Integrated management requires an integrated society Towards a new hydrosocial contract for the 21st century Jeroen Warner, Flood Hazard Research Centre, Middlesex University Queensway, Enfield EN3 4SF, Middlesex, UK warnassist@wxs.nl; J.Warner@mdx.ac.uk Acknowledgment The idea of a hydrosocial contract has lingered in my mind for a long time, but the actual spur for exploring the concept came through a lively exchange by email with Tony Turton of the African Water Issues Research Unit, AWIRU, Pretoria University, South Africa (see also Turton & Ohlsson, 1999 and Turton & Meissner, forthcoming). This article, then, was written in interaction with Tony Turton (AWIRU); the responsibility for the ideas expressed here is of course entirely mine. 1. Time to take stock Just into the new millennium it is apt to take stock of where we stand in water management. What has become of the traditional security arrangement in which states provided security and stability in exchange for citizenship and acceptance of state authority? The breakdown of the welfare state and the wave of privatisation and decentralisation has made the arrangement more fuzzy. Water, being a scarce and strategic good, has come to play an increasing role in this security arrangement - as a cornerstone of national development; and, increasingly as a potential source of conflict. This article, then, will (i) develop an understanding of the nature of the rather abstract concept of a 'hydrosocial contract' on the basis of social contract theory (Rousseau, Hobbes, Locke), (ii) assess where we are now and (iii) where we might be heading.

This may be understood in the context of growing international uncertainty and a sense

of crisis in global water management (Gleick 1993). When at the turn of the 1990s new security threats were identified in the environmental area, academic and journalistic accounts sounded alarm bells over impending 'water wars' (e.g. Starr & Stoll 1987; Bulloch & Darwish 1993; de Viliers 1999).

However, subsequent reflection on environmental conflict has seen gradual refinement. Homer-Dixon (1999), for example, accepts that there is an important intermediary variable between scarcity and water wars: society. Unfortunately society is something of a Black box, but what seems to emerge is that this 'box' is about the values and institutions that lend society stability. Note that stability is not understood here as a reversal after a shock to its original state, but rather to a (more) sustainable state. In a water management context, for example, it refers to the ability to change to a more water-extensive economy under the stress of impending water shortage (Ohlsson 1998, Turton & Ohlsson, 1999).

It will be argued that an acceptance of the need for change implies an acceptance of uncertainty - you cannot control change; that such a turnaround cannot take place without the participation of 'civil society'; and that this participation presents special challenges, not the least of which is a certain loss of predictability and control. One question to be asked is whether this should really be a problem, another task is to explore the consequences of reincluding civil society. It will be maintained that low-friction social adaptation to water demand management will require the re-inclusion of civil society in the social contract, including marginalised

1

groups. Hence the title to this essay: integrated resource management requires an integrated society. 1.1 Background and outline Security in both its negative (freedom from threat) and positive (mutual attachment) meanings is a key need. It is not solely an individual need: it is possible to identify different levels of security (international, national, group, individual) and visualise them as a multi-storey building, firmly grounded on the bottom row, individual security. The bottom line is survival. Perhaps the onion would even be the better metaphor, with individual survival at its core. The individual cannot solve the class of problems known as 'collective-action' problems which form part of basic needs. S/he is therefore forced to abandon, as it were, some individual sovereignty for the greater good, but will only do this of s/he feels their basic needs are satisfied. In return for legitimacy on the part of the governed (improving the stability and hence, the security of the political system) the governor sees to the basic needs of the individual citizens (personal security). This is the traditional security contract between the rulers and the rules. As different contracts will be introduced later, we shall refer to the above exchange as the 'simple exchange; or 'simple contract' Fig. 1 The 'simple' social contract . \ Actor Deliverable

State`` Society

Legitimacy Demand Supply Security Supply Demand

A number of complicating factors beset the simple contract in the present context. 1 The new security allocation game now involves more complex exchanges. Privatisation and globalisation have changed the position of the state. Some security functions are now privatised (Duffield 1999) and some models of privatisation go a long way in signing away discretionary powers over water to private companies. At the same time, the rise of social movements (often seen by governments as rivals) may bring on new social arrangements. Notably, they demand a security contract that recognises environmental and social values as well as economic and political values. While the traditional contract often signed away local/community interests in the name of the national interest, and mandated the exploitation and sacrifice of nature to the interest of national development, these terms are no longer universally endorsed. Iniquities in the relation between, on the one hand, man and man, and on the other between man and nature were criticised. 'The domination of nature leads inescapably to the domination of some people by others.' (Worster 1987, summarising Karl Wittfogel). 2. . While in theory the above exchange should result in a more even (equitable) allocation (redistribution) of resources and relieve local scarcities and pressures on the resource base, in practice, it has often tended to facilitate the institutionalisation of resource capture (Homer-Dixon 1994). The state often turns out to have and serve an interest of its own, expressed in patron-client relations with some groups in society at the expense of others. Where blatant resource capture happens, it serves to de-legitimise the regime concerned, which may trigger structural instability. Unfortunately, then, trust in government (legitimacy) may be unwarranted. Where basic trust in the government is absent (i.e. where resource capture is

