Review: The Lexus and the Olive Tree by Thomas Friedman

The author of The Lexus and the Olive Tree, Thomas Friedman says he had – and I agree with him – the best job in the world. He was foreign affairs columnist for The New York Times. The way he tells it, this meant Friedman got to travel wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted and to write about it.

Out of those travels, comes this book, Friedman’s take on globalisation. It’s an aggressively pro-globalisation work, perhaps a manifesto, of sorts, for globalists with a conscience. Friedman balances his defence of the free-market with a social democratic concern for the consequences of rapid liberalisation.

Friedman conceives of globalisation as a system rather than a process. Globalisation has replaced the Cold War as the dominant system in the world, shaping the lives and livelihoods of us all. Within this system, the Lexus and the olive tree represent the two most important forces. The Lexus symbolises aspiration, wealth, technological development and innovation, whilst olive trees represent what roots people – culture, family and tradition. Often these two forces are in conflict and seeing the world through these two prisms provides great insight into current affairs. These two symbols are just some of those used by the author, whose genius for metaphor keeps the book accessible and readable as well as enlightening.

Whilst The Lexus and the Olive Tree was first published in 1999 and some of the examples it uses are a little dated now, the flip side of this is that one can appreciate the wisdom of some of Friedman’s prophetic ideas.

Indeed, Friedman’s view of globalisation goes beyond an analysis of political and economic affairs, as if it were some kind of overbearing conception not just of current affairs but of humanity itself. Where others talk about growing economic interdependence and market liberalisation, Friedman talks about Globalization the all-encompassing. At some points it’s almost verging on some kind of religious idea, going beyond public affairs to philosophy.

A friend of mine once described this book as “the only book you need to introduce you to politics”. That might be an exaggeration, but this is a book you should read to understand globalisation. It covers geopolitics, trade, anti-globalisation, human rights, faith, consumption, the environment, finance, labour and domestic politics. This is a truly outstanding book that has genuinely changed the way I think about the world.

Chapter two, entitled “Information Arbitrage” is, for example, an inspiring blueprint for a brave new world, whilst chapter 11 highlights the crucial importance of democratisation and openness as requirements for economic development and growth.

If the book has a weakness, it is the lack of attention given to cultural issues. Friedman does look at the Americanization and homogenisation of diverse cultures, but not to the extent one would have liked. On the other hand, the author himself concedes that a good discussion of this would require another book in its own right. Nonetheless, one feels that perhaps the issue isn’t covered in the depth it deserves because Friedman doesn’t really have any answers. On the other hand, maybe we’re all just underestimating the strength and durability of the olive trees.

On a similar note, Friedman describes a world which is getting faster, more competitive and more ruthless. To a large degree he glorifies this. But there’s another side to this story. Maybe this brave new world isn’t all Friedman paints it to be. There are downsides to it that he doesn’t address fully enough. It is, above all, a question about quality of life.  Friedman asks: What if the requisite flexibility, ruthlessness and so on is too hard and too fast for too long for developed countries and individuals? People can come not to want the Lexus, if this is the price. Overconnectedness and disconnection both have serious consequences. Friedman does note that there are empowering and humanizing aspects of globalisation that need to be balanced with its disempowering and dehumanizing aspects. I’d have preferred a fuller treatment of this.

Friedman finishes his book my discussing the politics of globalisation, or more specifically, the need for the political sphere to work harder to defend globalisation. He says that globalisers are in real danger of being right on the economics but losing on the politics in this debate. This warning remains as germane today as it was then.

The Lexus and the Olive Tree is an extraordinary book. It is the best introduction to globalisation that I have yet read. Friedman’s writing style allows the content to remain both intelligent and engaging, while his experiences as a journalist inform this book throughout. You shouldn’t buy just one book about globalisation. But start with this one.

The Lexus and the Olive Tree by Thomas Friedman is published by Harper Collins (1999).

Development Drums

I’ve been hearing a lot recently about Development Drums, a new podcast hosted by Owen Barder. As a newcomer – and maybe a convert – to podcasting (listening, that is, not recording), I thought I’d give it a listen. I found myself listening over and above my housemate’s accordion playing, which added a certain je ne sais quoi.

