Abstract
This article, based on ethnographic research conducted with people in Brazil and Zimbabwe, reports organization/management experiences and narratives of poor and marginalized people of the south. South embodies the organizational struggle, survival skills and resilience of marginal and urban outcasts that inhabit inner cities, townships and slums. The article employs the notion of kukiya-favela organization, i.e. the organization of the excluded, to engage with them in order to: give voice to those who dwell at the margins of organization studies; make their narratives part of a subject that retains an elitist position; and re-address the Eurocentric management/organization discourse that imposes a legitimate justification for exploiting, excluding and labelling them as organization-less and urban outcasts of society. The article concludes that despite their marginality and exclusion they are able to construct local diverse meaningful (organizational) identities that can represent them with dignity in their struggle for justice and basic human rights. Finally, it reflects on the contribution this has for us, in organization studies, by opening new spaces for the study of organization[al] (lives) not from positions of ‘above’ or ‘against’ but ‘with’ (Gergen, 2003: 454).
Who am I when I do not know a single cultural element When I know not a single practice of my people When I eventually use my language so badly And I adopt a language that will not explain my being I promote foreign citizenry Picking up cultures and practices of my neighbours Until I praise their heroes Even those that killed our own people. Extract from: Ubuzwe Bami (My Citizenry) by Dion Nkomo (2008)
This article, based on ethnographic research conducted with people in Brazil and Zimbabwe, reports organization/management experiences and narratives (Boje, 2003; Gergen and Gergen, 1984) of poor and marginalized people of the south. South is a highly problematic and contested (pejorative) concept that implies not only a geographical divide between the developed west (such as Europe and North America) and the underdeveloped south (such as Latin America and Africa) but also the cultural, economic, social and political inequalities that prevail in capitalist global societies created largely by colonial, postcolonial and neo-colonial practices (Mignolo, 2007; Quijano, 2007). Here though, we emphasize south as the place and space in which urban areas of Africa, Latin America and Asia are occupied (mostly illegally) by individuals and families that attempt to carve a living from scarce resources, jobs, basic sanitation and health, and overall opportunities to succeed in life (Bendiksen, 2008; Werlin, 1999). South embodies the organizational struggle, survival skills and resilience of the marginal, the urban outcasts (banlieues) (Musterd, 2008) and the ‘nobodies’ that inhabit (inner cities, townships and) slums (Gilbert, 2007):
[N]obodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. Who are not, but could be. Who don’t speak languages, but dialects. Who don’t have religions, but superstitions. Who don’t create art, but handicrafts. Who don’t have culture, but folklore. The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them. (Galeano, 1992: 73)
We wish to engage here with the organizational practices and narratives of the marginal and the poor in order to: first, give voice to their existence in organization studies; second, make them part of a subject that retains an elitist position to account for their knowledge (Gergen, 2003); and third to re-address (with them) the Eurocentric management/organization discourse, ingrained in rational management practices and theories and neo-liberalist economic ideology (Gantman, 2005) that imposes a legitimate justification for their exploitation (Walsh, 2007) and ultimately their exclusion from society.
The poor, according to S’bu Zikode (2008), remain excluded from the neoliberal organization of the globalized society. They dwell and work in the periphery, without recognition and acknowledgement of their existence (Siciliano, 2007). From their dilapidated communities and isolated from society, they organize and manage their work and life spaces in townships, streets or slums (Davis, 2006; Wacquant, 2001). They are a large (growing) contingent of more than one billion people (Global Issues, 2011; United Nations Habitat Report, 2003) whose income is equivalent to or less than $ 1.25 dollars a day (Global Issues, 2011). They are usually on the move, migrating from the countryside to urban areas in search of work and better living conditions (see e.g. Chatterji, 2005). Yet, they cannot afford housing and jobs in the modern urban city, ending up in shacks (Gilbert and Crankshaw, 1999).
The poor are a heterogeneous, culturally dispersed and diverse group, aspiring for similar things such as autonomy (from the conventional hierarchy of political and economic institutions) and solidarity (for social justice) (Hellman, 1995). Theirs is a different narrative of organization and management; one that the conventional knowledge imposed by a Eurocentric vision (Dussell, 2006) of how to organize cannot explain or describe.
The ontological and epistemological circumstances in which millions have to organize and manage in the south are invisible from mainstream management and organization studies. Management as a global discourse and practice founded on western (Anglo-American) rationality and market principles imposes a foreign way of life (Alcadipani, 2010). It is a first world practice and ideology (Cooke, 2004; Gantman, 2005) that attempts to homogenize local practices and values into one. These practices and values usually reflect (American) managerialist practices that promote individuality, competition, modernity and progression in private and public organizations (Faria and Guedes, 2010). This acts as an imperialist and postcolonial (Banerjee and Linstead, 2001; Ibarra-Colado, 2006) narrative under which all interpretations and representations of organizing and managing have to be done. It communicates a culture of technocracy, rationality, efficiency and neoliberalism (Cooke, 2010; Imas, 2010) that subjugates communities and people of the entire south. It epitomizes, in other words, the ‘design’, structuring, representation and interpretation of organization within what Gantman and Parker (2006) regard as a capitalist-scientific-western way of thinking and acting in private and public life. For example, Lutz (2009) considers that the promotion of owner wealth-maximization that western management promotes may result in detrimental effects for communities and the environment in Africa, promoting in some cases unethical behaviour. Hodge and Coronado (2006) show how the managerialist discourse can reduce an entire country (Mexico) to a mere commodity consumed by global corporations and international institutions alike.
Thus, the managerialist discourse populates the world, re-colonizing (or post-colonizing) the way in which people have to manage their [socio-economic] lives and experience organization (see e.g. Ibarra-Colado, 2010). Most importantly, it roots the knowledge production of management and organization within the western tradition of managerial thinking that defines what should be studied and how (Jack et al., 2008).
We attempt to move away here from this managerialist tradition that suppresses and derogates the narratives of the poor; their knowledge about how to live and organize. To understand their organizational stories from their own ‘local’ experiences may contribute to an appreciation of the richness and significance that they may have in constructing a more open and participative way of organizing and managing people, resources, communities, institutions and the land. In short, to start engaging, constructing and disseminating narratives of organization from the poor south.
