Africa’s “rapid urbanisation” is controversial. In a provocatively titled 2010 Counterpoint, “Whatever happened to Africa’s rapid urbanisation?”, and elsewhere, Deborah Potts has provided irrefutable evidence that it is a flawed generalisation.² In a significant number of countries the urbanisation level – the percentage of the population living in urban areas – has declined since the 1990s due to economic crises, de-industrialisation, epidemics or other causes. Furthermore, notable within- and between-country variations prevail.

Potts has shown convincingly that, despite abundant examples of countries experiencing rapid urban population growth but only gradual increases – or declines – in their overall urbanisation level, promotion of the “rapid urbanisation” narrative continues unabated. Flagship reports from leading international agencies including the World Bank and UN-Habitat have been slow to fully take this research data on board or have done so grudgingly. Most recently, the 2016 edition of the authoritative African Economic Outlook asserted that “Africa is urbanising at a historically rapid rate, bringing considerable opportunities and challenges”.³

Clearly, Africa’s urban population is increasing in absolute terms – in many countries, rapidly. Contention arises, in part, due to confusion of terms. “Urban growth” is equated to “urbanisation”, but there is an important distinction to bear in mind. Urban growth is the increase in urban population that occurs as a result of any or a combination of rural–urban migration, natural increase, boundary changes or reclassification of rural villages or territories into urban areas. Urbanisation occurs when population growth in urban areas exceeds that of the total national population. If urban and rural populations are growing at the same rate, urban growth is occurring, but not urbanisation. The distinction is about more than semantics: a decline in the proportion of the total population living in towns and urban settlements, signifying counter- or de-urbanisation, has important policy implications that should not be overlooked.

To its credit, in the State of African Cities 2014 report, and more forcefully in the Habitat III Regional Report for Africa, UN-Habitat accepted that urban population growth rates relative to national population growth rates are stagnant or very slow in many countries and regional variations are the norm. Furthermore, the average rate of urbanisation in 1990–2015 was below 2% for the majority of countries (see Figure 1). Despite saying that Africa is urbanising at a rapid rate, African Economic Outlook 2016 presents data for selected countries where only three – Burkina Faso, Cameroon and Tanzania – are categorised as having rapidly urbanised between 1980 and 2012. Seven are presented as typical of slow urbanisation of below 2% between censuses, while another five are presented as de-urbanising.⁴ Zimbabwe, together with Zambia, Mali, Côte d’Ivoire and Central African Republic, is one of the countries flagged as experiencing de-urbanisation; and it features prominently in analyses of de-urbanisation in the 1990s.⁵

While accepting Potts’s exhortation to be wary of urban statistics and sceptical of the rapid urbanisation narrative, this Counterpoint urges that the pendulum should not swing completely to the other extreme. Rigorous analysis of evidence cited in support of de-urbanisation is also required. In the case of Zimbabwe, the de-urbanisation apparent in headline census figures since the 1990s seems to be exaggerated. De-urbanisation is not necessarily permanent – it can be reversed. Furthermore, although demographic and spatial conceptions of urbanisation are central to this discussion, it must be remembered that urbanisation also has economic, socio-cultural, political, infrastructural and services dimensions.

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Zimbabwe’s most recent census, conducted in 2012, found that the share of the urban population had declined from 35% of the total population in 2002 to 33%, indicating that the country had de-urbanised during the decade. Unlike other African countries where censuses have been erratic, or their results highly contested, Zimbabwe has conducted regular, credible censuses involving and endorsed by leading UN and other donor agencies. It is a data-rich country, although access to the disaggregated local area data has been difficult in recent years and extrapolation is sometimes required.

The headline figures have certainly attracted attention. During field research in the second half of 2016, I found that ordinary citizens and my key informants expressed bewilderment at suggestions that Zimbabwe is de-urbanising. In seeking an explanation for why the country should have seemingly experienced de-urbanisation, the Mo Ibrahim Foundation stated that it had been “driven by urban–rural migration” and that “a growing share of the population living in communal land and resettlement areas [suggested] de-urbanisation is being driven by the land resettlement programme”.⁶

The causal link between the Government of Zimbabwe’s Fast Track Land Reform Programme (FTLRP) – or jambanja – and de-urbanisation needs careful interrogation. De-urbanisation was also observed in the previous intercensal period in the 1990s, long before jambanja. The reasons cited then included urban economic decline, household responses to HIV/AIDS, and the collapse of urban services, with retrenched workers and the terminally ill retreating to rural areas.⁷ Jambanja and its socio-economic consequences remain highly contested, and their impact on urbanisation poorly understood. Whether Zimbabwe is really de-urbanising and, if so, to what extent jambanja has contributed to the process will require deeper investigation.

