Mewtee, 4157 Ranaka Street, Randfontein (2025)

12/09/2025

The West African ebony tree (Diospyros crassiflora) can grow up to 25 metres tall. It is a culturally iconic and economically valuable tree prized for its deep black heartwood. Ebony has been used for centuries to make carvings, piano keys and guitars due to its special harmonics.

Our research found that no other animals in the Congo Basin are able to disperse the ebony tree’s seeds in the same way. This has left a functional gap in the forest – one that current conservation strategies too often overlook. Forest elephants have been poached out of two-thirds of the ebony trees’ natural habitat so most of the Congo Basin’s adult ebony trees are in elephant-free areas. This means they won’t be able to get any help from elephants in dispersing or concealing their seeds within dung.

Ebony and ivory: why elephants and forests rise and fall together in the Congo Basin.

The forest elephants of the Congo Basin are critically endangered and face extinction.

They live in Africa’s largest forest, extending over the continent’s west and central regions. Large populations are found in Gabon and the Republic of Congo and smaller groups in Cameroon, the Central African Republic, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Côte d'Ivoire, Liberia, Ghana, Sierra Leone and Nigeria.

But ivory poaching means their numbers have plummeted by 86% over the past three decades.

The sharp reduction of their population has a knock-on effect on the Congo Basin forest itself. This is because African forest elephants are the rainforest’s gardeners. They disperse more plant species than any other animal, regenerating and reshaping plant communities.

I’m a conservation scientist and part of a research team of international and Cameroonian scientists who set out to examine how forest elephants interact with West African ebony trees.

We wanted to know if the decline of elephants had negative, cascading effects on other Congo Basin forest species. We focused on ebony because it was known to be a food for elephants and its wood is prized for numerous uses.

The research team set up tree plots and experiments in forests with and without elephants (often lost due to hunting). We used hidden cameras to record which animals ate ebony fruit and how ebony seeds enclosed in dung grew into seedlings. Our lead researcher, Vincent Deblauwe, spent years in the field conducting these experiments and even built a custom camera trap to observe ebony pollinators for the first time in the canopy.

We also collected ebony seeds from within elephant dung, manually planted them, and carefully monitored germination rates and seedling survival.

Additionally, the project developed cloning propagation methods to support future replanting of ebony trees and ebony plantations.

Our research found that forest elephants, a different and smaller species than savannah elephants, are tightly linked to ebony’s life cycle.

The impact of elephants

These little four-tonne elephants support ebony reproduction in at least two ways.

Distance matters: Elephants move the ebony seeds quite far away from the parent tree. This reduces the risk of ebony trees growing close together and inbreeding. Inbreeding weakens the genetics and lowers their chances of being resilient and adaptable to future environmental change.

Dung as armour: Elephants consume ebony fruits whole and the pulp is digested from around the seeds before they p**p them out intact. We found digestion did not help the ebony seeds germinate. However, being encased in dung protected the seeds from rodents that eat and kill the seeds. This greatly improved the seeds’ chances of survival and germinating.

Our research found that there are nearly 70% fewer small (younger) ebony trees in the areas where elephants have disappeared. Most adult ebony trees alive today were dispersed by elephants decades ago because ebony is a slow growing wood that can take 50 years to begin reproducing, and 60 to 200 years to fully grow.

Our conclusion is that it is not certain that ebony trees in the Congo Basin will be able to survive naturally without the help of elephants.

Both elephants and rare ebony lie at the heart of the national heritage of Cameroon. By safeguarding elephants, Cameroon can protect the long-term viability of sustainably managed ebony and other valuable timbers.

A wake-up call for Central African forests

It’s not only the future of ebony that’s at stake. Other large-seeded trees may also rely on elephants to move their seeds. Elephant declines could be quietly reshaping forests in ways scientists are only beginning to uncover.

The takeaway is clear: plant-animal interactions are not a luxury add-on to conservation plans; they’re foundational to keeping forests functioning.