This article addresses this significant issue that affects millions of people under the notion of Kukiya-favela organization, i.e. organization narrative of the excluded. Kukiya-favela organization refers to managing and organizing of those who have to dwell at the margins of society; those whose organizational lives are permanently associated with poverty and survival; and those whose knowledge is disregarded as marginal and inconsequential as they are located in the periphery and slums (Wacquant, 2008b). Focusing on ethnographic research conducted in streets, slums and townships in both cities, Harare (Zimbabwe) and Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), we posit organizing/managing as an alter process built not under western discourses of organization/management but rather embedded in experiences and narratives constructed by actors whose ways of organizing are disfranchised from mainstream economics, society and politics and therefore organization. This article attempts to articulate these alter-voices in order to understand organization and management in places such as slums.
We recognize here that a critical discourse versed on postcoloniality, i.e. to make speak the people who have been silenced and domesticated by the sign of colonial Europe (Galeano, 1997; Loomba, 1998; Said, 1979, 1996), appears to be the ‘ideal’ framework upon which to construct this article as an alternative to the Eurocentric managerialist discourse. Indeed, as others in the field had successfully demonstrated (e.g. Calás and Smircich, 1999, 2003; Mir and Mir, 2003; Prasad, 2003; Tedmanson and Saleem, 2009) the power of this discourse to engage with organization and management in disenfranchised communities is appealing, powerful and effective in reflecting the ‘other’ realities and experiences. However, we believe that such a construct still imposes a language and a practice upon which to construct an argument in order to justify knowledge and experiences that do not conform to the style and content for narrating management or organization (Gandhi, 1998). Reflecting on this point, we acknowledge that by writing our thoughts in English, we alter the ‘local’ way of expressing managing or organizing; indeed to some extent we conform. We are also aware that by translating part of our narratives from Brazilian Portuguese to English and asking our Zimbabwean participants to speak English we are revising the language and culture of the participants in this study. We are affecting the flow of their experiences and re-constructing knowledge on their behalf that may not truly reflect the richness of their (organizing and managing) narrative experiences. Certainly, we are acutely aware of the problematic that this implies, especially for writing the ‘other’ or about the other (Mignolo, 2008). Yet, by accepting the limitations of researching subaltern voices (Spivak, 2010) and re-positioning ourselves as co-authors (Shotter, 1992; Shotter and Cunliffe, 2003) and participants in a socio-dialogical sense (co-creating with the other) (Shotter, 1998; Shotter and Billig, 1998) our article allows for stories and discourses that form a different kind of meaning to emerge in the [co-]construction of organizing experiences in places that are marginal and neglected. The article then contributes to further question the Eurocentric managerialist discourse, providing an insight into organizing practices and narratives that are ignored or ‘illegitimate’ in the mainstream western management and organization literature due to their simplicity and lack of sophisticated philosophical ‘bite’.
We regard notions of periphery, marginality and south as derogatory (Wacquant, 2006). These concepts point to an organizing and managing that appears to be substandard, illegitimate and unacceptable to mainstream management and organization (as conceived in the west). However, in the present economic and moral crisis that inhibits the emergence of alternative solutions, marginality becomes necessary and relevant. Alternative ideas may provide a stimulus in practice (and not just rhetorically) towards a discourse of managing founded in understanding and meaning that emerges from unexplored settings or those which have been neglected, marginalized and without a voice. Our research suggests that from marginal organizational dwellers, we may be able to learn values, discourses and practices that promote a different kind of organizing and managing founded in solidarity and basic human rights as well as presenting us with other challenges such as violence and crime. But as Scheper-Huges (2008) suggests, to share the everyday resilience that excluded and oppressed people possess: ‘living and surviving to tell the tale—is more than enough to celebrate’ (p. 52).
Finally, we think the communication and transfer of this knowledge is vital for our understanding of how things work for a large majority of people in countries such as Brazil or Zimbabwe where poor inhabitants rely on their business and organizing practices. It requires recognition from our part to understand the way people in these places feel, live, work and experience organization. We need to recognize the importance of this generative knowledge (see e.g. Freire, 2008). It may allow other communities and organizations to understand their place and how they can organize better in order to make better decisions; to create more democratic and participative ways of managing. In our opinion, this is invaluable knowledge that connects the dispossessed and the marginal from one continent to another; from Kenya to India; from South Africa to Argentina; from Zimbabwe to Brazil.
Henceforth, in the rest of the article we discuss further the notion of kukiya-favela organization; we present briefly our method of engagement followed by the presentation of kukiya-favela organization narratives, and drawing finally some reflections on the meaning and implications for studying the excluded and dispossessed.
Kukiya-Favela organization of the excluded
In this article we address organization and management narrative of the excluded; what we refer to as kukiya-favela organization. For us, kukiya-favela organization builds on values and traditions associated with three African (survival) strategies and practices. First, strategies associated with economic and social survival, Kukiya-kiya (from which we borrow ‘kukiya` to coin our term). Second, the ones that promote participative learning, Mbongi. Third, the ones associated with solidarity, Ubuntu. It also builds on the Brazilian notion of favela, 1 i.e. slum or shantytown. These are spaces and places of exclusion experienced by poor and disenfranchised actors of Brazil (Cavalcanti, 2008). Both, favela and Kukiya concepts help us to co-create (with local people) a different narrative of organizing and managing that informs how individual members create identities, practices, history and discourses that symbolize more representative ways of constructing organization and management from neglected and marginalized communities in the poor south (see e.g. Piccolo, 2009). It is neither a metaphor nor a label, but a path to address the imbalances in knowledge production, cultural representations and life conditions that affect people in marginalized areas and whose voices have been disenfranchised from main discourse such as the ones of management/organization.
Kukiya-favela is an excluded space that reflects marginality, social inequality, ethnic division and segregation. This is not a space empty of meaning, history and struggle. According to Lefebvre (1991) space is produced by and reproduces social relationships. The (social) space is shaped by the way social hierarchies actualize themselves in a given historical moment; a product of historical power struggles (Lefebvre, 1991; Wacquant, 2008a). Social relations, Lefebvre maintains, derive from that struggle and become spatialized according to the hegemonic political order. Organizations are equally the result of that historical struggle (see e.g. Clegg, 2002; Davis et al., 2005). For example, Spicer and Böhm (2007) look at how (historical and philosophical) social resistance and collective struggle among social movements can counter-act the hegemonic management discourse of organization. Banerjee (2008) looks at how some contemporary capitalist practices contribute to dispossession and subjugation of life in what he describes as the organization and management of global violence which is experienced by indigenous communities around the world. Misoczky (2006) discusses the voices of resistance and struggle of indigenous organization in Latin America in order to explore emancipative and local managerial practices.