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Zimbabwe’s national settlement framework has a seven-tier hierarchy of human settlements comprising metropolitan areas (Harare and Bulawayo), cities or municipalities, towns, and as many as 472 small urban centres in the form of “growth points”, district service centres and rural service centres. The official definition of an urban area in Zimbabwe is based on a combination of two criteria: namely a settlement designated as urban; and a compact settlement of 2,500 people or more, the majority of whom are employed in non-farm employment.⁸ Given the rural location of district and rural service centres, the Zimbabwe National Statistics Agency (ZIMSTAT) categorises them as rural even if their population is above the 2,500 threshold – unless they have been reclassified as urban/towns, as was recently the case with Gokwe and Gutu Mupandawana. Similarly, among my key informants flummoxed by the suggestion that Zimbabwe is de-urbanising, the perception of “urban” excluded these small urban settlements.

In 2002, Zimbabwe had an urban population of 4,029,707 which grew by 6.31% to 4,284,145 in 2012, an increase of 0.63% per year. Unlike the 2002 census report, the 2012 report has no chapter devoted to urban population and migration data. As with all censuses, some discrepancies and anomalies are apparent. For example, it states that the urban population of Zimbabwe was 4,284,145;⁹ but if one adds the totals in each province for the “Urban Council Area population” plus “Growth Points and other Areas”, the total comes to 4,261,243.¹⁰ More significant is the information, based on the above-mentioned additions, that the urban population for Mashonaland Central Province is 71,332. This is a substantial decrease from the figure of 102,873 in the 2002 census report.¹¹ Enquiries with ZIMSTAT indicate that these are discrepancies for which they have not found an explanation. Why should Mashonaland Central Province’s urban population decline to this extent considering that this is the same region in which towns like Mvurwi are reportedly booming?¹²

Such anomalies aside, it is clear that the census totals signify quite slow growth in the number of urban dwellers. Between 2002 and 2012, the rural population increased by 15.46% compared to 6.31% for urban areas. A comparison of distribution of urban populations by province also shows minor changes between 2002 and 2012. There was a slight decline in Bulawayo’s share; and Harare accounted for 47% of the national urban population in 2012 (35% if Epworth and Chitungwiza are separated out), versus 46% in 2002 (36% if Epworth and Chitungwiza are separated out). In other words, according to these data the primacy of the capital, including its peri-urban satellite urban areas, increased slightly during the decade. The intercensal population change for the major urban areas is displayed in Figure 2, and for the provinces in Figure 3.

The difference between the growth rates of rural and urban populations can in part be attributed to higher total fertility rates in rural areas compared to urban areas. Total fertility rates of 2.8 for Bulawayo and 3.1 for Harare are much lower than the range of 3.6–4.3 for the other provinces.¹³ However, as the base population is large in the main cities, lower natural increase rates still result in significant aggregate population growth before we take migration into account.

Two further factors also need to be considered when analysing the urban population data: national and international migration patterns, and the impact of boundary changes or rigidity, addressed in more detail later. Although the census report states that internal migration patterns between the 2002 and 2012 censuses should be treated with caution as some provinces changed boundaries, some headline migration figures need mentioning. Zimbabwe has ten provinces including the urban provinces of Harare and Bulawayo. Lifetime interprovincial migration data show that Harare and Bulawayo “exhibited the highest in-migration rates” of 49% each, that is to say the percentage of people born outside these two urban provinces but resident there on census day. The report states that Harare was “the largest net gainer of population” from net migration, which accounted for 21% of its population on census day.¹⁴ Furthermore, Harare and Bulawayo exhibited the highest intercensal in-migration rate of slightly over 30%¹⁵ and net migration rates of 5.12% and 4.18% respectively, compared to negative net migration rates for five of the ten provinces.¹⁶ These statistics on internal intercensal migration do not attest to large-scale urban–rural migration.

Finally, therefore, it is important to recognise that although Zimbabwe’s demographic urbanisation rate may not be increasing, there is absolute urban population growth. As I will illustrate later in this Counterpoint, there is also significant urban spatial growth.

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Although the census data on urbanisation and migration data are patchy, comparison of 2002 and 2012 urban statistics provides important insights on local-level changes. Figure 2 shows that except for Harare and a few other centres whose growth rates are low or even negative – as is the case for Bulawayo – there has been rapid population growth in small urban centres and peri-urban zones. On the face of it, while these figures fit global trends that show declining rates of urban growth as economies mature, on closer inspection the Zimbabwe story is more complex. This is where jambanja needs to be considered.

The initial impact of Zimbabwe’s violent land reform was internal displacement of thousands of former commercial farm workers, the majority of whom became homeless and sought shelter and livelihoods in urban and peri-urban areas.¹⁷ This process unfolded both before and after the 2002 census. But then came the “tsunami”, the military-style Operation Murambatsvina (“he/she who despises filth”) in 2005, during which the state destroyed houses and small enterprises deemed illegal. Hundreds of thousands of urban and rural households were affected. The epicentre of these clearances was in low-income urban and peri-urban areas where most of those internally displaced by jambanja were sheltering. Thus jambanja and rural resettlement in some respects led initially to rural depopulation and urban growth, which Operation Murambatsvina partially reversed.