What needs to happen next

There are already many efforts to protect elephants and the processes they drive. Sadly, these seem insufficient to date.

The most urgent conservation action is halting the killing of elephants for ivory. Reducing illegal logging of ebony trees is also important. Both of these can be accomplished by better education with local residents about the ecological and economic importance of elephants and ebony, and improved enforcement of existing poaching and logging regulations.

Another important step is monitoring less charismatic tree species that also depend on elephants. Similar plant-animal relationships and the species and services they provide might be at risk.

Our project increases international research partnerships with Cameroon’s domestic experts and attracted expertise and funding for local institutions. For example, this research project provided education and capacity-building for Cameroonian researchers and practitioners, growing national expertise in biodiversity management.

Finally, African forest elephants don’t just live in the Congo Basin’s rainforests – they shape them. Increased poaching of elephants for ivory not only threatens the ebony tree – forest elephant declines can ripple through forest structure, biodiversity, and carbon storage.

This work was part of the Congo Basin Institute at UCLA and was largely funded by Taylor Guitars, which uses ebony for their instruments. They have invested nearly a decade in ebony research and conservation.

Author
Matthew Scott Luskin
Researcher and Lecturer in Conservation Science, The University of Queensland

Disclosure statement
Matthew Scott Luskin receives funding from NASA, ARC, and the National Geographic Society.

11/09/2025

Ethiopia’s mega dam has taken 14 years to build: what it means for the Nile’s 11 river states and why it’s so controversial.

In April 2011, Ethiopia began construction of Africa’s largest hydroelectric dam, the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD), on the Blue Nile river. The dam is expected to generate more than 6,000 megawatts of electricity, effectively transforming Ethiopia into the continent’s largest power exporter.

The dam affects 11 countries, two downstream and nine upstream.

Addis Ababa completed construction of the US$4 billion-plus project in July 2025, mainly with funds sourced from Ethiopians at home and in the diaspora, with an official launch on 9 September 2025. John Mukum Mbaku, who has researched the governance of the Nile’s waters, explains the dam’s potential for Ethiopia – and the controversies that have dogged it.

What are the simmering tensions around the official launch of the dam?
The dispute over the allocation and use of the Nile waters has been going on for many years. This has been exacerbated by climate change, and increased demand for food and water from growing populations.

The 11 countries that share the waters of the Nile have competing development priorities too. These states include Ethiopia, Egypt, Sudan, Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya.

Egypt and Sudan lie downstream. They receive the river’s waters only after it has passed through the nine upstream states.

Initially, the downstream states, particularly Egypt, opposed the construction of the dam, arguing that it was a threat to their water rights.

However, Ethiopia powered ahead with construction. Egypt and Sudan then shifted negotiations to securing an agreement for filling and operating the dam.

The two downstream states had suggested that filling the dam should take about 12 to 21 years in order to protect their water supply. For domestic and political reasons, Addis Ababa prefered a shorter filling period. In addition, Egypt and Sudan argued that filling the reservoir without a legally binding agreement would disregard their interests and rights.

But with the dam now fully filled and due to be officially inaugurated on 9 September 2025, the issue of a binding agreement for filling the dam’s reservoir is moot.

Egypt and Sudan’s political and diplomatic efforts highlight what they say is the illegality of unilaterally operating the dam without a binding agreement. Despite the intervention of the African Union and the US government, as well as appeals by Egypt to the UN Security Council, the three countries haven’t been able to secure a deal.

Part of the reason is that Egypt has insisted that any negotiations on water allocation begin with the rights granted to it under its 1959 Nile Waters Treaty with Sudan.

Under this agreement, Egypt was granted 66% of the Nile’s estimated average annual water flow of 84 billion cubic metres. Sudan got 22%. The treaty ignores upstream countries’ legal claims to Nile waters, since 10 billion cubic metres were reserved for seepage and evaporation. Ethiopia’s highlands, for instance, supply more than 86% of the water that flows into the Nile River.