In the case of Kukiya-favela, we found that struggle in the way favela-spaces have been constituted by favelados (i.e. members of a favela) (Berenstein-Jacques, 2001). The history of struggle can be traced back to the quilombos, i.e. the communities founded by African fugitive slaves who fought against the repression and torture of European Brazilians in the 17th century (Sepúlveda Dos Santos, 2008). This struggle continued in the 1960s and 1970s when military regimes forcefully destroyed and removed favelados in order to ‘clean up’ these (social-organized) spaces (Mendonça and Benjamin, 1997; Zaluar, 1985). Later on in 1980s the emergence of drug commerce inside favelas prompted another type of internal violence and disruption (Vargas, 2006). Historically, politically and economically, this shapes relationships from the inside and the outside; it creates an identity which for Sepúlveda Dos Santos (2008) is constructed primarily from the outside. Thus, the result is a subordinated narrative of marginality and exclusion (Perlman, 2004) that describes what those organizations and their members are.
Similarly, segregation or ‘favelisation’ has been experienced by the natives of Zimbabwe since colonial times. Townships or high-density areas were created (in the 1950s) in Salisbury (the colonial name of Harare) to accommodate the flow of labourers moving into town from the rural areas (Raftopoulos, 1999). In these places, up until independence in 1980, indigenous Zimbabweans were forced (by law) to reside and live in underdeveloped, and segregated conditions (Bond, 1999). After independence the number of indigenous Zimbabweans increased dramatically in urban areas because many unemployed were looking for work. Many could only afford to live in the former townships. Although slums were never allowed to develop in Zimbabwe, people in the high density areas lived in poor conditions, which subsequently deteriorated in the 1990s and 2000s. The failed economic structural adjustment programme of the 1990s and the land reform in the 2000s led to harsh economic conditions, which exacerbated social conditions even further through the shortage of jobs, houses, and amenities in these excluded areas. The urban poor supported themselves though informal activities which grew during these harsh conditions (Mlambo, 2008). In 2005 the government launched operation Murambatsvina to address the growing informal sector. During this time the informal shacks and work places of many poor urban dwellers were smashed and burned, destroying their livelihood and pushing them further to the margins of social life (Tibaijuka, 2005). Although these spaces (favelas in Brazil and townships in Zimbabwe) are quite different historically, politically, and economically, there are distinct parallels between the conditions of the urban poor, and their marginalization.
According to Wacquant (2007), marginality tends to concentrate in isolated places that are characterized as social purgatories, leprous badlands at the heart of the postindustrial metropolis, where only the refuse of society would accept to dwell. This imposes a form of stigmata on the way we look at and define these places. Goffman (1963) describes three type of stigmata: through the abomination of the body; blemishes of individual character; and, marks of race, nation and religion. The third of Goffman’s stigmata explains marginality of kukiya-favela organizations within society and within the modernist managerialist grand narrative. The stigmatization of kukiya-favela members deprives them from any humanity and cultural familiarity. It appropriates their narratives, presenting an image of violence and fear (Smith, 1987; Wacquant, 2007); a degradation of their existence that defines them as human dirt.
For example, Jacarezinho favela is described as a black, degraded, amoral and violent organization due to the drug trade, even though a large proportion of their members are not participants of this trade and certainly not supporters of violence (Vargas, 2006). We found echoes of this way of describing and interpreting such organizations in other places across the globe described as slums (see e.g. Gibson, 2008).
For Wacquant (2004, 2007) the very proliferation of these imposed narrative-labels that ‘designate’ the dispersed and disparate populations caught in the pincer of social and spatial marginalization—e.g. the job-less, home-less, organization-less and management-less—speaks volumes about the state of symbolic derangement afflicting the fringes and fissures of our societies. It degrades their existence, condemning favelados to ignominious disappearance.
Exclusion of these individuals from mainstream employment in the formal structured sense (of organization) pushes them to rely on individual strategies of self-improvising and provisioning, shadow work and quasi-institutionalized hustling (Engbersen, 1996; Gershuny, 1983; Wacquant, 2005). Žižek (2008) considers this as an opportunity to cut all significant ties with state regulation and standardized norms that institutionalize most working life. As a consequence, Žižek (2008) explains, dwellers in these places have no choice but to invent some new forms of being-together, embracing new alternative ways of coping, producing and acting in their lives; hitherto, a different form of organizing knowledge that acknowledges their existence and predicaments. Kukiya(-kiya) comes to illustrate Žižek’s observations on dwelling at the margins of (organizational and managerial global) life.
Kukiya-kiya, is an old chiShona word that means cleverness and dodging for self-sustenance (Jones, 2010). It epitomizes the strategies of survival and subsistence of people who dwell at the margins of Zimbabwean society. It represents informal strategies employed by people who are excluded from mainstream organizations to cope with their state of exclusion and depravation. In the margins, it is defined as just improvising and doing anything in order to make a living or survive (Mpofu, 2011). It is similar to the notion of jeito in Brazil (Scheper-Hughes, 1992, 2008) or jeitinho (Duarte, 2006) that describes people in marginal areas who bend the rules in order to get things done. It is a strategy of the moment as there is no time to plan, organize, control or decide in traditional rational/bureaucratic organizational fashion. It is indeed a speculative and opportunistic practice. Jones (2010), who has extensively studied this strategic practice of local marginality, points out that kukiya-kiya has come to inform all aspects of society within the urban population since the economic, social and political crisis which has prevailed during the 2000s (for more on the Zimbabwe crisis see Hammar et al., 2003; Raftopoulos, 2009; Raftopoulos and Savage, 2005).
