Participation and Passive Revolution: The Reproduction of Neoliberal Water Governance Mechanisms in...

Participation and PassiveRevolution: The Reproduction of

Neoliberal Water GovernanceMechanisms in Durban,

South Africa

Fiona NashDepartment of Geography, Royal Holloway, University of London, Surrey, UK;

[email protected]

Abstract: This article demonstrates that Gramsci’s concept of passive revolution canbe utilised to help unearth some of the contradictions of participatory developmentwithin neoliberal governance systems in the global South. I argue that some approachesto “participation” within neoliberal governance systems can, in part, be understoodas moments within a protracted process of passive revolution. The argument is tracedthrough eThekwini municipality’s Community Participation Programme and the relatedextension of Free Basic Water (FBW). This article contributes to existing scholarship bydemonstrating how a Gramscian analysis is indispensable to understanding the way inwhich state–civil society relations are conceived in participatory development strategiesand the implications this might have for radical social change. I argue that a Gramscianapproach compels us to reconsider current understandings of state–civil society relationsso that we might overcome the impasse of passive revolution and move towards a moreprogressive form of politics.

Keywords: participation, passive revolution, neoliberal water governance, South Africa

IntroductionA reawakening of interest in Gramscian approaches to questions of statecraft,political strategy and the struggle for alternatives has occurred within Anglophonescholarship, in part due to Buttigieg’s translation of a critical edition of Gramsci’sPrison Notebooks into English (Ekers and Loftus forthcoming). This builds upon alonger analytical (and philological) engagement in Italy that has been facilitatedconsiderably by Gerratana’s edition of the Prison Notebooks (1975). In the English-speaking tradition, the disciplines of international relations and cultural studieshave been prominent in stimulating debate surrounding Gramsci’s work (Cox1982; Gill 1993; Hall 1987). However, these readings have often applied hisworks in a fragmented fashion without adequate consideration of his broadermethodological approach (Davidson 2008:89). In other words, many of thoseundertaking Gramscian-inspired analyses have failed to use his “theory as a coherentwhole” (Davidson 2008:89). This is decidedly un-Gramscian for he, as a letterto his sister-in-law Tatiana Schucht (1931) indicates, is consciously committed tothorough enquiry. Gramsci reminds Tatiana that “the habit of rigorous philological

Antipode Vol. 00 No. 0 2012 ISSN 0066-4812, pp 1–20 doi: 10.1111/j.1467-8330.2012.00994.xC© 2012 The Author. Antipode C© 2012 Antipode Foundation Ltd.

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discipline acquired during my years at the university has imbued me, perhapsexcessively, with methodological scruples” (in Buttigieg, 2011:31). Conversely,more recent scholarship has tended to be deeply (and impressively) philologicalwithout necessarily working through the implications for concrete practice to theirfull potential (eg see Thomas 2009a). Both approaches fail to do Gramsci’s approachjustice. Indeed, the implications of Gramsci’s method are rather more radical.Under the rubric of “philosophy of praxis”, Gramsci develops a technique whichdemands the “renewing from head to toe the whole way of conceiving philosophy”,stressing movement between philological perspectives and concrete expressionsof reality (Gramsci 1971:464). Morton’s recent work on passive revolution inMexico (2007, 2010a, 2010b) makes great strides in internalising Gramscianapproaches. He illustrates how the theory of passive revolution can help us betterunderstand the “historical sociology of uneven development” on a global scale byexploring passive revolution in “a historically specific sense, capturing transitionsto and transformations of the social relations of capitalist production” (2010a).Drawing on Morton’s approach to analysing the dynamics of passive revolution(both in a philological and concrete sense), I undertake a Gramscian inspiredanalysis whereby I move between a philological reading of the concept of passiverevolution and the concrete processes of participation and Free Basic Water (FBW) ineThekwini municipality. I argue that the municipality’s participation strategy shouldbe understood as part of a broader process of passive revolution which has resultedin the foreclosure of radical political possibilities due to the selective incorporation ofcivil society organisations into the state. While most studies of participation practicesoverlook this process, I contribute to existing scholarship by demonstrating howa Gramscian analysis is indispensable to understanding the way in which state–civil society relations are conceived in participatory development strategies and theimplications this might have for radical social change. In doing so, I argue that aGramscian approach compels us to reconsider current understandings of state–civilsociety relations so that we might overcome the impasse of passive revolution andmove towards a more progressive form of politics.

I begin by illustrating how Gramsci’s concepts of the integral state and passiverevolution proffer tools for analysing statecraft in periods of economic andpolitical transition. Subsequently, I argue that some approaches to participationwithin neoliberal governance1 systems can be understood as moments within aprotracted process of passive revolution. This argument is traced through eThekwinimunicipality’s community participation strategy and the extension of the FBW which“provide[s] a basic amount of water free of charge” (Muller 2008:67).2 The articledraws on research undertaken in May–June 2010. Following six thematic focusgroups, 22 in-depth semi-structured interviews were conducted with water usersand members of the Westcliff Flats Residents Association (WFRA) (community-based organisation) as well as an interview with the head of eThekwini Waterand Sanitation agency (eTWS). Where interviews are directly drawn upon, theyare referenced according to gender, age and date of interview. The Westcliff flatsare situated within Chatsworth, a largely “Indian” low-income suburb of Durban(Desai 2002:8; Mottiar, Naidoo and Kumalo 2011). WFRA has a rich history ofmobilising against and engaging with the local state, both during and after the

C© 2012 The Author. Antipode C© 2012 Antipode Foundation Ltd.