Egypt continues to argue that Ethiopia’s dam is a threat to its water security and that, if necessary, it will take measures to protect what it refers to as its “historical rights” to Nile waters.

Egypt relies on the Nile for more than 90% of its fresh water supplies. The country’s water needs have risen as its population has grown and its economy has expanded significantly.

However, Egypt and Sudan’s insistence on keeping their historical water shares cannot be considered equitable and reasonable. Additionally, Cairo doesn’t appear to be prioritising a water-use approach that acknowledges the legal claims of upstream states to the Nile’s waters.

Instead of improving and updating its water infrastructure, minimising wasteful irrigation practices and generally improving water use, Egypt has focused on grandiose mega projects that are putting significant stress on the region’s scarce water resources.

Sudan, which has been battling a devastating civil war since 2023, has raised concerns about Ethiopia’s dam affecting the operations of its own dams. This would make it more difficult to manage Khartoum’s development plans.

What makes agreement on the Nile so elusive?
The legal framework regulating the allocation of the Nile’s waters has been dominated by colonial-era agreements. These have been embraced by the two downstream states, Sudan and Egypt, but contested by the nine upstream ones.

Two of the most important of these agreements are the 1929 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty and the 1959 Egypt-Sudan treaty.

The 1959 treaty augmented the water allocations granted to Egypt and Sudan by the 1929 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty. These treaties also granted Egypt veto power over any construction projects on the Nile or its tributaries.

The terms of these treaties, however, are only possible if the nine upstream riparian states don’t access or utilise any water from the Nile and its tributaries.

Most importantly, they make the water rights of the other Nile countries dependent on Egypt and Sudan’s goodwill.

Ethiopia and other upstream states have long argued that they were not parties to the colonial-era treaties and are, therefore, not bound by them.

What international principles guide water use across borders?
The pillars of international transboundary water law are:

(i) equitable and reasonable use

(ii) the obligation not to cause significant harm

(iii) the duty to cooperate.

International legal scholars have noted that the 1959 Nile Treaty stands in sharp contrast to these principles. It disregards the sovereign rights of other riparian countries to their fair share of the Nile, and interferes with their development.

What does the dam promise for Ethiopians?
The Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam is a symbol of national unity and pride. It is significant that construction was undertaken without reliance on financing from external actors, such as international financial institutions or major industrial countries.

The dam’s electricity output could potentially transform Ethiopia’s development.

First, the electricity would provide a reliable source of energy for rural industrialisation, reducing deforestation by eliminating the need for households to cut down trees for firewood.

Second, it would reduce the pollution associated with burning wood, dung and other forms of biomass for cooking and other activities.

Third, it would improve access to education, effectively providing light that enhances the ability of pupils to complete homework assignments and study at night. During hot seasons, the electricity generated could be used to cool classrooms, improving learning outcomes.

Finally, higher electricity output would boost internet connectivity in rural areas in Ethiopia, effectively boosting access to the outside world.

The dam could also help with flood control in Sudan and drought protection in Egypt – but only if the three countries work together.

Author
John Mukum Mbaku
Professor, Weber State University

Disclosure statement
John Mukum Mbaku does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

10/09/2025

South Africa’s student debt trap: two options that could help resolve the problem.

Education is widely regarded as the road to a better life. Yet the rising cost of tertiary education means many students can only go to university if they get financial aid, bursaries or loans.

South Africa’s National Student Financial Aid Scheme (NSFAS) offers students bursaries or loans which provide allowances for tuition and registration fees, books, travel and accommodation. But this type of funding applies only under specific and limited conditions. Many students fall outside its scope.

Students who are not enrolled for a qualification that is approved by the Department of Higher Education, or who wish to study for a second undergraduate qualification, or who are studying at private institutions, don’t qualify to get the funding.

