The Struggle for Indigenous Capitalism in Zaïre (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Meinzen-Dick, R.S. and R. Pradhan (2002) Legal Pluralism and Dynamic Property Rights (Washington: International Food Policy Research Institute [IFPRI]). Mitchell, H. and N. Garrett (2009) Beyond Conflict – Reconfiguring Approaches to the Trade in Minerals from Eastern DRC (Aston Sandford: Resource Consulting Service). Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa (NiZA) (2006) The State vs. the People. Governance, Mining and the Transitional Regime in the Democratic Republic of Congo (Amsterdam: Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa). Nordstrom, C. (2001) ‘Out of the shadows’ in T. Callaghy, R. Kassimir and R. Latham (eds) Intervention and Transnationalism in Africa. Global-local Networks of Power (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). North, D. (1990) Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Olivier de Sardan, J.-P. (2008) Researching the Practical Norms of Real Governance in Africa (London: Overseas development Institute [ODI]). Pole Institute and International Alert (2004) Natural Resource Exploitation and Human security in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Seminar Report (London and Goma: International Alert and Pole Institute). Prendergast, J. and S. Lezhnev (2009) From Mine to Mobile Phone. The Conflict Minerals Supply Chain (Washington DC: Enough Project) Scott, J. (1995) Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (London: Yale University Press). Sominki (1997a) Procès-verbal de la cinquante et unième réunion du Conseil d’Administration tenue à Kinshasa le samedi 29 mars 1997 (unpublished document). Sominki (1997b) Procès-verbal de l’Assemblée Générale Extraordinaire des Actionnaires du samedi 29 mars 1997 (unpublished document). Sullivan, D. and Atama, N. (2010) Digging in. Recent Developments on Conflict Minerals (Washington DC: Enough Project).



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Tull, D. (2005) The Reconfiguration of Political Order in Africa. A Case Study of North Kivu (RDCongo) (Hamburg: Institut für Afrika-kunde). UN Security Council (2001) Report of the Panel of Experts on the Illegal Exploitation of Natural Resources and Other Forms of Wealth of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, S/2001/357 (New York: United Nations Security Council). UN Security Council (2007) Report of the Secretary-General Pursuant to Paragraph 8 of Resolution 1698 (2006) concerning the DRC, S/2007/68 (New York: United Nations Security Council). UN Security Council (2008) Final Report of the Group of Experts on the Democratic Republic of Congo, S/2008/773 (New York: United Nations Security Council). Vlassenroot, K. and T. Raeymaekers (2004) ‘Divisé en deux. Or et identité sociale à Kamituga (Sud-Kivu)’ in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) L’Afrique des Grands Lacs, Annuaire 2003–2004 (Paris: L’Harmattan).




11 Jeroen Cuvelier

11.1. Introduction This chapter deals with the complex dynamics of domination and resistance in the mining sector in Katanga, the south-east province of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Faced with the decline of the state mining company Gécamines but encouraged by the spectacular rise of mineral prices over the past few years, an estimated 250,000 Katangese are digging for copper and cobalt ores on a daily basis, equipped with nothing more than a shovel or a pickaxe. Basically, they are working in two different places: either legally, in concessions ceded to them by Gécamines on instructions of the Congolese government, or illegally, in concessions belonging to private companies or to Gécamines. Organising themselves in teams of four to six people, the creuseurs hand over their minerals to middlemen or négociants, who, in turn, arrange for the transport of the minerals from the mines to the warehouses of maisons (trading houses) established in Kolwezi, Likasi and Lubumbashi, Katanga’s three main mining hubs. Ultimately, it is the trading houses who sell the minerals on the international market. Meanwhile, from 2002 onwards, the global demand for copper has risen due to a combination of increased consumer spending and an expanding infrastructure in rapidly developing countries such as India and China. The global demand for cobalt has also risen as a result of worldwide increases in chemical applications such as catalysts and rechargeable batteries. As Ballard and Banks have shown, artisanal mining in a Third World country like the Congo is often characterised by a considerable degree of oppression and exclusion. In their dealings with the state and with private mining companies, artisanal miners are stuck between hammer 215



Between Hammer and Anvil: The Predicament of Artisanal Miners in Katanga

and anvil because they run the risk of being faced with forced dispossessions, relocations and human rights abuses (Ballard and Banks, 2003: 301). Since they rarely have strong legal rights, they find themselves increasingly marginalised (Hilson et alii, 2007: 417) and even criminalised (Bush, 2009: 57). Despite the liberalisation of the mining sector throughout Sub-Saharan Africa, the state retains the power to draw the line between legal and illegal mining activities and to decide which economic actors will be given the opportunity to continue their operations in a relatively undisturbed manner (Luning, 2008: 399). Foucault (1978, 1980, 1998) has made a significant contribution to the analysis of state power by coining the concept of ‘governmentality’. Starting from the observation that the rise of the modern nation state in the eighteenth century was coupled with major changes in styles of governing throughout the Western world, he has introduced the term ‘governmentality’ to describe modern states’ endeavours to manage their resources – including their populations – as economically and efficiently as possible. In Foucault’s view, state power imposes itself on people through various practices of government such as the use of technologies of surveillance, and the disciplining, measuring, assessing and classifying of human bodies in prisons, schools, hospitals and social service agencies. People are led to believe that these practices are all humane interventions, in other words, initiatives that contribute to the safety, education, health and general well-being of the population. However, according to Foucault, they serve as disguised mechanisms of state domination. States succeed in convincing people of the legitimacy of their projects of control and domination by presenting the above-mentioned practices as being in line with widely accepted Enlightenment values such as rationality, reason and scientific knowledge (Danaher et alii, 2000). At first sight, Foucault’s ‘governmentality’ theory appears to be unsuitable for the analysis of state power in the DRC. Congo is generally seen as a prototypical example of a ‘failed state’, that is, a state that has lost control over part of its territory, that fails to offer decent public services to its citizens, and that lacks legitimacy among the electorate (Reyntjens, 2007). Most observers agree that years of dictatorship and civil war have left the country in disarray, struggling to cope with continuously high levels of insecurity and violence, rampant corruption and crumbling infrastructure. The inability of the Congolese state to control its territory and its people is evidenced, among other things, by the spectacular growth of unofficial economic activities (MacGaffey, 1991; De Herdt and Marysse, 1996; Emizet, 1998), the frequent cases of mutiny




by sections of the national army (International Crisis Group, 2006) and the malfunctioning of the public administration (Trefon, 2009). Nevertheless, some elements of Foucault’s political theory are still useful for the purposes of the present chapter. First of all, in the process of developing his ‘governmentality’ argument, Foucault has emphasised the inherently fluid nature of power. Distancing himself from the widely held assumption that power is something that can be held for a long time by certain individuals or groups, he has argued that power should rather be seen as the outcome of constantly shifting relations between different fields, institutions, bureaucracies, and other groups within the state (Danaher et alii, 2000: 71). As will become evident in the course of this chapter, this view proves to be very helpful when one tries to make sense of the enormous speed with which power in the Katangese mining sector moves from one point to another as a result of changing circumstances, alliances and negotiations. A second element of Foucault’s political theory that is useful for the analysis of power dynamics in the Katangese mining sector is his concept of ‘governmental rationality’, which refers to the logic underpinning a state’s mode of governance (Sending and Neumann, 2006: 657). In the course of this chapter, we will show that the Congolese state acts in accordance with a ‘rationality of government’ that not only stems from the state’s decline during the Mobutu regime, the civil war and the ensuing period of political transition, but also from processes of political globalisation that have increased the influence of networks of intergovernmental organisations, transnational corporations and nongovernmental organisations on the formulation and implementation of laws and regulations at the national level (Sending and Neumann, 2006: 668). Vircoulon has aptly described the new ‘rationality of government’ of the Congolese state as a regime of ‘controlled sovereignty’. According to Vircoulon, ‘controlled sovereignty’ means that the international community, which played a key role in brokering peace agreements, restoring national unity and reshaping Congo’s political system in the build-up to the elections of 2006, continues to have a strong influence on the way the Congolese government manages its affairs (Vircoulon, 2007). The Congolese state’s new ‘rationality of government’ has manifested itself very clearly in the mining sector. Mazalto has pointed out that international financial institutions such as the World Bank have persuaded the Congolese state to embark on a major reform of the mining business, consisting of the adoption of a new mining code and the introduction of a new set of standards for mining practices. The Congolese



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state has been under enormous pressure to dismantle highly indebted state mining companies, to open up the mining sector to private foreign investments and to set up a number of administrative control mechanisms aimed at fighting corruption and increasing transparency. Taken together, all these measures and initiatives have been designed to force the Congolese state into the role of a trustworthy facilitator and regulator of mining operations (Mazalto, 2009). The regime of ‘controlled sovereignty’ is not the only ‘rationality of government’ in the Congolese state, however. Another ‘rationality of government’ is that of ‘paternalism’. Schatzberg has established that, throughout Central Africa, the language and imagery of father and family are omnipresent. As people in this region tend to idealise patterns of authority within the family, they are inclined to evaluate the performances of their political rulers according to the standards they use for the assessment of the behaviour of a pater familias, that is, a father figure who serves as the head of the family (Schatzberg, 2001: 23–31). As could be expected, the coexistence of the two above-mentioned rationalities of government has had a negative impact on the management of the Katangese mining sector. While, on the one hand, the international community has expected the Congolese state to act in conformity with the rules of ‘controlled sovereignty’ by establishing thoroughly regulated and closely monitored procedures for all mining activities, on the other hand, the ‘governmental logic’ of paternalism has led the Congolese state to organise the mining business in a clientelistic manner, offering special rights and benefits to protégés of the political elite. Consequently, officials at all hierarchical levels of the state’s mining services have been forced to find a balance between carrying out a Western-style reform of the Katangese mining sector and respecting the rules of patron–client relationships. Having discussed our interest in the theories of Foucault, Vircoulon and Schatzberg for the analysis of state power in the Katangese mining sector, we still need to explain how we intend to examine practices of resistance developed by artisanal miners. Scott has pointed out that subordinate groups often express their views on social inequality through so-called ‘hidden transcripts’, that is, ‘discourse that takes place offstage, beyond direct observation by power-holders’ (Scott, 1990: 4). In order to avoid sanctions from their oppressors, they only talk about their feelings of concern and resentment when they know that nobody can listen in to their conversations. It is not until the moment of an open rebellion against the powerful that they allow their ‘hidden transcripts’ to come




to the surface and that they dare to denounce power abuses in a public manner (Scott, 1990: 18–19). In this chapter, we will focus our attention on cases of collective resistance, in other words, on situations in which artisanal miners openly and jointly revolt against power abuses committed by groups and individuals occupying dominant positions in the Katangese mining business. According to Scott’s theoretical framework, these instances of insurrection should be considered as ruptures between the ‘public’ and the ‘hidden transcript’. Mining revolts are moments when artisanal miners suddenly find the courage to speak up publicly about their precarious working and living conditions. We will show that these ruptures between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’ can only occur thanks to what Foucault would describe as ‘the fluidity of power relations’ (cfr. supra). While Katangese artisanal miners usually find themselves in a subordinate position vis-à-vis other actor groups in the mining business, they can sometimes take advantage of a concurrence of circumstances to defy the powers-that-be through mass demonstrations. So, in short, our argument about the dynamics of domination and resistance in the Katangese mining sector is twofold. First, we want to show that the state’s management of the mining sector is guided by two ‘governmental rationalities’: on the one hand, the rationality of ‘controlled sovereignty’ and, on the other hand, the rationality of ‘paternalism’. The incompatibility of these two rationalities helps to explain why technocratic plans to ‘clean up’ the Katangese mining sector tend to produce unintended effects. Second, we want to demonstrate that, as a result of the fluidity of power relations in the mining sector, artisanal miners sometimes receive opportunities to publicly voice ‘hidden transcripts’ aimed at criticising abuses associated with the afore-cited ‘rationalities of government’ of the Congolese state. In the following sections, we will present two case studies about smallscale mining revolts that occurred in Katanga in 2006. The reader will notice that both case studies are built around the Swahili expression ‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’, which can be translated as ‘the soil belongs to the ancestors’. Through the use of this ‘hidden transcript’, artisanal miners criticise what they consider to be one of the major downsides of economic globalisation, namely the privatisation of former common property resources. They like to believe that there used to be a time when all the mineral wealth in the Katangese subsoil was readily accessible to everyone, because (the spirits of) the ancestors were the only ones guarding the region’s natural resources.