Participation and Passive Revolution 3

apartheid administration in relation to basic service delivery (see Desai 2002). Thearticle concludes that while important incremental improvements have been madein water governance as a result of state-led reform, the selective inclusion of civilsociety organisations tempers the development of radical political alternatives. Thus,this paper challenges those researching participation to consider whether Gramsci’sconcept of passive revolution can help shed light on the prospects for radical socialchange within the context in which they are working.

The Integral StateGramsci’s theorisation of the “integral state” is central to the discussion ofparticipation and passive revolution for it is here where Gramsci problematisesstate–civil society relations (Morton 2007; Thomas 2009a). Contrary to Weberianinterpretations of the state as a static, unitary, geographically and territorially boundentity, Gramsci perceived the state not as a thing in itself, or as a rational absolutethat is extraneous to individuals in a reified or fetishistic sense, but as a form ofsocial relations and practices which are produced and reproduced (1992:229).Importantly, Gramsci perceived the state as a fluid entity and, more significantly, asite of struggle (Jessop 1982).

Inspired by Gramsci’s approach, geography scholars have exposed the spatialdynamics of the state and revealed how it should be understood as a “crystallizationof the uneven development of capitalist development” (Kipfer and Keil 2002:233;also see Goodwin, Duncan and Halford 1993; Jessop 1997; Jessop, Peck and Tickell1999). This has enabled nuanced analyses of how state institutions, on both anational and local scale, become (re)constituted in particular ways depending on thespecific conditions in which the (local) state is implicated (Kipfer and Keil 2002:233).Moreover, by thinking through the state in this way, these scholars have encouragedreflection on the relationships between state and civil society.

Recently, Thomas has taken this further and argued that Gramsci’s integralstate represents the “dialectical unity of moments of civil and politicalsociety” (2009a:137). Here, political and civil society should “be distinguishedmethodologically, not organically” (Thomas 2009:137). The state in an integral formis, therefore, understood far more broadly than the sum of its formal governmentaland legal parts. It is constitutive of a complex web of social relations within whichstruggles occur on a continual basis through attempts to lay claims to dominantpolitical positionalities. Gramsci’s understanding of the integral state provides uswith a rich framework through which to analyse struggles within, and between,elements of political and civil society over the form and expression of the state(Bieler and Morton 2003:488). It is with this in mind that Gramsci’s concept of“passive revolution” becomes a particularly useful tool to explain the dynamics ofstatecraft and, as will be explored below, the problems of participatory developmentin the global South.

Passive Revolution as a Technique of StatecraftOn first inspection, the term “passive revolution” appears paradoxical. After all, whatis or can ever be passive about revolution? (Hesketh 2010) Importantly, the “passive”


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in passive revolution should not be read literally (Morton 2007). What makesrevolution passive is the situation where “a state replaces the local social groupsin leading a struggle for renewal” (Gramsci 1971:109). This differs fundamentallyfrom movements like the French Revolution because a “political revolution of theJacobin-type” is absent (Gramsci 1971:109). Instead, the bureaucratic state seeks toaffirm its weakened hegemonic control by selectively meeting demands from civilsociety.

As a technique for statecraft, passive revolution, involves two discrete butinterrelated processes with the same overarching goal (Gray 2010; Thomas 2009a)of “state survival and the reorganisation of identity through which the social relationsare reproduced in new forms consonant with capitalist property relations” (Morton2007:41). In the first instance, passive revolution “serves as ‘revolution from above’,reliant on state-led initiatives to ensure the political rule of capital in a situationwhere it is too weak to achieve such aims itself” (Gray 2010:454). Secondly,passive revolution achieves the reinforcement of hegemony by “seeking to bothforestall and at the same time adopt subaltern demands, yet without bringingthose subaltern groups into the ruling historical bloc” (Gray 2010:454). In thiscontext, acts of passive revolution, often in the form of legislative reform, maysurpass what are understood as the direct interests of the state body but, ultimately,reform seeks to “reinforce the hegemonic system” at times when it is showingweakness (Gray 2010:454). In explaining passive revolution in South Africa, it seemsmost appropriate to describe South Africa’s transition to neoliberal governance aspassive revolution of the first type, whereas eThekwini municipality’s communityparticipation strategy is indicative of the second type of passive revolution.

Recently, Callinicos has drawn attention to the limits of passive revolution, arguingthat the concept “seems to have been stretched to breaking point” (2010:503).Taking his concerns seriously, it is necessary to consider the extent to which theconcept is applicable to the global South. Gramsci developed and transformedthe concept of passive revolution, coined by Cuoco in reference to the 1799Neapolitan revolution, to explain the Risorgimento movement which culminatedin the political unification of Italy (1860–1861) (Thomas 2009a:146). However,he did not characterise the concept as territorially bound within Italian borders.Rather, he understood it to be applicable in contexts where modernisation of thestate occurs “through a series of reforms or national wars without undergoing apolitical revolution of the Jacobin-type” (Gramsci 1992:232). Recent scholarshiphas highlighted the concept’s utility in helping to explain state transformation innon-western contexts.3 For instance, Tugal has argued that shifts to moderateIslam in Turkey can be understood as a process of passive revolution whereradicals, and the associated challenge to capitalism, have “been brought intothe fold of neoliberalism, secularism and western domination” (Tugal 2009:4).While Tugal’s reading of Gramsci is somewhat problematic for it fails to take intoaccount the notion of the integral state, his work does illustrate the applicabilityof passive revolution in non-western contexts. Moreover, Morton’s analysis ofstate transformation in Mexico, particularly with reference to his methodologicalapproach of “incorporated comparison”, highlights the relevance of passiverevolution to postcolonial contexts. Morton borrows the term “incorporated



comparison” from McMichael (1990) to show how “apparently separate” instancesof passive revolution can be “understood as comparable social phenomena ordifferentiated outcomes of a historically integrated process” (2010b:12). Drawingon research across Latin America, Morton indicates that while “instances ofpassive revolution differ in character and outcome” similarities can be drawn.For example “various passive revolutions have been recognised as drivers of thedevelopmental catch-up process through planned action, the mobilisation of thesocial base, and populist-style national development” (2010b:12). Clearly, Gramsci’spassive revolution thesis has implications for analyses of state transformation whichtranscend the borders of any one state. With this in mind, the following sectionargues that South Africa’s transition to neoliberal governance can be understoodas the beginning of a process of passive revolution in which the new South Africanstate established a fragile neoliberal hegemony.