The result is that many students can’t keep up with paying their university fees. In 2025 South African universities collectively held about R9.3 billion (US$528 million) in student debt that had remained unpaid since 2023.

Universities have been trying different methods to pressure students and graduates to pay outstanding student debts. This has included withholding of degree certificates, academic transcripts and marks.

Universities require funding to operate effectively, pay staff and maintain infrastructure. But withholding academic documents from indebted students may prevent them from securing employment – the very means by which they could repay their debts. These practices, while commercially defensible, often have the opposite effect. According to Unesco, “student loans generally have catastrophic effects for students and families across the world”.

It seems reasonable to conclude that student debt collection practices may entrench poverty and make it harder for graduates to get jobs.

From recent court cases, it appears that this issue is especially pronounced in the legal profession. Law graduates face additional scrutiny, as admission to the profession requires not only academic qualifications but also proof of moral character. The Legal Practice Act 28 of 2014 mandates that candidates be “fit and proper” individuals, embodying values such as honesty, integrity and reliability. Outstanding debt may be seen as a contrast to the values of honesty and integrity.

Fulfilling financial obligations can indeed have a bearing on ethics (a field I study as a legal scholar). But as I argue in a recent paper, it’s necessary to distinguish between graduates who are unwilling to pay and those who are genuinely unable to.

I also propose a couple of ways this could be achieved so that universities get their money and graduates get their start in working life.

How universities collect debt
Unlike South Africa, some countries have taken steps to deal with the impact of student debt.

My paper highlights that, in the United States, several states don’t allow universities and colleges to withhold degree certificates and transcripts (records of academic activity) over unpaid fees. They recognise that those debt-collection practices hinder employment and make inequality worse. Instead, they promote other strategies, like repayment plans related to income, or policies for how to treat students who are experiencing hardship.

In the United Kingdom, universities are advised not to use academic sanctions to recover non-academic debts, such as accommodation fees. Consumer protection laws treat students as consumers, allowing them to challenge unfair contractual terms. If a university’s contract includes provisions to withhold degrees for unpaid fees, students may contest these clauses as unjust.

South Africa lacks similar legal safeguards. Each university sets its own rules. These range from students not being able to graduate unless all fees are paid, to the withholding of certificates from students not in good financial standing, and even preventing students from viewing their examination scripts if they owe money. Some examples may be found at the University of the Free State (page 27), University of Pretoria (page 16) and University of the Witwatersrand.

Law students face additional hurdles
In the legal profession, financial responsibility is often tied to ethical conduct. Lawyers manage trust accounts, client funds and sensitive legal matters. Integrity is non-negotiable.

However, the inability to pay student debts is not inherently dishonest. Some students fall into debt due to circumstances beyond their control, like family obligations, socio-economic conditions, unemployment or the sheer cost of education.

South African courts have grappled with outstanding student debts when it comes to admitting law graduates to the profession. The courts’ approach has been inconsistent.

In Ex Parte Tlotlego the court emphasised that poverty should not bar entry into the legal profession. It said courts should not require proof of debt repayment arrangements, which would be unfair to students from disadvantaged backgrounds.

But in Ex Parte Makamu the court found that a law graduate must still demonstrate how they intend to settle their debts to satisfy the ethical standards of honesty and integrity.

More recently, Ex Parte Galela reinforced this view. The court declined the application for admission because it wasn’t clear why the law graduate hadn’t paid off their debt. It suggested that financial irresponsibility could reflect poorly on the graduate’s character.

The courts’ approach and general student debt-collection practices often fail to differentiate between students who cannot pay and those who choose not to. This distinction is vital. A student who ignores their debt without justification may raise ethical concerns. But a student who is willing to pay yet lacks the financial means should not be penalised.

Solutions
The solution lies in balancing the financial interests of universities with the socio-economic realities of students. Student debts must be repaid, but repayment mechanisms must also be fair and sustainable.

There have been attempts to find a solution, such as the draft Student Relief Bill, which proposes setting up a Student Debt Relief Fund. But that might place unsustainable pressure on the economy.