2

endemic) people will revert to a form of self-help (drilling their own wells) to violent protest (smashing water meters and even reaching for the Kalashnikov (see Turton 1999a) and the Yemen, see Mohadin, 1999). But even those societies may show a degree of order that gainsays predicted anarchy when formal government fall apart. Thus, there is a difference between trust in government and a trust in society. The system does not necessarily break down when the contract between rulers and rulers breaks down. The link between scarcity and anarchy, then, is more complex than postulated by crude Hobbesian-Malthusian theories that basically claim: scarcity leads to anarchy. Anarchy requires the disintegration of both state and society (creating a 'black hole', see Hettne 1998) The emergence of anti-state or anti-society sub-group formation in itself is no sign of the imminent breakdown of civil order, though security crises are likely to ensue (Hettne 1998: 7). Such considerations the need for new theorising on security. We first need to take the past into account to see how we got here. This is the subject matter of Chapters 2 and 3, which will ask the question: who is responsible for what?. Second, even where responsibilities are indicated, the underlying question is: who pays? Chapter 4 looks into this issue. Then, we will turn to the most fundamental conundrum the 1990s have thrown up: the question of governability. Can society still be governed at all, (water) security provided, risk warded off? Some new ideas have come to light to tackle these question, which may lead the way in the 21st century. The underlying security contract, then, is fuzzy and would merit a more explicit formulation. Many countries and local communities are now drafting '(Local) Agenda 21' documents, but few of those provide a clear outline of the underlying agreement. The overview below, Figure 3, seeks to create some order in the developments (See next page). 2. Origin of Contract Theory Contract theories were developed in relation to the emergence of the modern, 'Westphalian' nation-state. That is not to say that before, people lived in anarchy without rights and obligations. Indeed, John Locke felt that social contracts had been around from the dawn of time.(in Thomson 1966: 76): All sovereigns in the world owed their power to the original social contracts made at the dawn of history. Of course people must have had all types of understandings and arrangements including rules governing water management and title to its use. However, before the modern state, sovereigns were often self-appointed; in feudal arrangements sovereigns assumed divine rule. Consent was not much of an issue While presumably the Neanderthals had other concerns on their minds, certainly the idea of a contract has been toyed with by the ancient Greeks: Plato's 'Republic' mentioned a kind of social contract 'in which men agree not to do injuries, in order that they may escape injury at the hands of their fellow'. Likewise, the Epicureans reasoned that states are formed solely for the sake of obtaining security, and therefore the wise man did well to eschew politics (in Sabine/Thorson 1973: 133). Not unreasonably so: security provision could be astonishingly arbitrary and venal. Pre-Westphalian states provided protection to those who would pay for it (Tilly 1985 cited in Hettne 1998). . But often there was a more systematic if rather selective exchange element. 'Feudalism regularised into an elaborate contractual relationship the rights and obligations between lord and vassal, resting ultimately on protection in return for agreed services' (Rush 1992). The effect of pre-Westphalian governance was a chaotic, multilevel patchwork quilt of mutually overlapping authority relations, a multidimensional map. The Peace of Westphalia tried to create international order by creating 'a homogeneous mass of subjects each of whom has the same rights and duties'. Note that the Peace of Westphalia did not just create a system of external sovereignty (that is, legal equality and non-intervention between states) but

3

internal sovereignty of state (as the sole proprietor of the means of violence in society).

4

Mark key unit values configuration 0 GROUP [water = social good; cf.

common heritage of mankind

* voluntary association based on kinship

1 STATE [water = power] * original 'contract social;: State takes care of citizen security (military only)

1a Nightwatch state military security, property rights

* Emergence of First-generation human rights: Civil and political rights (association, democracy) => taxation for representation 1b Welfare state;

rentier state redistributive state enables expansion of security to include socio-economic security;

* Emergence of Second-generation human rights: ECOSOC (economic and social right, such as right to work. 1c Development

state [water = strategic resource

=> hydraulic mission

2 MARKET [water = tradable commodity]

2a Ecological modernisation

Various degrees of liberalisation/Privatisation (sovereignty over water outcontracted)

formalised contracts between public sectors, utilities and customers; some countries switch to WDM

2b Dmergence of a resource-extensive post-industrial society

[recognition of water as environmental good]

rise of NGOs

Advocacy of Third-generation human rights: water security? 3a Risk society Recognition of limits to

governability and diversity of values

New governing arrangements - division of labour between public, private and civic sector

3b Virtual society Intangibles more valuable than tangibles

New hydrosocial contract (post-scarcity)

Fig 3: Outline of three-stage development of hydro-social contract. Water values between [ ]. As a result, an involuntary 'contract' was established between the state and its subjects. What legitimised this contract? It is useful to contrast John Locke's liberal and Thomas Hobbes' Etatist theory. Contract theory is an essentially a Hobbesian view of the state: it explains state formation as the result of intra-societal conflict. In order to pursue life each individual competes with other individuals for scarce resources. This creates a dog-eat-dog society no one really wants. Without the protection of a powerful government, society would revert to a state of nature, described by Hobbes as solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short (Hobbes 1651). A 'Leviathan', a powerful state, steps in to save the day. The state, then, is the product of the individual's need for protection from the inevitable conflicts found in society. The state, however violent in nature, exists to protect the freedom of the individual, by laying

5

down and enforcing rights and rules. In so doing, the basic rights of those individuals are best protected (see e.g. DeLue, 1997). While Hobbes investigated how much power and authority a ruler had to take from society to enable internal order and external defence, John Locke investigated how much power and authority could be given back to society without taking away the minimum requirements of internal order and external defence (Glassman 1979). Locke saw the state as a threat to the very basic rights it purported to defend. Therefore, the ruler has to be bound by rules, too. Hobbes' authoritarian, absolutist state, involving no obligation to carry out the wishes of its subjects. Once the individual has signed away his sovereignty, there is no going back. However, though writing just after the peace of Westphalia, Hobbes was already part of the old guard. The emerging contract theory emerged as a way to explain the emergence of certain type of government-state relation in a changing power relationship: a strong centralised State based on an emerging entrepreneurial middle class. This middle class would only empower a state to limit free trade and even be taxed if states protected them, physically as well as economically (Mercantilism), against competitors. Thus, the economic security component slowly but surely emerged alongside the military security domain. Lockean social-contract thinking opened up the possibility that contracts can be annulled. What allows such a breach of contract? '(W)henever the legislators endeavour to take away or destroy the property of the people (…) they put themselves into a state of war with the people, who are therefore absolved from any further obedience' (Locke 1690). Locke is the theorist of liberalism, with its emphasis on choice, private property and civil society. While seeing government as a means of providing protection to the individual, Locke believed the scope of the state's remit to be limited by consent. While expected to maintain order it was also 'expected to protect the civil rights, liberty and property of the individual, and failure to do so entitled individuals to withdraw consent.' Deposition could be justified when a king has destroyed those things which the office was instituted to preserve (see also the philosopher Manegold of Lautenbach q in Sabine/Thorson 1973) - and, importantly for our purposes, there is no reason why water, our lifeblood, should not be one of those preservables.