South Africa’s Transition to Neoliberal Governance:The Establishment of a Fragile Hegemony and theBeginning of a Process of Passive RevolutionGramsci’s passive revolution thesis, as a mechanism of statecraft, provides a richframe of analysis within which South Africa’s post-apartheid transition to neoliberalforms of governance can be understood. As will be explored further below, initiativessuch as “participatory development” strategies constitute just one moment withinthis broader process of passive revolution where the reproduction of particularrelations of governance is the decisive outcome.

Initially on coming to power, the African National Congress (ANC) adopted theReconstruction and Development Plan (RDP) which committed the government to aprogramme of “people-driven” redistributive reform (Hart 2002:17) and promisedto tackle the systematic structural inequalities that had existed under apartheidrule (Marais 2001:89). Quickly, however, it became clear that South African policywould take a neoliberal turn (McDonald and Pape 2002:4). Despite the retention ofrevolutionary rhetoric and terminology, the “liberal” element of the ANC becamedominant and the majority of the material outputs of ANC policy tended to complywith neoliberal doctrines (Johnson 2003:200; Marais 2001; Murray 1994; Saul2001). Saul describes this swing of power within the ANC as a “tragic shift tothe right” (in Narsiah 2010:386) led by a vanguard within the party movementrather than its mass base support (Johnson 2003).

The Growth, Employment and Redistribution (GEAR) strategy (1996) is commonlymarked as the consolidation of neoliberal thinking within South African policymaking forums (Bond 2005; Marais 2001; McDonald and Pape 2002). GEARwas articulated largely by technical experts rather than in collaboration withbroader elements of civil society (Marais 2001:161). Neoliberal governance practicesincluding trade liberalisation, financialisation, fiscal discipline, decentralisation,adherence to liberal democratic processes and the introduction of marketmechanisms into service delivery systems were presented as the only availableoptions (Hart 2002). In this sense it is linked to the Bretton Woods “goodgovernance” agenda (Bond 2005; Johnson 2003) and is reminiscent of Morton’s


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(above) methodology of incorporated comparison where specific passive revolutionscan be located within a broader drive for developmental catch-up. Bond (2005)explains how South African bureaucrats were lobbied by World Bank officials toadopt pro-market principles. However, the decision to pursue a neoliberal approachcannot be explained away by an inert local acceptance of the all-encompassingneoliberal “globalisation”, for this would obscure the agency of the elite who, withconsiderable difficulty, were in the process of forging a fragile and partial neoliberalhegemony within South Africa (Hart 2002). Approval of neoliberal governancewas far from universal, both the Congress of South African Trade Unions and theSouth African Communist Party mounted opposition to the ANC’s “market friendly”approach (Saul 2001:449). Protests against the privatisation of basic services remaina regular feature in the South African political landscape and are testament tothe fragility of neoliberal hegemony (Desai 2002). Here, it appears that elementswithin the bureaucratic state had, without broad-based support, taken the leadin the struggle for renewal of the South African state by attempting to ensure thatcapitalist social relations took centre stage in the state form, thus symbolising passiverevolution of the first type.

The adoption of neoliberal economic theory has shaped the way in which basicservice delivery occurs in South Africa. In relation to water, this meant a commitmentto cost recovery principles, which refers to the objective of recouping the full cost,or as close to the full cost as possible, of providing a service (McDonald 2002:17).Water, in this context, is understood as a commodity, a private good which isbest, and most justly, distributed when bought and sold on the market or, at least,in accordance with market principles (McDonald and Ruiters 2005:21). Conversely,market interference is believed to lead to inefficiency, surplus bureaucracy and waste(Estache, Woden and Foster 2002). Despite being commonly posited as the onlyviable option, water can also be conceptualised as a public good which is non-rivaland non-excludable or a merit good which exhibits neither the characteristics of apublic nor a private good in totality (McDonald and Ruiters 2005:20). Proponents ofthe public and merit good position argue that because access to water is conditionalon the consumer’s ability to pay for it, markets will not ensure that a “sociallyoptimal” level is maintained (Bakker 2003). Bakker has also described water as an“uncooperative commodity” which illustrates the difficulties in completely capturingwater as a commodity due to its particular characteristics as a flow resource and itssocial qualities in that it is necessary for life (2003).