Kukiya-kiya can be personified by the figure of the sarungano who is the communal narrator and spokesman for the little people or the underprivileged (Kabira, 1983). The sarungano is trained in the oral tradition of the Shona culture of Zimbabwe to communicate the values and communal memory of the marginalized community, expressing the values and beliefs of their struggle (in songs, theatre, poetry, etc.) as a way of resisting domination, tyranny and the imposition of foreign (colonial) ideas (Vambe, 2001, 2004).
Kukiya-kiya as an oral tradition of struggle resonates with the participative learning philosophy of Mbongi (from the Congo), which reflects a very intense process of mass education and where every participant counts as equal (Wamba, 1985). Depelchin (2005) describes Mbongi as a powerful method for emancipation and a non-elitist way to address the solution of (local) problems and realities; a way of reaching understanding that can benefit all (community members) and not only a minority. Indeed, Mbongi may also be appreciated in line with Freire’s pedagogy of the oppressed (Freire, 2000), whereby education is seen as both a political and pedagogic process of (participatory) emancipation among people who are oppressed.
‘Ubuntu’ philosophy in South Africa similarly deals with indigenous practices that look at ways to construct more participation and solidarity among members of township organizations. Ubuntu (humaneness), 2 Mluleki and Mokgethi (2005) point out, is an old philosophy and way of life that has for many centuries sustained the African communities in South Africa, in particular, and in Africa as a whole. Ubuntu is about social beings contributing to the harmony and well-being of community relationships that guide most of the social actors (caring, humble, thoughtful and considerate) actions (Venter, 2004). Mbigi and Maree (1995) define Ubuntu as a sense of (spiritual) solidarity among people who are disadvantaged or marginalized. Pietersen (2005) describes it as an ‘organizational’ building process of the disposed that, in contrast to the assimilation of western managerial values of individualism and modernity, emphasizes an ethnocentric, communal, cooperative way of organizing in solidarity with the group, community or society. However, van den Heuvel (2008) raises issues on the origins and ‘appropriation’ of this notion in discourses of management and organization emanated from South Africa and the important question of subjugation of the discourse into a subaltern concept of managing. Despite this concern, here we are much more interested in its potential to help to understand marginal organizational places and the way people construct participative (dialogical) practices of organizing and managing and not to assess its representativeness or legitimacy as an African philosophy of management.
The Abahlali-based Mjondolo University of shackdwellers in Durban (South Africa) is a good example of kukiya-kiya, Mbongi and Ubuntu in action. The movement was born out of road blockades organized by the Kennedy road settlement in protest at an attempt by local government to sell part of their land to a local industrialist (Patel, 2008). The movement created an autonomous and spontaneous desire for resistance that resulted in the creation of the so called ‘University of Kennedy Road’. This university is not like the formal institution we know in the traditional western sense and yet it operates within a spirit of discussion. It has no building. It works and feeds from events. People are educated through the place of learning, hitherto, the meeting. The meeting is the classroom (Patel, 2008) and their meetings involve discussions relating to impending problems, very much in the manner experienced by two scientists debating a complex question (Badiou, 2005). There is no written curriculum, everything evolves through events.
S’Bu Zikode (2008), the voice of the movement, explains the nature of this kukiya-favela organization. According to him, we cannot explain their existence (the struggle) in terms of mechanistic (or essentialist) inevitability. Patel (2008) emphasized this point by suggesting that, to explain (narrate) what is happening here, we cannot draw on ideas and theories that anesthetize experiences of organizing and work. In places like South Africa, Zikode declares, finally the poor are talking about who they are, how they feel and how they think in order to live without fear. Their strength is not the result of grand discourses but comes from the old mamas (mothers) and gogos (grandmothers) and recovers the sense of home, lost in the globalized economy. From this sense of narrative authenticity and of local identity they aspire to co-create their own understanding and development without fear and outside interventions. In their (organizational) resistance and struggle, they establish meetings where everyone can speak and think together; free to develop their own narrative knowledge that can challenge the colonial and postcolonial prescriptions that define, classify and exclude them from mainstream managerialist discourses.
Thus, kukiya-favela organization of the excluded presents a possible path of interpreting and writing narratives/practices of management and organization that is drawn from Zimbabwean (and other African) notions of participation and [comm]unity and spaces of dispossession and exclusion (favela) that are localized in urban areas of the south.
Methodology: an improvised ethnography
I am never free to impose my unobstructed intention but must always mediate that intention through the intention of others beginning with the otherness … of the language itself in which I speak … this implies that my point of view will only emerge through the interaction of my own and another’s words as they contend with each other in particular situations. (Clark and Holquist, 1984: 245)
We build our focused ethnographic approach (Knoblauch, 2005) from a socio-dialogical or prospective-relational stance whereby ‘us [we]’ do not write about, talk about or categorize (the other) people, but fully engage with them and with them we co-create something different or new (Shotter, 1998). This approach takes a reflexive stance in which each speaker [participant in the research], speaks in his/her own voice with the effect of creating new meaning with less interference from ‘us’, the authors. It equally represents, in the Bakhtinian sense, an active alliance with the polyphonic, decentralizing and de-hegemonizing forces that oppose the hierarchies, norms and official (managerial) languages (Bakhtin, 1981; 1986; Dentith, 1996), allowing for new knowledge to emerge.
We visited during intermittent (three visits to Zimbabwe and four to Brazil) periods, spanning three years, two favelas, Santa Marta and Cantagalo, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and two high-density areas Hatcliffe-extension, Mabvuku, as well as Harare in Zimbabwe. The selection of these two locations was driven by one of us being Zimbabwean and the other Latin American (Chilean) with strong work ties in Brazil, especially Rio de Janeiro. Although we were both familiar with these two cities, neither of us is a native speaker (but had sufficient knowledge of Brazilian Portuguese and English is widely spoken in Zimbabwe). During the visits to Rio de Janeiro we relied on local activists, who were engaged in social work in favelas, to meet the favela inhabitants. They facilitated our dialogue with favelados, helping us to create relationships, conversations and social interactions and, subsequently with translations of the material collected. In Harare, we conducted work only in English. We met informally around 20 people in Brazil and 17 in Zimbabwe without mentioning the short casual conversations that we sustained in these localities with many more individuals. We use audio-visual equipment when possible in our stays. We equally examined documented ethnographies conducted in Rio favelas in order to get more local insight into these places and the way others have engaged with favela dwellers (e.g. Arias, 2006).