The deepening socio-economic crisis also led to increased mobility, as households sought to spread risks and maximise their chances of survival by operating in multiple geographical and economic zones. By 2004, most urban households – irrespective of political persuasion – had secured plots within 100km of their urban homes where they would travel periodically or have some family members resident to grow crops and increase their food security. Those in rural communal areas also made similar decisions for multi-sited livelihoods without necessarily abandoning their old homes.¹⁸ This mobility and circularity – individuals and families moving in and out of rural and urban areas and circulating between different locations mainly to pursue informal economic activity – must not be underestimated. A census only records where individuals are on the night of the census.

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The acute shortage of urban housing in Zimbabwe is well documented and widely acknowledged.¹⁹ High levels of overcrowding in existing stock, coupled with the government’s brutal restriction of squatter settlements, maintained the quintessentially European physical appearance of Zimbabwe’s urban areas for a long time after independence in 1980. All this collapsed with jambanja, as ZANU-PF elites used peri-urban land allocations to reward their supporters. The mechanisms of this patronage system took a variety of forms including politically aligned co-operatives. With jambanja, the bulk of peri-urban land that used to be privately owned farms became state land and legal obstacles to converting this land from rural to urban use were removed.

Initially, the majority of urban residents were hesitant about lining up for this land, but by 2010 a “stampede” was underway. A plethora of land dealers emerged who grabbed and allocated sites and/or plots for housing development.²⁰ These included political elites, corrupt government officials and professionals, self-made land barons, churches and traditional leaders in peri-urban areas. Private land owners cashed in by subdividing their plots for sale. Villagers converted agricultural land to residential use to accommodate urban dwellers on a rental basis. In the process they also fenced off adjacent public land; for example, grazing land in Seke, Goromonzi and Domboshawa rural areas in peri-urban Harare, in a process popularly known as Operation Garawadya (“eat first then questions later”).

These developments cumulatively led to the rapid growth of small towns and satellite towns around Harare such as Ruwa and Norton, as well as the peri-urban areas of Seke and Domboshawa. Simultaneously, increasing mobility, informality and the rise of a trader society reinforced the growth of border towns including Kotwa, Beitbridge and Plumtree; and highway settlements, most of them small rural service centres such as Ngundu and Mhandamabgwe (both in Chivi District, on routes to South Africa).

In seeking to understand the dynamics of Zimbabwe’s urban development, the government’s response to the expanding urban sprawl throughout the country must also be considered. It has conspicuously not unleashed an operation similar to Murambatsvina. Instead, demolitions have been small-scale and targeted.²¹ At the same time, there has been an overhaul of the land and development regulations typified by the urban housing policy. Housing space standards have been reduced from a minimum plot size of 300m2 to as low as 100m2.²² With government and local authorities bankrupt, the development process has been opened up to anyone who appears to have the means to participate.

Crucially, houses can now be developed even where there is no approved land-use layout plan, no cadastral surveys and no infrastructure. All these factors have contributed to urban spatial growth in rural areas. They have also contributed to de-urbanisation in the sense of loss of urban character, namely, growth of urban areas lacking the infrastructure, services and institutions Zimbabweans would normally expect.

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Ghana is widely regarded as a successful model of multi-party democracy in Africa. The country has an active legislature with a strong and credible political opposition; an independent judiciary; growing, free and vibrant media that provide extensive coverage of public affairs and fierce debate of political issues; and an assertive civil society. Among its defining features is the conduct of successive, relatively free and fair competitive multi-party elections, with peaceful transfers of power. In 2008, John Atta-Mills won the presidential election in a run-off by just 0.46% of votes cast; in 2012, the margin of victory was less than 3%.

In 1988, Ghana embarked on a comprehensive decentralisation programme to bolster democratisation, devolve resources and encourage a more participatory approach to local development. The country is administratively divided into 10 regions and 216 districts, with three tiers of sub-national government at regional, district and sub-district levels. At the district level Metropolitan, Municipal and District Assemblies (MMDAs) are responsible for development planning, revenue collection, service delivery and internal security. Decentralised local governance is presented as an effective response to local administrative and development needs.

Democratic governance is not benefiting the public good

Despite the apparent success of democratisation, Ghana’s political framework combines multi-party politics and entrenched clientelism rooted in informal networks. The system generates intense competition between ruling and opposition coalitions, which strains relations between party elites and lower ranks, weakens institutions and leads to poor commitment to effective devolution. It encourages ruling elites to pursue short-term strategies to win elections, at the expense of long-term policy choices that might deliver inclusive economic growth to mitigate inequality, unemployment and poverty reduction.

Economic policy and management have failed to deliver macroeconomic stability or appropriate responses to the continued informalisation of the economy.¹ Election-related fiscal indiscipline is normal. Moreover, rent seeking and corruption, particularly by the country’s ruling and bureaucratic elites, have become more pervasive. Democratic governance is not benefiting the public good.

The transfer of power and responsibilities to sub-national government remains incremental, paradoxical and challenging. Problems of accountability, institutional autonomy, participation and poor service delivery typify local government across the country. While the rhetoric of decentralisation speaks of making democracy a reality, the process has in effect been used as a political tool to maintain central government control, investing significant powers in non-elected authorities and sustaining a patronage system developed over decades that undermines the nation’s already weak institutions. Politicians, mayors, and traditional authorities use MMDAs, which comprise elected and appointed members, as a means to further personal and party interests.