The difficulty of reconciling the different values of water is reflected in the decisionto introduce the FBW policy in South Africa and to extend the provision from 6 to 9 klin 2009. The commitment to FBW indicates that water is vital for life and that a lackof clean drinking water can lead to other negative externalities such as deterioratinghealth or political instability. For example, it was the perceived relationship betweena cholera outbreak in KwaZulu-Natal and cost recovery policies which spurred onthe introduction of FBW on a national scale (Deedat and Cottle 2002:95). Theintroduction of full cost pricing for water was alleged to have resulted in peopleresorting to using unsafe water sources due to their inability to pay for the cleanwater source which had previously been free of charge (Deedat and Cottle 2002:95).The FBW policy clearly shows recognition of some of the values of water outside



its monetary form. However, it is equally clear that price remains an importantvariable. For instance, the Head of eTWS has previously emphasised that one of thedriving forces for the implementation of the 6 kl FBW policy was that it was cheaper,administratively, to provide 6 kl of water per household for free than it was to servicethe accounts of those who defaulted on their water bills (Bond and Dugard 2008:8).Although FBW policy ensures that some cross-subsidisation occurs, overall the policyremains compatible with cost recovery mechanisms (Narsiah 2010). Tariffs continueto be designed so that the full cost of operations and maintenance is recouped fromthe domestic consumer who, in the case of the Westcliff Flats, is metered and thusbilled for their volumetric consumption. The use of market mechanisms to distributewater, in particular the commitments to cost recovery, highlights the continuedperceived importance of the exchange or monetary value of water. This history ofwater, politics and neoliberalism represents the backdrop to the passive revolutionthat I will now discuss.

The Scale of Passive RevolutionBefore continuing, there are questions of scale within passive revolution whichought to be addressed. Gramsci’s work is simultaneously deeply spatial as wellas historical (Kipfer forthcoming). As Jessop notes, it should be “interpreted from aspatio-temporal as well as a social and material perspective” due to Gramsci’s keeninterest in space, place and scale, engaging with the themes “enables us to recovermany of the geographical themes in his work” (2005: 241).

In particular, grappling with the spatial aspects of Gramsci’s work allows us to shedlight on how specific processes of passive revolution underway at the level of the localstate fit into a more expansive process of passive revolution occurring at broaderscales. For instance, with reference to Gramsci’s unfinished essay “Some aspectsof the southern question” Morton finds a spatial and scalar analysis of “unevendevelopment between North and South” Italy with reference to class divisions,racial inequality and the role of intellectuals in class struggle (2010a:326). Kipfer(forthcoming) also stresses the spatial rhythms of Gramsci’s work and reflects uponthe lessons Gramsci found in the failure of the factory council movement in Turin tocreate a “Piedmont-wide party organisation and link up with Northern agriculturalworkers and Southern peasants and landless labourers”. Following this experience,Gramsci argued that a national hegemonic project must itself be grounded in aspatially differentiated constellation of subnational (but transnationally articulated)political forces. Clearly these spatial and scalar perspectives are fundamental toGramsci’s work and allow us to explore how the processes of state transformationand passive revolution unfold across a variety of scales.

In South Africa, as with many other nations, decentralisation of responsibility forservices from national to local state has become a core policy initiative (Cockburn1977:41; Craig and Porter 2006). Here, it is necessary to explore the specificconditions within which policy is articulated at the local scale and consider howthis matches up to broader processes. In respect to politically limited form ofparticipation in local government decision-making processes, the local state ensuredthat subaltern interests were selectively incorporated so that no challenge to the way


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in which water is understood or the social relations upon which both the local andnational state is organised could occur. Here, Gramsci’s concept of passive revolutionurges us to consider more carefully how state–civil society relations are conceivedand the implications of this for social change.

Participation as a Moment of Passive Revolution: TheIntegral State and Rethinking State–Civil SocietyRelationsParticipatory development strategies in the water sector can be understood as amoment of passive revolution where subaltern demands are selectively incorporatedand, simultaneously, the arbitrary distinction between political and civil society isreinforced. This separation of political and civil society hinders the “emergence ofcompeting (organised and institutional) perspectives” and is, to an extent, reflectiveof “the organic division established in modern political theory between the sphereof direction and decision (the state) and that which is directed and decided (civilsociety)” (Thomas 2009a:137–145). This gives background to the situation wherethe state is willing to selectively incorporate civil demands, but only on its own terms.Gramsci’s solution to this was to stress “the need for the subaltern classes to become‘more political’” and, in effect, move towards forms of self-government whichwould, in turn, lead to the replacement of the bourgeois state (Thomas 2009a:193).This section details how current conceptions of state–civil society relations withinparticipatory development foreclose these radical political possibilities in favour ofthe selective incorporation of civil society demands on the bourgeois state’s terms.

Prior to 1994, apartheid practices meant participation in official political processeswas near impossible for the majority of South Africans (Williams 2006:197).Consequently, South African political history is characterised by struggle and“strategic mobilisation against the exclusionary and discriminatory policies at locallevel” (Williams 2006:197; Habib 2005:674). The legacy of anti-apartheid strugglehas resulted in an absence of organised forums for citizens to shape politics (Wilsonet al 2008:141). In recognition of existing structural inequality, both in terms ofaccess to water and capacity to influence policy, the post-apartheid administrationmade a dual commitment to neoliberal forms of governance and constitutionallyendorsed community participatory processes. For example, the Development Facili-tation Act (1995), the Republic of South Africa Constitution (1996) and the WhitePaper on Local Government (1998) all make firm commitments to the centrality ofcommunity participation in driving municipal policy (Williams 2006:201).

