A rock star and a hard place

Jeffrey Sachs, author of The End of Poverty and development economist to the stars (Bono wrote the foreword to his bestselling book and Angelina Jolie co-starred with him in an MTV documentary on Africa), spoke last night in Nairobi to the foreign correspondents association. Despite his Midwestern insurance adjuster's demeanor, Sachs has become something of an economic rock star for arguing passionately that development assistance to poor countries works, and that extreme poverty could be eradicated if rich countries gave more -- more medicine, more agricultural technology, more money -- with fewer restrictions.

Because the talk was off-the-record, I can't reveal what was said. But Sachs's comments over the course of about 90 minutes of Q&A wouldn't have surprised anyone who's familiar with his book or heard him speak. In the past, he has chastized rich countries -- primarily the industrialized nations of the G8 -- for not giving enough humanitarian aid, especially to Africa. He has calculated the amount of aid to Africa as $16 per poor person per year, over the last 60 years. That's a measly amount, he says, although he argues that it has had a positive impact.

When the United States and Western institutions such as the World Bank withhold aid from countries for corruption or other bad government practices, it only hurts the poorest people, Sachs says. Meanwhile, China, which is fond of saying that it gives aid with "no strings attached," has become a big player in Africa by cozying up to countries like Sudan and Zimbabwe, no friends of the West. To Sachs, China's growing involvement in Africa is, on balance, a very good thing.

It was interesting to hear him speak on the same day that President Bush imposed fresh sanctions on Sudan in an effort to pressure the government to end the crisis in Darfur. One thing we've heard over and over again from analysts is that friendship with China allows the government of Sudan basically to ignore the West. Sudan doesn't need to do business with us, so it doesn't need to listen to us -- and therefore, one analyst told me yesterday, new U.S. sanctions don't really mean that much.

Viewed in that light, some have asked: Shouldn't China's massive investment in Sudan's oil sector and other industries be more troubling to Sachs? This is a man who believes passionately that we can end extreme poverty in our lifetime, and he knows that conflicts like Darfur are a huge obstacle in the way of that ideal. In the case of Sudan, an argument can be made that Chinese investment is prolonging the suffering of some of the poorest people on the planet.

Contrast Sachs's position with that of activists like the Save Darfur Coalition, which launched an ad campaign today in major newspapers in the U.S. and Asia to urge China again to do more on Darfur. “As Sudan’s largest trade partner, foreign investor and military provider, China could play a crucial role in ending the violence and returning peace to Darfur,” said the director, David Rubenstein. The campaign faces an uphill struggle in part because countries like the U.S. aren't willing to confront China over Darfur when there are more quote-unquote important policy objectives at stake, such as North Korea.

With more than 250,000 dead and 2.5 million forced from their homes, Darfur is probably the most serious policy quandary in Africa at the moment. Perhaps it's not a question for Sachs, who's not a policy maker after all but an economist, and one of the most celebrated of his generation at that. But Darfur seems to be a place that's crying out right now for political solutions, not economic forecasts.

Terror on the roads

I'm back in Kenya after about a month in the U.S., spent visiting the home office in Washington and recovering from a brief reporting stint in Iraq. It's good to be home, despite the mountains of bills to pay and e-mail to sort through. Then, today, I had a very typical, eye-rolling, jaw-clenching Nairobi experience.

 

I was on the road home from a meeting at the Sudanese embassy. It was lunchtime, and at the wheel was Thomas, our office driver. We were negotiating a busy roundabout in the Kilimani section of town, just south of the city center. As Thomas slowed to exit the roundabout, a police officer held out his baton and waved us to the side of the road. Here we go, I thought.

 

The officer said that we were driving with an obscured license plate. The jack that's bolted to the front of my ancient, beastly Toyota LandCruiser was blocking part of the plate, he said. Naturally, this isn't the case. Thomas got out of the car to check and pointed out that all of the letters and numbers were clearly visible.

 

"Not from far away," the officer said.

 

Basically, Thomas was about to receive a ticket due to the officer's blurred vision. Crazy as it sounds, there's no arguing with these guys. Perhaps even crazier, since most Kenyan road cops don't have their own vehicles, the officer climbed into the back seat of my car. Thomas was driving himself to the local police precinct to be booked on a road violation.

 

Police officers in Kenya, as in most developing countries, are very badly paid, and a small bribe usually resolves these situations. (The lack of pay is also, of course, the prime reason these situations arise in the first place.) But as we moved along the road toward the station, the cop wasn't taking. Had we found the only cop in Kenya who wouldn't be bribed?

 

I pleaded with the guy. "Is there any way we can avoid this?" I said. It wasn't the driver's fault -- it's my car and I had the jack installed. "Then you can pay his cash bail," the cop responded. As we got within a few blocks of the station, sweat was quickly pooling at the base of Thomas's neck.

 

We slowed to a stop behind a line of trucks next to a busy market. Thomas's hands were frozen on the wheel. Finally, the officer tapped my shoulder. "It's OK," he said. That was the signal. I pulled out a 200-shilling note -- about $3 -- and Thomas handed it to him. The officer jumped out of the car and went right up to a kiosk that was selling cold sodas and samosas. We had bought the guy's lunch, and given him a ride.

 

As we got back on the road home, Thomas muttered angrily under his breath about the idiots in blue. This sort of thing happens all the time, which is why Kenyans don't trust their police officers at all. One of the first pieces of road advice I received when I moved here was that if I was stopped at a police checkpoint at night, I should keep driving.

 

It made me think of the first time I had to bribe an officer. I was headed to the airport to pick up a friend when I was stopped and asked to show my license. The airport road is notorious for police checkpoints and, stupidly, I'd left my wallet at home. Worse, I had in my pocket only a 1,000-shilling note -- about $15, way too much for a bribe. "I don't have any small money," I said sheepishly.

 

"It's OK," he said. That ubiquitious Kenyan phrase. "How much do you want to give?" He pulled out a small wad of bills. (It had no doubt been a lucrative afternoon at the checkpoint.) He was making change. If you ask a store clerk in the U.S. to change a $20, you get the death stare. But this officer dutifully counted out 800 shillings in change, and I was on my way. I have to admire a system like that.