Under the current system of decentralised governance, citizens – particularly the poor – are limited in their ability to influence policy, monitor government and hold it accountable. While citizen participation is at the core of Ghana’s decentralised system in law, the scope for civic engagement is in fact limited, selective and state defined. Citizens and civil society have to wrestle political space for themselves. Influence can be exerted through informal networks that not only pervade formal political institutions but also shape the behaviour of political actors. Democracy in Ghana is best understood as a dominant presidential system reliant on informal networks.

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“Competitive clientelism” and the associated power struggles that take place in the ranks of Ghana’s political parties have negative consequences for urban governance.² Local assembly representatives are formally apolitical, but have close ties to political parties – and party priorities often direct resources into election campaigns, rather than investing in roads, streetlights or other public goods. While governance is formally structured, the distribution of political power takes place outside official channels.

Competition for power in Ghana has become increasingly intense, especially in cities, with more resources at the government’s disposal and greater sophistication in how political parties mobilise support. “Toilet wars” in Accra and Kumasi are a good example of this strong competition between rival party activists and loyalists for the control of a public service – to the detriment of consistent, universal provision of that service.³

Ghana is one of the most urbanised countries in Africa. According to World Bank data, in 2014 53% of the population lived in towns and cities. The country has urbanised rapidly: since 1984, the urban population has increased from four to 14 million, with an estimated 5.5 million (39%) living in slums.⁴ During the colonial period and into the independence era, city planning in Accra did not take indigenous and migrant communities into account. They were largely ignored by the state and left unregulated. Even today, planners refuse to accept the legality of slum settlements.

Rapid urbanisation exerts pressure on governments to provide jobs, housing, transport and other public services. Despite the deepening of democracy and political decentralisation in Ghana, urban neighbourhoods are under-resourced and informal economic and political networks dominate. But the growing urban population and its associated socio-economic and political dynamics have made Ghana’s cities central to the country’s political, governance and development processes.

Citizens interact and engage with elected officials, but not always in conventional ways

In an April 2013 survey of 16 Accra slum communities, 94% of respondents had a voter identification card, 24% had a passport, 48% had a bank account and 42% had a national identification card.⁵ Two-thirds were employed in the informal economy. The results of the survey run contrary to portrayals of slums as havens for vagrants and criminals cut off from the state. The role of the state and the relationship between informal networks and government officials merits close attention. Citizens interact and engage with elected officials, but not always in conventional ways. Slum politics is messy, complex and misunderstood.
The consolidation of multi-party politics is giving way to entrenched urban political machines. Cities offer politicians large voting blocs – and more. Parties rely on activists, “foot soldiers” and “macho-men” to patrol polling stations during voting and registration periods, attend rallies and mobilise voters.⁶ “Political parties find muscle [in slums]”, explained former Accra mayor Nat Nunoo Amarteifio; “we [in the municipality] also had our own connections with them”.⁷

In their influential volume Africa’s Urban Revolution, Susan Parnell and Edgar Pieterse write: “Learning where power lies in the city can be as challenging as persuading those in power of the need for change”.⁸ The majority of studies on African urban politics and planning emphasise the need for institutional change without first uncovering the roots of power. Policymakers devise lofty schemes to transform property rights, elections, administrative duties and economic regulation without understanding the role of existing incentives and where power lies. While this “grand” reform agenda is necessary, the success of any urban policy reform depends on a proper understanding of the political economy that underlies the power and political dynamics of cities.

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Elections serve as an important context for political jockeying and competition – both central aspects of democratic governance. However, the way Ghanaian citizens really hold their representatives to account is often ignored. There is a failure to capture the meanings that leaders and followers attach to the political process, thereby neglecting the expectations that citizens have of their leaders and the incentives that motivate their representatives in the struggle for political power. There is a great deal more to the practice of politics in urban communities than casting votes.

The way Ghanaian citizens really hold their representatives to account is often ignored

Christianity has emerged as a powerful force in Ghanaian politics. In January 2012, Edwin Nii Lante Vanderpuye of the National Democratic Congress (NDC), a candidate in the contest to become the member of parliament (MP) for Accra’s Odododiodio constituency, held a late-night prayer service at the Missions to Nations Church. The constituency is one of 27 in the Greater Accra Region and includes the Ga Mashie and Old Fadama slums. The Odododiodio Network of Churches sponsored this public and symbolic event.

Vanderpuye’s objective was to gain “spiritual support” for his bid. As he embarked on his campaign, he asked for God’s help in making the constituency better; his religiosity increased his appeal as a community leader and bolstered his electoral chances. Residents understood that although the candidate’s education and occupation were important, “what he really needs, what really matters, is the spiritual vote”.⁹

Historically, family lineage, in contrast to the performance of government, ideology or even programmatic ideas, has been the most decisive factor in the selection of a leader. In this respect, Vanderpuye already had an implicit advantage over his rivals as a member of the Lante Djan-We clan, the first to celebrate the Homowo Festival, the most important annual ceremony for the Ga people.