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The mine of Mbola lies in the territory of Kipushi. On 29 April 2006, the mining police closed the barrier at the entry of the mine on orders from Mwamba Kabasele, a wealthy businessman from the Kasai region who owned the Lubumbashi-based trading house MK. Kabasele claimed to have received a document from the Congolese authorities that made him the new owner of the mine. When people asked him which mining services had given him this document, he replied that he had signed an agreement with two newly created services: on the one hand, a technical state agency called SAESSCAM (Service d’Assistance et d’Encadrement du Small-Scale Mining) and, on the other hand, a mining cooperative called CMKK (Coopérative Minière Madini Kwa Kilimo). Following the closure of the entry barrier, Kabasele prohibited any further evacuation of minerals. Only mineral buyers with a token – sold by auction by the mining police – were allowed to have their minerals transported to other destinations. Those who did not succeed in obtaining a token had no other option but to sell their products to the trading house of Mwamba Kabasele. Whereas, in the beginning, they had to accept the price proposed by Kabasele, after a while, they only had to sell half of their mineral loads at the price proposed by the Kasaian businessman, while they could sell the other half on their own terms. According to EMAK, an organisation claiming to represent all the artisanal miners and mineral buyers in Katanga, Kabasele took advantage of the fact that several powerful actors at the local level were prepared to bend the rules. Between the end of April and the beginning of May 2006, the president and secretary-general of EMAK sent several letters to the authorities in Lubumbashi and Kinshasa, describing the circumstances in which the illegal occupation of the Mbola mine occurred and denouncing the violent manner in which every form of protest against the occupation was being crushed. The authors of the letters were convinced that one of the main reasons why Kabasele had managed to occupy the mine was that he had good relationships with SAESSCAM and CMKK. In a memorandum addressed to President Kabila, they suggested that there was a close alliance between SAESSCAM, CMKK and the mining police, three parties they suspected of wanting to sideline EMAK. In the opinion of the authors, SAESSCAM, CMKK and the mining police were jealous of EMAK’s prominent role in the organisation of mining activities at the local level, while they were also envious of EMAK’s capacity to collect taxes among artisanal miners and mineral buyers in the Mbola mine. In fact, in 1999, long before CMKK and SAESSCAM came into existence,



11.2. ‘Bulongo ni ya bankambo’: the mine of Mbola

the Congolese government had charged EMAK with the responsibility of assisting and representing all participants in the Katangese artisanal mining sector, a set of duties that was coupled with the right to ask its members for financial contributions. EMAK officials accused the mining police of having molested its agents on two occasions, on the orders of Mwamba Kabasele. The first attack was said to have taken place on 20 April 2006. Allegedly, the second commander of the mining police had entered the mine of Mbola together with a group of armed police officers without informing the provincial mining division, as he was supposed to. The commander had prohibited all artisanal miners from entering or leaving the mine, while he had ordered the arrest of five EMAK agents, who were taken to an unknown destination. The second attack was said to have taken place on 3 May 2006. Reportedly, the commander of the mining police had given orders to arrest and beat several EMAK agents. After the beatings, the victims were once again taken to an unknown destination. It is unclear what happened to them afterwards. The situation in Mbola exploded completely after a prominent politician also decided to get involved. Moïse Katumbi, one of the leading figures of President Kabila’s PPRD party in Katanga, was in the middle of mounting his campaign in preparation of the elections of 2006 when the Kabasele incident took place. Katumbi, who made his fortune in Zambia under the presidency of Frederick Chiluba, was widely known in Katanga because he was the president of the Lubumbashi-based soccer club TP Mazembe. Attending a public meeting between artisanal miners and a group of EMAK representatives on 6 June 2006, Katumbi stated that ‘the soil belongs to the ancestors’ (‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’), while he encouraged people to ‘recover their goods’. Katumbi’s call led to the massive and spontaneous looting of Kabasele’s warehouse in Mbola by a large crowd of artisanal miners. For his part, Kabasele was not amused by what had happened in Mbola. Shortly after the lootings, he filed a complaint at the court of Kipushi, accusing the looters of having stolen 400 tons of minerals and US$320,000, among other things. What made the complaint particularly explosive was the fact that it also contained strong allegations against Moïse Katumbi, who was charged with having stirred up anti-Kasai feelings among the artisanal miners (Le Potentiel, 2006). 11.2.1. The fluidity of power relations in Mbola The events in the Mbola mine show that power constantly shifts from one point to another as a result of changing circumstances and altering



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alliances between state and non-state actors. EMAK’s dominance began to crumble in April 2006, when businessman Mwamba Kabasele entered the field. Kabasele presented himself as a man who used his wealth to build up a group of clients who were willing to serve him in exchange for help in getting access to financial resources. Three groups had good reasons to collaborate with the newly arrived strongman: SAESSCAM was eager to manifest itself as a new state agency destined to replace EMAK as the provider of technical assistance to artisanal miners; CMKK was looking for an opportunity to present itself as a good alternative to EMAK in terms of defending artisanal miners’ interests vis-à-vis other actor groups in the mining business; and the officers of the mining police were more than happy to offer their services to every person who was prepared to pay them higher salaries. Still, Kabasele did not stay in control of the Mbola mine for a very long time. When Moïse Katumbi decided to back up EMAK in its struggle against Kabasele, power shifted again, this time ending up in the hands of Mbola’s artisanal miners. Thus, power relations in the Katangese mining sector are clearly not invariable. In order to get a realistic idea of the power balance at the grassroots level, researchers need to keep close track of the constantly changing alliances and negotiations between different actor groups involved in the competition over mineral resources in Katanga.

11.2.2. The field of tension between ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’ in Mbola Apart from illustrating the fluidity of power relations in the Katangese mining sector, the events in Mbola also throw into relief the incompatibility of the ‘governmental rationalities’ of ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’. As we already explained in the introduction to this chapter, the regime of ‘controlled sovereignty’ obliges the Congolese state to follow the guidelines of the international community with regard to the reform of its mining sector. This means, among other things, that the state has to act in conformity with the new mining code established under the auspices of the World Bank, that it has to attribute mining rights in a transparent manner, and that it has to stimulate the creation of new institutions rendering the mining process more efficient. Theoretically speaking, the granting of rights over a concession such as Mbola should have been done by the Congolese mining registry according to impartial and well-defined procedures. Likewise, institutions such as EMAK, SAESSCAM, CMKK and the mining police




should have respected the limits of their respective competences, so that the smooth organisation of the mining process would have been guaranteed. Yet, in reality, mining activities in Mbola deviated significantly from Congo’s official mining regulations. Not only was an illicit mining deal concluded between Mwamba Kabasele and two institutions unauthorised to take decisions on the distribution of mining concessions, but there was also a violent conflict about the definition of the rights and duties of the wide range of institutions dealing with mining activities in Mbola. These deviations from official mining regulations can be explained by taking into account the persistent importance of the governmental logic of ‘paternalism’. In fact, upon closer examination, it turns out that many actors and actor groups jockeying for position in Mbola were basing themselves on a paternalistic framework for exercising power. On the basis of interviews with employees of SAESSCAM, EMAK, CMKK and the mining police, we have been able to establish that everyone occupying a recognised position of authority in the Mbola mine was convinced that they had the right to make financial demands on their subjects, in exchange for a decent form of guidance (encadrement) and for fatherly help with some of the bureaucratic formalities associated with work in the mining areas. When one examines the behaviour of Mwamba Kabasele and Moïse Katumbi, it becomes even more obvious that the logic of ‘paternalism’ had an important impact on the way power was exercised in the Mbola mine. In their capacity of ‘big men’ with a considerable level of experience in the Central African world of business, Kabasele and Katumbi knew that, if they wanted to be successful, they could not restrict themselves to simply making wise economic choices and taking the right business decisions. It was also necessary, they realised, to draw on locally recognised symbols of paternal and chiefly authority. Therefore, both protagonists did their best to present an image of themselves as ‘father-chiefs’ (Schatzberg, 2001: 145–150). Kabasele made it clear that he was a very severe ‘father-chief’. When a group of EMAK officials had the audacity to question Kabasele’s ownership of the Mbola mine, they found themselves attacked by officers of the mining police who assisted Kabasele in maintaining his authority. Kabasele’s demonstration of disciplinary power was in line with the type of behaviour expected from customary chiefs throughout Central Africa. As Schatzberg has noted, ‘father-chiefs often have a dark, nasty side’ which is related to ‘the need to make sure that “children” receive proper



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discipline so that they will grow and mature’ (Schatzberg, 2001: 160). At the same time, Kabasele’s display of brutal force also corresponded to the type of intervention expected from a newly installed customary chief. One could argue that, similar to the way a new chief performs an act of symbolic violence in order to make it clear to his future subjects that he is capable of defeating every rival to his rule (Gordon, 2004), Mwamba Kabasele ordered the use of physical violence against a group of EMAK officials in order to show that he was ready to suppress every form of resistance against his presence. A final parallel between Kabasele’s way of exercising power and a customary chief’s manner of ruling concerns the management of mining revenues. Although one is tempted to assume that Kabasele created an entirely new system to control the sales of minerals originating from the Mbola mine, there appear to be striking similarities between his system and the system used by customary chiefs during pre-colonial times. Herbert has shown that, before the arrival of colonialism, many groups in Central Africa believed that all people had the right to work in the mines, provided that they were prepared to hand over part of their minerals to the political overlord controlling the area in which the mines were situated (Herbert, 1984: 45). From this perspective, it seems reasonable to consider Mwamba Kabasele’s system, which consisted of granting usufructuary rights to Mbola’s artisanal miners and mineral buyers in exchange for the right to dictate the terms under which mineral sales would take place, as a transformation of a pre-colonial strategy to exact tribute from one’s subjects. Just like Mwamba Kabasele, Moïse Katumbi did his best to present himself as a ‘father-chief’ to the people working in the Mbola mine. However, while Kabasele mainly displayed the dark side of chiefly authority, Katumbi tried to emphasise its benign and nurturing side. As Schatzberg has pointed out, a ‘father-chief’ does not only have the duty to keep his people on the right track by punishing them whenever necessary, but he also has to guarantee that they have enough to eat and that they are not harmed by anyone. He has to show that he knows what his people are going through and that he is prepared to correct any injustices they might be suffering from (Schatzberg, 2001: 150–160). Furthermore, a ‘father-chief’ has to demonstrate his capacity to mediate between the world of the living and the world of the dead, making sure that his subjects observe important traditions so that their activities receive ancestral blessing instead of being thwarted by diseases, accidents and disasters (Grévisse, 1957: 55–66). Although Katumbi was by all means a modern politician and businessman – maintaining contacts




with influential policy makers at national and international level and operating various companies on both sides of the Congolese–Zambian border – he was still very much aware of the need to enact traditional power practices in order to shore up his political legitimacy vis-à-vis potential voters. By attending a mass meeting between a group of EMAK officials and a large crowd of dissatisfied artisanal miners in the Mbola mine, he wanted to show that he sympathised with the cause of the weak and the powerless in Katangese society. Aiming to present himself as a leader who attached great importance to the preservation of cultural traditions, he took advantage of the afore-mentioned mass meeting to deliver a speech in which he explicitly referred to the distant past as well as to ancestral customs in the field of artisanal mining. The speech enabled him to underline his willingness to take the problems of the artisanal miners seriously and to find a solution for them in a fatherly manner.

11.2.3. The rupture between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’ in Mbola The massive looting of Kabasele’s warehouse by a large group of diggers shows that the latter were certainly capable of rising against their oppressors. Following Scott’s theoretical framework, the mining revolt in Mbola can be considered as one of those rare occasions on which a rupture takes place between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public’ transcript (Scott, 1990: 18–19). Whereas artisanal miners usually express their criticism on abuses in the mining sector in a covert fashion, they sometimes find the courage to speak their minds in public. It is in moments like these that parts of the ‘hidden transcript’ enter the ‘public transcript’, so that the boundary between the two temporarily ceases to exist. What is remarkable about the mining revolt in Mbola is that the person taking the lead in expressing one of the artisanal miners’ ‘hidden transcripts’ in public was not an artisanal miner himself. Strangely enough, it was Moïse Katumbi who gave a speech in which he inserted the Swahili expression ‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’, which means ‘the soil belongs to the ancestors’. This raises a number of questions. How is it possible that an upper-class politician and businessman like Katumbi was able to use an expression that was supposedly part of a secret language of artisanal miners? Why did the artisanal miners wait to loot Kabasele’s warehouse until Katumbi took the initiative to publicly express one of their ‘hidden transcripts’? And what did Katumbi hope to achieve by using this particular ‘hidden transcript’?



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The first question is relatively easy to answer. As Scott has pointed out, it is not because subordinate groups do their best to keep their criticisms private for fear of reprisals that their superiors have absolutely no idea what they might be complaining or gossiping about when they are in each other’s company (Scott, 1990). Since Katumbi still had his own private mining company at the time of the events in Mbola and was therefore used to dealing with various types of players in the Katangese mining sector, he probably had plenty of opportunities to find out which expressions were circulating among artisanal miners. In order to understand the hesitant attitude of artisanal miners in Mbola, it is necessary to take into account the unforeseeable nature of life in the mining areas. In all likelihood, the diggers did not dare to loot Kabasele’s warehouse on their own initiative, because they found it hard to predict how local security forces would react to such a move. They were probably worried that an attack on Kabasele’s property might provoke a permanent closure of Mbola, in which case they would have to move to another mine where they would then have to re-start their digging activities from scratch. Therefore, the safest thing for them to do was to wait for the support of a powerful and influential ‘father-chief’ like Katumbi, someone they could rely on in times of trouble. Katumbi probably used the expression ‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’ to convince Mbola’s artisanal miners of the fact that he sympathised with their nostalgia for Katanga’s distant past. Having said this, the reason why his use of this expression created such a stir was probably that it referred to the relationship between autochthony and land. Legros has pointed out that, since pre-colonial times, most Katangese cultures make a sharp ideological distinction between two groups: on the one hand, the group of ‘first occupants-autochthons-people of the land’, and, on the other hand, the group of ‘conquerors-strangers-powerful people’. Throughout Katanga, it is believed that descendants of the first occupants have the right to call themselves the owners of the land, while they are also entitled to carry out all land-related rituals. Conversely, descendants of a group that, according to oral traditions, arrived in that same area at a later moment in history, can never claim to be the owners of the land, and they can also never obtain the right to perform land-related rituals (Legros, 1996: 171). When, in the beginning of the 1990s, xenophobic Katangese youngsters organised pogroms against immigrants from the Kasai region, they took advantage of the above-mentioned ideological opposition between ‘first occupants’ and ‘conquerors’ to justify their violent campaign. Claiming that Kasaians were ‘foreign conquerors’ usurping the possessions of ‘autochthonous’




Katangese, they chased many of them back to their home region. Strikingly, one of the slogans they used while carrying out the pogroms was ‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’. From this perspective, it seems reasonable to assume that Mwamba Kabasele took offence at Moïse Katumbi’s use of this slogan because it made him think of the events at the beginning of the 1990s. Being an immigrant from the Kasai region, Kabasele probably felt categorised as a stranger who did not have the right to claim ownership of the land on which the mine was situated simply because he did not belong to the group of ‘first occupants’.

