(Article published in Herald dtd. 09/06/2014)
Dr. Anibel Ferus-Comelo
It is easy to get caught in the minutiae of problems that beset Goa, especially during the monsoon, but as the state and country settle down to a new post-elections era it makes sense to step back in order to examine the economic model that underpins our development trajectory. This is all the more important with Goa’s burgeoning population and associated needs vying for attention. India is mid-way through the 12th Five Year Plan (2012-2017) which seeks to prioritize sustainable and more inclusive growth. Both sustainability and social inclusion are multi-dimensional factors which imply countless criteria to measure the robust nature of national and regional economies. However, common assessments of the health of our economy often stop at the rate of growth, measured in terms of gross domestic product (GDP). What typically remains unexamined is the impact of wealth accumulation at the macro level on improvements at the micro level in poverty levels, health outcomes, access to education, opportunities for decent employment and livelihood, skills development, the provision of basic amenities such as housing, water and electricity, and so on. It is precisely this presumed association between economic growth on the one hand and sustainability and social inclusion on the other that needs to be probed within the regional economy.
Although Goa has been an important hub in the global economy for centuries, the current pace and magnitude of its ambitions can be traced to the liberalization reforms of the centre since the 1990s. Since the public outcry and contentious debate about the Regional Plan 2021, Goa’s landscape has been changing at a harrowing speed. Gated residential enclaves, exclusive shopping malls, boutique resorts and minutely manicured lawns have redefined the contours of public and private spaces as well as distorted our collective sense of aesthetics. The rise of consumerism and middle-class ideology that has swept the rest of the country is reflected in Goa’s spatial transformation. Many other tangible trends such as the gush of inward investment and large-scale migration out of and into the state are signs of a new phase of economic growth in the former sleepy backwaters of India. Glossy magazines that promote Goa to national and global capital remind us of this. The question that remains wholly unexamined is: To what extent is this growth sustainable and inclusive? In other words, what is the impact of this steep rise in wealth on the environment, including our natural resources? Who is benefitting from it? At whose cost?
The answers to these questions are scattered on the pages of the local papers, if one cares to assemble the mosaic of grievances raised at gram sabhas and the reports of problems along Goa’s coast and in the hinterland. What we are witnessing is the fallout of unplanned growth as the power of the state is harnessed in favour of capital, and civil society is left to fend for itself. With the liberalisation of the economy, privatisation and deregulation, the state is gradually abdicating its responsibility to address the basic needs of its citizens. Instead, it is nominally retreating to a licensing role which is gravely problematic, as was infamously illustrated in the building collapse in Canacona. Based on estimates of the Planning Commission, urban poverty in Goa has risen by 21 percent. There are many other adverse effects of the reconfiguration of relations among state, capital and civil society. This becomes apparent when we look into the lives of people who are banished from our conscience and consciousness, to paraphrase Harsh Mander at the Kosambi Festival of Ideas.
Certain structural features of the economy are exposed when state policies and specific business practices are scrutinised more closely. For example, the widespread outsourcing of labour processes by public and private entities alike has resulted in an expansion of contractors and subcontractors, and is insidiously associated with temporary, insecure employment for the working class. So while the unemployment figures are bad enough, they hide a worse problem of underemployment – part-time, seasonal and contract work – which implies chronic economic precarity. Less obvious is the link between subcontracting and the myriad possibilities of corruption in the bureaucratic ranks. The much maligned license raj has been subverted into an anarchic system that serves the political and economic elite who exchange ‘favours’ of ever-rising value while the public bears the brunt of poor service, questionable quality of work, risk to life and property, and the violation of human rights. Similarly, public-private partnerships have become the policy mantra to hand over erstwhile government responsibilities, among others, for the provision of social services and infrastructure development to be undertaken by private companies in a profitable mode. Investigation of the impact of PPPs elsewhere point to the financial burden they place on the poor and great risks faced by the public.
If the Goan economy is to be made more sustainable and inclusive, we need to start by prioritising environmental protection, not exploitation, and generating sources of livelihood for the most vulnerable and marginalised people, not subsidising the rich. There cannot be quick fixes like giving the tourism industry a free hand to wreak the same degree of havoc in the hinterland as it has on the over-developed coastal belt. Instead, Goa’s development depends upon long-term initiatives that build skills, support social entrepreneurship, generate decent ‘green’ jobs, and ultimately, restore prosperity for all. This is not rocket science but does require concerted political will.
(Dr. Anibel Ferus-Comelo is a policy
analyst trained in sociology and
economic geography, London.)
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