Having established and reaffirmed his strong personal links to the community, Vanderpuye set about building a political family. As an aide to former president John Atta Mills, he used his personal networks to create economic and educational opportunities, especially for young voters. He paid school fees for children in the community and contributed financially to funerals and birthday parties of influential, politically connected residents. Vanderpuye also supported the establishment of athletic and social clubs to organise disparate clusters of young people who were frustrated at the performance of the incumbent MP. In the words of one voter: “It is not that he is rich, but he has a link… He’s all around. When you go to Brong Ahafo, he has friends. Go to Western, he has friends. Go to the North, he is known there”.¹⁰

Informal institutions underlie – and are defining characteristics of – the democratic process in urban Ghana

During the election campaign, Vanderpuye handed out rice, clothes and other small gifts at rallies. He paved the alleyway in front of his family home and claimed that he would do the same for the entire community if he was voted in. This complemented the familial language he used in speeches and further personalised local politics.

Vanderpuye’s strategy proved especially effective among younger voters and he defeated his rival by 19,698 votes, securing 63% of the vote. The conduct of his campaign exemplifies how informal institutions underlie – and are defining characteristics of – the democratic process in urban Ghana. Victory rested on the support of personal networks: Vanderpuye did not promise public goods for all, but improvements and opportunities for certain communities in return for their backing.

The margin of victory for Vanderpuye was deceptively large: the campaign was contentious throughout. Elsewhere in Accra, electoral battles were conducted on similar lines and some were even more closely fought. In Ayawaso Central – which includes the slums of Alajo, Kotobabi and parts of New Town – New Patriotic Party candidate Henry Quartey won by just 635 votes out of a tally of 66,859. The NDC’s Nii Armah Ashietey won Korle Klottey, where the Abuja and Avenor slums are located, by 1,275 votes out of a total of 74,407.

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Aspiring political leaders in Ghana spend a long time building a following. Typically, they step into formal positions of power only after proving their credentials by serving their neighbourhoods for many years. Informal authority rests on “socially shared rules, usually unwritten, that are created, communicated and enforced outside of officially sanctioned channels”.¹¹ These rules constrain and enable the behaviour of residents over time and transcend ethnicity, class and political affiliation. Leaders, including politicians and chiefs, build support by extending their social networks, accumulating wealth, being family heads and religious figures – they are friends, entrepreneurs, parents and preachers.¹² Personal rule persists in Ghanaian society despite the strengthening of formal democratic institutions.

Politicians in urban constituencies make strategic calculations to gain the support of slum dwellers, as Vanderpuye’s campaign exemplified. They visit slums to show solidarity with victims of fires and floods; distribute food and clothing to vulnerable populations, such as kayayei (head porters); attend “outdoorings”, funerals and weddings of local leaders; and pray with pastors and imams at local churches and mosques. Showing influence and possession of the financial resources to improve the lives of residents is increasingly important. Individuals and social groups receive private or “club” goods on the basis of their support for a political party or candidate. This relationship weakens issue-based pressure, allowing political elites to shy away from responding to major structural challenges, and greatly politicises development.

Everyday interaction is a crucial – but poorly understood – component of how accountability is generated between leaders and citizens in the absence of formal mechanisms. It better reflects how Ghanaians understand and experience “accountability as public, relational and practised in the context of daily life”.¹³ Accountability is much more than just voting leaders out of office.

Complex, shifting interactions enable citizens, community leaders, and municipal workers alike to demand their “democratic dividend”

Formal mechanisms of democratic accountability are seldom accessible for the poorest. But urban residents have found other ways to hold leaders to account that fit within informal networks and social norms. Slum neighbourhoods are not homogenous, but collectively they are increasingly important providers of opportunity for many different types of people and organisations. Complex, shifting interactions enable citizens, community leaders, and municipal workers alike to demand their “democratic dividend”.

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“Dignified public expression”¹⁴ based on respect, rather than the implicit threat of removal from office, forms the basis of complex constituent–representative relations and political accountability in Ghana. It is relational and practised in the context of daily life. It fosters individuals’ belief that collective action will make a difference and provides an important means of translating information or needs into action. A dynamic process of talking and listening between constituents and representatives characterises Ghana’s urban politics.

In Akan-Twi, Ghana’s most widely spoken indigenous language, the word for democracy – Ka-bi-ma-menka-bi – translates as “I speak and then you speak”. For many Ghanaians, democracy is the process of free political expression between equals. It ensures that those who are affected by decisions are included in the decision-making process. Bonds of respect must develop between representatives and constituents, reinforced by concepts of reciprocal claim-making, shame and honour. Trust is generated if leaders are able and willing to give an account of their actions.

Political accountability is therefore a complex web of a community’s overall trust in a leader and its perception of the leader’s ability to get things done. In the words of a focus group participant in Agbogbloshie:

“A good assemblyman is one that listens to people when they call on him, one that calls the people to meetings to discuss ways to improve… one who listens to your plight anytime you call on him even at night, one that will come to your community and when you call him, take your concerns and present them at the assembly, so as to make sure all your problems are solved.”¹⁵

It is important to note that patron–client relations and practices developed well before multi-party politics, and were particularly evident during the national struggle for independence. Structures of local authority that have developed through a long, historic settlement process have not been replaced by “modern” elections.