Note that this explicit threat of annulling the contract bestows a duty on the state to create or maintain an institutional setting, setting an example of 'civility', that perpetuates the peaceful order. Weak states, then, are states that 'either do not have or have failed to create, a domestic political and societal consensus of sufficient strength to eliminate the large-scale use of force as a major and continuing element in the domestic political life of the nation' (Buzan 1991: 99). 'Such states have either never had or have failed to protect the civility which must be at the core of any social contract. This civility implies certain responsibilities and expectations upon the parts of rulers and ruled, supporters and opponents of existing regimes' (Stohl and Lopez 1998). Values, then, are just as much part of the implicit contract as material protection. The Lockeian view of the political order, then, is much more about what binds society than about what legitimises the state. Still both thinkers conceived of power as coercive and manipulative, not as a consensual, reciprocal relationship between the rulers and the ruled, which French thinkers such as Mauss and Levi-Strauss have postulated, and which resonates with the idea of 'positive security' hinted at earlier. In this perspective of power, rulers are people who display political leadership and in return are given certain privileges. It is notable that Jean-Jacques Rousseau's 'Social Contract' did not even conceive of rulers - his contract bound people to the 'community', based on the.idea that people are fundamentally equal and mutually interdependent. In this respect, Rousseau was a precursor of the now voguish idea of self-governance (e.g. Kooiman & van Vliet 1999). People like to sbe sociable, Rousseau had noted, therefore they share fundamental values, and their views are unlikely to be widely divergent (DeLue 1997). Rousseau's view of mankind is

6

diametrically opposed to Hobbes's: in his state of nature, people are essentially good - it is the depradations of modern 'development' that has made them greedy and power-hungry. This view of society has long been underplayed in political theory, which is strongly dominated by Anglo-Saxon 'Realism' anyway. However, as we shall see by the end of this article, a kind of Rousseauan renaissance seems to be under way. 3. From nightwatch state to welfare state (Mark 1a-1c) 3.1 The Nightwatch state In the above theories, the issue of water provision scarcely played a part. 'Modernism' came relatively late to the water sector, which remained outside the public sector for several centuries.

Yet there was a precedent: food security. Even prior to 'Westphalia', Mediterranean cities had provided the poor with food. In 14th century Florence; for example, state-funded charitable institutions supplied the poor with the basics. The advent of the Westphalian state widened the practice. The role of the 'nightwatch state' prevailing in the 19th century was mainly to maintain public order, but even Elizabethan England had some sort of social contract requiring the government to provide food security (Bourriau, 1992).

Industrialisation and urbanisation however intensified water-related disease. In the UK, appallingly, concern for public health for the ruling class brought about the public management of water in the 19th century (Newson 1995). The lack of clean water and sanitation for the masses meant that they lived in sometimes abject, cholera-ridden squalor. Only where attractive rates of return could be expected, local governments and private entrepreneurs established piped water systems (Blokland, Braadbaart & Schwartz 1999).

However, technological innovations in pipe manufacturing and steam-driven pumping systems enabled mass water provision. The need to centralise government in other areas - in the Netherlands, extreme flood-proneness of 60% of the territory had encouraged the centralisation of flood control - also facilitated upscaling the water supply function. In the Netherlands, 'gas and water socialism' developed at the municipal rather than the central level; after 1925 'public PLCs' were set up to penetrate the rural areas and by 1950, most of the country was covered by public companies. This was not realised without a fight - many people still preferred their own wells to a regional water grid. In the Dutch province of Friesland, connections were made compulsory by municipal authorities. Economic as much as social (health) concerns, then, precipitated a rather one-sided hydrosocial contract (Blokland, Braadbaart & Schwartz 1999).

But the main impetus for centralised water management came in countries where water was seen as a means of furthering social and economic development, after the model of the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA). The next Section will go into the underpinnings of this approach. 3.2. The development state (Mark 1c)

So far, the discussion has concentrated on basic security needs - military protection,

social welfare and water and energy services. 'If all the needs are unsatisfied, and the organism is then dominated by the physiological needs, all other needs may become simply non-existent or be pushed into the background. In this emergency case, life itself is defined in terms of that need. ' (Maslow 1943)

7

It would be a mistake, though, to see meeting security needs as the only driver for human action - as developmental psychology teaches us. 'Embeddedness' vies with

'emergence' in each of us. Once basic security has been achieved, a new prospect looms: development. In terms of Maslow's psychological theory of needs (1943) states have to start on a project of 'self-actualisation.'1

In Hobbesian thinking, development is absolutely necessary to escape from the state of nature. Development is not a luxury - according to Hobbes, ‘To be underdeveloped was to exist in a condition, marked by the absence of industry, culture, navigation, trade, comfort, knowledge of the earth, time, art, letters and society: ignorance, lack of discipline and authority'. This is echoed in Robert McNamara's dictum that development is security (in Myers 1996).

The first states were indeed hydraulic states - Mesopotamia, Egypt, India - driven by the need to mobilise people and means to take full advantage of the fertile plains. Karl Wittfogel, a Marxist thinker, called this urge the 'hydraulic imperative' which, in his reasoning, explained the 'oriental mode of production'; The underlying contract was not really a social contract at all: Kings were absolute despots.

In modern times, when technological breakthroughs enabled mass agricultural production, hydraulic states re-emerged even in the heartland of capitalism. The Leviathan-like hydraulic state re-emerged in countries as disparate as the Soviet Union, India, Turkey, and even at the core of the Lockeian heartland: the American West. Confronted with severe geographical constraint and attracted by wide-open economic frontier, they became hell bent on mobilising more water. Monoculture production enabled economies of scale but also exposed it to pests, droughts, salinisation and dust bowls.

This thrust, captured in Reisner's catchy phrase - the 'hydraulic mission' - legitimised the subjugation of all other social, political and environmental concerns. Predictably, Homer-Dixon's 'resource capture' became the order of the day. As Worster (1987) has noted, irrigating the American West swept aside democratic notions; an oligarchy ruled ruthlessly.