Undoubtedly, community “participation” in the water sector has become anincreasingly popular policy commitment over the last two decades. “Participation”is assumed to increase “efficiency and effectiveness of investment” as well ascontributing to broader “processes of democratisation and empowerment” (Cleaver1999:597; also see Mayoux and Chambers 2005). The rapid uptake of participatorylanguage across the policy making spectrum necessitates reflection on the concept’suse and careful analysis of “who is participating, in what and for whose benefit”rather than assuming that participatory processes are inherently positive (Cornwall2008:269; also see Cooke and Kothari 2001; Hickey and Mohan 2005; Kapoor



2002; Mitlin and Thompson 1995; Williams 2004, 2006). It is important to notethat there is no universal definition of participation (Cornwall 2008:269). For some,it necessitates an empowerment goal (Chambers 1997; Mayoux and Chambers2005) while others use the same term to describe tokenistic processes of consultationwhere the outcome is, to an extent, predetermined. “Empowerment” in this contextrefers to processes “that enable all socially excluded groups to make the decisionsaffecting their lives” (Beazley and Ennew 2006:193). Power is distributed verydifferently in these two instances; where participation is perceived as having anempowerment goal, power is situated within the hands of the citizens whereas withother forms of participation it is located in a body apart from citizens (Cornwalland Jewkes 1995:1667; Mosse 2001:16). Problematically, much of the literatureon participatory development is focused on bringing parts of “civil society” intothe state structures on limited terms; as a result the type of politics which canbe conceived remains narrow and it becomes difficult to see political and civilsociety as anything other than external categories rather than parts of the samewhole. As a result, the opportunities for people to make the decisions which affecttheir lives are limited and potential radical political forms of self-government areforeclosed. Consequently, the social relations which underpin the existing state arebroadly reproduced in their current form. Therefore, participatory developmentdiscourses can and have been used as a conservative strategy for managing changeby responding selectively to certain popular demands while simultaneously pre-empting popular challenges which might significantly alter the social relations uponwhich the existing state is formed. As such, participatory development has come torepresent a moment of passive revolution within a more protracted process

On the surface eThekwini’s Community Participation Policy (CPP) appearsto offer a rethink on political state–civil society relations for it is “committedto a form of participation which is genuinely empowering, and not tokenisticconsultation or manipulation”. However, the model of participation chosenspeaks to Gramsci’s passive revolution thesis because it allows only forms ofparticipation which the municipality determines are acceptable and falls shortof ensuring that citizens have the opportunity to fundamentally shape politics.The CPP is informed by Arnstein’s (1969) “A ladder of citizen participation”where forms of “empowering” participation (citizen power, delegated power andpartnerships) are located at the top end of the ladder whereas tokenism and non-participation (informing, therapy and manipulation) sit at the bottom. Within thiscontext, the municipality further defines three models of participation, information,consultation and active participation (CPP 2006:8). A participant at the CommunityParticipatory Conference (2010) (organised by the municipality) remonstrated at themunicipality’s interpretation of participation, arguing that “there is a fundamentaldifference between participation and involvement, this ladder [Arnstein’s typology]only counts the first three rungs as true participation, the rest, the stuff we get, wellit’s nowhere is it?!” (male, 40s, 1 June 2010).

Indeed, in practice the participatory processes have been dominated byinformation dissemination and consultation. The municipality defines theboundaries of what is and what is not negotiable and is under no obligation toact upon the outcomes of the participatory processes. Community leaders, referring


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to the CPP, remarked, “look, they [the municipality] tell us what we can and can’ttalk about” (female, 40s, 1 June 2010). Ultimately, power remains in the hands ofthe municipality, the parameters of reform are largely state led and only selectiveelements of civil society are consulted.

Creating New Physical Spaces but Limiting Potentialfor Alternative VisionsRecognising that earlier provisions for community participation were inadequate, forexample, the Business Partnerships for Development and Area Based Managementprogrammes had been criticised for being “top down”, failing to engage with thebroader citizenry and preferring consultation to the involvement of communities indecision-making (Hemson et al 2007; Loftus and Lumsden 2008), the local state hasled the way in creating spaces for participation. This is, of course, a positive step.These new mechanisms for participation include Ward Committees, StakeholderForums and User Platforms.

Ward Committees are positioned as “the legitimate statutory platform forcommunity participation” and are responsible for negotiating and monitoringservice delivery standards (CPP 2006:25). However, there remain questionssurrounding how effective these new institutions are as spaces for “empoweringparticipation”, how political–civil society relations are understood in this contextand what implications this might have for potential social transformation.Close inspection of “whose voices are really heard in these processes” andanalysis of whether these spaces are utilised for “transformative engagement” orproblematically used as “instruments for reinforcing domination and control” isneeded (Gaventa 2004:34).

Importantly, new spaces for participation are not necessarily transformative(Cleaver, 2002; Gaventa 2004:31). New institutions can, as is the case in Durban,result in the reproduction of existing social relations. The constitution of thesekinds of spaces are of paramount concern to Gramsci who advocated a leadershipstructure between the narrow state and civil society which would, eventually, lead tothe collapse of that very distinction and consequently move towards forms of self-government, therefore replacing the bourgeois state. Perhaps this is most clearlyshown through his involvement in the factory council movement in Turin and histheorisations of a workers’ hegemony. While it is, of course, imperative to recognisethat Gramsci’s context differed from our own, perhaps what we can take from hiswork is a recognition that forms of participation, driven largely by the narrow state,are inadequate and leadership should be “based in concrete historical struggles”.This, as Thomas asserts, involves: “renewing an organic relationship between leftisttheory and forms of organization that already exist in the wide variety of practicesand social relations that today compose what Gramsci referred to as the ‘subalternsocial groups’” (2009b:34).