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National and local laws, collectively referred to as planning law, play a central role in shaping the economic, social and political life of towns and cities. They regulate land use and land development, provide a sound basis for infrastructure planning, secure the rights of investors, protect environmental resources and mitigate environmental risks. Crucially, planning law determines which buildings are legal and which are not.

Planning law has a poor record in Africa. Legislation designed to protect the public from the negative aspects of urban land development has all too often been used by the state to enhance the value of land owned by the wealthy – and to penalise and intimidate the disadvantaged. Laws to protect public spaces and facilities that enhance civic life are seldom implemented as intended. In a context of insecure and unpredictable land rights, planning law is a major fault line running through society.

Planning law is a major fault line running through society.

Planning law is meant to reflect and assert the public interest. This is not the reality in Africa. Land use is largely unregulated. Integrated infrastructure planning is rare. Private rights and interests are not mediated by a comprehensive legal framework.

Instead, dire living conditions, diabolical traffic jams, neglected infrastructure and dangerous public spaces are the norm. Urban management is notoriously erratic and fragmented, and the overwhelming majority of buildings are constructed in contravention of planning laws.

There are three principal indicators of failed planning law in urban centres:

• The predominance of illegal structures. For the majority of Africa’s urban dwellers the costs of complying with applicable planning, building and tenure laws are so out of kilter with their household incomes that legal compliance is unimaginable.
• The use of planning and building laws against vulnerable groups. Sudden crackdowns resulting in demolitions or evictions are commonplace. One of the best-known examples is Operation Murambatsvina, or “Drive Out the Rubbish”, carried out in Harare in 2005. The eviction of some 700,000 people in Zimbabwe’s capital and demolition of their homes was justified on the basis of the 1976 Town and Country Planning Act.
• Inviolate elites. Wealthy and powerful elites operate largely untroubled by planning laws. Any negative impacts on neighbours or the public interest are typically ignored. This culture of impunity has created the perception that there are two laws: one for the well-to-do and another for the rest.

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The founding fathers of the town and country movement in Europe and North America envisaged the law being used to constitute and control the resource of developable urban land – and to ensure that towns and cities developed in ways that maximised the public benefit. In Africa, however, planning law was unashamedly used by colonial regimes to assert the interests of a small minority over those of the majority. This situation has endured since independence, albeit with a different minority elite reaping the benefits.

The grip of colonial legislation on the mind-sets of policymakers and practitioners remains strong. Political elites and government officials see themselves and the legal framework as a bastion against informality, illegality – and ultimately anarchy. Planning law is deliberately wielded in an exclusive, not inclusive, manner.

Land that can be developed within the formal legal framework is a scarce commodity in most African cities. This scarcity keeps prices high, accessible only to a small pool of elite landowners and wealthy individuals. In this context, planning laws form part of a regulatory barrier that limits opportunities in formal land markets and exacerbates inequality.

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There is broad consensus that planning laws in Africa need to be changed. Laws designed to regulate urban development in Europe or North America in the early and mid 20th century are an inappropriate blueprint for contemporary Africa. Leading international urban development organisations including UN-Habitat, the World Bank and Cities Alliance are committed to legal reform.

For example, UN-Habitat reports have consistently called for the reform of planning laws as an “important precondition for more effective urban planning”. Although country after country has embarked on ambitious programmes of comprehensive legislative reform, consensus and concern have seldom been translated into successfully implemented new planning law.

A generally shared view is that reform should focus on cutting superfluous red tape and regulation. The objective of reducing the regulatory burden on weak systems with limited technical and financial resources is pragmatic. But it is too glib a solution to a complex problem. As with many calls for deregulation, so too with urban legal reform in Africa – over time more law is generated, not less. A seemingly irresistible impulse compels governments and their external advisers to use new law to respond to each of the multiple, complex challenges that cities face.

Legislation designed to protect the public from the negative aspects of urban land development has all too often been used by the state to enhance the value of land owned by the wealthy.

Wishful thinking abounds, based on the mistaken premise that planning is solely a technical exercise. This is not a good basis for law-making and it usually founders on exposure to one or more of the following:

• Misguided assumptions. Planners and legislators have over-ambitious or erroneous expectations of the officials who will be responsible for implementing the law. They fail to appraise the diverse economic and political motivations and interests of businesses, citizens and officials. In these circumstances, the interests of those drafting the legislation, or elites, invariably trump those of other intended beneficiaries – and social justice.
• Inadequate appraisal of costs and consequences. Disregard for the true costs of a reform is self-defeating. For example, only when a draft planning law in Uganda was nearing completion did it emerge that its implementation could require up to 20,000 additional public officials.¹
• Unrealistic expectations of law reform. Implementation of planning law must take account of what is possible in the specific context. Initiatives to develop land-titling regulations are notorious for their disregard of the costs of compliance for affected households.
• Reality gap. There is a gap between what planners would like to see reflected in urban planning legislation and the reality of people’s lives in modern African cities. The planning vision is aspirational but invariably impossible to achieve on the scale demanded by rapidly growing urban areas. Many of the proponents of planning law reform seek to bring informal structures inhabited by the poor in line with regulatory standards. This results in the imposition of an administrative burden on those least able to bear it, often with negligible public interest benefit. Scant attention is paid to the regulation of powerful players, such as developers, commercial farmers, traditional leaders and wealthy citizens.