11.3. ‘Bulongo ni ya bankambo’: the mine of Kalabi The copper mine of Kalabi is situated along the road between Likasi and Bunkeya. In 2005, almost all the copper ores from Kalabi were bought by the Lubumbashi-based Bolfast Company. Faustin Bokonda, who founded the company in 1999, was well known throughout Katanga because he was also the chairman of the popular Lubumbashi-based soccer club FC Saint Eloi Lupopo. The first reason why the Bolfast Company succeeded in obtaining a de facto monopoly on the purchase of Kalabi’s minerals in 2005 was that it managed to develop a strong relationship of mutual trust with a fixed group of local mineral buyers whose financial resources were relatively limited. The mineral buyers agreed to sell their minerals exclusively to Albert Mabela, the Bolfast Company’s vice-president, in exchange for various presents in kind and a payment in cash on each occasion that Mabela paid a visit to Kalabi. Apart from the advantage of being able to rely on a fairly regular provision of a lump sum of money, the cooperation with the Bolfast Company also offered the local mineral buyers the possibility to free themselves from the burden of having to hire a truck for the transport of the minerals on their own initiative, and having to pay for documents guaranteeing a smooth passage along the roadblocks on the way from Kalabi to the warehouse of the company buying the minerals. The second reason why the Bolfast Company was successful in dominating Kalabi’s copper market in 2005 was that it was on good terms with EMAK, an organisation claiming to defend the interests of all artisanal miners and mineral buyers in Katanga, but also subjecting these two groups to the payment of a substantial amount of taxes. Thanks to the fact that a member of the Bolfast Company’s management had been among the founding fathers of EMAK, the company was given an informal permission to pay a fixed annual tax of approximately



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US$25,000 to EMAK, instead of having to pay a tax on each individual load of minerals, as all the other mineral buyers in Katanga were supposed to do. Finally, the third reason why the Bolfast Company was able to dominate the scene in Kalabi in 2005 was that it did not have to cope with any open resistance against its activities. Again, this was due to its close relationship with EMAK. In fact, EMAK was instrumental in nipping every form of protest in the bud. Although both the artisanal miners and the mineral buyers created committees with the aim of facilitating negotiations with trading houses and public servants operating in Kalabi, these committees never really protested against the way things were going in the mine, because their leaders were flattered by EMAK with various financial promises. In 2006, power relations changed considerably. The first factor undermining the Bolfast Company’s monopoly was the arrival of CMKK and SAESSCAM, two organisations that put an end to the dominance of EMAK, Bolfast’s closest ally in Kalabi. By the beginning of 2006, EMAK was supposed to develop into a simple cooperative, handing over its previous competencies to SAESSCAM, an official state institution. A second factor that made the Bolfast Company lose its monopoly in Kalabi was the aggressive buying policy of Lubumbashi- and Likasi-based trading houses, who offered better prices to local mineral buyers. Finally, the Bolfast Company’s position was also weakened by its own laxity. In March and April 2006, Albert Mabela, the company’s vice-president, disappeared for weeks on end without telling his mineral buyers in Kalabi when he was planning to come back to pay them. As a result of the changing power relations, artisanal miners finally found the courage to protest against the activities of the Bolfast Company in Kalabi. This became evident at the beginning of July 2006, when Kyala, the land chief (chef de terre) of Kalabi, suddenly entered the mine. According to the cultural traditions of the Sanga ethnic group, land chiefs are only allowed to enter mines in extraordinary circumstances, for instance to carry out an inauguration or purification ceremony. By violating this rule, Kyala wanted to show his dissatisfaction with the unwillingness of the Bolfast Company to pay him the full amount of the tax (mulàmbù) he was entitled to according to customary practice. Kyala’s action made quite a stir. Within ten minutes, an angry crowd of diggers left the mine, while shouting the battle cry ‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’ (‘the soil belongs to the ancestors’) in support of chief Kyala. They marched towards the residence of Jean Pande, the paramount chief of the Sanga ethnic group, in order to question him about what had




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11.3.1. The fluidity of power relations in Kalabi The events in Kalabi show that power relations in the Katangese mining sector can go through significant changes within a relatively short period of time. Just like the case in the mine of Mbola, power in the mine of Kalabi shifted at a great pace from one actor group to another as a result of changing circumstances, alliances and negotiations. This confirms Foucault’s argument that power should not be conceived of as something that is permanently held by the same people and institutions, but rather as a fluid force that is constantly changing hands (Foucault, 1978, 1980, 1998). Although there are a number of similarities between the power dynamics in Mbola and those in Kalabi, it cannot be denied that there are significant differences as well. The first difference concerns the role of traditional authorities. Whereas customary chiefs did not participate in the power struggle in the Mbola mine, they did play a remarkably prominent role in the power struggle in the Kalabi mine. Land chief Kyala protested against the Bolfast Company’s unwillingness to pay a traditional tax called mulàmbù, and paramount chief Pande (who was considered Kyala’s superior, according to Sanga traditions) was in charge of the negotiations that were held after the artisanal miners’ revolt. This first difference between Mbola and Kalabi can be explained by taking into account the history of mining activities on the respective sites. In fact, from a historical point of view, Kalabi is much more important than Mbola. When two Portuguese explorers traversed Katanga in the beginning of the 1880s, they discovered that Kalabi had a long and rich history of artisanal mining, in which customary chiefs of the Sanga ethnic group had always played a vital role (Capello and Ivens, 1886: 69–70). From this perspective, it is not surprising that contemporary Sanga chiefs have tried to capitalise on the revival of artisanal mining activities in Kalabi by imposing traditional taxes on mineral traders and by carrying out mining ceremonies in exchange for material benefits.



happened. Faced with the threatening presence of hundreds of demonstrators armed with shovels and pickaxes, Pande was forced to hold emergency talks with representatives of the public services, delegates of the diggers, chief Kyala and Albert Mabela, the number two of the Bolfast Company. Things only calmed down when Mabela finally agreed to pay the remaining part of the mulàmbù. As a result of this gesture, Kyala was prepared to carry out a purification ceremony at night, which made it possible for the diggers to resume work the next day.

The second difference relates to the strategies that trading houses used to gain a dominant position in the local mineral market. While Mwamba Kabasele’s trading house MK made use of fake ownership documents and physical violence to force Mbola’s artisanal miners and mineral buyers into accepting its dominance, the Bolfast Company preferred to win people’s support in a non-violent manner. This difference is due to the level of activities in the two mines. Considering that, in 2005 and 2006, the number of artisanal miners in Kalabi was much smaller than in Mbola, the Bolfast Company did not want to take the risk of scaring people away by using coercive tactics.1 Finally, the third difference pertains to the ways in which artisanal miners launched their revolt. While Mbola’s artisanal miners adopted a hesitant attitude and waited for the support of a powerful patron like Moïse Katumbi to make themselves heard, Kalabi’s artisanal miners were much more straightforward in their protest and did not seem to need the help of a powerful protector. This can probably be explained by the weak presence of security services in Kalabi. Considering that there were only a handful of police officers working in Kalabi, it was highly unlikely that a revolt of artisanal miners would be crushed in a violent manner. Thus, although, at first sight, the power struggles in Mbola and Kalabi appear to have a lot of things in common, upon closer examination, it becomes evident that the evolution and outcome of these struggles depended to a large extent on local particularities and contingencies. Foucault’s observations on the fluidity of power relations remind us of the necessity of paying attention to such details.

11.3.2. The field of tension between ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’ in Kalabi One of the recurrent concerns of the international community with regard to artisanal mining in Congo has been that artisanal miners generally do not receive a fair price for their products. In order to solve this problem, the task force MIRECA of the Belgian Ministry of Foreign Affairs has pleaded with the World Bank and the Congolese authorities to work towards the establishment of trading centres where artisanal miners will be able to offer their products for sale in a context of complete transparency. The international community has also wanted to see the organisation of buying and selling operations improved. It is believed to be of crucial importance that only officially recognised companies and individuals engage in the trading of minerals. Therefore, article 120 of the Congolese mining code – which was introduced under




pressure of the World Bank – stipulates that only ‘authorized trading houses are authorized to purchase, sell and export artisanal exploitation mineral substances.’ A final issue that the international community has wanted to see addressed by the Congolese authorities is the organisation of artisanal miners. Policy makers at international level believe that one of the best ways to strengthen the position of artisanal miners is to stimulate the creation of cooperatives. In order to show its goodwill towards the international community, the Congolese government has charged the state agency SAESSCAM with the task of informing artisanal miners about the advantages of this type of association (Armstrong, 2008: 98–101). In Kalabi, mining and trading activities were strongly at variance with the official plans for the reform of the Congolese mining sector. First of all, no efforts were made to pay artisanal miners a fair price for their products. Instead, EMAK, an organisation that was supposed to defend the artisanal miners’ interests, helped the Bolfast Company to introduce a system of fixed prices in Kalabi. The result of this was that artisanal miners were not paid according to the quality of their minerals (i.e. the ore grade), but according to the quantity. Second, despite the fact that, on 22 August 2005, the activities of the Bolfast Company were suspended by the Congolese minister of mines because the company was suspected of working with an expired export licence and being involved in fraudulent mineral exports to Zambia (Digital Congo, 2005), Bolfast’s employees were able to continue their buying operations in Kalabi without being disturbed by the local authorities. Finally, SAESSCAM in Kalabi did nothing to promote the creation of cooperatives among artisanal miners, even though this was part of its official mission. Instead, SAESSCAM officials mainly kept themselves busy with the levying of unofficial taxes. The blatant contrast between the official mining policy of the Congolese state and the actual mining and trading practices of people on the ground can be explained by taking into account the continued importance of the logic of ‘paternalism’. Just like their colleagues in the Mbola mine, employees of EMAK, CMKK and SAESSCAM in Kalabi thought they had the right to demand financial compensation for all the services they provided, even if these services were simply part of their official tasks. As Trefon has noted, Katangese public servants and other officials have developed the habit of selling services they should normally offer for free. People are invited to talk about the ‘problem’ they are facing, and they are given the opportunity to solve this ‘problem’ by striking a bargain with the official in question (Trefon,



Jeroen Cuvelier 231

2009: 12), who adopts the role of an understanding father. Rubbers has argued that it is in the interest of public officials in Katanga to keep economic actors in a kind of twilight zone between legality and illegality, because this makes them feel insecure and pushes them to enter into a clientelistic relationship with the people who can save them from penalties and prosecutions (Rubbers, 2007: 320). The different deals between the Bolfast Company and actor groups in Kalabi perfectly illustrate the negotiated nature of state–society interactions described by Trefon and Rubbers. The persistence of the logic of ‘paternalism’ is also evidenced by the behaviour of Albert Mabela, the vice-president of the Bolfast Company, who regularly visited the mine of Kalabi to distribute cash and presents among the mineral buyers and public officials his enterprise was collaborating with. Mabela displayed the typical attitude of what Schatzberg has described as a ‘nourishing father-chief’ (Schatzberg, 2001: 150–160). Apparently, he realised that, in order to win his clients’ trust, he had to visit them at regular intervals and show paternal generosity on every single visit. It was only when Mabela stopped respecting the rules of reciprocity that the relationship of trust between him and his clients gradually started to erode. Mabela’s clients were really upset by the fact that, in the course of 2006, he no longer seemed to find it important to visit them regularly and pay them for their minerals. In all likelihood, their disappointment and anger was due to the fact that they interpreted Mabela’s sudden indifference and aloofness as an indication of his intention to break off the relationship for good. As Mauss has noted in his seminal work on gift exchange, ‘to refuse to give, or to fail to invite is – like refusing to accept – the equivalent of a declaration of war; it is a refusal of friendship and intercourse’ (Mauss, 1970: 11). 11.3.3. The rupture between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’ in Kalabi Just like their colleagues in Mbola, artisanal miners in Kalabi waited for the right moment to voice their grievances in public. While, in 2005, they never dared to raise any objections against Albert Mabela’s rules, by the beginning of 2006, they started noticing that they were gaining more and more freedom to question and transgress these rules. Little by little, creuseurs found the courage to sell their minerals to other buyers than the ones collaborating with Albert Mabela. Chief Kyala’s unexpected invasion of Kalabi constituted an excellent occasion for the artisanal miners to publicly voice their disapproval of




the way things were going in the mine. They knew from their own experience that it was very uncommon to see a chef de terre (land chief) enter a mine. Chefs de terre were expected to stay outside, because they were believed to be capable of making mineshafts collapse and ore veins disappear (Herbert, 1993). As representatives of the ancestors, chefs de terre had the duty to perform rituals contributing to a better mine production, while they were also supposed to make sure that the ancestors accepted the way in which the mining process was organised. The creuseurs realised that, through his intervention, chief Kyala wanted to make it clear that the ancestors were very unsatisfied with the way the local mining business was run. While the creuseurs were realistic enough to sense that chief Kyala did not only act with ideological motives but also with monetary ones – it was obvious he absolutely wanted to obtain the money of the mulàmbù tax – they still felt that they had to support his symbolic protest against the Bolfast Company. First of all, they hoped that, by choosing Kyala’s side, they would be able to restrict their period of technical unemployment to a bare minimum. They had every reason to please Kyala, because he was the only one who could perform the purification ceremony that would make it possible for them to go back to work. Second, they were of the opinion that Kyala was absolutely doing the right thing by fulminating against the Bolfast Company. They were glad that the chef de terre, in other words, the guardian of ancestral traditions in the field of artisanal mining, took the lead in the protest against a company that did not seem to have the interests of ordinary people at heart. The creuseurs were fed up with the fact that the Bolfast Company was showering Kalabi’s public officials and mineral buyers with presents, while the same company subjected the weakest players in the commodity chain to a system of fixed prices. In their opinion, the strategy used by the Bolfast Company to obtain a buying monopoly in Kalabi was in sharp contradiction with the old, pre-colonial principle that everyone had the right to get an equal access to mineral wealth and to get a fair price for his minerals. So, by publicly expressing the ‘hidden transcript’ (‘bulongo ni ya bankambo’), the creuseurs criticised the tendency of representatives of the Bolfast Company to consider the mine of Kalabi as their private property.