The current spaces for participation in Durban differ substantively from theradical forms of participation envisaged by Gramsci; the opportunities for andthe political possibilities of participation within the broader neoliberal passiverevolution experienced here are much more limited. For example, participants at the



Community Participation Conferences claimed that ward committees are ineffectiveas citizen-driven institutions for three main reasons: lack of visibility, incapacity andpartisan bias. Moreover, the majority of the Westcliff flats residents intervieweddid not know the committees exist, let alone what functions they perform. Thus,respondents said that if they do have a problem with their water, they tendedto turn the Westcliff Flats Residents Association (WFRA) “because they advocatefor us”, “they look after us” and they “make our voices heard” (female, 30s, 26May 2010). This is unsurprising considering that WFRA is embedded within thecommunity’s collective history and continues to actively struggle alongside and onthe behalf of the interviewees. As one interviewee stated, the community leader “hasbeen here since the start . . . fighting against evictions and disconnections” (female,30s, 28 May 2010). WFRA is a constant presence within the community, holdingwell attended weekly meetings to discuss residents’ problems and relay outcomesof discussions with municipality figures (for a more detailed profile of WFRA seeMottiar, Naidoo and Kumalo 2011). Concomitantly, those on the ward committeesargued that their task was made difficult due to the influence of partisan politicalleaders within the committees and a lack of resources. It is posited that resourceswere not evenly spread between wards and that the municipality was accusedof favouritism. Ward committee members noted that their committees tend tomeet irregularly, because the ward councillor is often unavailable to chair meetings,due to a hectic schedule or, more cynically, due to a lack of commitment to theprocess. Furthermore, the positioning of a partisan ward councillor at the headof the committee suggests that the ward committees are potentially shaped bypartisan politics. This undermines the municipality’s assertion that ward committeesshould be “independent and must be impartial and perform their functions withoutfear, favour and prejudice” (CPP 2006:25). Consequently, ward committees can beunderstood as constituent parts of a broader process of passive revolution, that areat best incapacitated and at worst are vehicles for reproducing partisan control.

Other types of “invited spaces” were utilised during the “participatory process”leading to the decision to extend FBW including focus groups and user committees.In 2008, the municipality began to undertake initiatives in an attempt to understandwhy some poor people were not paying their bills. At this point, the results ofCape Town’s “Raising Citizens’ Voice in the Regulation of Water Services” (2006)were published and, subsequently, eThekwini municipality adopted the citizens’voice methodology as its primary mechanism for engagement with communities.“Raising Citizens’ Voice in the Regulation of Water Services” is a public educationprogramme funded by the Department of Water Affairs and Forestry (DWAF)(Smith 2011:5). Citizens’ Voice engages water users as citizens, rather thanas customers, and argues that it is necessary to move beyond a technocraticapproach to participation, advocating a “bottom-up” approach by actively involvingcitizens in the regulation of water service delivery (Smith 2011:4). Despite itsadmirable aspirations, the programme in Cape Town had been underminedbecause the municipality had allegedly used citizens as “agents” to implementlocal policies. In contrast, eThekwini was determined to ensure that citizens wereunderstood not as agents of the municipality, but as a sounding board for policychange.


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Civil and “Uncivil” Society?The municipality was keen to ensure that opportunities for participation wereextended beyond the “usual suspects”, meaning established community-basedorganisations, to individuals who had, to date, been excluded from participatoryprocesses. To an extent, this is an admirable strategy because it recognises someof the barriers to participation and encourages broadening participation. However,the municipality’s approach is, at the same time, illuminating. It reveals a distinctionbetween those who are perceived as part of “uncivil” society who require coercionfrom the municipality and civil society members whose consent is sought throughthe participatory programme.

Community-based organisations are positioned as conflict based, and perhaps,barriers to reform. Wilson et al (2008) assert that antagonistic conflict-based actionis the preferred tactic for these organisations in South Africa. This gives the erroneousimpression that community-based organisations operate on a rigid confrontationalbasis. Rather, as Lemanski notes, “the ability and capacity of these groups to accessand negotiate with elites is place specific” (2008:395). When there is a lack ofmechanisms which enable elements of civil society to have access to elites, protestis more likely (Bond 2005). This is demonstrated by WFRA’s noticeable change intactics. When unable to access municipality officials, the organisation used protestmethods including non-payment and illegally reconnecting to the water network(Desai 2002; Mottiar, Naidoo and Kumalo 2011). However, over the last decadeWFRA has worked more closely with officials over a multifaceted upgrade of theflats and have negotiated with the municipality on some issues. For instance, WFRA“voiced opposition to the old bills because they were hard for people to understandwhat they needed to pay and influenced the municipality to give a separate billfor water” (Female, 40s, 27 May 2010) rather than the one for water, electricityand rent. Where there is an opportunity to make positive change, WFRA engages“constructively”. It appears as though the municipality selectively engages withWFRA at times when their demands do not create instability and they pursue whatare believed to be the appropriate pathways for participation. Rather than selectivelyengaging with these organisations and, at times, implying them to be “uncivil”it would be more productive to build upon their strengths while simultaneouslychallenging some of their limitations.

Indeed, it is important that “grassroots” organisations are not treated in anuncritical or romanticised fashion for, as always, these organisations are rootedwithin particular social relations (Briggs 2005; Cleaver 1999; Hickey and Mohan2005; Kapoor 2002). In the case of WFRA, the organisation’s gender dynamics areimportant to consider. In South Africa generally, and in Durban specifically, womenhave been largely responsible for ensuring the supply of water to the household.This means managing but not necessarily paying bills, attending community-based organisation meetings and engaging with the municipality to negotiatewater policy. This was clear throughout the research for this paper, but is alsosupported by Mottiar Naidoo and Kumalo (2011) and Loftus (2004). These gendernorms seem to influence knowledge of water issues and participation in communityinstitutions struggling over water. During household interviews, male participantstended to defer questions to women within the household and men tended to