The conditions for conducting our work were hazardous, emotionally demanding and compromising; especially since people in these two separate locations suffer from police repression and violence (see e.g. Ndlovu, 2008), not to mention stigmatization from the rest of society. As a consequence, we conducted most of our ethnographic visits in the streets. In our time with the people from favelas and townships, we allowed for spontaneous talking to emerge so that the encounters could flow into natural conversations (Boje, 2008; Cunliffe, 2002; Shotter, 2006). Those conversations reflected the oral struggle, resilience and resistance of township people of Zimbabwe (Vambe, 2004) and favelados of Brazil (Rocha, 1999). Those conversations gave us an opportunity to create relationships that permit us to gain an understanding and appreciation of their meaningful organizational language, actions and experiences (Madison, 2005; Muecke, 1992), learning about their lives (identities), culture, history and political experiences (Banerjee and Linstead, 2004; Linstead, 1997). Them and us could then develop common ground to co-write the kukiya-favela organization, avoiding the re-production of grand Eurocentric interpretation (Edoho, 2001; Escobar, 2007; Inyang, 2008; Ntarangwi et al., 2006; Obbo 2006) in which poor people are always prescribed, posited and analysed; depriving them their own voice, culture, history and experiences of who they are (Walsh, 2007). In our experience, this process took shape in these informal encounters and subsequently in the sharing of our narrative interpretations with them.
Kukiya-Favela organization narratives of the dispossessed
Rio de Janeiro: Favelados narratives of morro-organization
Favelados concentrate their existence in the morros, the hills of Rio de Janeiro. In the morros, favelados have transformed the space into a complex web of narrow passages and buildings where they dwell (Perlman, 2006). Around 40% of Rio de Janeiro’s population live in morros (favelas) (Burgos, 1999) and the number is growing. The morro favelados exemplify all the exclusion, stigmatization and [mis]representation of their life as organization-less individuals.
People here have no rights. We’re continually persecuted by the police … We’re nothing for them. (Zico, Santa Marta) Do I exist? Does someone care? I don’t think so! (Jorge, Santa Marta) The people who live in the communities, in the favelas, as they are called here, are regarded with very little respect … That is why I think that there should be more respect on the part of the authorities … I think that the law was made for everyone. But people think that only those who have money have a right to the law. In contrast, if you’re poor, you don’t have any right. (in Goirand, 2003: 234)
Favelados must be contained and segregated largely because they are black and poor (Goldstein, 2003; Vargas, 2003, 2004). Hegemonic discourses in the media perpetuate this tacit assumption of who they are as being subhuman, corrupt, and an imminent threat that must be repressed (Ojo-Ade, 2001). Their narratives are fenced out and the embodiment of their existence policed from the outside. The exclusion deprives favelados of formal labour markets, quality of education and participation in the public sphere (Vargas, 2006).
Our work is in the street or the beach. All the time we need to be on our toes to figure out what we’ll sell or do, or even beg! We don’t have timetables and we don’t go to school. (Marcio, Cantagalo) I can’t find a job … I’m not educated … I hang around here and occasionally help to build new shacks. (Antonio, Santa Marta)
Perlman (2006) interviews some favelados about their experiences of finding a job. In one case, a woman in her mid-20s who did not have a job and was living with her parents, told Perlman that she was discriminated against and found it hard to get a formal job, primarily because she was a favela member. In addition, like Marcio above, finding a formal job may mean a minimum wage that will hardly allow them to live and pay for the necessary living expenses. The pervasive prejudice and discrimination against favela residents, which occurs in job markets even when applicants meet other qualifications for employment, make finding ‘regular’ jobs almost impossible. (Perlman, 2006).
The discrimination and isolation suffered from the managerialist society allow for alternative forms of participation and activism to emerge. For example, the favelado movement of Jacarezinho developed their own social programme to support their community and communities in Rio de Janeiro (their own Mbongi in practice). The intention of the movement is to avoid becoming part of elitist discourses that may supersede their voices and lead to them being defined by academics or politicians as to who they are, what they want and what they do (Vargas, 2003). This sentiment is shared by other favelados:
Lots of people come here since we were pacified. They don’t listen to us, they just want to exploit us for their own interest … They don’t want to listen to us. (Marcela, Santa Marta) We had lots of TV channels to come and film us … They seem to be taking something away from us … We have become attractions! (Celia, Cantagalo) We gather in the evenings to discuss distribution of space for housing and how to solve our sanitation problems. We have animals, like dogs, whose shit is left all over and if we don’t do something about it no one will clean it … and this is just nothing like the toilet problems that we have in some of the houses where shit just go down in the street. We have to deal with as no one else will do. (Chico, Santa Marta)
Favelado movements recognize the collective potential of the poor as a ‘member’ of the morro organization and foster a sense of belongingness emanating from their common social struggle, since people who come from the outside show little real interest about who they are:
We are united because we had to struggle. As soon as there is a struggle, people unite with a common goal, because they need this unity, because we had to struggle to get electricity, to get water, to obtain legal rights to the land. If we don’t get together, if we don’t unite, we are not likely to bring pressure on the authorities …. The community is people who have the same idea, something common within the group. So, a community is born, a common idea. People who have a community spirit are here now, they are strong, they are united … According to the statutes of one association, the purpose of mobilization is to ‘unite all the residents, to integrate them and organize them according to their general interests; . . . to serve the interest of the community’. (in Goirand, 2003: 231; 232)
Their narrative possesses purpose and collective action. They invite us to reconsider how we think of them away from hegemonic positions and imposed interpretations. They contravene the representations we have of marginality and exclusion. These narratives contravene the perceptions of what organizations are and how they are run within what is implied in the über discourse of management. They are expressions of Ubuntu (solidarity) and Mbongi (participative learning) born in their daily dialogical interactions (Bakhtin, 1986). The resilience of their actions allows them to challenge the determined perceptions of the outside that restrain their capacity for action. They move the community to find their own interpretation of the morro organization where they forge and (interplay) their own transformative identities (Deleuze and Guattari, 2004) culture and history (Da Costa, 2010).