11.4. Conclusion The data presented in this chapter have revealed a sharp discrepancy between, on the one hand, the theoretical plans of international and Congolese policy makers for the reform of the Katangese mining sector,



Jeroen Cuvelier 233

and, on the other hand, the concrete implementation of these plans. The different actor groups operating in the Katangese mines have shown a remarkable tendency to give their own interpretation to the series of laws and regulations introduced by the Congolese authorities. While the original intention was to reorganise the mining sector in such a way that the role of the Congolese state would be pushed back and that phenomena such as clientelism, corruption, fraud and patrimonialism would be combated in an effective manner, it turns out that many reform measures and instruments have produced unexpected and undesired effects. As Long has pointed out, it is not unusual for planned interventions to have unexpected outcomes. An intervention should not be seen as the ‘execution of an already-specified plan of action’, but rather as ‘an ongoing, socially constructed and negotiated process’ (Long, 2001: 31). Once an intervention has entered the life-worlds of people at the grassroots level, it is bound to undergo modifications and even complete transformations as a result of ‘the interplay of local and extra-local structures and processes’ (ibid.: 46). It is of vital importance that policy makers seeking to ‘clean up’ the mining sector in Katanga do not consider their reform project as a series of technical interventions that can be carried out in an apolitical manner, but that they are attentive to its impact on local power struggles.

Note 1. Artisanal miners in Katanga are known to be very mobile. When they are dissatisfied about the working conditions in a certain mine, they do not hesitate to move to another mine from 1 day to the next. The sudden and massive departure of disgruntled artisanal miners can seriously disrupt the activities in the mine they abandon.

References Armstrong, W. (2008) ‘Monitoring, formalisation and control of the artisanal alluvial diamond sector’ in K. Vlassenroot and S. Van Bockstael (eds) Artisanal Diamond Mining: Perspectives and Challenges (Brussels: Egmont Institute). Ballard, C. and G. Banks (2003) ‘Resource wars: The anthropology of mining’, Annual Review of Anthropology, 32, 287–313. Bush, R. (2009) ‘ “Soon there will be no-one left to take the corpses to the morgue”: Accumulation and abjection in Ghana’s mining communities’, Resources Policy, 34 (1–2), 57–63. Capello, H. and R. Ivens (1886) De Angola a contra-costa: descripçao de uma viagem atravez do continento africano (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional).




Danaher, G., T. Schirato and J. Webb (2000) Understanding Foucault (London: Sage publications). De Herdt, T. and S. Marysse (1996) L’économie informelle au Zaire: (Sur)vie et pauvreté dans la période de la transition (Paris: L’Harmattan). Digital Congo (2005) Trafic frauduleux de minerais au Katanga: Ingele Ifoto suspend Bolfast Company, Online newspaper: www.digitalcongo.net. Emizet, K. (1998) ‘Confronting leaders at the apex of the state: The growth of the unofficial economy in Congo’, African Studies Review, 41 (1), 99–137. Foucault, M. (1998) Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology: Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984, vol. 2, Edited by James Faubion (New York: New Press). Foucault, M. (1980) Power/knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings (New York: Pantheon Books – Colin Gordon). Foucault, M. (1978) The History of Sexuality: vol. 1, an Introduction (Harmondsworth: Penguin). Gordon, D. (2004) ‘The cultural politics of a traditional ceremony: Mutomboko and the performance of history on the Luapula (Zambia)’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 46 (1), 63–83. Grévisse, F. (1957) ‘Notes ethnographiques relatives à quelques populations autochtones du Haut-Katanga Industriel’, Bulletin Trimestriel du CEPSI, 38, 111–172. Herbert, E. (1993) Iron, Gender and Power: Rituals of Transformation in African Societies (Bloomington: Indiana University Press). Herbert, E. (1984) Red Gold of Africa: Copper in Pre-colonial History and Culture (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press). Hilson, G., N. Yakovleva and S.M. Banchirigah (2007) ‘To move or not to move: Reflections on the resettlement of artisanal miners in the Western region of Ghana’, African Affairs, 106 (424), 413–436. International Crisis Group (2006) Securing Congo’s Elections: Lessons from the Kinshasa Showdown, Africa Briefing nr. 42 (Brussels: International Crisis Group). Legros, H. (1996) Chasseurs d’ivoire: Une histoire du royaume Yeke du Shaba (Zaire) (Brussels: Editions de l’ULB). Le Potentiel (2006) Cinq questions à Michel Tshibanda par Willy Kabwe; Un domaine minier pillé par des creuseurs artisanaux; Les creuseurs de Karuano se constituent prisonniers à la place de Katumbi; Une journée dans la carrière de Mbola. Online newspaper: www.lepotentiel.com. Long, N. (2001) Development Sociology: Actor Perspectives (London and New York: Routledge). Luning, S. (2008) ‘Liberalisation of the gold mining sector in Burkina Faso’, Review of African Political Economy, 35 (117), 387–401. MacGaffey, J. (1991) The Real Economy of Zaire: The Contribution of Smuggling & other Unofficial Activities to National Wealth (London: James Currey). Mauss, M. (1970) The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies (London: Routledge). Mazalto, M. (2009) ‘Governance, human rights and mining in the Democratic Republic of Congo’, in B. Campbell (ed.), Mining in Africa: Regulation and Development (London: Pluto Press). Reyntjens, F. (2007) ‘Democratic Republic of Congo: Political transition and beyond’, African Affairs, 106/423, 307–317.



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Rubbers, B. (2007) ‘Retour sur le secteur informel. L’économie du Katanga (Congo-Zaire) face à la falsification de la loi’, Sociologie du Travail, 49, 316–329. Schatzberg, M. (2001) Political Legitimacy in Middle Africa: Father, Family, Food (Bloomington: Indiana University Press). Scott, J. (1990) Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (London: Yale University Press). Sending, O.J. and I.B. Neumann (2006) ‘Governance to governmentality: Analyzing NGOs, states and power’, International Studies Quarterly, 50 (3), 651–672. Trefon, T. (2009) ‘Public service provision in a failed state: Looking beyond predation in the Democratic Republic of Congo’, Review of African Political Economy, 36 (119), 9–21. Vircoulon, T. (2007) ‘L’état internationalise: Nouvelle figure de la mondialisation en Afrique’, Etudes, 1 (406), 9–20.




12 Stefaan Marysse and Sara Geenen

12.1. Introduction The era of globalisation and the staggering growth of upcoming economic powers are bringing new actors to Africa. The most important new actor at the moment is China, a country in need of huge quantities of raw materials to support its economic growth. Since African countries presently lack the physical and human capacity to exploit their own reserves, and acutely need to reconstruct ageing infrastructures and weak economies, a win-win scenario seems possible. In September 2007 the Congolese government struck a deal with a consortium of Chinese state-owned enterprises. In a seven-page rather opaque document, the ‘Protocol of Agreement’ was presented as a win-win barter deal where roads, railways and other public infrastructure would be constructed by the Chinese companies in exchange for exploitation of copper, gold and cobalt. The terms of this Protocol were further specified in a ‘Convention of Collaboration’ signed in May 2008. However, these agreements were severely criticised, mainly by third parties. International business circles opposed the deal because it threatened their interests. International NGOs blamed the agreement because they feared that the Chinese stance of non-involvement in internal Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) affairs would in fact reinforce neo-patrimonial policies and weaken human rights and democratic tendencies. The internal opposition (e.g. MLC,1 Edinger and Jansson, 2008) thought that the electoral concerns of the sitting government, eager to show some concrete results, sacrificed longer-term interests of the country. Academics found that the deal was inequitable 237



Triangular Arm Wrestling: Analysis and Revision of the Sino-Congolese Agreements

and that asymmetric power relations could be detrimental for longerterm development (Marysse and Geenen, 2008, 2009). Finally, the international donor community and especially the International Monetary Fund (IMF) voiced their concerns that the cooperation agreements could lead to a new debt cycle. As a consequence of IMF pressure, the 2008 agreement has been renegotiated and a number of updates or avenants have been signed. In this chapter we first identify how the Congolese political economy is characterised by a combination of extraversion, shocks and fragile recovery. We then analyse the nature and the terms of the Protocol and the Convention. We also evaluate their likely impact on Congolese development, in order to assess the extent to which they represent a win-win scenario. Thirdly, the renegotiation, which is characterised as a ‘triangular arm wrestling’ will be assessed: which changes have been made to the original agreement, who were the actors involved and what were the power relations between them?

12.2. The Congolese political economy: extraversion, shocks and fragile recovery We are not going to fully analyse Zaire’s/Congo’s political economy, since several authors have given excellent accounts of the sustained regression of the formal economy since the 1970s, the total implosion of the state and the official economy in the 1990s, and the effects of war and plunder (see Bezy et alii, 1981; De Herdt and Marysse, 1996; Clément, 2004; Marysse, 2005). In any case, after the 1998–2003 war the Congolese economy slowly started to recover, as can be seen in Figure 12.1. Under the control and with the financial support of the international community, inflation has been confined. The transitional government, which was installed in 2003 and remained in office until 2006, implemented prudent macro-economic policies (Programme Économique du Gouvernement) that restored trust in the economy. As a result, the country embarked on a much needed growth path. Still, the graph also shows that the Congolese economy is extremely extraverted and sensitive to external shocks. The positive pace of economic reforms proved difficult to sustain: the growth slowed down in 2008 and 2009. This was due to a combination of internal (conflict in the east, weak financial management) and external factors (global financial crisis). The fall in prices for raw materials on the international market had a direct impact upon the Congolese economy. This, for example, led to massive




12 10 8 6 4 2 0 –2 –4 –6 –8

150 120 90 60 30

2009

2008

2007

2006

2005

2004

2003

2002

2001

2000

0

inflation (%) growth (%) growth taking into account the economic crisis (%) OR growth in crisis (%) Figure 12.1 Growth and inflation in the DRC (2000–2009) Source: IMF (2009).

unemployment in the industrial mining sector in Katanga (Cuvelier, 2009). Moreover, as a result of decreasing prices, state revenues declined. Since 60–70 per cent of Congolese state revenues depend on export and import taxes, expenditures had to be cut. Additionally, the exchange rate of the Congolese franc decreased significantly. As the decline in export revenues had engendered a decrease in the foreign currency reserves of the Congolese National Bank, it could not stop the falling exchange rate. As a result, the prices of imports, expressed in Congolese francs, increased. The purchasing power of the Congolese population thus decreased significantly. Moreover, Congo has a high external debt ($13.1 billion in 2009). A country like Congo has access to debt relief under the enhanced Heavily Indebted Poor Countries Initiative (HIPC)2 and Multilateral Debt Relief Initiative (IMF, 2009). In order to be eligible for HIPC, the DRC first had to formulate an I-PRSP (Interim Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper), which led them to the ‘decision point’ (in 2003) of reducing the debt service substantially (mainly arrears on debt). This achievement opened up the space for using foreign exchange for other purposes than debt repayment. It also allowed access to the HIPC initiative and thus to debt stock reduction if the government could sustain its efforts of reform and improved governance. The ‘completion point’ is normally reached after



Stefaan Marysse and Sara Geenen 239

3 years of sustained improvements. However, it took the Congolese government more than 7 years to reach that ‘completion point’. One of the reasons was the excessive spending by the Congolese government. The elections, for example, heavily impacted upon the national budget and led to increased inflation. Debt sustainability remains an important concern for the near future. Nonetheless, despite the fact that the international financial crisis and the burden of debts impacted negatively upon the forecast growth figures, there are also signs of recovery. There has been a gulf of new investments, which are crucial for the reconstruction of the national economy. Such investments are done by the Congolese diaspora, by Congolese businessmen, or by private mining companies in local or international hands. In this chapter we are going to focus on one aspect of these investments: the Sino-Congolese agreements, because of their huge potential for the DRC economy. The IMF (2010) calculated that these agreements could contribute 1–2 per cent in the economic growth figures of the coming years. With these agreements, Chinese investors acknowledge the importance of infrastructure works. In exchange they negotiate their own access to natural resources. This seems like a win-win deal, beneficial for both parties. After all, the international community heavily contributed to the electoral process and to security provisions (through MONUC, the Mission of the United Nations in Congo), but they did not undertake a concerted effort to reconstruct the country’s neglected infrastructure, which is today one of the most important priorities for economic recovery. On the other hand, it remains to be seen what impact the agreement will have upon DRC’s future capacity to generate state revenues from its mineral resources and upon its overall debt. In the next sections we analyse the agreements before and after they have been renegotiated, and we assess their likely impact on Congo’s internal development.

12.3. Analysis of the 2007 ‘Protocol’ and the 2008 ‘Convention’ The 2007 Protocol stated that China, through the Exim Bank, would grant the DRC a $3 billion loan for investments in the devastated industrial mining infrastructure. Next, a $6.5 billion concessional loan would be granted to finance other much needed infrastructure works. These included the building and/or rehabilitation of 3,500 kilometres of tarred roads and 3,200 kilometres of railways by Chinese companies. In addition, 32 hospitals, 145 health centres, two universities and 5,000 houses




would be constructed. Since Chinese companies are known to deliver reasonable quality facilities on time, the Congolese government has been very eager to proceed. Just after winning the elections, President Joseph Kabila presented his cinq chantiers (five work sites – infrastructure, health and education, water and electricity, housing, and employment) as the central pillars of his development policy. The Chinese loans may help his government to meet some of the ambitious goals he has set (and on which he will inevitably be judged). One must understand that the agreement represents a loan, not a grant. It must be reimbursed through guaranteed access to natural resources. To this effect, a joint venture will be put in place, in which the Chinese parties hold 68 per cent and the Congolese state 32 per cent. The Congolese state will hand over the necessary mining concessions to this joint venture. The first annex to the Protocol stipulated the minimum quantities of reserves to be found in those concessions: 8,050,661 metric tons of copper, 202,290 metric tons of cobalt and 372 metric tons of gold. The presence of these reserves was a condition sine qua non for the execution of the infrastructure works. The Protocol is very interesting in several ways. First of all, it encompasses and determines all economic relations between two countries in one text. It covers commercial relations and investments, development cooperation and financing for a period of about 30 years. Second, the agreement is based upon the barter principle, which certain Congolese authors have welcomed as a new form of honest cooperation (Tshilombo, 2007). This is also perfectly in line with the ‘win-win’ principle, so precious to the Chinese foreign trade policy (Power and Mohan, 2008). At first sight, the win-win principle has been respected, as the Chinese obtain what they need and the Congolese have their reconstruction works financed and carried out by the Chinese. The reciprocity is thus explicit, and there appears to be considerable generosity on the side of the Chinese, as they are willing and prepared to invest a huge amount of money in social, transport and mining infrastructure (which Western donors failed to do). But the question is really what the Chinese would get in return for their investments (worth $9.5 billion in total for mining and other infrastructure). What is, in other words, the counter value of the joint venture’s guaranteed access to mineral resources? The production targets for the joint venture have been set at 400,000 metric tons of copper per year from the third year on (Convention, Article 7.1). This quantity would exhaust most of Congo’s copper and cobalt reserves. At the world market price when the deal was concluded ($7000/metric ton),