The economic potential was quickly recognised as a motor for social development as well. Rebranded as a social experiment in the 1930s to fight poverty - the Tennessee Valley Authority model - the experiment was repeated in Vietnam (Mekong) and elsewhere. From the 1930s, both the US ('New Deal') and the Soviet Union started modernising their agricultural production system. The Tennessee Valley Authority was to become the nation's powerhouse, creating millions of jobs by turning barren Tennessee into a model of energy and food production. In the American West, the hydraulic mission greened the desert as it did in Israel after it acquired statehood, in Jordan, in the Mekong valley and pretty much throughout the semi-arid climate zone.

Swyngedouw (1999) has described in sophisticated terms how in Spain, an hydraulic mission was an outlet for the expansionist drive of a defeated coloniser: a water-driven modernisation project: a war against drought (internal war).

The political genius of such project for colonising one's own natural resources was that they could be portrayed as a common social enterprise that evened out social differences. They became an anti-politics machine (Ferguson 1996), creating a semblance of a socially harmonious order. In Spain, it combined the aristocracy (identity) and modernism (technology) into a socially harmonious order. The story largely holds up for Turkey too (Warner 1999). As a Gramscian hegemonic project, then (cf. Warner 2000c), hydraulic development proved a magic formula to combine opposing forces and come out on top. Unlike European countries, post-colonial states started out with a popular wish list, and with 'Amnesty International breathing down their necks'. When formerly colonial states gained independence, they were quick to adopt two elements of Western government: internal and external sovereignty and the welfare state model. The former is easy enough to understand - they had little else to go on. The latter often was a response to popular pressure. States made outrageous claims: tap water for everyone within n years. This legitimised megaprojects which promised to solve regional drought at a stroke, and provided the public

81 This point is elaborated in Warner 2000b.

sector with tighter legal-administrative control over the remote areas where they were often located. In turn these projects attracted plentiful international resources, underscored by the relative successes of the Green Revolution.

In the socialist countries, central governments similarly took it upon themselves to guarantee 'freedom from want' to their citizens. The new states of the 20th century followed that lead. Etatist in their outlook, they declared public ownership of water. While socialism certainly can be sensitive to green issues (witness the highly useful contribution of the Capitalism, Nature, Socialism journal), 'really existing' socialism proved to have a fatal disregard for the environment. The states of the South saw the security rights relationship take on the contours of the 'full belly thesis' (Bayart 1993). 'Under these conditions, concern about national security and economic development meant that the individual rights of the individual paid a price' (Stohl/Lopez 1998). You can't eat (or drink!) rights, which justified - the state felt - suspending individual and political freedoms.

Colonialism had replaced the 'mosaics of incomplete and inter-penetrable authority structures, interspersed with imperial orders attempting to assert suzerainty over vast territories'. Successor elites internalised the Westphalian ideal, because (1) it seemed to hold the key to power and affluence, (2) Third World countries, according to Ayoob, just had to emulate the model in order to be taken seriously in international political and economic interactions and (3) because of the great need to impose domestic order for want of institutions that had the same capacity (after Ayoob 1998).

Often, neighbouring communities had mutual-aid schemes that provided them with access in times of hardship. ‘Development’ interventions and political centralisation have cut across mutual-security schemes, imposing clear boundaries and property rights and taking some of the flexibility out of the system, creating a state-oriented clientele where there used to be horizontal arrangements (van Dijk et al 1995).

Where civil society is thus atomised, all subgroups will need to rely on the centre (central government), increasing the need for patronage (a form of ‘political security’) and reliance on an overloaded bureaucracy.

The combined upshot of this was an appalling record of environmental destruction and social uprooting. Fortunately, as we shall see, people can and do learn. 3.3 The rise of reflexivity? We have seen that the legacy of water modernisation was less than perfect. While no doubt beneficial to public health and enabling economies of scale in food production, it also absolved people from participating in resource management, from taking responsibility and in so doing has taken away their responsive capacity to problems (Geldof 1999). It shifted the burden of responsibility wholesale to the state and its technocratic elite. The 'freedom from want' strategy then can be said to have alienated, or distanced, man from nature in the name of scientific government, with the gradual disappearance of the Aral Sea and its adjacent lands turning into a dustbowl as its most visible victim.

While the omniscient socialist state was not very conducive to reflexivity, capitalism displayed a similar pitfall: unregulated (liberalised) exploitation of collective resources can lead to resource erosion (see the debate on Gareth Hardin's 'Tragedy of the Commons'). Interestingly enough, as Turton & Meissner (forthcoming) note, the countries that were at the forefront of contract theory - England and France - are also the countries that were the first to privatise water and create multinational water companies; Suez Lyonnaise, Vivendi, Biwater, Thames Water. After almost all public services had gone, the Lockeian contract was finally making itself felt in the European water sector.

However, this is clearly a security contract between the public and private sector only - 'civil society' only counted as consumers. Strict disconnections policies in Britain (which have

9

now been softened) and cherrypicking in developing countries were signs that the contract was not going to be, to phrase it in the current political jargon, 'inclusive'. Meanwhile, 'getting the prices right' gave rise to 'water riots' in Bolivia, calling back to mind the infamous IMF (bread) riots in Egypt and the Sudan at the turn of the 1980s. In privatising water, states give up the last pretence of being in control, leaving the fate of the water resource in the hands of market forces, in other words, to turbulence.

While, as noted, blind market forces promote a 'race to the bottom' and ruthless developmentalism has had lamentable social and environmental consequences, there is some reason for hope. Turton & Meissner (forthcoming) argue that it makes a tremendous difference when there is question of a well-developed social and environmental consciousness, which can be instrumental in moving water issues up on the policy agenda and subjecting management practices to fundamental debate.