I have another proposal: allowing graduates to receive their degree certificates regardless of outstanding debt, along with two legislative interventions. These are:

Automatic garnishee orders: upon graduation, an automatic garnishee order (a court order directing an employer to deduct a certain amount from an employee’s income) could be placed on future salaries of a graduate. This would ensure that student debt is repaid over time.

Amendment to the Prescription Act 68 of 1969: This could exclude student debt from prescribing (becoming too old to collect). Normally, such a debt would prescribe after three years. An amendment would allow universities to recover debts for the duration of graduates’ employment, not just within three years.

These measures would uphold the financial sustainability of universities while protecting the dignity and future employment prospects of graduates.

Author
Michele Van Eck
Associate professor in the School of Law at University of the Witwatersrand, who specialises in the areas of contracts, legal ethics and education. , University of the Witwatersrand

Disclosure statement
Michele Van Eck does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

29/08/2025

South Africa’s service delivery crisis: why protesters are using more militant tactics.

Post-apartheid South Africa is characterised by frequent public protests. On average, between 2007 and 2013, there were over 11 protests daily. Research shows that protests almost doubled in the 20 years after 1997.

Service delivery protests – over basic services such as housing, electricity, refuse removal, water and sanitation – feature most prominently in these protests.

These protesters employ diverse tactics at different times: marching to government offices, barricading roads, destroying property and attacking unpopular individuals.

Often people ask why protesters resort to destroying public and private property and attacking people.

I have researched poor people’s struggles for housing and basic services in South Africa since 2012.

This article draws from a study involving 20 in-depth interviews and two focus group discussions in Gugulethu and the same number in Khayelitsha. These are low-income black townships in Cape Town.

The study investigated three inter-related questions: the reasons for protests, the tactics used by protesters, and the character and organisation of the protests. This article focuses on when, how and why different tactics are used in these protests.

It may be easy to blame protesters for barricading roads, vandalising property and attacking people. However, as my study shows, protesters often initially engage in peaceful and orderly marches. They resort to more radical tactics only when peaceful tactics fail to yield results.

Rather than placing the blame squarely on protesters, there is a need to consider the seriousness of their grievances (such as lack of water), and the failure by the authorities to respond speedily and adequately. Genuinely acknowledging and addressing the grievances discourages more militant protest tactics.

Findings
There is often a perception that communities have an appetite to engage in violent protests. But my research shows that this is not the case.

Aggrieved communities often engage in protests to push for the delivery of basic services.

Usually, poor communities first engage in rounds of orderly and peaceful means of engagement with government officials to alert them to their grievances.

These means of engagement – which are less reported by the media – include holding meetings with the officials responsible for addressing their challenges, and handing them written demands.

When all these means of engagement fail to yield fruit, communities resort to more dramatic means of engagement. These include barricading roads to pressure the government to meet their demands. Even when they turn to dramatic tactics, they first exhaust less dramatic ones.

As the scholar-activist Trevor Ngwane has rightly remarked,

When people start hitting the streets, they should have a banner saying: ‘All protocols observed’, because they’ve gone through all the channels … People feel that the only way to be heard, to get attention, is to burn tyres and engage in some of protest.

My research in Gugulethu and Khayelitsha found that a lack of response, or a poor or unsatisfactory response, led to more radical tactics.

For example, a pastor I interviewed explained the rationale for more radical protest tactics with a compelling metaphor. He explained that pain was necessary in order for someone to take action. He gave an example of a person with a sore arm, but who did nothing to address the source of the pain. He reasoned that if someone else pinched the sore arm, this would compel the patient to take necessary steps to ensure that the arm was healed.

In the same way, he explained that the government knew about the “sore arms”, or poor conditions that impoverished communities endured, but chose to ignore them.