Resources Quantity (in metal tons) Value January 2008 (billion$) Value January 2009 (billion$)

Copper

Cobalt

Gold

Total

8,050,661 56.4 24.7

202,290 18.3 6.1

372 8.9 8.9

83.6 39.7

Source: Marysse and Geenen (2009).

the quantity of copper that Congo is supposed to deliver (according to the Protocol) can be valued at $56 billion. Next, 372 metric tons of gold will be exported, which at the gold price at the moment of the deal, is worth $8.9 billion. With respect to cobalt, the 202,000 metric tons are worth $18.3 billion, even if we take the London Metal Exchange price for the lowest content of cobalt.3 Table 12.1 gives a monetary valuation of the volumes of minerals specified in the Protocol.4 Table 12.1 shows that even at the lower 2009 world market prices, the estimated value of the mineral reserves by far exceeds the amount of investments in infrastructure. Even if these are rough estimations (since prices can fluctuate), the gains for the Chinese parties would in the longer run greatly exceed the value invested locally in DRC. This becomes clear when looking at the terms of reimbursement, the extremely liberal tax exemptions for the joint venture and the guarantees given by the Congolese state. 12.3.1. Terms of reimbursement Article 5 of the Protocol and Article 12 of the Convention stipulated that there were three phases in the execution of the agreement. During the first phase, all revenues generated by the joint venture would be used to cover the repayment of the investments in industrial mining infrastructure ($3 billion plus interest).5 Once all this had been reimbursed, the second stage could be launched. During this phase, two-thirds of the joint venture’s profits would be used for reimbursing the investments in roads, railways, hospitals and houses (for a value of $6.5 billion plus interest).6 The remaining 34 per cent of the joint venture’s profit would be ‘proportionally distributed among the parties’ (two-thirds for China, one-third for Congo). In the original Protocol, interest rates were low (0.25 per cent) and the reimbursement period was long. In other words the loans were



Table 12.1 Monetary valuation of the volumes of minerals specified in the protocol

‘concessional loans’: subsidised medium- and long-term loans at fixed low interest rates, which are common in development cooperation (also known as soft loans). However, with the Convention the concessionary features were totally abandoned. Although interest rates would vary over the different phases, they were generally high with interest rates up to 6.1 per cent. The aid component was thus reduced to zero. During the third phase, the entire production of the joint venture would be partitioned between the partners of the joint venture (twothirds for the Chinese parties, one third for the Congolese state). This would be the stage of ‘commercial exploitation’. Yet the agreement still left open the possibility of additional investments by the Chinese party, the so-called ‘second wave’ of (lower priority) infrastructure works. It was not specified what the value of these infrastructure works would be – this would depend upon ‘the profitability of the mining project’ (Convention, Article 9). These investments (plus interest) would have to be reimbursed with the taxes the joint venture would normally pay during the third stage. This meant that those taxes would not flow to the Congolese state. 12.3.2. Tax exemptions This brings us to the extremely liberal fiscal and customs exemptions in the agreements. Article 6 of the Protocol and article 14 of the Convention specified that the joint venture companies would be exempted from all potential taxes during the first and the second stages and that taxes collected during the third ‘commercial’ phase would not revert to the Congolese government but to the joint venture (of which the Chinese control two-thirds), in order to cover the costs incurred during the second phase of social infrastructure works (including interest) (Convention, Article 12). Looking at these stipulations, one wonders where the government income would come from. At the peak of its production capacity (1970– 1974), Gécamines produced 400,000 to 500,000 tons of copper per year (Kennes, 2005). This resulted in $1 billion of public revenues for the Congolese state (representing half of the government’s budget at the time, and about 60 per cent of the current budget). If the joint venture, which would have a considerable production capacity and control large reserves, would be exempted from all taxes, the Congolese state would miss out on a lot of revenues. These revenues could be used, if well governed, for the maintenance of the social infrastructure, the payment of teachers, nurses and so on.





Remarkably, no time frames were specified for the distinct agreement phases. In practice, the joint venture can continue exploitation until depletion of the concession. When calculating the duration on the basis of the envisaged production of copper (200,000 tons per year during the first and second year, 400,000 tons per year afterwards) and the guaranteed reserves, the exploitation would continue for about 28 years (Convention, Article 7.1). Indeed, the agreements were characterised by their extensive duration. In contrast to Western companies who often have a short planning/operating horizon governed by quick profits and maximised stock values, Chinese companies operate with far longer time horizons and are backed by the state. Nevertheless, the Chinese parties have been trying to limit investment risks by insisting on certain guarantees. These guarantees were thus given by the Congolese state to private investors. Article 13 of the Convention states: ‘if the investments and interest can not be reimbursed in the 25 years following the creation of the joint venture, the DRC will reimburse the remaining amount in another way,’ and if the internal rate of return for the group of Chinese enterprises appears to be below 19 per cent, the Congolese state would take ‘all measures necessary to improve this’. More importantly, new mining concessions would be allocated to the joint venture if the current ones were not sufficient to yield the necessary profit to repay debt. This means that there is a guaranteed access to a minimum quantity of minerals. Besides, this guarantee is a precondition for the infrastructure works to be carried out. 12.3.4. Impact on Congolese development We have shown that in terms of investments and counter value, the agreements seemed to favour the Chinese parties. In particular, the terms of reimbursement, tax exemptions and guarantees that were given would hamper the long-term interests of the Congolese state and its population. After carefully analysing the Protocol and the Convention, a win-win scenario thus seems less evident. Undoubtedly, the envisaged infrastructure works are absolutely necessary for post-conflict reconstruction in Congo, and are to be welcomed. Nevertheless, there are some objections to be made. These construction works would be carried out by Chinese companies (Article 10.6. of the Convention). The classic disadvantage of such a system is its higher price because there is no competition. Furthermore, even if the Chinese companies hire local workers, there are some concerns about salaries and



12.3.3. Guarantees

working conditions. In several African countries, people have already protested against working conditions in Chinese companies.7 Another pertinent question concerns the maintenance of these infrastructures. The agreement does not anticipate this at all. Huge financial and human resources would be needed to maintain the planned roads, railways, hospitals and schools. Nurses, doctors and teachers would have to be paid by the Congolese government, which is difficult without sufficient state revenues (because of the tax exemptions). In conclusion, we may say that the Protocol and the Convention are likely to result in a win-win situation in the short run, whereby the Congolese population will benefit from the construction works. Yet, in the long run, this could be a highly unequal exchange and an agreement that is clearly balanced in favour of the Chinese parties.

12.4. Revision of the agreement The original agreements were criticised by different actors, which eventually led to their renegotiation. Brian Ames, who is responsible for the DRC desk of the African Department of the IMF, had already uttered his concerns at a very early stage, shortly after the Protocol was signed (19 December 2007). Ames’s statement was then followed by a number of written statements and press releases by various actors. The most important one was a joint declaration by the IMF and World Bank, written after the signature of the Convention in May 2008 (IMF and World Bank, 2008).8 In their joint statement, the IMF and the World Bank acknowledge that the foreseen infrastructure projects have the potential to reinforce growth perspectives and contribute to poverty reduction. However, they express their concerns about debt sustainability, since the Convention encompasses a large amount of non-concessionary loans with state guarantees. The international financial institutions even warned the DRC that aid flows might run dry if they accepted the agreement as it stood. They are indeed concerned about a possibly negative burden for the Congolese state. But, on the other hand, they also seek to protect their own interests. If the Congolese state contracts new debts, there is a considerable risk that the Congolese government will be unable to pay back the multilateral loans from the IMF and the World Bank. In a September 2008 document the Congolese government reacted to this and defended the terms of the Convention (DRC, 2008a, 2008b).9 On 25 September 2008 an IMF staff mission declared that it ‘worked with the authorities on assessing debt sustainability and macroeconomic




implications of the Sino-Congolese cooperation agreement’ (IMF, 2008). This staff mission was followed by a period of renegotiation between the Congolese and the Chinese parties. Actually, this renegotiation was a condition to achieve the ‘completion point’ in the HIPC initiative.10 Once this completion point is reached, the country is eligible for debt alleviation and has access to a 3-year arrangement under the poverty reduction and growth facility of the IMF. In the summer of 2009 a Congolese delegation visited Beijing. Although the IMF did not officially participate in this mission, they were present as ‘observers’. The effects were quickly visible. On 19 August 2009 the IMF declared that ‘the [Congolese] authorities indicated that their partners had agreed to amendments to the Sino-Congolese Cooperation Agreement including the removal of the government guarantee on the mining component’ (IMF, 2009a). The influence of these ‘observers’ is also obvious in the eventual, renegotiated version of the agreements (November 2009). Hence the satisfaction expressed by the IMF: ‘The mission congratulated the authorities on the recent revisions to the Cooperation Agreement that made it consistent with debt sustainability’ (IMF, 2009b). Nevertheless, three different versions of the Avenant 11 (revisions to the agreement) were needed before each party accepted. Even then the Chinese seemed to be reluctant to sign. Le Potentiel wrote that the Chinese parties finally accepted ‘this Avenant just before the visit of IMF experts to the DRC on 27 October 2009’ (Le Potentiel, 30 October, 5 November 2009). The joint statement of the IMF and the World Bank, and the renegotiation it entailed, demonstrate how powerful the international financial institutions are and how they impact upon the sovereignty of states. The eventual terms of the reformulated agreement perfectly reflect the suggestions that were put forward in the joint statement: remove the state guarantee in the mining investments, annul the second phase of infrastructure projects and increase the degree of concessionality of the loans for the first phase of infrastructure projects. Concretely, this is translated in changing a few articles of the Convention in the ‘Avenant n◦ 3’. First, the state guarantee is abandoned for the investments in mining infrastructure. In this change, we can clearly see the hand of the IMF. The logic is that a state cannot give a guarantee for investments made in the private sector. Second, aid and private investments (in a market-oriented logic) are better separated. Infrastructure works such as roads, railways, schools and hospitals are public goods and they have to be repaid by public funds or, if there are




none, by international public funds (aid). So, for this component, interest rates have been reduced (from 6.6 to 4.4 per cent).12 Also, 85 per cent and not 66 per cent (as stipulated in the Convention) of the joint venture’s profits will be used to reimburse the infrastructure works. This allows for a quicker repayment and thus lowers the pressure on the Congolese government. Investments in industrial mining infrastructure, on the other hand, are considered as private goods and have to be repaid with higher interest rates. In terms of actual funds for infrastructure, the investments completed for the first phase of infrastructure works have been reduced from $6.5 to $3 billion. Moreover, the second phase, which was foreseen in the Convention, has been erased. Although one can applaud the fact that the parties can hereby move quicker to the third or ‘commercial’ phase, and that the taxes will not have to be used for paying for more infrastructure works, it all comes down to a reduction of the total investments. This is where the shoe still pinches. Let us briefly compare Congo’s reconstruction challenge with the situation in East Germany after the unification in 1989 (based on Dornbush and Wolf, 1994). In order to reconstruct the East German economy, West Germany had to transfer ¤62.5 billion a year, over almost 10 years (after 1989). This gives an indication of the enormous efforts that are required to reconstruct a national economy. We also have to take into consideration the fact that the Congolese economy is entirely devastated after years of recession and war, that the relative level of per capita revenue is lower than it was in East Germany, and that the DRC has less human capital and more inhabitants than East Germany had. In order to make another comparison: recently, Greece received $30 billion of IMF support for the reconstruction of its economy. It is clear that the necessary condition for the reconstruction of the DRC, the rehabilitation and (re)construction of infrastructure, has been weakened by the renegotiation of the Protocol and the Convention (the total amount of investments has been reduced). Options to renegotiate the terms of these agreements without changing the amount of investments in infrastructure were apparently not explored. In addition, neither the original nor the new agreement have reflected upon the realisation of added value in side activities stimulated through mining within the DRC (investments in factories, melting facilities, etc.). There is also no solution for the problem of maintenance of the infrastructure. Finally, tax exemptions are still very liberal in the revised agreement.