The community must unite and get things done. For example, if a sewer in a main street is clogged, if we wait to hear from the Prefecture it will take forever. … The inhabitants are not going to sit there and wait for the Prefecture. If the inhabitants organize a mutirão, we solve the problem very fast. [Local participation] is not a job in which I try to solve my problem. It has to be my problem and that of the community; it has to be everybody’s problem. (in Goirand, 2003: 243) We are only children in this group, but we know we have to work together if we really don’t want to end up in any of the gangs in this place or in drugs. (Braulio, Santa Marta)
In our own participation with the community of Santa Marta and Cantagalo in Rio de Janeiro, we have come to appreciate the narrative-action and commitment of favelados and their desire to eradicate ‘foreign’ discourses that stigmatize their existence and organization:
The community here is built under constant surveillance. You have a party, we play lots of music and we have fun. You have a way to contribute, like in my case providing music and entertainment for the youngsters … We have creativity here; we are able to do things, to invent things that allow us to make an honest living … We are not all criminals. (João, DJ Santa Marta).
Favelados and their morro organizations are more dynamic and complex than seen from the outside. They live close to each other due to the poor quality of their housing and rely heavily on their relatives and neighbours. They improvise, manage and organize within a philosophy of events whereby they have to respond quickly and imaginatively to what is happening in the ‘present’. This exemplifies the act of jeito, the Brazilian equivalent of kukiya-kiya, which Scheper-Huges (1992, 2008) points to.
Today, I’m going to the beach to build sandcastles and see whether I can get enough money to eat and buy more materials to improve my house … I can do this for a few days if it doesn’t rain. But then, I need to think of something else. Do some painting in houses. Help others to repair some stuff, you know …. (Jairzinho, Santa Marta).
One can never characterize their decision-making, strategies or planning as they are always on the move. Collectively or individually, theirs is a dynamic narrative of managing and change, a kukiya-favela of the organization-less.
I collected all these cans from rubbish bins along Ipanema. I’m going to make sculptures from them and sell them to tourists for 10 reais or more! (Rosa, Rocinha) We help carry chairs to the beach from hotels … We make money from tips given by people from there. (Leandro, Santa Marta). We clean car windows …. (Luisao, Santa Marta)
Music and sound play an important part in the organization of the excluded. In the morro, differences of subcultural groups can be appreciated through different music styles that point out clear divisions between the religious and the funkeiro (in reference to funk music) (Mizrahi, 2007). Internally, the music and the lyrics heard implies different relationships and inter relationships that evolve among groups of favelados. Oosterbaan (2009) illustrates these differences through his analysis of Pentecostal music and funk music. The popularity of the Pentecostal music must be understood against the background of the strict (discursive) separation between musica do mundo (music of the world) and musica evangélica (evangelical music). By and large, people criticized popular Brazilian music on the basis of its lyrics. Many people explained that if the lyrics contained non-biblical, blasphemous or heretical content, the songs should not be listened to, let alone be played. It was very clear to most evangélicos that one should not listen to ordinary funk music voluntarily because it was so closely associated to the immoral lifestyle of the dance funk participants (Oosterbaan, 2009). Conversion to Pentecostalism means a change in music taste. For example, Oosterbaan (2009) interviewed one girl who had just joined the local Assembléia de Deus:
Your vision changes after you are in the church. You look at things differently, you see the world in a different light, totally different, from one minute to the other you change your personality. I adored funk, I loved funk, pagode all these things, I did not miss one baile funk, I adored it. I lost the desire, I can’t even sing the music, many things I did, I don’t do any more. (in Oosterbaan, 2009: 89)
Or our experience with a baile funk in Santa Marta where funk lyrics are explicitly sexual and violent (Sneed, 2008).
We like to listen to these songs … like the music because it shows how we live here … it reflects us. (Tomy, Santa Marta).
All these narrative examples illustrate the tension between internal narratives and the external ones that separate and divide these enriching movement organizations. From the outside there is a clear and simple grand narrative that controls what favelas are, ‘one’ favela, one bounded space. However, from the inside there are many important divisions as described by the narratives above. For example, Alba Zaluar (1985), who studied Cidade de Deus in Rio de Janeiro, wrote:
The representation of locality is one of the most important in the ideology of the poor urban [subject] in this city. And this locality has territorial divisions and sub-divisions, and the more there are of these, the more there have to be organizations that unite, mobilize and create the identity of the local people. (1985: 175)
Local understanding, appreciation of the stories and practices embedded in these places can indeed make us appreciate the meaningful existence of favelados kukiya-favela organization. To realize that their identity formation comes from internal polysemous ways of narrating who they are and what they do (Boje, 2008). Their narratives illustrate the networks that they create and the supra-territorial institutions to which they belong such as associacão de moradores (neighbourhood association), escola de samba (samba school), the Assembléia de Deus (evangelical group) or the commando Vermelho (drug group) (Oosterbaan, 2009). Above all the capacity to fill their space with a plethora of dynamic, innovative and fulfilling narratives that illustrate they are capable of being more than just an excluded and organization-less bunch.
Harare: Kukiya-kiya organization of the dispossessed
There are essentially no slums in Zimbabwe that can be equated with the favelas in Brazil, or even the township/slums in South Africa. However there are a number of high density areas with underdeveloped conditions in cities such as: Mbare, Mabvuku, Dzivarasekwa, Kambuzuma, Tafara, which became established due to colonial influence. The conditions have deteriorated in these places over the 1990s, and during the years of the escalating crisis in Zimbabwe after 2000, because of increasing overpopulation and people becoming progressively poorer. During this time informal activities rose in the high-density areas to become well established; and were typified by or backyard business and flea market stalls (Mlambo, 2008).
Zimbabwe’s informal economy is intricately linked to urban and economic change. In 1980 the informal economy was small, and accounted for 10% of the labour force. This was due to the laws and bylaws that prevented indigenous people from freely moving from rural to urban areas (Tibaijuka, 2005). During the 1990s the country began suffering from harsh economic conditions mainly due to a failed ESAP (Economic Structural Readjustment Programme). The poor were burdened by the poor performance in the economy so the government relaxed by-laws which permitted people to engage more easily in informal activities during these harsh economic conditions, which encouraged informal industries to arise of their own accord. In 1999 the informal economy accounted for 59.4% of the GDP, which was the highest in Africa (Mlambo, 2008).