To pressure the government to address their grievances, communities sometimes employ radical protest tactics (pinching). For communities enduring appalling service delivery, the momentary inconveniences ensuing from the “pinching” pale in comparison to the ignored service delivery challenges (sore arms).

My research, for example, highlights the precariousness of living in shacks, lacking a bathroom, toilet, running water and electricity.

It is these challenges that residents episodically protest against using primarily orderly means of engagement and sometimes more radical protest tactics to pressure (or pinch) the government to address the challenges.

What should be done?
Tactics such as the destruction of property and attacks on people that sometimes accompany protests should be discouraged. At the same time, it is important to condemn the circumstances that necessitate such radical tactics.

A more responsive government would try to make it unnecessary for people to turn to militant protests to air their grievances. The government should proactively address service delivery challenges and swiftly respond to the complaints raised by communities.

28/08/2025

Africa’s city planners must look to the global south for solutions: Johannesburg and São Paulo offer useful insights.

For decades, the dominant theories and models in urban studies have been built from the experience of a small set of mostly western cities. Other urban contexts, particularly those in Africa, Latin America and Asia, have too often been treated as peripheral, as if they simply copy or lag behind “northern” norms.

Urban geographer Jennifer Robinson has called this out, arguing that urban theory needs to take seriously the diverse realities of all cities. This means starting from places like Johannesburg, South Africa’s commercial capital, and São Paulo, Brazil’s financial capital, not just as isolated case studies, but rather as central sites for understanding dynamic urban processes. The majority of urbanisation in the coming decade will take place in contexts just like these.

I came to Urban Power, a book written by professor of sociology and international affairs at Princeton University Benjamin Bradlow last year, with this framing in mind.

Bradlow’s focus is on three essential urban public goods in São Paulo, population 22 million people, and Johannesburg, population 6.5 million people: housing, transport and sanitation.

His central question is: why are some cities more effective than others at reducing inequalities in the built environment?

The answer lies in what Bradlow calls urban power.

What is ‘urban power’?
Bradlow defines urban power as the way formal and informal relationships come together in a city that influences how that city is governed and ultimately how the public services and infrastructures are distributed across the urban space. Two elements determine how well this functions in any given city context.

First, embeddedness – the ties between city government and social movements in civil society. Second is cohesion. This is the abiltiy of city governments to coordinate across their own departments and agencies.

Bradlow argues that effective urban power is built when both embeddedness and cohesion are strong, as these determine how well policy is informed by and accountable to those most affected.

Thus struggles to build and exercise such power form a core foundation of urban governance. This ultimately shapes both the distribution of urban public goods and how effectively they reach the most marginalised.

Basically, it’s about how those in power are willing and able to coordinate with society and within government to meet everybody’s needs fairly.

Housing: different paths
As São Paulo (1980s) and Johannesburg (1990s) entered their democratic eras, both were led by mayors who explicitly committed to redistributing wealth by extending adequate housing to the most excluded neighbourhoods.

Yet, housing is also the sector in which Bradlow finds some of the starkest contrasts in outcomes between the two cities.

During South Africa’s democratic transition, the rallying cry of “one city, one tax base” brought together neighbourhood associations, social movements and local branches of trade unions. To overcome the fiscal fragmentation left by apartheid, wealthy and largely white areas of the city were to contribute property taxes to a central fiscal administration. This central body would then cross-subsidise precisely the new capital investments in poor black townships.

But in the years that followed, the governing African National Congress (ANC) party demobilised social movements in favour of a centralised one-party system.

The effects of this were evident in Johannesburg. Weakened ties between the city government and civil society (embeddedness) led to the municipal bureaucracy becoming increasingly detached from housing movements. As a result, it was poorly positioned to challenge the dominance of private real-estate interests.

In São Paulo, the municipal bureaucracy maintained close ties with housing movements. It used this embeddedness to build cohesion within its own ranks. This enabled the city to make use of national mandates to challenge the power of real-estate interests and introduce innovations that expanded social housing.