In a previous article, we concluded that ‘at first sight, the agreement is a fantastic opportunity for Congo. In contrast to Western bilateral and multilateral donors, who have been reluctant to invest, China comes in with a huge package of investments. Yet those investments have to be repaid with a guaranteed access to mineral resources, and the terms of reimbursement are not concessional at all’ (Marysse and Geenen, 2009). We argued that the terms of the agreement are very obscure and make it difficult to judge on its ‘fairness’. Our calculations showed that the exchange was very unequal. The Avenant or revised agreement has, to a certain extent, clarified the reimbursement conditions and has distinguished more clearly between private investments and aid. It has also increased the degree of concessionality, which is beneficial for the Congolese state. In addition, the revised agreement no longer claims state guaranties to back up the investments in industrial mining infrastructure. Nonetheless, the extremely liberal fiscal exemptions and the resulting threat to public revenues, remains. Besides, a new threat has been created, that is the lowering of the investments in infrastructure works. The case of the Sino-Congolese agreements also brings up more general questions about the power balance in international relations. The new presence of China in Africa is challenging the power of ‘traditional’ donors, and is often perceived as a threat by these donors, or a case of ‘yellow imperialism’ (Croll et alii, 2008). The Chinese proclaim ‘the establishment of a new type of strategic partnership between China and Africa featuring political equality and mutual trust, economic win-win cooperation and cultural exchanges’ (Davies, 2007: 24). They adhere to the principle of non-interference, which means no conditions on aid or loans and no interference in the internal affairs of African states. This approach is severely criticised by the international donor community, as it is perceived to undermine its efforts to promote good governance and combat corruption. But these signs of protest seem to have little effect. China’s trade with and investments in African countries continues to grow, and is stimulated by China’s staggering economic growth and Africa’s acute need for investments. At first sight, it seems as if the traditional donors and international financial institutions can do nothing but observe these changing power relations. This case, however, shows that the international donor community takes an active stance in the Sino-African relations. In the ‘triangular arm wrestling’ between the DRC, China and international institutions,



12.5. Conclusion


Notes 1. Mouvement pour la Libération du Congo, the main opposition party led by Jean-Pierre Bemba. 2. The HIPC was launched in 1996 and followed by the enhanced HIPCinitiative in 1999. Countries’ eligibility is judged on the basis of a debt sustainability analysis, a track record of governance initiatives and the introduction of a PRSP (Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper). 3. Like copper, cobalt is valued on its composition and purity. Thus, 99.3 per cent pure cobalt is worth half as much as cobalt in the form of cathodes, which is 99.8 per cent pure. 4. In order to show a lower and an upper limit to the guaranteed total value of production, and thus get a rough comparative indicator of the equity or ‘win-win’ component of the contracts, we used the cobalt price at the lowest value. In Table 12.1 we thus used two sets of prices representing, respectively, prices at the moment of the conclusion of the agreements (January 2008) and those after the international economic crisis had set in (January 2009) (Marysse and Geenen, 2009). 5. Thirty per cent of the investments in mining infrastructure would come in the form of an interest-free shareholder loan. The remaining 70 per cent had to be reimbursed at annual interest of 6.1 per cent (Convention, Article 12). 6. This would be done at an annual interest rate of LIBOR+ 100 Basis Points. The LIBOR is the London Inter-Bank Offer Rate which is the (short term) interest rate charged by private banks when extending loans to other banks. Adding 1 per cent (equal to 100 Basis Points) to this already high commercial rate made the loan conditions stipulated in the Chinese–Congolese agreement a pure commercial deal. 7. For example, in Zambia, Namibia and Ethiopia (Holslag, 2007). See also Croll et alii (2008); Ngoie Tshibambe and Kabika Etobo (2007: 617). 8. This is an internal document that was written between April and September 2008. Some essential elements, however, will only be published in IMF (2010). 9. DRC, ‘Position de la partie congolaise aux questions demeurées en suspens en rapport avec le contrat chinois,’ Kinshasa, Septembre 2008; and DRC, ‘Réaction de la partie congolaise à la note conjointe FMI/Banque mondiale relative aux implications sur la viabilité de la dette de la convention de la



the IMF has triumphed. Although the DRC tried to maintain the agreement with China as it was, they had little room for manoeuvre as the IMF was confronting them with the perspective of delaying further access to the HIPC completion point and thus access to debt reduction and to the PRGF (Poverty Reduction and Growth Facility). This would have had serious consequences for aid from other bilateral donors as well. These threats pushed the Congolese government to renegotiate the agreements with the Chinese parties.

collaboration conclue entre la RDC et le groupement d’entreprises chinoises,’ Kinshasa, September 2008. 10. This can be read in the communication between the Congolese government and the IMF. The Congolese government has defended the agreements in: ‘La position de la partie congolaise aux questions demeurées en suspens en rapport avec le contrat chinois,’ Kinshasa, September 2008. See also the IMF’s response in ‘Implications sur la viabilité de la dette de la convention de collaboration conclue entre la RDC et un groupement d’entreprises chinoises.’ 11. ‘Avenant n◦ 3 à la convention de collaboration Relative au Développement d’un Projet Minier et d’un Projet d’Infrastructures,’ Kinshasa–Beijing, 2009. The exact date is not known. 12. Article 6 of the Avenant specifies that the interest rate which will be applied to the infrastructure works will be LIBOR (6 months) plus 100 BP (LIBOR of 22 April 2008). Although it might seem like a slight addition – only a date has been added – this makes a huge difference. The LIBOR of April 2008, before the financial crisis, was historically low (3.4 per cent), so the DRC will have to pay back with an interest rate of 3.4 per cent (plus 1 per cent, which makes 4.4 per cent). This means a difference of several millions of dollars a year.

References Bezy, F., J.P. Peemans and J.M. Wautelet (1981) Accumulation et sous-développement au Zaïre 1960–1980 (Louvain-la-Neuve: Presses universitaires de Louvain). Clément, J. (2004) ‘The Democratic Republic of the Congo: Lessons and Challenges for a Country Emerging from War’ in J. Clément (ed.) Postconflict Economics in Sub-Saharan Africa: Lessons from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (Washington DC: International Monetary Fund). Croll, P.J., A. Lebzien and W.C. Paes (2008) Yellow Imperialism or Successful Wealth Creation Formula? How the Trade in Natural Resources is Changing Chinese-African Relations (Bonn: Bonn International Centre for Conversion). Cuvelier, J. (2009) The Impact of the Global Financial Crisis on Mining in Katanga (Antwerpen: IPIS). Davies, P. (2007) China and the End of Poverty in Africa – Towards Mutual Benefit? (Sundbyberg: Alfaprint). De Herdt, T. and S. Marysse (1996) L’économie informelle au Zaïre: (Sur)vie et pauvreté dans la période de transition (Paris: L’Harmattan, Brussels: CEDAF). Dornbush, R. and C. Wolf (1994) The Transition in Eastern Europe, Volume 1 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). DRC (2008a) Position de la partie congolaise aux questions demeurées en suspens en rapport avec le contrat chinois (unpublished document). DRC (2008b) Réaction de la partie congolaise à la note conjointe FMI/Banque mondiale relative aux implications sur la viabilité de la dette de la convention de la collaboration conclue entre la RDC et le groupement d’entreprises chinoises (unpublished document). Edinger, H. and J. Jansson (2008) ‘China stirs the DRC financing pot’, Mining Weekly, http://www.miningweekly.com/article.php?a_id=142399, accessed 12/09/2008.




Holslag, J. (2007) ‘Charmeoffensief bekoort niet alle Afrikanen’, De Morgen, 18 August 2007. IMF (2008) ‘Statement by an IMF staff mission to the Democratic Republic of Congo’, Press Release No. 08/222, 25 September 2008 (Washington DC: International Monetary Fund). IMF (2009) Public Information Notice No. 09/136, 16 December 2009 (Washington: International Monetary Fund). IMF (2009a) ‘Statement at the conclusion of an IMF staff visit to the Democratic Republic of the Congo’, Press Release No. 09/286, 19 August 2009 (Washington DC: International Monetary Fund). IMF (2009b) ‘Statement at the conclusion of an IMF staff visit to the Democratic Republic of the Congo’, Press Release No. 09/399, 11 November 2009 (Washington DC: International Monetary Fund). IMF (2010) ‘Democratic Republic of the Congo: Staff report for the 2009 Article IV consultation, Request for a 3-year arrangement under the poverty reduction and growth facility, and Request for additional interim assistance under the enhanced initiative for heavily indebted poor countries’, IMF Country Report No. 10/88 (Washington DC: International Monetary Fund). IMF and World Bank (2008) Note conjointe FMI/Banque mondiale sur les implications pour la viabilité de la dette de la convention de collaboration conclue entre la RDC et un groupement d’entreprises chinoises (unpublished document). Kennes, E. (2005) ‘The mining sector in Congo: The victim or the orphan of globalization?’ in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa: The Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Marysse, S. (2005) ‘Regress, War and Fragile Recovery in the DRC’ in S. Marysse and F. Reyntjens (eds) The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa: The Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Marysse, S. (2010) ‘Le bras de fer entre la Chine, la RDC et le FMI: la révision des contrats chinois en RDC’ in S. Marysse, F. Reyntjens and S. Vandeginste (eds) L’Afrique des grands lacs. Annuaire 2009–2010 (Paris: L’Harmattan). Marysse, S. and S. Geenen (2008) ‘Les contrats Chinois en RDC: L’impérialisme rouge en marche?’ in S. Marysse, F. Reyntjens and S. Vandeginste (eds) L’Afrique des grands lacs. Annuaire 2007–2008 (Paris: L’Harmattan). Marysse, S. and S. Geenen (2009) ‘Win-win or unequal exchange: The case of the Sino-Congolese cooperation agreements’, Journal of Modern African Studies, 47 (3), 371–396. Ngoie Tshibambe, G. and C. Kabika Etobo (2007) ‘Les relations sino-africaines: entre l’espoir et les controverses’, Congo-Afrique, 47, 599–619. Le Potentiel (2009) ‘La chine ayant finalement signé l’avenant’, 30 October 2009. Le Potentiel (2009) ‘Le gouvernement a rendez-vous le 18 novembre avec le Club de Paris , 5 November 2009. Power, M. and G. Mohan (2008) ‘Good friends & good partners: The “new” face of China Africa cooperation’, Review of African Political Economy, 35 (115), 5–6. Tshilombo Wa Nshimba, A. (2007) ‘Plaidoyer pour le troc: des actifs à valeur externe en vue de l’accroissement des actifs à valeur interne’, Congo-Afrique, 47, 418.




Index

Abdoul, M., 78 Adidi mine closure, 177, 180, 184 location, 176 administrative structure, DRC, 42 AFDL (Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Congo-Zaïre), 150, 196 AGK (Ashanti Goldfields Kilo), 156, 175, 179–81, 184 agrarian reforms, and the future of small-scale farming, 12–16 agricultural activities, percentage of Great Lakes population dependent upon, 5 agricultural growth, and participation, 124 agricultural potential, Rwanda and Burundi’s, xvi agricultural sector investment opportunities, 10–11 options for peasants to generate income outside the, 12 agricultural systems, challenges to, 11 agriculture, increasing importance of urban, 68 ‘Agriculture for Development’ (WDR), 12, 14–15, 124 Akram-Lodhi, A. H., 12–15 alluvial mining, 176–7 Andre, C., 104 Andrew, J. S., 164 Ansoms, A., xix, 3–22, 26–47, 49–66, 119, 123–4 arable land, expansion of, 6 Armstrong, W., 231 artisanal and small-scale mining development opportunities, 164 employment opportunities, 164

importance to local livelihoods security, 150 percentage of non-fuel mineral production, 150 types of, 176 artisanal mining allure of, 178 challenges of, 177–8, 215–16 ‘distress-push’ school, 204 earnings patterns, 178 gold mining and trade study, see gold mining and trade study impact of the global economic crisis, 153, 238 Katanga revolts, see Katanga mining revolts lack of attention towards, 163 legal provisions, 163 licensing, 199 as a livelihood strategy, 177–9 negative consequences, 164 number of diggers, 163 in post-conflict Ituri, 179–81, see also Ituri land conflicts; gold mining in the Kilo belt production percentage, 163 technical limits and dangers, 162 tensions with industrial, 161 and traditional land rights, 162 zones, 163 artisanal production cassiterite (tin ore SnO2), 155–6 definition, 150 gold, 156 Mobutu’s liberalisation, 154 value per unit, 154 Arusha Peace agreement, 8, 93, 108 Aru territory (DRC) conflict-prone areas, 51 FAPC control, 51–2

252



Note: Locators in bold type indicate figures or illustrations, those in italics indicate tables.

land conflicts identified, 52–4 monetisation of land in, 62 Ashanti Goldfields, 156 Asian Green Revolution, 14 asymmetry, 15 Atama, N., 192 Aurex, 197, 209 auriferous rocks, processing of, 204–6 Auty, R. M., 149 Bagenda, P., 80 Bakonzi, A., 173, 180–1 Ballard, C., 161, 215–16 Ballentine, K., 149, 166 Banks, G., 161, 215–16, 249 Banro Corporation, 156, 195–8, 209–10 Barrett, C. B., 14 bashingantahe councils, Burundi, 84, 89, 91–2 Bebbington, A., 149 Bebbington, D. H., 149 Bedidjo, L., 173–4 Berry, R. A., 13 Berry, S., 73, 105 Bezy, F., 152, 157, 238 Bhalla, S. S., 14, 123 Bierschenk, T., 70 Bigagaza, J., 104, 112, 114 Binswanger, H., 13 biofuel, 3, 11 boiseurs, 200 Bokonda, F., 227 Bolfast Company, 227–33 Borras, S. M., 15 Botte, R., 90 Bouderbala, N., 88, 93 Bratton, M., 171 Bruce, J., 109 Bryant, C., 16 Bryceson, D. F., 3, 20 Bukera, J., 88 bulongo ni ya bankambo (the soil belongs to the ancestors), 219–21, 225–8, 233 Bura, D. F., 174 Burneo, M. L., 174

253

Burundi ancient customs in present-day reality, 88–92 bashingantahe councils, 84, 89, 91–2 clientelistic system, 90 colonial abolition of chieftaincy, 90 conflict history, 8 continuing intensification of crisis in the land-tenure system, 97 current land code, 83 decentralisation of land management, 88 determination of land rights, 90 displacements, 8 dispute resolution, 92 elections, 94 FAO initiative, 92–3 Gini coefficient, xvii inequality statistics, xvii institutional pluralism, 84, 92 the instrumental use of statutory law, 85–8 lack of protection for small-scale farmers, 97 ‘land desk’ model, 95 land law, 83 ‘Land Policy Letter’, 95–6 land registration procedure in, 87 land rights of returning refugees, 85–7, 91 massacres, 85 outbreak of civil war, 85 peace agreement, 8 post-war reconstruction, xvi proportion of court cases related to land, 83 reform initiatives, 92 resistance to court decisions in, 84 role of customary law in, 91 spoliation of land following the departure of refugees, 85 studies on customary land regulation, 88–9 titling system, 87, 91 ubugererwa system, 90–1 validation workshop, 95 women’s land rights, 34, 98



Index

Burundian land law focus of most studies on, 84, 88–9 Mwami’s place in, 89 Bush, R., 161, 216 bwasa contract, 32–4 Byiringiro, F., 13 Capello, H., 229 Carter, M. R., 14 cassiterite (tin ore SnO2), 155–6, 157, 194 Central African Copperbelt location, 151 percentage of global copper and cobalt reserves, 151 Chayanov, A. V., 13 Chen, S., 123 chieftaincy, colonial abolition of in Burundi, 90 China, mineral deal, xvi, 160, see also Sino-Congolese agreements Christiaensen, L., 124 Christian evangelism, colonial promotion of, 171 Cimpoies, D., 12 Cissé. S., 72 civil conflict, natural resources’ presence as cause of, 26, 149 class differentiation, impact of globalisation, 3 Cleaver, F., 17–19, 22 Clément, J., 238 clientelism, 43, 45, 86, 218, 232 climate change, impact, 6 Cline, W. R., 13 Clover, J., 120 Colin, J.-P., 88 Collier, P., 26, 149, 171 CMKK (Coopérative Minière Madini Kwa Kilimo), 222–3, 228 cobalt, xvi, 151, 152–3, 157, 215, 241–2 COKA (Comité d’orpailleurs de Kamituga), 200 colonial abolition, of Burundian chieftaincy, 90 colonial legislation, DRC, 29 coltan, 154–5, 157, 183