Whence this consciousness? New information, new knowledge, can change preferences and hence, the dominant 'regime' However, incremental learning does not appear to be a prime mover in changing attitudes. Unfortunately, organisations tend to resist change and our capacity for gradual societal learning seems limited. Rather, reflection on what we do and resulting change of plan seem to come about mainly as a result of 'warnings’ (near-disasters) and shocks: the aforementioned epidemics, but also the 'biological death' of the Rhine and the Seveso incident, have forced open the door to a change of regime in water management and decisionmaking (Warner 1998). These changes do not necessarily mean that the damage has been great - rather that our trust in absolute control and predictability has been cast into doubt and compromised, as a 'mishap reveals defenses which were regarded as secure' (Gherardi 1999).2 Also, the terrible human and environmental rights record of many states and projects triggered the rise of NGOs, who claimed individuals must be protected from the arbitrary power of the state. Over time, this has led to better environmental legislation and stricter World Bank project criteria, as well as a gradual realisation that water has multiple values. NGO demands have also led to more extensive rights to water - both quantitative and qualitative rights have found their way into international law and significant international Declarations. The 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child is the very first human rights instrument that explicitly refers to the provision of clean drinking water (adopted without a vote) The 1995 Social Summit at Copenhagen included serious deprivation of safe drinking water in its definition of absolute poverty The Women’s charter posited that Government should now take action to ensure that clean water is available and accessible to all by the year 2000 and that environmental protection and conservation plans are designed and implemented to restore polluted water systems and rebuild damaged watersheds. While this encouraging, international declarations tend to remain dead letters without enforcement. It is harder to force states to do something (social and economic rights) than to stop doing something, as civil and political rights. Water rights therefore have along way to go. In itself, the onset of an environmental consciousness has not necessarily changed the technocratic outlook. So far, most environmental turnarounds have had a top-down character. The way water management is carried out intends to be such that if it is possible to bypass a fickle human factor, environmental managers will prefer to do so. Even a switch to demand management could largely be effected as a technocratic innovation in a docile politeia, as eenvironmental NGOs are co-opted to such an extent that they become part of the technocratic elite. Why is this? The combination of the 'welfare (nanny) state' and technocratisation of environmental resource management seems to have brought about an increasing lack of

10

2 Barry A Turner and Nick Pidgeon conceived of a disaster as 'an event (…) which threatens a society or relatively self-sufficient subdivision of society with major unwanted consequences as a result of the collapse of precautions which had hitherto been culturally accepted or adequate'; this brings in a psychological and cultural element into the definition see Gherardi 1999.

acceptance of bad luck and accident. The myth of control has created a population that lives amid risk yet believes government will avert the risk or bail them out. Anthropologist Mary Douglas has noted (1992) that, in the increasingly individualist Western world, more and more contingencies are now subject to rules; 'acts of God' are less and less accepted. Blame culture, and in its wake, claim culture, places a heavy burden on government, which is still supposed to see to the security needs of its citizens. Especially in Anglo-Saxon cultures, compensation claims in money terms have reached astonishing levels. Elsewhere, some governments have now even started to reinsure flood risk (Poland is an example, see Stripple, 1998). The changes in political society - technocratisation, economisation, then politicisation of risk - have also reflected on the material conditions of the water contract. Chapter 4 looks into the implications. . 4. The value of water: WINER, WIER, WISER?

It is slowly dawning on policymakers that water is not the same thing to everyone the world over. As any anthropologist will tell you, it is different things to different people. It has different, and often conflicting, values and functions (military, political, social, cultural, economic, and ecological). The current clash of dogmas has usefully been summarised by Tony Allan as WINER (Water Is Not an Economic Resource), WIER (Water Is an Economic Resource) and WISER (Water Is a Social as well as an Economic Resource). Of course water has always been an economic input, but until recently, other uses (water as a cultural, social (health), military, political good) have dominated. This had a bearing on the role of water in the social contracts. In economistic thinking, cost recovery is the be-all and end-all. The only question left is: who pays? It cannot be assumed that the answer to this question is clear-cut for each country. In Western countries, semi-public or private utilities supply water to customers at a certain rate, while the government, reduced to a regulating role, guarantees the functioning of the system. But the idea of paying 'customers' is a fairly recent idea that is not as globally self-evident as Western economists may like to think. In the post-socialist countries, for example, there was no such thing as a mutual 'contract' between supplier and consumers: no relation between charge and service, between taxation and representation. In many areas, water used to come for free; you couldn't expect much service in return. Once relabelled 'customers', they are likely to demand a higher level of service for their water charge. After the Cold War, many local authorities in these countries were underprepared for the new exchange relation - there was hardly an institutional framework such as a banking system to facilitate commercial transactions. Fig 5: An ideal.-type contractual pyramid public sector private sector 'customer' Fig. 6: Five basic modes of institutional water organisation (IHE 1999, adapted from EUREAU 1992) Who owns

the infrastructure Who operates : the systems:

Shareowner: Example:

Direct Local govt Municipal adm n.a. US 11

public/local Direct public/supra-local

Supra-local Supra-local n.a. Thailand

Public-Owned PLC

Supra-local PLC = permanent concessionaire

Local/ prov. gov.

Netherlands

Delegated private Any public govt + temp. combination

priv. concession France

Direct private Private agents Private PLC Private England and Wales

In Chapter 3, the alienation of people from their natural environment was noted. An artificial, Modernist separation of man from nature was made possible by technology serving the ‘domination of (the forces of) nature’. The next step in this 'alienation' process was the economisation of water. Water became a commodity to be traded and paid for. This development was precipitated by the perception of governmental overload, as demand on government extended into more and more areas of risk. Many water governors watched with interest the developments in England and France where new governance models were introduced, deeply involving the private sector. In France, governments retained the infrastructure but outcontracted water management in 10-years management contracts. In England, the conservative government privatised (almost) all public services, with only a regulator to safeguard the public interest. Soon the newly created private utilities started to take on the world. Despite occasional losses, water management turned out to be profitable, especially in large cities where pipeline can be short and where sufficient wealth is accumulated to cross-subsidise connections to the less affluent. With the active sponsorship of the World Bank, the idea of water as an economic good was enshrined in the Declaration of Dublin (1993), thus officially becoming part of the sanctioned discourse in the international water policy arena. Although it does not say so in the document, this is interpreted by some as 'water is (almost) ONLY an economic resource'. Economisation and privatisation seemed like a way out for countries in the South, who lacked the capacity to make their ambition happen. A good many utilities were loss-leading underperformers; states were seen to fall short of their end of the 'hydrosocial contract' (Turton & Ohlsson 1999). Soon developing countries started auctioning off, with notable hiccups (Indonesia is a notorious example) when politicians balked at giving too much state sovereignty away. While water itself is very difficult to transport across great distances, shares (and shareholder power) spread like hotcakes. As a consequence, the 'pay' and therefore the ‘say’ over water supplies are now concentrated in Britain and France. Now that privatisation of water has become commonplace, however, disconnections policy has become stricter and Safari hotels in Africa buy up water sources that used to supply entire areas (Peter Gleick, of 'Water in Crisis' fame, quoted in Volkskrant 12-8-95). States that have retained the sole ownership of water recognised the opportunity of water as a commercial commodity. Turkey now offers water to Israel, Saudi Arabia and Central Asia - even if it has trouble supplying its own urban population! However, the 1990s have seen a (minor) backlash against the relentless global expansion of the water industry. Some contracts in LDCs were abolished halfway the negotiating process. After 1989, Eastern European countries made the transition to different types of institutional water management arrangements, sometimes widely different within one country