The podcast is intended to be a weekly development update and news roundup, something which, so far at least, it seems to be doing pretty well. The first episode featured conversation with Simon Maxwell of the ODI on various matters, including the global governance of aid regimes. The second episode – a great improvement on the first – included Adrian Wood discussing the capping of aid and Peter DaCosta on power sharing in Zimbabwe.

With both episodes so far clocking in at over an hour long, I did find them a little arduous to sit through in full. Perhaps two, half hour, episodes per week might work better. On the other hand, perhaps I’m just not hardcore enough. As the podcast develops and grows, bringing in a greater degree of listener involvement/interactivity would be interesting, though not to the degree of soliciting text messages every five minutes, as you’d get on the radio. Using the participants to answer listener questions, for example, might be an option. (I’m now envisaging some kind of international development version of Gardener’s Question Time, and rethinking.)

Development Drums is a very useful creation and I suspect it will become indispensable listening for me. I’m beginning my formal studies of development politics next week and I’ll be recommending it to my colleagues, if it isn’t already known to them.

In short, this is what podcasting was invented for. More power to their elbows and all that…

Review: In Defense of Globalization by Jagdish Bhagwati

Jagdish Bhagwati is widely felt to be one of the most brilliant trade economists alive today. He is therefore well qualified for the task of defending globalisation – the eponymous mission of this book. He does succeed, but to a limited degree.

Alongside Martin Wolf’s Why Globalization Works, Bhagwati’s text is designed to address and disarm the intellectual stream commonly referred to as the globalisation “backlash”. This is a laudable aim and both works were much beloved of the likes of the Financial Times and The Economist, though they were less influential with the public at large. This book is not the definitive defence – I don’t think that has been written yet – but it is a strong attempt. Unfortunately, Professor Bhagwati tends to stick too close to his own specialism – trade – and thus fails to make a broad enough case. He does address capital account convertibility, but this is almost the only point at which a non-trade related issue is examined.

At times, the author seems excessively desperate to make the argument that globalisation is beneficial. In short, he tries a little too hard and as a result, the book is a mix of both high-quality and facile arguments. There is an occasional tendency to bend over backwards in his attempt, so far as to have contorted himself rather unpleasantly. His apologia for the behaviour of Royal Dutch/Shell in Ogoniland is one prominent example. Sometimes Bhagwati will se a single anecdote to back up his entire argument, which struck this reader as rather undermining his case – if all that can be found to defend his point is a story about his maid (for example), it must be a pretty weak point.

The author is a clearly somewhat of a raconteur and there is a tendency for the text to stretch out needlessly. However, at other times, Bhagwati’s use of stories and literary reference adds a much needed richness and variety to the text. I would also suggest that Professor Bhagwati should occasionally rein in his sharp tongue. There are several comments which instead of coming off as witty seem instead merely snide and malicious.

All the same, the book is for the most part, on what I see as the “right” side of this debate. Globalisation isn’t hailed as a panacea, nor as perfect, but it is interpreted as both unavoidable and ultimately beneficial.

Perhaps the most appealing part of Bhagwati’s polemic is that he isn’t – as one might have expected – a stereotypical right-wing market fundamentalist. His is a trade liberal, granted, but his attitude to capital controls belies a profound social conscience. Indeed, in many cases Bhagwati seems to be defending globalisation from what may be called – rather simplistically – a left wing perspective. For example, he promotes trade liberalisation above all as a means to fight poverty. We need to hear more voices like this.

The book also makes the point that (anti-) globalisation activists – of all shades – need to suit up, both metaphorically and literally. That is, they should professionalise if they want to be taken more seriously. Whilst demonstrations can have an effect, if the aggrieved really want to be heard sympathetically, they would do better to – quite literally – put on a suit and meet with those in power in a measured and mature way.

In Defense of Globalization is for the most part an enlightening and well-argued work. Whilst I cannot accept all that Professor Bhagwati claims, I will be keeping this volume near my desk for frequent reference.

In Defense of Globalization by Jagdish Bhagwati is published by Oxford University Press (2007).

Review: Globalization and Its Discontents by Joseph Stiglitz

In Globalization and Its Discontents, Nobel laureate and former World Bank Chief Economist Joseph Stiglitz attacks the ways in which IMF policy has been (mis)managed in recent decades. His focus moves from Eastern Europe and Russia to South America and Asia and examines botched transitions from communism, development lending and conditionality as well as liberalisation and capital market stability. Broadly speaking, Globalization and Its Discontents is a diatribe against “market fundamentalism”.