Central to this effort was the 2001 City Statute. This piece of legislation enshrined the “social function of property,” a constitutional right, at the city level. The legal framework unlocked tools such as the Special Zones of Social Interest (ZEIS), which reserved well-located land for social housing.

Crucially, São Paulo became one of the first major Brazilian cities to adopt a master plan that explicitly advanced the redistributive goals of housing movements.

São Paulo’s housing story is far from perfect. And the city still struggles to meet the demand for affordable housing. Nevertheless, it has made important strides.

Transport: institutions or technology first?
Bradlow illustrates how São Paulo pursued an “institutions first” approach towards transport. For years, social movements had pressed for lower fares and better services to the city’s peripheries. Responding to these demands, the Erundina administration (1989-1992) restructured the relationship between private bus operators and the municipal concessioning authority. Fare revenue was collected by the authority itself. It then paid operators based on the quality and quantity of service provided.

This shift allowed the city to introduce reforms like the bilhete único, a single ticket valid across the entire network. It meant that shorter trips subsidised longer ones. This made access more equitable regardless of where one lived. In addition, large and small operators were integrated into a single system, revenue became more predictable, and planning could prioritise network-wide benefits.

Johannesburg, by contrast, led with a “technology first” approach. The Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) system, Rea Vaya, emerged in the early 2000s. However, the minibus taxi operators, who were the backbone of existing transport, were largely excluded from the planning process.

The BRT’s economics were challenging from the outset, given Johannesburg’s spatial fragmentation. Operators were offered shares in newly created bus companies if they withdrew their taxis. But this arrangement relied on an untested profit model.

Institutional complexity (lack of cohesison) compounded the problem. Operational licences and recapitalisation were controlled at the provincial rather than the municipal level. Most importantly, the lack of embeddedness meant that resistance from the local operators was almost inevitable.

The comparison of the transport sector highlights a recurring theme. São Paulo’s slower, messier process fostered embeddedness. It treated redistribution through collective transport as a political project rather than a technocratic exercise. Johannesburg pursued a faster, technology-driven route that bypassed the negotiations which might have made the system more sustainable.

Sanitation: building accountability
If housing is a residential public good and transport a networked one, sanitation sits in between. It’s delivered to individual homes, but reliant on city-wide infrastructure.

Bradlow highlights how in São Paulo, the municipal government succeeded in creating downward accountability from the state-level sanitation company (cohesion). By doing so, it shifted decision-making power closer to the local level. This ensured that service priorities better reflected the city’s everyday realities rather than distant state-level agendas.

The new alignment made it possible to extend services into informal settlements without requiring formal tenure, a critical flexibility that had long been a barrier to inclusion. At the same time, it strengthened municipal planning and coordination capacity. Service delivery became more firmly embedded within the city’s own governance structures.

In Johannesburg, by contrast, weak cohesion, reflected in the lack of planning integration, meant housing projects were often implemented without corresponding sanitation infrastructure. Reforms had separated sanitation from broader spatial planning, fostering fragmented governance.

The city also adopted a model shaped by private-sector principles. Examples include self-financing, performance-based contracting, and competition. In practice, these led to service cuts in poorer areas where cost recovery was impossible.

The comparison illustrates how the same broad national reform agenda can play out very differently depending on municipal capacity and institutional alignment (cohesion).

Why the comparison matters
Cross-context comparisons reveal patterns and possibilities that single-city studies might miss. Bradlow’s book illuminates how rapid urbanisation, entrenched inequality and fiscal constraints intersect. These insights have significance far beyond these cases.

His book is a call for urban theory to start from the global south not as an afterthought, but as a foundation. As urban studies specialist Jane Jacobs observed:

"Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody only because, and only when, they are created by everybody."

Bradlow’s book shows, with precision, what it takes, politically and institutionally, to make that vision real.

Author
Astrid R.N. Haas
Research associate at African Centre for Cities, University of Cape Town

Disclosure statement
Astrid R.N. Haas does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

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