The harsh economic conditions in the 1990s and early 2000s also resulted in a shortage of affordable housing prompted people to construct unauthorized dwellings made out of corrugated material, plastic sheeting and any other available materials that were durable. Informal dwellings were constructed in two ways; firstly people simply put them up anywhere they found unoccupied spaces in cities; while people, in high-density areas, added unauthorized extensions to their houses. These were typically wooden shacks constructed at the back of houses for lodgers needing accommodation to generate extra income for homeowners. These became common place and led to overcrowding (Mlambo, 2008). Although these were not slums per se, this demonstrates that there was overcrowding and substandard conditions in high-density areas, as well as a growth in unauthorized dwellings simply constructed in any available place in urban areas.
The growth of unauthorized dwellings (which may have, eventually, resulted in slums-type conditions such as favelas) as well as informal economic activities was halted in 2005 due to Operation Murambatsvina. Vambe (2008) explains that this was an attempt to ‘clean up’ vendors, flea-market traders, foreign-currency dealers, informal workshops and to destroy any structures that were illegally built without planning permission. Due to Operation Murambatsvina it could be argued that any slum-type dwellings have been erased—such as those which sprung up in urban areas, constructed from any available materials. However, high-density areas still exist and people still live in substandard conditions. There are also high-density areas such as Hatcliffe-extension to which people were displaced during Operation Murambatsvina, and promised housing but where housing has not materialized for everyone. In places such as this many people live in sub-standard shack dwellings erected because people have no other place to live. It should also be pointed out that Operation Murambatsvina did not stop informal business activities and vending, flea-market trading and foreign–currency dealing continued. Jones (2010) refers to these ‘wheeler-dealer’ strategies, in the informal sector as ‘kukiya-kiya’ survival strategies.
As a result of the social, political and economic suffering people in Zimbabwe have had no option but to carve their own way of doing business and, in the process, construct alternative and more diverse creative opportunities to practice (managing and organization). Harare petit narratives, in our view, illustrate the potential for constructing organization in the south, where people feel there are no parameters to follow, especially when they live a collective crisis of exclusion from the main global economic institutions and trade.
As you can see we are making patchwork. We are collecting scrap, cotton cloth or whatever there is in their household So it’s from our own house and from everywhere else and we are making some cushions and bags and these are mattresses as well. So it’s just a collection of cloth for sustenance of ourselves or to even use for our children or wherever we are living. So that’s pretty much the idea behind what we are doing. So we make bags and other products. (Chenai, Mabvuku)
The urban poor in Harare, Zimbabwe, have to collect anything they can in order to survive. Like the dweller above who travels most days into the capital to see what she can sell in order to make a living for herself and her family and to help her community as well. It is difficult here as Zimbabwe has been categorized as a ‘favela’ state for not embracing the grand narrative of neoliberalism and managerialism to re-structure the ‘local’ discourses and practices. As in the case of favelas in Rio de Janeiro, it is the state that has been fenced out and excluded from ‘global’ capitalist organized and managed life. A sense of exclusion from rational and impersonal (social) economic relationships understood within the production process of market rationale (Grinberg, 2010).
The exclusion of this favela-state organization has created a constant internal crisis. The notion of constant crisis epitomizes the way in which organization is written everyday in Harare. This is demonstrated during the height of the crisis:
Every single day there’re problems on the horizon. There’re shortages of tobacco, cotton, coffee, tea, etc. (Matthew, Harare)
Everything is in short supply demanding from social actors to be alert and watchful of what is happening. In Harare you operate in a state of instability that requires skills from the dwellers which are different from those required in the well planned and engineered operations that you find in western capitals. An example is the hyper-inflation mode in Zimbabwe. At its highest point, inflation reached 79.6 billion percent in mid-November 2008 and prices doubled in 24 hours (officially the second highest monthly inflation rate in the world at the time) (Hanke and Kwok, 2009).
Due to the crisis, there has been a reverse of the established adopted western ways of managing, and partly a break with the colonial past of this favela-state.
You get frustrated and you can’t keep on loosing so you change … Best practice doesn’t apply in Zimbabwe now. [If it doesn’t work] we change the product but keep to the same principle, the same business [but] we get rid of whatever is not making more [money] and replace it. (Matthew, Harare)
This can be seen as a strengthening process because there has been an increase in problem solving, new and different ways of thinking because what is no longer best practice needs new practice; best practice in this environment is change. New cultures can be seen emerging and, coupled with a fast pace of change in a situation of crisis, means new ways are integrated more quickly,
[Its] all about speed … the faster the better. (Matthew, Harare)
Equally, the economic collapse indirectly led to an increase in basic (and arguably a move to more indigenous) management practices such as bartering, hawking and street vending as a way of coping with change.
Even bartering is better. So if you want some[thing that I have]; I give you a small parcel […] and you give me a little bit of diesel …. (Ezekiel, Harare)
It can also been seen as a reverse in terms of reusing old traditions since bartering may be seen as old fashioned but has re-emerged as a common way of trading due to the shortage of hard currency.
The uncertain environment has incentivized change by leading to an increase in unconventional and creative ways of managing.
Most people actually think this is scrap and they don’t actually know what to do with it. So we actually decided to come up with something that we could use the materials for. And it also gives most of us, because we are at home mothers something to do throughout the day and be creative and make something that we can earn some money from. We also make these funky t-shirts as well; you can see some of them around. But we don’t have any today. (Chenai, Mabvuku)
The pace of change is fast.
You can’t lose an opportunity, if you say agh no I’ll just leave it to tomorrow then it just won’t happen … you lose so much when you’re making that decision. You have to always be on your toes, on the ball. (Samantha, Harare)
Creativity grows out of necessity so
with the resources we have we find something that will work. (Matthew, Harare)
In order for individuals to survive they have become imaginative and inventive in the way that they function.
We are always looking for new things […] always just looking … every week, every day, just looking. (Matthew, Harare)
Locals are extremely self-sufficient and entrepreneurial when they have a lack of options. This can be seen as a form of cultural production and a time to reflect on the extent of changes in society and also on the adoption of local managing discursive practices.