Planning law reform is difficult in any context anywhere in the world. Myriad competing interests need to be identified and balanced. Flawed design and drafting invariably consolidates existing privilege and enhances political and economic inequality. To harness the redistributive potential of planning law, policymakers and practitioners must address the typical shortcomings in reform processes. If they do not, ongoing attempts to update or even transform planning laws are unlikely to succeed.

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The notion prevails that legislation employed successfully elsewhere can be adopted in Africa with minimal amendment, quickly and with similar results. This has been a further impediment to effective, progressive reform. In the late 1940s, the British Colonial Office developed a model town and country planning law for use across Africa and the Caribbean.² In Patrick McAuslan’s words, in Africa this has “been used in country after country to keep the urban masses at bay; to deny them lawful homes and livelihoods; to reinforce the powers of officials; and to weaken the institutions of civil society”.³ 

No matter how appealing the idea, there are no easy or one-size-fits-all solutions to the reform of planning law. It must be carried out in accordance with local conditions and practices. African countries have diverse law-making and planning practices, which reflect their different histories, as well as their present-day economic, social and political realities. There are disparate, complex underlying land tenure arrangements to consider. No model law can be equally appropriate and effective in Malawi, Angola and Burkina Faso, for example.

The imperative is to identify workable alternative approaches to planning law reform that enable more equitable urban development in sub-Saharan Africa. The universal failure of model solutions poses two important questions. Firstly, what constitutes an effective planning law? Secondly, why has it been so difficult to design new but appropriate planning laws in Africa?

Effective planning law must be practical. It is no good drafting a law that appears to address a wide range of concerns yet cannot be implemented. Many of the efforts to write new planning law for African countries are dead in the water because of this failure – as is often quietly, if sheepishly, acknowledged by those involved in the design and drafting.

Although the record of planning law reform is poor across the board, with very few examples of good practice to emulate, reform processes can be improved. But to achieve more efficient lawmaking – and laws – the way that new planning laws are conceived, drafted and implemented has to change. New legislative interventions need to be crafted more intelligently, and with due regard for the interests of the majority of those affected – the urban poor.

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The most important fact when seeking to identify what might bring about positive change is that citizens – in households and businesses – determine the characteristics and growth of African cities. Inevitably, they do this inefficiently and, in most places, inequitably and unsustainably. But they are creating the dynamism and innovation that characterise urban centres the world over. The primary objective for urban planning and other laws must be to influence these patterns of investment and activity in such a way as to achieve better overall development outcomes for cities and towns.

The grip of colonial legislation on the mind-sets of policymakers and practitioners remains strong.

A first step is to identify the conditions that are conducive to achieving better results, rather than simply stating the desired outcome, either expressly or by implication. For example, we should examine what could facilitate a form of land development in urban centres that is less concerned with protecting elite interests and more in line with broader needs and interests. This would be more likely to achieve long-term success than a blithe insistence that a particular method must be followed.

To determine what is possible, the competing interests and concerns of all groups must be properly understood. The urban population as a whole needs to be presented with, accept and follow the rationale behind planning legislation that affects their day-to-day lives. Conditions that enable the authorities – officials and politicians – to implement legislation with realism and sensitivity to the impact of their actions on communities and livelihoods are vital.

Popular participation and consultation in planning reform is frequently a sham. In a context of high social inequality, political and economic elites dominate the lawmaking process. Strong civil society organisations can play an important role in mitigating this imbalance. They can exert influence and assert rights to make decision-makers more cognisant of the limits of their powers and more accountable to the general public.

There is a gap between what planners would like reflected in urban planning legislation and the reality of people’s lives in modern African cities.

This can be done either through the courts or through administrative processes. Among many others, the Social and Economic Rights Centre (SERAC) in Nigeria, the Social and Economic Rights Institute of South Africa (SERI), the Zambia Land Alliance and Shack/Slum Dwellers International (SDI) have all achieved successes which provide grounds for optimism – and emulation.

The emphasis should be on what can be done rather than what should not be done. A legal framework that protects the power of a municipality to levy user charges for service provision is a more useful measure than a set of regulatory hurdles that have to be cleared before a new home can be built. Obviously, compromises and balances must be struck, but it is essential to highlight what is allowed rather than what is prohibited. South Africa’s landmark Development Facilitation Act 67 of 1995 is an example of an attempt to make this shift, albeit one stymied by subsequent constitutional challenge.⁴ 

There should be a focus on the minimum standards needed to secure a basic level of health and safety. The appearance of buildings, even the building materials used, is generally irrelevant to achieving these standards and draconian regulations give rise to costs that households and businesses cannot afford.

