Academia

In less than a week I have a 3,000 word essay to hand in. Two days before that, I have to give a 10-minute presentation on five readings for a seminar on Foreign Aid. So it makes perfect sense that I am sitting here in the library – down in the dungeons where talking is prohibited – updating my blog, staring out of the window at a column of golden trees and an overcast sky and flipping through the pages of Cosmo on Campus (I kid you not).

I sat in this same seat yesterday until 8pm, next to the same woman whose name I still do not know, as all we do is smile our greetings. At least yesterday, I got the last reading done for the Foreign Aid seminar: Judith Tendler's 1975 book, Inside Foreign Aid, a look at the organisational environment of USAID, the US government's development arm, and how the very nature of it being a government agency compromised its development mission.

Quite revolutionary for its time – written just a decade after AID was set up (incidentally, the gov't expected it to close within a decade or two) -- although now there are a raft of articles and a whole shelf of books on what's wrong with foreign aid and aid agencies. One of my other readings, by a UK-based governance research group looks at the strategies African countries adopt in negotiating with donors, what factors lead to strong or weak negotiating positions and how a weak position can often push a country to accept projects/programmes that do not fit within its national strategy and ignore some of the key issues that need addressing in favour of donor “pet projects”.

Its readings like these, and indeed, in researching this essay (yes, I have done some work!), that I question what role or even why I want to be involved in such a paternalistic industry. But it's not even that, it's that there isn't an answer on 'how to do development' and so in the process, we, as the west, are continuously screwing up countries by trying to squeeze them into a model that worked previously. Like Tendler says, development approaches have to be innovative, creative, responsive. Different approaches work in different countries, but because gov't development agencies such USAID, which must be the largest (aside from Word Bank and IMF) donor, has to account to Congress and various oversight committees for its expenditure, often goes for non-risky programmes that may have been effective elsewhere.

What really has shown to be effective in bringing greater freedoms and accountability to people is their own participation and ownership; but how does the US get its name on that?

Anyway, I think this is part of the course. They want us to question why we are here; our 'positionality' as they call it.

The essay title, in case you're interested is: “Development is about making the world a better place, discuss the disadvantages and advantages of this definition.'

When I tell my classmates I am struggling with my essay, they look surprised. “It's easy for you Cassie, you're a writer.”

True, but that doesn't mean I don't agonise over every word and sentence, in fact, having looked at some of their essays, I probably worry about words, rhythm and structure too much.

My biggest concern, and which is probably why I am sitting here flicking through the pages of Cosmo (skimpy shorts over black tights, preferably ripped or torn at the sides, if you are curious), is that I am a bit at a loss when it comes to writing like an academic. When we first arrived we were asked to write an introductory essay on the challenges of studying development studies. I waffled, threw in some of the names of those whose books I had flicked through, added a bit historic context, and mostly talked about my own personal challenges and experiences. I thought that was what we were here to do.

Oh, how wrong I was. Seems I was supposed to present a “balanced argument”, not, as my professor said, with strong statements, and make reference to specific authors and their books, articles and even page numbers. PAGE Numbers!!! Who remembers page numbers??? 

 Surprising how people can assume you are together when deep down you are just held together with bits of frayed string you found at a bus stop.

Oh well, back to the essay.