Informal activities can be extremely creative but also unlawful and become established for several reasons such as the need to keep business costs down, as well as the shortage of cash and commodities. It exists in extremes from street hawking
[y]ou can buy eggs and toilet paper on the streets but go into the shops and the shelves are empty. (Matthew, Harare)
to unlawful activities such as currency dealing conducted on the street,
cash is short; we went out and bought it. (Matthew, Harare)
What these experiences describe is another way of reconceptualizing a situation that could be evoked in imaginative terms in order to deal with and accept the predicament in a creative way (Imas, 2005; Schama, 1998). The poor here may be called entrepreneurs, in their illustration of their experiences of managing in crisis; or they could be called survivors of the crisis. Survivors are nevertheless managers who are managing their lack of opportunity. This may not reflect management in the mainstream and as a result be termed as peripheral. However, it is a way of facilitating a holistic representation/conceptualization which takes into account the circumstances (significant crisis and change in Zimbabwe) surrounding their experiences but without the use of western interpretation to talk about them.
It brings a local understanding that reflects a sensemaking which is not constructed in the managerialist sense but within what is lived and shared in the collective participative accounts of diverse polysemous little stories (Boje, 2001). It allows appreciation of what it means to be part of that inherited colonial Zimbabwe of the large white commercial Rhodesian farm and the rural Shona and Ndebele peasant of the small scale plot of land; and the crowded urban townships created in the days when workers were discouraged from living near whites—and who still remain mostly segregated from the affluent suburban neighbourhoods (Barnes, 2005; Sylvester, 1992). Now they are all favelados seeking to find alternative identity narratives to write their predicaments without resorting to the postcolonial neoliberal discourse that is keeping them excluded and apart (Hammar and Raftopoulos, 2003).
I am the leader of a group called hidden voices. I and other youths in this area decided to sit around and see the areas that we can concentrate on in order to expose our area to success. As you can see in this area, most of our youngsters have got nothing to do and they end up resorting to drugs, teenage sex, because they have got nothing to do. So to fill that emptiness we have decided to form a group which is called hidden voices. Currently we are concentrating on poetry but we have got a vision to grow bigger. So we are looking forward to having a youth forum, whereby we can construct a shack using these simple materials and we can have access to the daily press so they know what is happening in other areas. And we can have access to other renowned artists so that they can know how to mushroom their heart. They don’t know how to improve the way they are performing. And we are looking to forward to networking with people who can assist us with poetry collections and for instance even you know some poetry slams. (Jiri, Hatcliffe)
There is creativity and poetry in their actions. Poetry and art enable them to speak up and become part of ‘something’, transforming the essentialist view of who they are and the colonial gaze that characterizes them as hopeless and voiceless individuals. This also resonates with the concepts of Ubuntu, Mbongi and Kukiya-kiya because these youth are engaging and learning together through their use of poetry as a survival strategy, and a com[unity] approach to improve their circumstances.
Zimbabwe and its petit narrative illustrates that local knowledge based on experiences of crisis can be shared across other communities and movements in the south that suffer the same predicaments of struggle, resistance, poverty and marginal organizational lives. It opens a new organization plateau that can be filled with narratives and accounts of displaced organizational actors of favelas, townships and inner cities of our global towns, regardless of where they are.
Conclusion
This article presented narratives of marginalized and excluded people of Zimbabwe and Brazil that socially act and enact (Gergen, 1994) their lives in favelas and the streets of the south, what we call the kukiya-favela organization of the dispossessed. Although these narratives come from two separate places that have different histories, cultures and traditions, we have found that their stories of organizational resistance, surviving and struggle resonate with each other. They point out a common alternative path of co-writing organization and management discourses of the south, built on solidarity (Ubuntu), integrity, participative learning (Mbongi), survival strategies (kukiya-kiya), struggle and resistance that can counteract their insignificant ‘status’ of organization-less and management-less actors (Wacquant, 2007, 2008a, 2008b). Alternatively, as Nkomo (2011) suggests, following Young (2001), these kukiya-favela narratives, separated historically, culturally and geographically, may place value on collectives who are aware of differences but unite around common struggles against social structures of oppression; against a dominant Eurocentric language that determines their relationships, identities and actions.
Kukiya-favela alters the traditional western managerialist discourses that impose a lexicon, a style and a language upon which to construct most organizing identities, experiences and subjectivities as they are lived in places outside the realm of Eurocentric organization knowledge. Despite their marginality and exclusion, the marginal and excluded are able to construct diverse identities that can represent them with dignity and account for their own experiences in their struggle for justice and basic rights. These narratives carry a significance through which we can understand alternative ways of organizing that may ultimately result in a paradigmatic shift from the neoliberal managerialist discourse that has caused so much destruction and pain. Kukiya-favela is only one step in that direction; in re-balancing our knowledge and understanding of (organizational) lives that may reflect a more distributed and participative way of producing knowledge, distributing resources and protecting lives. This is where the contribution of this article lies to the field of management and organization, opening new spaces and possibilities of studying organization that come from the south, and in the process, addressing significant issues for those who have been disenfranchised and made voiceless in the knowledge production of these studies.
A final thought on this article comes from the timely question asked by Nkomo (2011) on the tensions, contradictions and potential traps of falling into essentialism (and romanticism) to gaze or describe the other in organization studies. Indeed, this is something that affects our (ontological and epistemic reflexive) (Westwood and Jack, 2007) position as researchers and co-authors of the kukiya-favela organization narrative of the excluded. Our own subjectivities, identities and dialogues of who we are come from the geographical south (Chile and Zimbabwe). Yet, we are fortunate to study and make our living within the knowledge production academic centres of the western world (England). We are acutely aware of the subordination of adopting a colonial language (in the case of both of us) to speak on one and others behalf and, in the process, changing our identities of who we are (Bauman, 2004).
However, the possibilities of transcending these subjectivities, tensions and contradictions that end up in interminable semantic debates and engaging with narratives constructed by local people in the south overcomes these paradoxes and tensions that exist on those attempting to conduct this type of research. Kukiya-favela organization narratives, then, can contribute further to enhance a critical discourse of organization, by opening a path which gives voice to those who are still silenced and deprived from the south. Or as Gergen (2003) said, for serving ‘best the cause of humanity when our orientation toward organizational life is not from a position of ‘above’ or ‘against’ but ‘with’ (p. 454).