COMILU (Coopérative Minière de Luna), 201–2 Concession 40, 156, see also gold mining in the Kilo belt conflict, natural resources as cause of, 26, 149 Congo role of Rwanda and Uganda in wars in, 9–10, 150, 172, see also DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) Congolese copper production, importance on the world scale, 151 Congo’s minerals artisanal and industrial diamond production, 154 cassiterite (tin ore SnO2), 155–6 Chinese deal, xvi, 160, see also Sino-Congolese agreements coltan, 154–5, 157, 183 copper and cobalt, 151–3 criminalisation, 160 decline in colonial exploitation, 158 diamonds, 153–4 écrémage, 162 gold, 156–7 industrial exploitation, 163–4 ‘informalisation’ of mining activities, 159 mining regulations, 161 other reserves, 157 percentage of global reserves, 157 and the political economy, 157–60 share in global production, 151 smuggling activities, 159 start of industrial exploitation, 157 transit countries, 160 and ‘Zairianisation’, 158 ‘controlled sovereignty’ tension between ‘paternalism’ and, 222–5, 230–2 Vircoulon’s definition, 217 Cooper, N., 172 COPED (Congo Performance Développement), 183 copper and cobalt, Congolese perspective, 151–3 copper, see Central African Copperbelt Coquery-Vidrovitch, C., 171



254 Index

Cornia, G. A., 13 Cotula, L., 10, 72, 91 CPACAM (Coopérative Principale des Associations des Creuseurs Artisanaux de Mwenga), 200 Cramer, C., 166 Croll, P. J., 248, 249 Custers, R., 166 Cuvelier, J., xix, 215–34, 239 Daley, E., 18 Danaher, G., 216–17 Datt, G., 124 Davies, P., 248 deagrarianisation characteristics, 20 definition, 3 debt relief, Congo’s access to, 239, 246 debt sustainability, 240, 245–6 decentralisation, of Burundian land management, 88 de Clerck, L., 88–9 De Herdt, T., 80, 216–17, 238 Deininger, K., 16, 88, 124 De Koning, R., 153 Delville, P. L., 88 Demery, L., 124 Deolalikar, A. B., 14 de Sardan, O., 72 Des Forges, A., 9, 104–5, 109, 120, 130–1 Desmarais, A. A., 15 development, relationship between mining and, 149–51 de Villers, G., 80 diamond, Mobutu’s liberalisation of the sector, 195 diamond production, DRC, 154 Dietrich, C., 159 Diki, O. M., xx displacements Burundi, 8, 85 complexity of eastern DRC situation, 9–10 Hutu, 8 Kamituga, 37 Rwanda, 8–9, 104, 114 South Kivu, 26, 35, 40

255

‘distress-push’, and artisanal mining, 204 Djugu collectivities, 54 conflict-prone areas, 55 historical context of contemporary conflicts, 55 plantations, 55 Dornbush, R., 247 Douglas, M., 19 DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) administrative structure, 42 agricultural sector’s contribution to GDP, 26 Aru territory, see Aru territory (DRC) Belgian colonial rule, 170 Chinese interest in land resources, 10, see also Sino-Congolese agreements clear links between natural resources and war, 171 colonial legislation on indigenous land, 29 cost of opening a gold export office, 197 debt relief access, 239, 246 decentralisation in, 41–6 East German comparison, 247 economic crisis, 171 economic growth, xvi evolutions in the legal system of land management, 29 external debt, 239 feasibility of land rights registration and tenure security, 27 Gini coefficient, xvi gold mining in the Kilo belt of the Ituri district, see gold mining in the Kilo belt growth and inflation figures (2000–2009), 239 hydro-electric generating capacity, xvi inequality statistics, xvi Ituri district, see gold mining in the Kilo belt; Ituri land conflicts Kinshasa’s land struggles, 43 land law, 29–30 land legislation, 71



Index

DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) – continued ‘liberation war’, 150 Mahagi territory, 59–60, 62 Mambasa territory, 61–2 population density/growth, 5 ‘post-conflict phase’, 150 post-war economy, 238, 240 post-war reconstruction, xvi public governance in, 69 ‘rationality of government’, 217–18 role of mineral resources in conflicts, 26 Rwanda’s invasion, 10 state malfunctioning, 216–17 trading legislation, 183 triggers of mass-scale violence in, 9 ‘Zairianisation’, 54, 55, 158, 171 see also Congo Dubai, 176, 182–5 Durkheim, E., 84–5 Dutch disease, 149 Dyer, G., 13 Easterly, W., 27 eastern DRC, investment potential, 10 economic growth, comparisons, xvi Edinger, H., 237 Ellis, F., 13 Eltringham, N., 113 EMAK (Exploitants Miniers Artisanaux du Katanga), 220–5, 227–8, 231 Emizet, K., 216 employment artisanal and small-scale mining opportunities, 164 Kilo belt statistics, 177 peasants’ options, 12 Englert, B., 18 exclusion, institutional, 17, 19 exclusionary process, of land access, 15 Ezekiel, A., 26 Fahey, D., xix, 55, 165, 170–88, 198, 210 family relations, impact of commercialisation and commoditisation of land on, 29

FAO (Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations), 92 FAPC (Forces Armées Populaires du Congo), 51–2, 53 FARDC (Forces Armées de la République Démocratique du Congo), 51, 179 farming, small-scale, see small-scale farming ‘father-chief’, 223–4, 226, 232 FDLR (Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération du Rwanda), 196 Fearon, J., 172 Feder, G., 16 ‘first African World War’, 10, 150 Flouriot, J., 68 food crops, international investment, 3 foreurs, 177, 200 Forminière (Société Internationale Forestière et Minière du Congo), 153 Fors, H. C., 26 forum shopping, 18–19, 41, 84, 199 Foucault, M., 216–19, 229–30 Gahama, J., 90 Garrett, N., 26, 155, 197, 212 Gasarasi, C., 108–9, 117–19 Gatunange, G., 85, 89 Gbaguidi, A. N., 72 Gécamines, 215 Geenen, S., xix, 149–67, 192–212, 237–50 gemstone production Congo’s share in the global, 154 leading countries, 154 germanium, 157 Gini coefficients Burundi, xvii DRC, xvi Rwanda, xvi-xvii, 124 Gleditsch, K., 172 global economic crisis, impact, 153, 238 global reserves, 157



256 Index

gold extraction process, 176 Mobutu’s liberalisation of the sector, 195 surge in world demand for, 179 traders’ network, 206–9 gold exploitation, positive motivations for engaging in, 201–2 gold mining unpredictability of earnings, 178, see also gold mining and trade study gold mining and production, physical effects of, 178 gold mining and trade study constraints, opportunities and hope in reef mining, 201–4 historical context, see Kamituga’s historical trajectory legal pluralism and property rights in mining sites, 198–200 network of gold traders, 206–9 organisation of reef mining, 198, 200–1, 201–4 processing of auriferous rocks, 204–6 tentative absence of industrial actors, 209–10 gold mining in the Kilo belt Adidi mine closure, 177, 180, 184 AGK’s plans, 180–1 artisanal mining as a livelihood strategy, 177–9 artisanal mining in post-conflict Ituri, 179–81 employment statistics, 177 historical perspective, 170, 173–6 likely impacts of resumption of industrial mining, 183–4 modes of production, 176–7 potential for future conflict, 180–1 primary threat to artisanal mining, 179 research methods, 172 taxation, 178–9 trade perspective, 181–5 and UN sanctions, 184–5 see also Ituri land conflicts

257

gold trade, formalisation difficulties, 183 ‘governmentality’, Foucauldian theory, 216–17 governmental rationalities, 222 ‘Great International African War’, end of the first, xv Green Revolution, 14 Grévisse, F., 224 Griffith, J., 27, 136 Griffiths, J., 17, 71, 193 groundwater, 162 growth Bhalla on, 123 renewed appreciation of the agricultural sector’s importance, 124 growth-poverty link, literature on the, 124 Haartsen, L., 84–5, 89 Habwintahe, J.-M., 95 Haki na Amani, 50 Hatungimana, A., 85 Hema-Lendu conflict colonial decisions, 54 Djugu territory, 55, 58 economic basis, 62 Hema’s arrival in Ituri, 54 Hema’s status and position, 54–5 historical perspective, 55 Irumu territory, 49, 56–9 settlement, 58–9 Hentschel, T., 150, 187 Herbert, E., 224, 233 Hibou, B., 69 ‘hidden transcripts’, 19, 107, 110, 115–16, 218–19, 225, 233 Hilhorst, D., 113–14 Hilson, G., 161, 164, 203–4, 216 HIPC (Heavily Indebted Poor Countries) initiative, 239, 246 Hoeffler, A., 149, 171 Holslag, J., 249 Huggins, C., 104–5, 113, 120 human agency, dependence on social networks, 18 Hung, P. V., 12



Index

Hyawe-Hinyi, T., 11 hydro-electric generating capacity, DRC, xvi

recommendations, 62 roots of, 62 Ivens, R., 229

IKV Pax Christi, xx, 50, 52–3 illegal digging, 194–5 IMF (International Monetary Fund), 161–2, 238–9, 245–6 improved productivity, evidence linking land consolidation and concentration to, 12–13 India, 13–14, 152, 183, 215 indigenous land, colonial legislation, 29 industrial diamonds, 154 global production, 151 industrial mining, symbolic importance of the resumption of, 179 inequality, xvi Gini coefficients, xvi-xvii, 124 informal economies, lack of growth potential, 171 Ingelaere, B., 91, 107, 111–12, 126, 137, 143 ‘institutional bricolage’, 17–18 ‘institutional cheating’, 208 institutional constraints, 15, 18–19 institutional exclusion, 17, 19 institutional plurality, Burundi, 84 Ituri district (DRC) gold mining in the Kilo belt of the, 170, see also gold mining in the Kilo belt start of gold extraction, 156 Ituri land conflicts administrative implications of shifts in control over contested territory, 56 aim of the research, 50 background, 58 casualties, 49–50 Hema-Lendu conflict, see Hema-Lendu conflict Mahagi territory, 59–60, 62 Mambasa territory, 61–2 mediation agents, 50

Jansson, J., 237 Jayne, T. S., 134 Jenkins, P., 72 Johnston, D., 13 Joireman, S. F., 34 Jones, L., 114 Kabasele, M., 31, 220–4, 227 Kabika Etobo, C., 249 Kabila, J., 161, 197, 241 Kabila, L. D., 9–10, 150, 196–7, 220 Kabuye Sugar Works, 138 Kagire, E., 11 Kakwani, N., 124 Kakwavu, J., 51 kalinzi contracts, 31–2, 34 Kamituga (DRC) actors and their relationships in gold trade in and beyond, 207 actors in gold exploitation and the processing of auriferous rocks in and around, 205 concession zones, 194 location, 194 official claim holder for the mining concession, 198 South Kivu, 35–8 Kamituga’s historical trajectory consequences of liberalisation, 195 crisis and war, 195–7 development of mineral resources, 197–8 early industrial development and the dawn of artisanal mining, 194–5 Kamuni, P. M., 8 Karsenty, A., 72 Kassem, M., 175 Katambu, B., 195 Katanga unemployment in the industrial mining sector in, 239, see also gold mining and trade study



258 Index

Katanga mining revolts bulongo ni ya bankambo (the soil belongs to the ancestors), 219–21, 225–8, 233 chief Kyala’s role, 228–9, 232–3 context, 215–19 and the ‘father-chief’, 223–4, 226, 232 and the fluidity of power relations, 221–2, 229–30 Kalabi copper mine, 227–33 Mbola mine, 220–7 mining police’s involvement, 195, 220–3 rupture between the ‘hidden’ and ‘public transcript’, 225–7, 232–3 and the tension between ‘controlled sovereignty’ and ‘paternalism’, 222–5, 230–2 triggers, 220–1, 227–9 Katangese cobalt production, global significance, 151 Katumbi, Moïse, 221–7, 230 Keen, D., 149 Kennes, E., 2, 159, 174, 184, 186 Kilo belt, gold mining in the, see gold mining in the Kilo belt Kimbanseke, population, 70 Kinshasa exponential population growth, 68, 70, see also Mokali gardening site; urban agriculture governance study kinship, and land rights, 29 Klare, M. T., 26 Klasen, S., 124 Kohlhagen, D., xix, 83–100 Koster, M., 117 Kraay, A., 123 Kyalangilwa, J. M., 5 Kyabinya, G., 201–2 Laitin, D., 172 land, socio-cultural/political context, 17, 27 land consolidation, evidence of productivity improvements through, 12–13 land counters, 44–6, 63

259

land grabbing, 10–11, 39, 86 land law, hiatus in with regard to rural land ‘occupied’ by local communities, 30 land management Burundian decentralisation of, 88 MLAR model, 16 land nationalisation, Congolese principle, 29 land policy guidelines, World Bank’s, 87 ‘Land Policy Letter’, Burundi, 95–6 land practices, South Kivu, see South Kivu local land practices land productivity, inverse relationship between farm size and, 13–14, 16 land reforms Easterly on top-down, 27 legal pluralist context, 16–19 land registration procedure, in most African countries, 87 land regulation, juridical vagueness, 72 land relations alternatives for securing rural livelihoods, 11–12 characterising evolutions, 4 demographic pressures and the degradation of land, 4–6 and international investment, 10–11 and the legacy of violence and conflict, 6–10 land rights on different types of land, 30 increase in individualisation and commoditisation of, 18 modern perceptions of, 28 securing, 12, 16, 28, 41 land tenure, tendency to analyse from an economic angle, 105 land-tenure arrangements’ impact on Rwandan social relations externally induced policies, 108–14 fieldwork, 105 hidden transcripts vs public, 107 land-sharing and villagisation policies, 115–18