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(for Poland, see Warner et al 1999). Whether they liked it or not, these countries embarked on a transition to a market economy, including utilities such as the water sector. A key problem was that under communist government, citizens had come to expect to pay nothing for water and get usually lousy services - there was no consumer relationship between governments, utilities and consumers. Where water companies were decentralised, the local administration did not have the financial means or taxation capacity to take over the community and even attain cost recovery. Alternatives to the French and British models, such as the Dutch model (Blokland, Braadbaart & Schwartz 1999) seem to be currying more favour internationally. More radical voices are heard from the Club of Lisbon, which included among others former Portuguese PM Mário Soares, former Argentinean PM Raoul Alfonsin and currently Louvain-based economist Riccardo Petrella, advocates a global contract recognising water as a vital and inalienable common heritage of mankind.

'The inalienable rights (and obligations) with respect to water are collective rights and obligations, not individual or private obligations. (…T)he control and management and preferential ownership of these rights (and obligations) are found at each level of community, on behalf of the rights (and obligations) of the global community, which is the primary legal party in the global patrimonial ownership of water.' (Petrella 1999, my translation)

Petrella notes that in 1996 the government of Quebec declared water to be the 'common good of the people of Quebec' and shored up privatisation. This means Quebec cannot sell its water to California. Water is declared the heritage of the people of Quebec, essential to its welfare, which owns the right to use and has the obligation to protect it and safeguard its quality (Petrella 1999). This does not preclude a degree of cost recovery through cross-subsidy and not all will be opposed to paying the distributor a fee for his services. It does preclude exclusive ownership and (excessive) profit-making. While the Club of Lisbon seems to say that water is ONLY a social good, the World Bank has long tended to see monetising and privatising water as the ONLY solution. Is a compromise possible? The debate over the value of water seems like a microcosm of Karl Polanyi's vision of 'The Great Transformation'. This is constituted by the dialectics between two movements: market expansion and political (self-)regulation in response to it - in other words: the clash of two value systems: water as a marketable commodity (both as a finished product, as in bottled water, as well as a marketable input in food and energy production etc) and water as a social, cultural, political and, environmental) good.3 Both camps have made valuable points. It seems fair to pay the distributor for their trouble. Willingness-to-pay surveys suggest that people are willing to reciprocate for 'public services'. However, the nature of water is such that we have it on loan from the next generation and as such cannot own it exclusively. This is why reportedly the Namibians, the only people to recycle their human sewerage water for human consumption, say they 'lease' rather than buy a cup of tea or a glass of beer. In this context, exclusive ownership for profit seems to miss the point. synthesis: WISER thesis: WINER antithesis: WIER

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3 Anthropologists Johnston and Donahue (1998) employ a triad of water as a cultural, political and market commodity.

Fig: 7. The water value dialectic 5. The end of security? The debate on the value of water seems to have unearthed a deeper question: about the merits of untrammelled modernity. That neither technocratisation and economisation have done the job is a blow for science. Maybe a new paradigm is on the way? The signs are certainly there. The end of the Cold War prefigured an end to many long-cherished certainties. In 50 years of navel-gazing and bipolar build-up, the world had become a decidedly different, and potentially scarier place. Rosenau (1990) was early in noting the prevalence of turbulence which is characterised by • rapid change • an overlap of the Westphalian system and a pluriform system of many public and private

actors. • increasing sophistication of individuals as political actors. This gloom has been only one of the alternative security concerns on an international scale that have started to dominate the security agenda. Kaplan (1994), for one, scared the living daylights out of American leaders with his 'Coming Anarchy' article which, with journalistic flair, sketched a world of anarchy where warlords and drug czars reign supreme in places like West Africa and American inner cities. This deliberate scaremongery drew attention to a political agenda: boosting the state. Kaplan did have a point: the end of superpower rivalry left many weak states to their own devices, further eroded by the process of globalisation. In some territories, nonstate actors (a varied lot of NGOs, TNCs, separatists, warlords, fundamentalist groups and mafiosi) are rather better at providing the necessities of life (water, health care, protection) than weak states. It is not unusual for NGOs to provide a number of social services the government can't seem to get together, in fact competing for legitimacy with formal government. Unfortunately, in some cases, citizens may have had to sign away their allegiance to the state, their voice, and their natural resource base in exchange. Brief, rival (hydro)social contracts emerged, eroding the state's nonmaterial power base. The threat this posed to the Westphalian state may have obscured an awareness of the growth of bona fide NGO and community initiatives.

Rather, a concern with 'new threats' has revitalised an interest in shoring up the state as the sole power centre. Invoking the threat of 'water wars' and other forms of environmental and resource insecurity has only served to reinforce that concern (e.g. Warner 2000; Duffield 1990). The international development and security agendas are converging. In a combination of Malthusian worries about environmental degradation and Hobbesian faith in the 'strong state', environmental diplomacy has now become 'high politics' and a number of 'environmental hubs' have been created in areas that are felt to be likely flashpoints of environmental conflict (Dockser-Marcus & Brauchli 1997). However, this Hobbesian revival could be the last resurgence of a shrinking state. While Evans has noted that liberalisation in fact requires more rather than less regulation, a gradual but notable abdication of state power in many countries is not simply the consequence of the prevailing mode of neo-liberalism. It is rather a painful recognition that despite all attempts at social engineering, the world has become too 'complex, diverse and dynamic' (Kooiman 1993) for the state sector to ensure control and predictability. While the school of cybernetics (systems theory) has traditionally sought to optimise control and predictability, a new generation of socio-cyberneticists have concluded they cannot account for social change without accepting the openness of systems and the subject-object interaction of researcher and researched, governor and governed. They feel forced to accept an uncomfortable outcome of complexity: fundamental indeterminacy. It is to accept

