Earlier this week The Conversation, Africa edition, published my article looking at the impact of the new Truss government on UK-Africa relations. Will we see a resurgence of interest in African politics and issues in the UK government? Or will internal and European-crises further reinforce the inward-looking tendency that has characterised Britain’s post-Brexit legacy? You can see what I wrote here, but my assessment won’t come as much of a surprise (even though, as I point out, the three most senior ministers have direct links to Africa or African heritage, and traditionally an interest in or link to Africa amongst senior politicians has been associated with a stronger relationship*).
A core part of the piece was a reflection on the importance the late Department for International Development (DFID) had, not just as a global development leader, but as a facilitator and champion for global South voices gaining entry to UK political debates and links to the government more widely. I thought it would be good to expand on that.
When the New Labour government established DFID in 1997, it rapidly became a government ministry unlike others. Not only because it was outward-looking and formally (legally) directed to put the needs of non-British citizens as its main policy and spending priority (unlike the also outward-facing, but British-interest led Foreign Office); and not only because its first minister was Clare Short – who shaped DFID’s early slightly chaotic, open and critical atmosphere. But also because it was a place in which civil society had a strong voice alongside civil servants, especially in the Short era (1997-2003). For British NGOs, and other civil society organisations, DFID’s door was open and it was in listening mode.
It was not just a space for UK global development NGOs, academics, think-tanks and other representatives. It increasingly became one for non-UK political and civil society leaders, too. In those regions and countries that were the focus of DFID activity, a new physical infrastructure emerged: DFID’s new country offices becoming a physical manifestation of the separation of UK global development and diplomatic functions. That in many instances the DFID country office was larger, with more staff, and grander than the High Commission or Embassy (anyone remember the contrast between the old UK High Commission offices and the new DFID building in Tanzania in the 1990s?) symbolised DFID’s growing authority, soft (and perhaps even hard) power.
These new palaces were sites of engagement with government ministers, with international organisations, civil society, and the occasional British academic. The initially-resisted focus on governance, democracy, human rights and so on aspects of global development, meant increased expertise on the politics of the countries and regions in which DFID was based, and linkages with those governments and societies. Speaking in confidence, diplomatic staff would bemoan the resources ploughed into DFID, and the incursion on their patch, as DFID rose in political influence and voice within both UK and foreign governments – supported by a rapidly growing budget.
It helped that both prime minister Tony Blair and his Chancellor of the Exchequer shared an interest in poverty eradication, and in sub-Saharan Africa itself. This ensured that UK engagement with Africa was more than just through a global development lens, or reliant on a single minister. But if Africa’s heightened place in UK political discourse was not due to DFID alone, nor framed entirely through that relationship, the new ministry nevertheless facilitated strong engagement and vision with African leaders and countries.
Contrary to many expectations, the accession of a Conservative-led coalition government in 2010 did not initially lead to a diminishing of DFID’s power and reach. David Cameron, whilst in opposition, had seen global development (and climate change) as fertile ground for changing perceptions about the ‘nasty party’. Cameron committed his government to further increases in UK international aid spending, meeting the 0.7% GNI target. As a result, at a time when other government departments were facing significant cuts to their budgets and services, DFID not only maintained its programmes, but grew.
It was helped by having a minister who shared a broad commitment to the goals and duty of DFID, even if increasingly framed within traditional Tory values around private sector growth. Andrew Mitchell had shadowed the role in opposition, had immersed himself in debates and policy around poverty-eradication, fragile states, and so on. And his commitment to the ministry meant he was willing and able to protect it from calls from party colleagues and certain newspapers for DFID to focus more on British self-interest.
Arguably, on might start to trace the decline of DFID from exit of Mitchell; and certainly after Justine Greening’s tenure (2012-16) who at least brought a commitment to social change. Its budget was protected. Its permanent staff remained globally recognised for their expertise, and it carried an influence that was never fully appreciated by many within the Conservative Party. But some of the subsequent ministers saw their appointment as a, hopefully brief, stepping stone to a more prestigious ministry, or as part of a glorious post-Brexit strategy. Priti Patel (2016-17), in particular, spoke frequently of using British aid as a lever for reaching trade deals. But if DFID was turning into a tool for the promotion of UK national economic, political, diplomatic influence, how was it different from the FCO’s remit?
With its budget protected as austerity dug in deeper after the 2015 general election (returning a Conservative majority government), DFID retained a façade of strength. But its minister was less likely to champion it, to fight for it, to argue that its budget was appropriate. When challenges to its role, mandate, and even existence came, it lacked the political strength to fight back. Rory Stewart (2019) might have put up a greater struggle to its dismantling, but his period in office was too brief, and he was too much a Tory-outsider to wield influence. And following his bid for the leadership, he in any case left front-line politics.
It wasn’t just that UK aid became enmeshed in a political vision that gradually replaced a focus on poverty with one on economic growth, jobs and the private sector. And it wasn’t just about the inexorable subsummation of policy and political thinking into the tunnel-vision of post-Brexit politics. It was to a significant extent the jealousy of the Foreign Office, determined to restore its power and authority as the leading representative of global Britain internally and externally. The result was perhaps inevitable, with the FCO swallowing DFID in 2020.
Yet the Foreign Office in recent years has turned as inward as the rest of this myopic government. Brexit continues to frame external relations; and ‘Africa’ has (been) gradually dropped as a priority for UK interests. It is hard to imagine a Blair, Brown, Cameron or even May government remaining quite so silent on events in Ethiopia. And the ridiculous idea of sending migrants entering the UK through non-formal channels to Rwanda just about encapsulates the shallow engagement of this government with African countries. (Though props to Rwanda for exploiting the UK government’s migration monomania. Its foreign relations team seem to be far better and more skilled at negotiation than their UK counterparts, given they have secured guaranteed funding in return for a policy that doesn’t look likely to be put into anything more than a cosmetic effect, if that).
Africa’s decline in importance to the UK government is in part reflects former prime minister Boris Johnson’s lack of interest and engagement, even when he was Foreign Secretary. And the new PM, Liz Truss, showed similar lack of engagement when she was in that role. But the destruction of DFID has also removed a key institution that – even when other parts of the UK government looked elsewhere – could be a point of engagement for global South leaders.
Of course, UK interest and engagement with Africa is only as good as the policies that emerge from those relationships. And such relationships were rarely collaborative partnerships of equals, but subject to the distortions of aid power. Even if DFID did still exist, the government’s failure to engage with a horizon much beyond the latest opinion poll or comment in the Daily Telegraph, and a blindspot in understanding why stronger engagement with Africa might be important, would present formidable obstacles.
But still, DFID was more than a space of concentrated expertise on global development and anti-poverty policies; a place in which one was as likely to hear a voice of civil society as that of the establishment. It was also a chamber in which global issues that didn’t speak directly to UK self-interest could be discussed, where links could be made and relationships forged, and where the idea of Britain as global citizen could be given form.
* Ministers with African links:
- Kwazi Kwarteng (Chancellor of the Exchequer) whose parents migrated from Ghana in the 1960s; and has written on the history of Empire (surprisingly, given the self-congratulatory woke credentials of the government, one that took a critical stance).
- James Cleverly (FCDO) whose mother moved to the UK from Sierra Leone.
- Suella Braverman, Home Office: although of south Asian heritage, her mother and father migration to the UK from Mauritius and Kenya respectively
- Not one of the big three ministers, but also Kemi Badenoch (Minister for International Trade), whose parents are Nigerian
Africa Development and Politics 