Index

land-tenure arrangements’ impact on Rwandan social relations – continued land-sharing policy, 108–12 ‘rehearsed consensus’, 107 research setting and methodology, 105–8 villagisation policy, 112–14 Lankhorst, M., 120 La Vía Campesina, 15–16 Lavigne Delville, P., 88 Le Billon, P., 166 Leclerc-Olive, M., 69, 72 Leegwater, M., xix legal pluralism Burundian context, 83 definition, 17, 193, 210 domination of land practices and transactions in Mwanda, 33 and the issue of land, 71 land reforms operating in a context of, 16–19 land relations characterised by, 27 and property rights in mining sites, 198–200 of Rwandan peasants’ operations, 136 Legros, H., 226 Leisz, S., 88 Lemarchand, R., 8, 89–90, 166 Lendu, arrival in Ituri, 54 Lerman, Z., 12 Le Roux, H., 13 Le Roy, E., 72, 88 Lezhnev, S., 192 LIBOR (London Inter-Bank Offer Rate), 249n6 Liégois, F., 50, 52, 54 Lobho, L. D., 80 local land practices in South Kivu, see South Kivu local land practices logging, xvi Long, N., 17–18, 22, 192, 234 Lujala, P., 26 Lund, C., 69, 79, 167 Luning, S., 216 Lusamba, K. M., 69, 78 Lynch, K., 78

Mabela, A., 227–9, 232 MacGaffey, J., 171, 195, 202, 212, 216 Madagascar, local land counters’ experience, 45 Madhvani Group, 138 mamans twangaises, 204–5, 209, 211 Manirakiza, T., 84, 89 Manirumva, E., 89 Manji, A. S., 88 market-led agrarian reform (MLAR), 16–17, 27–8 Marysse, S., xx, 164, 166, 171–2, 216–17, 237–50 massacres, Burundi, 85 Massinon, R., 87, 89 Mathieu, P., 72 Matthysen, K., 166 Mauss, M., 232 May, J., 16 Mazalto, M., 217–18 Meesen, J. M., 173 Meinzen-Dick, R. S., 17–18, 27, 41, 105, 136, 193, 198–9 Merlet, M., 17, 27 Meyer, H., 89 MGL (Compagnie Minière des Grands Lacs Africains), 35, 37, 155–6, 194, 203 Miba (Minière de Bakwanga), 154 Migdal, J. S., 79 mineral extraction, potential for post-conflict development, 197 mineral resources, RPA’s role in the extraction of Congolese, 10 mining relationship between development and, 149–51 World Bank’s encouragement of investment in, 149–50 mining revolts, 219, 225, see also Katanga mining revolts Mitchell, H., 197, 212 MLAR (market-led agrarian reform), 16–17, 27–8 Mobutu regime ADFL’s defeat, 150 liberalisation of gold and diamond sector, 195 nationalisation policies, 171



260 Index

neo-patrimonial rule, 171 state’s decline during, 217 Mobutu Sese Seko, 9, 154, 158–9, 170–1, 174, 178 Mohan, G., 241 Mokali gardening site cooperative management, 71 customary family claims, 74 customary family rivalry, 74 customary leadership, state agents and plural norms, 73–5 and customary rule changes, 72–3 destruction of infrastructure, 71 lack of authority, 73 location, 70 opposition to ‘residentialisation’ of, 76 privatisation, 73–4 protection strategies, 76–7 state decree, 70–1 state purchase, 73 vulnerability of gardeners and residents, 75–8 Mongbwalu (DRC), 54, 156, see also gold mining in the Kilo belt monocropping, 131–4, 137–8 MONUC (Mission in the Congo – UN), 175, 240 Moore, S. F., 17, 22 Moyo, S., 15 Mubala Zibona, J. C., 46–7 Multilateral Debt Relief Initiative (IMF), 239 Musahara, H., 104, 108–9, 113, 117–20 Mwanda, South Kivu, 31–5 Mwangi, E., 105 Mworoha, E., 89–90 Nabeta, L., 174 natural resources, as cause of conflict, 26, 149 Ndadaye, M., 8 Ndayisenga, G., 88–9 Ndayishimiye, J., 85 Neumann, I. B., 217 Newbury, C., 119, 131 Newbury, D., 119, 131 Ngezayo, Victor, 196

261

Ngoie Tshibambe, G., 249 Nimpagaritse, D. O., 89 Nindorera, A., 84 The Ninja, 195, 211 niobium, definition, 155 nitric acid, 206, 208 Nkundabashaka, A., 131 Nkurunziza, A., 95 N. N., 100 Nordstrom, C., 193 North, D., 192 Northrup, D., 173 Ntahombaye, A., 84 Ntahombaye, P., 84 Ntampaka, C., 84, 89 Nyamarushwa, L., 104 Nzuzi, F. L., 68–70, 80 OKIMO (Office des Mines d’Or de Kilo-Moto), 156, 174, 178, 180–1, 183 Olivier de Sardan, J.-P., 70, 72, 79–80, 193, 210 Olsson, O., 26 Ona, I. U., xx open pit mining, 176 Overdulve, C. M., 119 PALIPEHUTU-FNL, 8 Pande, Jean, 228–9 paternalism, 218–19, 222–3, 230–2 Pelerin, E., 45 peleteurs, 200 Pernia, E. M., 124 pit-mining, 177 Piermay, J.-L., 72 Platteau, J.-P., 18, 28, 73, 78, 104 The Political Economy of the Great Lakes Region in Africa: Pitfalls of Enforced Democracy and Globalization (Marysse/Reyntjens), xv population growth, evolution of, 5 post-conflict development, potential of mineral extraction and trade for, 197 post-Washington consensus, 14–15 Pottier, J., 54, 58, 104, 113–14, 119, 120, 131



Index

poverty line, World Bank’s calculation, xvii power dependence on social networks, 18 Foucault’s observations, 229–30 Power, M., 241 Pradhan, R., 17–18, 27, 41, 136, 193, 198–9 Prendergast, J., 192 productivity improvements, evidence of through land consolidation, 12–13 property rights, 105, 136, 198, 198–200, 210 pro-poor growth, two interpretations, 123–4 pro-poor growth study characteristics of research settings, 125 conclusions, 139–42 context, 123–6 impact of Rwandan agricultural policy, 130–9 locations and characteristics of research settings, 125 participation in growth strategies, 130–9, see also Rwandan agricultural policy impacts socio-economic categories, 127 socio-economic dynamics at the local level, 126–30 Prunier, G., 55, 166, 172 ‘public transcripts’, 19, 43, 107, 110–11, 115–16, 132, 219, 225, 232 Pugh, M., 172 Raeymaekers, T., 174, 182, 195–6, 201 Raeymakers, T., 54 Ramboarison, R., 45 Ram, K.A., 14 Ravallion, M., 123–4 RCD (Rassemblement Congolais pour la Démocratie), 196 Reardon, T., 13 reef mining, 198, 200–1, 201–4 refugees Burundian spoliation of land following the departure of, 85

return of Rwandan, 104 Ruzizi plains, 38–9 Renton, D., 80 ‘resource curse’, 149, 151, 157, 160 revenue volatility, 149 Reyntjens, F., 8–10, 21, 26, 71, 107, 150, 172, 216 Rigg, J., 20 RMA (Ressources Minières Africaines), 196 Rodegem, F., 89 Ronnas, P., 12 Rosenzweig, M., 13 Ross, M. L., 26, 171 Roy, P., 14 RPA (Rwandan Patriotic Army), 9–10 RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front), 9, 104, 108–9 Rubbers, B., 232 rural differentiation, definition, 3 Ruthenberg, H., 131 Ruzizi plains, South Kivu, 38–40 Rwanda agricultural investment potential, 11 annual economic growth, 123 Congo invasion, 10 Gini coefficient, xvi-xvii, 124 government policies, 105 Government’s Vision 2020, 12 inequality statistics, xvii involvement in the ‘first African World War’, 150 land-tenure arrangements’ impact on social relations, see land-tenure arrangements’ impact on Rwandan social relations objectives of government’s mission to reengineer rural society, 130 percentage of population engaged in subsistence farming, 104 population density, 104 post-war reconstruction, xvi poverty, 123–4 returning refugees, 108–9 spill-over effects of wars in, 26



262 Index

Rwandan agricultural policy impacts land registration and consolidation, 134–6 monocropping and regional specialisation, 131–4 reorganisation of swamplands, 136–9 Sachs, J., 149 Sadoulet, E., 124 SAESSCAM (Service d’Assistance et d’Encadrement du Small-Scale Mining), 222–3, 228 SAKIMA (Société Aurifère du Kivu-Maniema), 196–7 Sambanis, N., 172 Schatzberg, M., 218, 223–4, 232 Schwartz, N. D., 179 Scott, J. C., 19, 43, 107, 211, 218–19, 225–6 SDC (Swiss Agency for Development Cooperation), 94 Sen, A.A., 13 Sending, O. J., 217 Service de l’Urbanisme, 49 Service des Titres Immobiliers et Fonciers, 49 Sherman, J., 149, 166 silver, 157 Simons, E., 89 Sino-Congolese agreements and the Congolese political economy, 238 criticisms, 245 development impact, 244–5 economic potential, 240 guarantees, 244 IMF and World Bank involvement, 245–6 infrastructure investments, 246–7 internal concerns, 237–8 monetary valuation of the volumes of minerals specified, 242 production targets, 241 provisions, 240–2 reimbursement terms, 242–3 revision, 245–7 tax exemptions, 243, 247

263

‘traditional’ donors’ perceptions, 248 value to the Chinese, 241 ‘win-win’ scenario, 237–8, 241, 244–5 small-scale farmers Burundian lack of protection for, 97 impact of neo-liberal policies on, 15 importance of land to the livelihoods of, 11–12 survival mechanisms, 13 small-scale farming agrarian reforms and the future of, 12–16 and land productivity, 13–14, 16 smuggling, 156, 159, 183, 198, 210 social mobility, 201 social relations land-tenure arrangements’ impact on Rwandan, see land-tenure arrangements’ impact on Rwandan social relations and property rights, 105 relevance of land to, 27 socio-economic categories, 127 Sohier, A., 88 Somico (Société Minière du Congo), 196, 209 Sominki (Société Minière et Industrielle du Kivu), 155–6, 194–6 South Kivu (DRC) cassiterite exports, 156 displacements, 35, 40 gold extraction, 156 increase in land claims for other than agricultural purposes, 27 instability in, 26 land practices in, 28–31 mineral resources in, 40 mining projects, 156 official export figures, 197 population density, 26 renovated infrastructure, 11 root cause of many local conflicts, 27 tin production, 155



Index

264 Index

tantalum, 157 Teyssier, A., 44–5 Thalgott, E., 45 Thambwe, A., 196 Thar Desert, India, Ram’s study, 14 Thomson, S., 106 Thurlow, J., 124 Tilly, C., 19 tin ore (cassiterite), 155–6, 157, 194 tin production, global, 155 Titeca, K., 51, 64, 80 titling system, Burundi, 87, 91 top-down land reforms, Easterly on, 27 Toulmin, C., 88 Towalis, F., 180 trade, 181–5 gold mining and, see gold mining and trade study Trefon, T., 217, 231–2 Trouwborst, A., 90 Tshibanza, M., 159

Tshilombo Wa Nshimba, A., 241 Tshimanga, M., 159 Tull, D., 196 ‘twilight institutions’, 69–70 ubugererwa system, 90–1 Uganda, 9–10, 51, 150, 156, 160, 172, 174–5, 182, 184–5 underground mining, 173, 176–7, 180 Unruh, J. D., 17 UPDF (Ugandan Peoples Defence Forces), 55 uranium deposits, DRC, 157 urban agriculture, increasing importance of, 68 urban agriculture governance study conclusions, 78–9 context, 68–70 focus, 70 government urban planning, 68–9 methodology, 70 spontaneous privatisation, 69 time period, 70 see also Mokali gardening site Uvin, P., 91 Vandeginste, S., 99 Van de Walle, N., 171 Van Hoyweghen, S., 104, 113, 120 van Leeuwen, M., 84–5, 89, 113–14 van Puijenbroek, J., xx, 10, 20, 49–66 Veldman, M., 120 Veltmeyer, H., 14–15 Verbrugghe, A., 88–9 Vircoulon, T., 50, 52, 54, 217–18 Vlassenroot, K., 54, 195–6, 201 von Benda-Beckmann, F., 46 von Benda-Beckmann, K., 99, 199 Wagemakers, I., xx Waldorf, L., 120 Warner, A., 149 WDR (World Development Report – ‘Agriculture for Development’), 12, 14–15, 124 Webster, C. C., 131 Weilenmann, M., 83–4 White, B., 3



South Kivu local land practices bwasa contracts, 32–4 case study settings, 31 conflict types, 33–5 and the decentralisation of state power, 41–6 kalinzi contracts, 31–2, 34 Kamituga, territory of Mwenga, 35–8 legal pluralism, 41 Mwanda, territory of Kabare, 31–5 Ruzizi plains, territory of Uvira, 38–40 women’s rights, 34 Squire, L., 124 Stewart, D. F., 162 subsistence agriculture, 14, 17, 31, 104, 126–7 subsistence farming, percentage of Rwandan population engaged in, 104 Sucki (sugar factory), 38–9 sugar production, 11, 38–9, 138 Suguru, S., 89 Sullivan, D., 192 Sun City peace agreements, xv

Index Wu, Z., 12–13 Wyss, K., 104, 114, 120 Yakovelva, N., 164 ‘yellow imperialism’, 248 ‘Zairianisation’, 54, 55, 158, 171 zinc, 157 Zoomers, A., 3 ZTE Agribusiness, 10



Wilson, P. N., 131 Wobst, P., 124 Wolf, C., 247 women, land rights, 34 women’s land rights, Burundian perspective, 34, 98 Woodman, G., 91 World Bank, xvii, 14–16, 53, 87–8, 149–50, 161, 163–4, 217, 222, 230–1, 245–6

265

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