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that there is no desirable and sustainable state for society, only near-continuous transition, often coupled with the impossibility to forecast even the near future (Geyer & van der Zouwen 1991). Like the weather, complex adaptive systems such as rivers and people are fundamentally unpredictable for anything beyond the immediate short run. Surprise (a 'qualitative disagreement between observations and expectations') is common; spatially distant processes may influence local dynamics and can make a system 'flip into another regime of behavior' (Gunderson 1999). This fundamentally makes a mockery of forecasting and planning (op cit) - this at least a group of natural and social sciences can now agree on. From a Political Economy perspective, Timothy Luke (1991) noted that nation-states, being tied to material power bases such as territory and fixed assets, were losing out to rapidly circulating international venture and risk capital - an example is the way Georg Soros broke the Bank of England. Bauman (1999) notes that in the personal sphere, too, all three meanings of Sicherheit (security, safety, and certainty) have been hollowed out. No one can be sure of anything - even if you hold down the same job for a number of yours, your office will have changed beyond recognition.

Ulrich Beck sounded alarm bells over the pervasive, man-made risk to which we are now all exposed, Chernobyl being the most vivid example. Technological risks have become so threatening in liberal Western societies that Hiskes noted that today's society there is losing its optimism, no new 'frontiers' to explore (Hiskes 1998). Giddens (1999), on the other hand, doubts that modern society has become more hazardous - the sense of risk has increased as a consequence of our contemporary desire to 'colonise' the future, our desire for predictability.

Science and technology can no longer come to the rescue. The search for greater certainty has only created greater risks, Beck argues. The good ship Security is leaky and possibly beyond repair. Those fixing holes create new ones in the process. But how about 'reflexive modernity'? The rise of affordable information and communication technology has boosted awareness of risk. However, 'by reflecting upon this, social actors intensify the conditions that make them unattainable' (ibid.). Calás, therefore, notes that Beck and Giddens do not necessarily see reflexive modernity4 as a redeeming force. Beck quotes the global stock market in which information and perceptions of it precipitate its collapse.

Granted, Beck, as Bauman charges, 'has not lost hope (some would say illusion) that 'reflexivity' can accomplish what 'rationality' failed to do. ..But it is only in the mind of the scientists and their hired or voluntary court-poets that knowledge (their knowledge) determines being' (Bauman 1992).

Bauman and others nudge us into the direction of a post-modernist position, one that doubts whether anything can be controlled and predicted at all, eating away at the terms of any form of contract. Others are more optimistic, though. Giddens (1999) sees the emergence of a post-scarcity society, and business authors such as Ridderstråle & Nordström (2000) note that everything that can be digitised will be digitised. This puts a premium on ideas and will make aggressive agricultural export drives less and less remunerative. This would be a strong incentive for resource-poor countries to specialise in nontangibles. Clearly Tony Allan (1994) was on to something when he identified the 'virtual water' strategy.

Taking their cue from chaos theory and ecology, still others argue that the risk of failure does not spell ungovernability, but rather a rethinking of the social arrangement such that capabilities are better tapped and diversified. This will be taken up in the next Section. 5.2. Rediscovering civil society?

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4 For Beck, 'reflexive modernization' means a change in the foundations of industrial modernity which occurs in the wake of normal, autonomized modernization, unplanned and gradually, and with an unchanged, possibly intact political and economic order, aims at three things: a radicalization of modernity which breaks up the premises and contours of industrial society and opens up paths to new modernities or counter-modernities.' (Beck 1993).

While we have seen that the identification of new international dangers has led to a

drive to shore up the Westphalian state, many governments are not be looking for an even greater workload and, worse, may no longer be accepted as the sole provider of security. Moreover, some authors (in Krause & Williams 1997) have questioned the legitimacy of the army to provide environmental security. Overloaded governments have had to abandon the dream of social engineering and are struggling to assert their authority - to remain on top of an aggressive private sector, as described in Section 4.3. (through public-private partnerships) and a vocal civil society (described in Section 5.1). Increasingly, new governing arrangements are developing in response to the moving goalposts. Interestingly, civil society is finding a place in many of these, as NGOs and community organisations are increasingly given a role in governance.

This realisation that control, stability and predictability are a chimera has had repercussions on Public Management. After the earlier optimism of 'Reinventing Government', some Public Management writers such as Stoker (1995) are beginning to contemplate a more 'realistic' or, I daresay, 'fatalistic' agenda that takes into account the possibility of failure. Rather than look for the 'one best way', Stoker advocates a 'flexible repertoire', a range of alternatives for tackling complex problems.

This leads to an unusually 'defeatist' or fatalist perspective of some scientists and governors. Fatalism, the acceptance of risk and failure as a fact of life, has been pictured as a backward, defeatist mindset, has been associated with a lack of education and certain religious beliefs (in Ingleton 1999). This view, however, seems too limited. Work by development researchers (e.g. Sarch 1999 on Lake Chad) and anthropologists (e.g. van Dijk e.a. 1995 on the Fulbe people) has shown that 'fatalist' groups living on the margins are neither weak nor destitute - they have found resourceful ways of dealing with their challenging natural environment.

The apathetic ‘not interested’ label, then, seems unfair and perhaps West-centric. But also in the West the picture is not so simple. While J. Green (1993) notes a revival of fatalism in the tendency to political apathy and extreme orientation on one's own small life-world, experience teaches is people become highly engaged when their immediate life-world is concerned. But in Public Administration literature, the recognition of inevitable failure, after a hard swallow, is now slowly incorporated in risk assessment.