He attacks several of the institutions of global economics with a passion, but saves his worst and most bitter criticisms for the IMF, with which – according to his own account at least – he battled for years. In this way, Stiglitz has written what is in essence a work of self-defence. He is perhaps more modest than he could have been but nonetheless rarely misses a chance to but highlight his achievements and pre-emptively defend himself. One example is his tendency to say “I would have done this” rather than “they should have done this”.

Meanwhile, Stiglitz presents his argument as one of common sense versus the doctrinaire “market fundamentalists”. He attacks the ideological motivation of the Washington Consensus, yet his own prescriptions are often no more commonsensical, and certainly just as ideological. The only difference is that where the IMF takes its cue from Hayek, Stiglitz takes his from Keynes.

The most significant problem is with the text itself. Stiglitz’s book is simply far too repetitive. To say that he labours the point is a gross understatement. It’s not just that he tells the same sort of story over and over, but more that so many of his sentences and paragraphs are needlessly followed by another that rephrases the same point in another way. This kind of padding is unnecessary and extremely frustrating. It renders the text a chore rather than a pleasure.

Unfortunately, the second problem with the book is a simple failure to deliver. To give this book the title Globalization and Its Discontents vastly oversells the content. If you are interested in the policies of the IMF over the ‘80s and ‘90s, you will be reasonably well served, but if you desire to know something about globalisation and its discontents, I would advise you look elsewhere.

Sometimes the copy-editing seems to be inadequate, or else perhaps the fault is with Stiglitz’s writing. At one point, he tells us that “they focused on the rapidity of privatization, a sign that the privatization process was proceeding apace.” This kind of phrasing is both common and extremely frustrating.

I am also irked by the way Stiglitz presents the phenomenon of globalisation. He seems to be claiming that globalisation is not “working”. This makes it sound as if it were some project being badly managed. My conception of globalisation is more one of a historical process. It neither works nor fails. It is neither efficient nor inefficient. It simply is. I don’t think this is a simple debate over the use of terms – how we conceive of these phenomena significantly affects the ways in which we react to them. For me at least, globalisation isn’t something one can manage, but rather something that can be harnessed.

In summary, this book is useful, enlightening and highly valid. But only up to a point. This book kicked off a valuable debate when it first came out, but one cannot help feel that there must by now be simply better books on this same topic, more wide ranging, more interesting, more helpful. The reader should not expect a “guide to the misgovernment of globalization” as Jamie Galbraith called it. However, Globalization and Its Discontents does stand as a good introduction to the failings of the IMF.

Globalization and Its Discontents by Joseph Stiglitz is published by Penguin (2002).

Review: No Logo by Naomi Klein

The quotation on the cover calls No Logo “the Das Kapital of the growing anti-corporate movement”. This is no doubt an exaggeration, not to mention a poor comparison, but there is some truth in it. At any rate, it is more imaginative and less clichéd than calling the book a “bible”. Klein’s book (her first) has been elevated to the position of essential reading for the wannabe/newbie anti-globalisation activist. Of course, No Logo chronicled a pre-existing anti-corporate trend. In fact, Klein captured the burgeoning phenomenon at the right time – just before the Seattle WTO protests – and thereby came to define it. Ironically, to some extent, No Logo itself almost became a brand of a kind. Visiting Klein’s website demonstrates how the author herself has cultivated a corporate identity.

The book itself is divided into four sections. The first, entitled No Space, explains Klein’s view of branding and its implications for public cultural space. The second, No Choice, discusses the tactics used by large businesses to dominate the marketplace, including mergers, bulk buying leverage and corporate censorship. Thirdly, labour rights, sweatshops and global employment issues are the focus of the No Jobs section. The book ends by looking at growing methods of anti-corporate activism in the largest segment – No Logo.

For me, the chapters on branding were amongst the most interesting. Klein’s key idea is that the most cutting-edge businesses no longer produce products, but brands. The business of manufacturing can be outsourced to others, often foreign factories. Businesses such as Nike – a recurring example – can concentrate on what they now see as their core mission – cultivating their brand. They are in effect glorified marketers, selling not just a mere product, but a lifestyle, an image, an identity. Of course, this can be obtained simply by purchasing the product in question. That this is an illusion is considered too obvious for discussion. But the implications of this outsourcing as well as the increasingly invasive marketing tactics of these corporations constitute the theme of the book.