be ignorant of how much free water was available, the scale of arrears accrued,the volume of the flow limiters installed and how much water the householdused. WFRA itself is largely dominated by women, all members of the executiveare female and, with few notable exceptions, the broader membership (of around100) is female. However, notably, not all women were able to participate in WFRA.Interviews revealed that while respondents felt that the organisation was important,they could not attend meetings due to childcare responsibilities, employmentcommitments and conflicting church ceremonies. This reflects Cleaver’s assertionthat “women with small children commonly find it difficult to publicly participate indevelopment projects due to their burden of productive and reproductive activities”(1999:607). Furthermore, Cleaver questions whether women taking part in formsof community participation which have been informed by prevailing gender socialnorms are “exercising agency and some degree of freedom, or simply reinforcingtheir gendered subordination, or both?” (1999:608). Women’s participation canclearly pose “both constraints and opportunities” (O’Reilly 2006:958). In this case,it appears that both the exercise of agency and the reproduction of gendered normsare at work. It would be an injustice to conceptualise women participating in WFRAas passive victims of gender insubordination. However, the general dearth of maleparticipation in community institutions does suggest that the responsibility for waterprovision on a household and community level remains gendered. The complexitiesof the embedded social relations detailed above indicate that it is important torecognise the specificities of social relations within particular institutions in orderto ensure that they are not unintentionally replicated. This is not to say thatthe important struggles made by WFRA should be overlooked. For its limitations,importantly WFRA, and organisations like it, represent significant spaces where thereis potential for those who have been historically marginalised to have the space toexpress resistance and participate in articulating new visions for the future based ontheir everyday experiences.

(Re)producing Responsible Citizens ThroughParticipation: Nurturing Consent for NeoliberalApproaches to Water GovernanceIt is important to remember that the municipality’s decision to extend FBW, afterdiscovering that it was insufficient, is certainly a positive improvement to policy and,indeed, the municipality’s approach is more progressive than many others. As aninterviewee remarked, “free water is very helpful . . . it is like a lifeline for poor people”(female, 50s, 27 May 2010). However, this section argues that the municipality’sapproach to participation is consistent with passive revolution, because it focusedits energies on information dissemination with regard to flow limiters, nurturingconsent for controversial cost recovery mechanisms for providing water rather thanany redistribution of power between the municipality and the citizenry. Reformremained state led and on the municipality’s terms.

The process began with a series of focus groups where citizens received trainingfrom the municipality regarding their rights, responsibilities and municipality


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policies. Following focus groups, user platforms, one for each of the 17 zonesacross eThekwini municipality, were established. Within these focus groups a broadrange of water issues were discussed including, but not limited to, the presentationof the water bill, water quality, illegal connections and living with HIV/AIDs. Theprocess revealed that 6 kl per household per month was an insufficient quantity ofwater. Consequently, the municipality decided to look again at the FBW allowanceand found that the consensus in both academic and technical circles is that theminimum amount of water required is around 50 l per person daily (eg Gleick1998:496). Using recent census data which indicated that the average householdsize is six people, the municipality performed a simple calculation to determine thenew FBW allowance:

6 (average household) × 50 (litres) = 300 (litres) × 30 (average days in a month)

= 9000 (litres per month or 9 kl).

Here, it is crucial to note that the municipality did not ask how much water peoplethought would be sufficient for them to lead a dignified life. Interviewees within theWestcliff flats argued that smaller households that had previously struggled on 6kl of water a month can now generally, with careful monitoring, conservation andrepairing of leaks, manage on 9 kl a month for their basic needs. However, 9 kl fallsshort of the 12 kl some community-based leaders argued is necessary to service theself-defined needs of those with larger households. Moreover, more research needsto be undertaken with households who rely on other types of water connections,for example in house drums, as it is difficult to assess if or how they have benefitedfrom the change in the FBW due to infrastructure constraints.

There is a key distinction to be made here between using citizens as a soundingboard and delegating decision-making power to citizens. Clearly citizen consultationis a positive step and one which is completely absent in many other policy-makingprocesses. However, in line with the passive revolution thesis, the specific form ofchange was state led and technocrats within the municipality determined the policydirection, thus highlighting that the municipality retains the power to judge thefeasibility and legitimacy of the citizens’ contributions. Seemingly, the municipalitydoes not desire to radically redistribute the balance of power between municipalofficials and citizens, especially when redistribution of power could threaten toundermine the municipality’s commitment to cost recovery policies. By selectivelymeeting the demands from elements of civil society, the municipality was able toreaffirm the hegemonic status of cost recovery mechanisms at a time when suchapproaches were facing increasing scrutiny and negativity. Notably, the extensionof the FBW allowance to 9 kl does not reshape the social relations upon which costrecovery mechanisms are founded; water remains commodified. Citizen experiencein Durban suggests that the municipality was primarily concerned with reaffirmingthe hegemonic position of cost recovery policies through ensuring that citizensbehaved in a “responsible” manner, meaning that they fulfilled their responsibilityto pay their bills.