More inclusive, just and economically productive urban centres cannot be created by new legislation alone. There needs to be a shift in the mind-sets of the officials responsible for implementing urban legislation in African countries. Officials are influenced by a mix of international, professional and legal pressures, which must be taken into account by planning law reformers.

Many of the visions and ideals that influence planners and officials in African cities are foreign. They are predicated on notions of what constitutes a city and how a city operates that too often are wholly divorced from the realities of urban life and governance in, for example, Luanda or Addis Ababa. Yet the force of these international models sweeps all before it – an insidious and unhelpful phenomenon.

This force is apparent in at least two important areas. Firstly, in the concept of a compact, contained city clearly defined by an urban edge. Secondly, in the prominent role of large-scale infrastructure projects, especially road networks. As a result, we increasingly see planning law used to criminalise informal land development beyond the urban edge and to clear land for the development of mega-infrastructure. This further constrains the opportunities for formal and legal land development, while destroying the homes and businesses of people who are unlucky enough to reside on land allocated to a new bypass.

All the key personnel in the urban legal system in Africa feel the cumulative effect of international and domestic pressures, both in their conception of what would constitute better new law and in their approach to changing the law. In almost all cases, these pressures hamper a realistic and practical approach to problem-solving and lead to negative outcomes.

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The temptation to rewrite planning laws is seductive. However, it promises the opportunity to change a great deal more than is actually feasible. It is – at least in theory – a chance to redesign the planning system and reimagine how towns and cities could look, feel and work. But a wholesale rewriting of complex legislation is not realistic – and probably not desirable.

What is required is a more sanguine approach that leads to better understanding of the underlying conditions that make urban legal reform so difficult in African countries. Such an approach must take into account the interests of all parties, and the prospects and costs for implementation of legislation. Positive change depends on a sober assessment of what is realistic and practical. This can only be gained by asking what laws obstruct such change – and by bringing about shifts in deep-seated attitudes.

There are no easy or one-size-fits-all solutions to reforming planning law.

Fundamental changes in approach cannot be prescribed. They have to emerge and be grounded in the motives and interests of urban populations, the private sector, municipal authorities and donor organisations. This takes time. It is salutary to look at the example of the Brazilian City Statute, the product of 30 years of effort yet inevitably still imperfect.

A number of initiatives supporting a change of approach have been launched. In July 2012, at the first meeting of the Platform for Urban Law Reform in sub-Saharan Africa, a group of planning and legal experts from across the continent agreed to start work on a long-term strategy to bring about urban and planning law reform. In partnership with UN-Habitat, the conclusions of this meeting were presented to the World Urban Forum in Naples in September 2012. A model course for planning law at African planning schools has been drafted. A new African Urban Research Initiative, supported by the African Centre for Cities, the Rockefeller Foundation and Cities Alliance, was inaugurated in Addis Ababa in March 2013. An Urban Legal Guide is in preparation.⁵

It would, of course, be as hazardous to propose a model approach to planning law reform as to adhere to a model planning law. However, closer observance of certain basic rules of good regulation in drafting processes would be helpful. These include proportionality, accountability, consistency, transparency and targeting. Introducing these rules into urban legal reform will probably make the processes longer and more costly, but it will greatly improve the likelihood of establishing more workable legislation at the end.

In addition to the promotion of a more pragmatic approach to urban legal reform in Africa, the conditions that would make such an approach work need to be created and strengthened. This imperative has at least three dimensions. Firstly, it is about building capacity and awareness of what law and law reform can achieve. From the outset, due attention should be paid to the design of law reform processes that recognise the realities of implementation and compliance.

Secondly, it is about changing the urban planning discourses. Planning alone is not going to solve the problems of African cities. International agencies such as UN-Habitat and Cities Alliance, major bilateral doors, and international and regional professional associations need to assist in restraining unrealistic expectations for planning. Similarly, they should promote non-planning measures that can have significantly greater impact. These include municipal finance, especially in relation to infrastructure investment, and land tenure reforms, both in relation to securing formal land rights and recognising informal ones.

More inclusive, just and economically productive urban centres cannot be created by new legislation alone.

Finally, the conditions that allow civil society organisations to engage with urban development and planning issues constructively and coherently need to be fostered. Ideas and suggestions must be debated and absorbed – and state actors held to account. If future urban strategy and policy documents pay more attention to the creation of these conditions than to matching a list of urban horrors to a parallel to-do list of interventions, then we will start to see the outlook for effective urban legal reform improve.

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NOTES

1 McAuslan, Patrick, Land Law Reform in East Africa: Traditional or Transformative?, Routledge, 2013, p.89

2 McAuslan, Patrick, Bringing the Law Back in: Essays in Law and Development, Ashgate, 2003, p.92

3 Ibid., p.103

4 The Act provided extraordinary measures to facilitate and speed up the implementation of reconstruction and development programmes and projects in relation to land; but Chapters V and VI were invalidated in 2010 after a successful challenge brought by the City of Johannesburg regarding the division of powers between municipal and provincial authorities.

5 Authored by Patrick McAuslan and Stephen Berrisford, initiated by the African Centre for Cities at the University of Cape Town and funded by Urban LandMark, Cities Alliance and UN-Habitat.