No Logo repeats the common assertion that corporate branding has drastically extended into public space – be it schools, cultural events, or even towns themselves. The problem for Klein is that the result is a situation in which public affairs are seen to be impossible without the generosity of corporate sponsors. I would have preferred a more extensive explanation of just why this is such a problem. For sure, I entirely agree with her, but I myself have trouble explaining why it is that the protection of a (perhaps imaginary) “pure” public space is so important. A more developed discussion of the damaging effects of the loss of public space, be it mental or physical, would have been welcome. In fact, Klein frequently assumes that it is obvious to the reader why the phenomena described throughout the book are A Bad Thing. To some extent it is obvious, but her overall argument would be better served by a more in-depth and principled critique.

Furthermore, much of the comically excessive corporate intervention Klein documents in the early chapters of the book is barely recognisable to the British reader. Some allowance must be made for this, given that much of Klein’s experience comes from the more commercialised societies of North America.

But No Logo is by no means focused solely on the impact of these phenomena on Americans. The second half of the book addresses the role of American and western capital abroad, looking at labour conditions in developing world factories supplying the great American corporations, as well as the global aspects of anti-globalisation attitudes.

At times, Klein seems to conceive the process of globalisation as nothing other than marketing. It is created and driven by marketing, as well as existing for the sole benefit of the product, via the concept of the “global teen”. Globalisation, for Klein, is subordinated to shopping. This is a disappointingly simplistic assessment which ignores all the ways in which diverse people interact in ways free from corporate influence. Klein exaggerates the extent to which businesses have usurped free civic activity, be it local or global.

Indeed, the author often labours her point. A good proportion of the book is made up of the same points unnecessarily repeated in various permutations. Given the size of the text (458 pages), one is left feeling slightly short-changed. However, she seems to be aware that her argument is often overdone and occasionally plays devil’s advocate against her own case. This is a welcome degree of balance and prevents No Logo from becoming a tiresome polemical tract. Klein’s wit and self-deprecation is also essential in preventing the text from becoming cliché. Klein’s style, which is very easy to get used to, is highly engaging. It is intelligent and elegant without being overly intellectual, ironic yet honest.

Of particular interest to scholars of the anti-/alter-globalisation movement is Klein’s assertion that while young activists were focused on the 1990s “identity wars” (ie. religious rights, homosexual “liberation”, feminism and so on), capital looked outward and expanded its grasp. (Note Klein’s sharp division between capital and activism.) Today, according to Klein, activists as a whole are a step behind as regards globalisation. Capital was first to appreciate and benefit from the potential of late 20^th century globalisation and the activist community (if such a thing exists) must pay the penalty for its insularity: “in this new globalized context, the victories of identity politics have amounted to a rearranging of the furniture while the house burned down.”

Klein’s focus on export processing zones is also very welcome. These “free trade areas” deserve far more attention than they receive, even today. Yet Klein’s sympathetic attitude towards labour standards does not stop her from accepting the complexity of the sweatshop issue in a mature fashion. One of the most shocking reports in this chapter of the book is that of the discrimination against pregnant women in Mexican maquiladoras. Not only are young women hired on a 28 day basis (all the easier to fire them should they become pregnant), but they are also forced to attend sanitary pad inspections in order to prove they are menstruating.

Klein has a tendency to use a single example to prove general rules, but after all, No Logo is a work of polemic. Nonetheless, in many ways, the book was actually much more tempered and sensible than I had expected.

The key problem is that No Logo is preaching to the choir. If this book is truly the “Das Kapital of the anti-corporate movement”, it has failed in its mission. The closing remarks of the afterword are telling. Klein writes of “we in this movement”. As I have stressed above, Klein has managed to write an account of a movement that has subsequently itself become a key text of that movement. To this extent it has been very popular, but one wonders how far it has succeeded in evangelising beyond that core of activists. No Logo would instead be done real justice if it were read as a starting point by ordinary, non-activist citizens who have just begun to take an interest in these matters.

I myself began reading No Logo with scepticism, but Naomi Klein’s charm has won me over. Despite my low expectations (and the flaws that I did find), this is an intelligent, well written book, sober yet optimistic.

No Logo by Naomi Klein is published by Harper Perennial (2005).