For example, interviewees indicated that the municipality was primarily concernedwith informing citizens about ways to limit their water consumption and explaining



controversial flow-limiting devices. Some interviewers stated that the municipalityexplained that “the poor must pay for water” (female, 50s, 27 May 2010). Othersdescribed how the flow limiters were promoted by the municipality and “they said ifyou signed on it would help because you know how much water you would use andyou couldn’t go over the limit” and, if you did, “it would stop [the water flowing]and start again the next day”. Interviewees explained how the sessions were “goodfor giving help to save on your bills, like putting a brick in the top [of the cistern] soyou use less water when you flush. Saving water is for your own good because youdon’t want to have to pay for it if you don’t have to” (female, 30s, 25 May 2010).Other interviewees saw the process in a much less benign way, one participant wentas far to say that “they [the municipality] were trying to hypnotise us and tell ushow to limit the amount of water we used, they wanted to turn neighbours againstneighbours, to get them to testify against their neighbours wasting water . . . theywanted communities to police each other!” (female, 50s, 30 May 2010). Whilethe creation of a space for citizens to bring their opinions and experiences to themunicipality’s attention is positive, there is a concern that the type of participationexpressed may come to resemble what Williams describes as “mere ceremonialpresence of participants in local institutions” (2006:203). In order for user platformsto realise their transformative potential, Smith of the Mvula Trust, one of the keyarchitects behind the citizens’ voice programme, suggested that it is necessary toconvert the user platforms into “statutory bodies so that they are immune frompolitical capture or administrative neglect” (2011:515). This could help to ensurepolitical leaders buy into the process and there is adequate allocation of resources.However, enshrining the instruments of the citizens’ voice programme in law doesnot necessarily tackle the problem of participation as information dissemination andconsultation in eThekwini. Understanding participation and, more fundamentally,political and civil society in this limited sense has led to the pursuit of a programmeof reforms which is largely state led. Here, eThekwini municipality’s approach toparticipation lends itself to analysis through the lens of passive revolution. Whileincremental improvements to everyday living conditions have certainly been made,for instance the FBW increase ensures that the minimum consumption for mosthouseholds rises to 9 kl from 6 kl per month, existing mechanisms of participation,and importantly existing understandings of state–civil society relations, mean thatthose striving to transform the social relations which underpin the current order arelargely frustrated. What is needed to overcome the impasse of passive revolutionis a rearticulation of the way in which the relationship between political and civilsociety is conceived and to link this organically to the organised forms and resistancewhich already exist in Durban, imperfect as they may be, in order to build upontheir challenges to neoliberal approaches to water governance and to engage withtheir calls for an alternative political vision.

ConclusionGramsci’s concept of passive revolution provides us with a powerful set of analyticaltools for exploring approaches to participatory development under neoliberal


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governance. A critical engagement with Gramsci’s understandings of the integralstate and passive revolution can be invoked to help illuminate the complexities ofstate–civil society relations and to reflect upon how existing interpretations of theserelations foreclose the development of radical social change. In particular, adoptinga Gramscian perspective, moving back and forth between the philological and theconcrete, inspires greater focus on how processes of participation are connected tobroader struggles and everyday practices.

This article has shown that passive revolution, as a mode of statecraft, hasresulted in a process of state-led legislative change which has involved the selectiveincorporation of civil society demands through a participatory process. The resultof this is that while there have been incremental improvements to policy, potentialspaces for imagining alternatives outside of the neoliberal paradigm have beennarrowed. Increasing the FBW allowance should certainly be interpreted as apositive improvement, however the policy change does not challenge the socialrelations which inform cost recovery mechanisms. The state, in the narrow form, hasbeen successful in reproducing its fragile hegemonic status by selectively meetingdemands from civil society and sidestepping challenges to the social relations onwhich it is founded. It is clear that the argument is applicable to other geographicalcontexts where the state is seeking to reproduce the state on the basis of neoliberalsocial relations. Referring back to Morton’s work on “incorporated comparison”,it is necessary to consider the ways in which moments of passive revolutionsplay out in different contexts as well as the similarities between these processesto fully appreciate the ways in which Gramsci’s thesis of passive revolution canhelp illuminate the dynamics of state transformation and the contradictions ofparticipatory development in the global South. The concept of passive revolutionunquestionably provides us with a set of analytical tools for approaching thesethemes both within and beyond the South African state, especially in caseswhere the drive for development catch-up is in place. Certainly, South Africanwater debates are just one, particularly fecund example of passive revolution atwork.

Finally, this article has demonstrated that, as well as being essential forhighlighting the nuances of how state–civil society relations are currently understoodwithin participatory development programmes and revealing how radical politicalpossibilities have been foreclosed, a Gramscian approach provides insight intothe kind of change required to overcome the impasse of passive revolution andmove towards a more progressive form of politics. In particular, a Gramscianapproach reveals an urgent imperative to rethink the way in which civil andpolitical society relations are articulated and to link this to the concrete, situatedpractices of resistance and organisation already in operation. This involves, asThomas asserts, engaging with and building on existing forms of organisation whichcall for the “rejection of the commodity form as satisfaction of social need” andespouse “nascent political demands for ‘another world’” (2009b:34). Therefore, itis clear that selectively incorporating civil society demands is insufficient; rather it isnecessary to work with and build upon the struggles, practices and experiences ofactive organised groups like WFRA in a more comprehensive fashion.



AcknowledgementsThe author would like to thank, firstly, everyone who participated in the research, especiallymembers of WFRA. This article has also benefited substantially from the comments andcriticism offered by Andrew Brooks, Vandana Desai and Alex Loftus as well as two anonymousreviewers who deserve thanks for their exceptionally detailed and challenging yet constructivecomments. Of course, I alone remain responsible for the form and content of the article.

Endnotes1 Governance here is used broadly and refers to the state and non-state apparatus, normsand institutions, employed to effect rule over others. I do not intend to infer that governanceor neoliberal governance is a monolithic process, rather the precise form of governance isspatially variegated. Most important, in the context of this paper is a consideration of thesocial relations upon which particular regimes of governance are formed, contested andstruggled over.2 In 2001, when the policy was first introduced on a national scale, the amount of free watereach household could receive was 6 kl per household per month; this increased in 2009 to 9kl per household per month.3 Thank you to an anonymous reviewer for this point.

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