Rather than apathetic, however, civil society is different in its rationality and dynamics. As Kooiman and Van Vliet (1999) have it, civil-society interactions are spontaneous 'interferences'. that may look chaotic at surface glance but, as a whole, can be surprisingly effective. People are grouped in interferences around 'primary processes such as technology or welfare, and do a lot of 'self-governing' through their 'interferences'. Notably in voluntary organisations, where traditional top-down management concepts are ineffective, models that explicitly build on such interferences in combination with more formal forms of co-governance and intervention, appear to be more effective (Kooiman & van Vliet 1999). This view is supported in this perspective by the work of Elinor Ostrom (1990) whose findings make a case for tapping the self-regulating potential at the local level. A school of 'autopoiesis' (e.g. Mayntz 1993) now sees governance and governability as a quality of social-political systems, such as international communities, national states, cities and localities, as well as in sectors such as agriculture, fisheries, education or health. Each type of interaction within and between social-political systems such as between state, market and civil society on a broad level and between governmental agencies, enterprises, non-profit Organizations and social/political action groups at a specific level is essential and has its particular qualities and disqualities, its contribution to make and its impediments to the governance of present-day societies (Kooiman & Warner 1998). Scholars like Kooiman then, call on governors to recognise the necessary impossibility of the state to serve as the sole governor in the face of complexity, diversity and

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dynamics of modern governance advocate a functional partnership between public, private and civil-society representatives. Nevertheless, the upshot of the story is that, if governability is the ratio of challenges to capabilities there are two sides to the equation (Kooiman 1993). Not only can we seek to reduce challenges, we can also seek to enhance capabilities. Involving society in public services makes political sense as well. As noted, a top-down drive, initiated by an enlightened elite, to make the economy more water-extensive is not likely to work too well, if it is not supported by a well-developed civil society. Any project, however benevolent, is likely to upset and destroy some people's rights and security positions, especially where they establish property rights and entitlements. A key question, therefore, is whether the community will be ready to accept and cope with (the proposed) change; in cybernetic terms, if there is a degree of metastability, or resilience.

There are definite Rousseauean overtones in Klein's claim that we may need to 'reformulate the foundations of security and link it back to the forms of political community from which it has been severed by a variety of modern practices. A number of internal critics have rightly pointed to the question of political overload asking, in effect, if in so doing, modern citizens are asking too much of their political institutions and not relying on forms of social mobilisation and networking that both undergird and overlap those of the formal state.'

(Klein, 1997: 365). This seems quite alien to received (Hobbesian) modes of thinking. In Realist political science, a favorite analytical tool, the Prisoners' Dilemma, two prisoners, who have the option to 'squeal' or remain silent, are shown to calculate rationally different outcomes. The crucial condition, however, is that they cannot or will not exchange information. Elinor Ostrom (AAAS 1998) notes the falsity of the presumption of non-co-operation: repeated prisoners' dilemma games show a tendency for co-operation rather than conflict. The current state of interdependence and information and communications technology (ICT) makes it possible (if, admittedly not always practicable) for a citizen of Transkei to exchange ideas with an inhabitant of Reykjavik. There is no reason to underestimate citizens: as Rosenau (1990) has noted, individuals have become so politically and socially skilled that they can no longer be ignored as political actors. The 1995 Brent Spar affair has shown the power and unpredictability of reflective civil society. This is not the much-touted 'calculating citizen' but a more complex and unpredictable character. Because of this unpredictability, 'the majority of the population were treated as a threatening 'mob' to be controlled, where necessary, by the use of force' until the nineteenth century (Silverman 1993). Unfortunately, many governors and engineers still seem to look at people as irrational, ignorant, panic-prone in the face of possible calamity. This is evidently not borne out in reality (van Eijndhoven et al, 1994). It is high time, then, we took the citizen seriously. Finally, genuine participation means that people may decide to say 'no' to a project. In this light, we should build enough slack into the water management system to cushion political failure. Faced with this possibility, planners may consider hedging against the financial loss in case of public rejection by abandoning expensive megaprojects in favour of more flexible systems. Given the considerable economic interests at issue, such a change may not be soon in coming, but it would certainly prefigure an interesting change in the water management landscape. 6. Conclusion In many areas there is still little question of a well-developed and contemporary `hydro-social contract' between government and local people (taxation for participation). Now that blind faith in total control and predictability is eroding, a window may open into a re-negotiated

17

contract. In principle, the signs are hopeful. Reflexive processes are at work and capacities n in civil society are institutionalised bringing in social and environmental values into the water management decision-making process.

However, it has been argued that in order for a reflexive process to work, then, this reflexive capacity needs to be underpinned by a healthy degree of social trust (cf. Fukuyama 1995) and flexibility. In a high-trust society, the network of mutual aid, as well as a diversity of material and immaterial risk-spreading arrangements (including insurance funds) will be better developed and a range of ideas in society be circulated. As NGOs and community institutions, as forms of social mobilisation, became institutionalised, so can the reflexive process be strengthened. This is bound to increase the potential for a strong exchange of conflicting views which may frighten a consensual political culture such as the Netherlands, as well as the potential for rejection of new water projects. But then, wasn't democracy invented to provide for these purposes?

The fundamental interdependence of people, noted by Rousseau, is at odds with Margaret Thatcher denial that there is such a thing as society. We should not, of course, fall into the trap of sanctifying >community=. Civil society is not a homogeneous entity and it is a mistake to treat it as such (Ball 1997). As Ball warns, to describe people as a community is to define away ethnic, cultural and other differences as well as power differentials within a local community, so that they may not function as a unit at all. However, the strength of the democratic process is evidenced by the degree to which it can accommodate diversity and conflict. For this, it needs to be perceived as legitimate by rulers and ruled - a 'second-order issue' touching on the preconditions for water management: the water security contract. Encouragingly, the World Bank has now proposed the establishment of `water parliaments' in which consumers can discuss optimal allocation and management. However there is a risk that this again leaves out illegal citizens, that is, the urban poor. Thy too have capacities that can and should be tapped in exchange for a political say. This may require a rethinking of the concept of 'deviance'. Ultimately, reflexivity has led to an awareness that the modernist dream was unattainable. As a result, it is not just the 'inner terms' of the new social contract that want rethinking - the 'outer limits' are shifting too. It is now recognised that there is a degree of risk and uncertainty that just cannot be controlled, and will have to be seen as an 'Act of God'. An innovative social arrangement may push these limits back, but, most importantly, should be aimed at improving resilience to shocks. A more symbiotic relationship with the water resource and recognition of its many values ought to be a first step.

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