Chapter 5 builds on the previous discussion of procurement by analyzing how politicians’ use of career control tools can distort the allocation of public contracts. Through qualitative accounts, it documents how mayors and bureaucrats manipulate bidding processes to ensure that contracts are awarded to firms with partisan ties. Contract-level data reveals striking patterns: despite the geographic proximity of districts, over 80 percent of firms that are awarded contracts operate in just one district. The geographic concentration of contract allocation indicates that entry into procurement markets depends on cultivating ties with local politicians and bureaucrats. The chapter also shows that politicized contracting is especially prevalent in competitive districts and where mayors harbor ambitions for higher office, as these contexts heighten incentives to trade contracts for political support. Survey experiments confirm bureaucrats’ expectations that partisan firms are favored over more experienced but politically neutral competitors. These findings converge to depict procurement as a highly politicized process that undermines efficiency, reduces competition, and ultimately produces lower-quality infrastructure. By linking political ambition, electoral competition, and procurement practices, the chapter illustrates how career control mechanisms translate into the systematic misallocation of public resources.

Chapter 7 reflects on the book’s findings and their broader implications. It underscores that state capacity is not determined solely by formal rules or resources, but by the everyday power relations between politicians and bureaucrats. Investments in infrastructure, personnel, or technology matter, but their effectiveness depends on how politicians and bureaucrats interact. The book highlights the “grey zone” between fully politicized and fully meritocratic systems, arguing that most states fall somewhere in between. Ghana exemplifies this dynamic, but the theory also applies elsewhere. Comparative evidence from India and Indonesia shows similar patterns: politicians exploit career controls to extract loyalty and manipulate bureaucratic action, especially in competitive electoral contexts. These parallels suggest the argument has broad external validity. The chapter also considers how the equilibrium might shift. Reforms that strengthen bureaucratic autonomy, insulate career management, or increase transparency in procurement could reduce partisan manipulation. Yet such reforms are politically difficult, as they challenge the very tools politicians rely on. By situating bureaucratic management at the heart of governance outcomes, the chapter points toward future research on how institutional design can mitigate corruption and enhance equitable service delivery in developing democracies.

In the past four decades, the world has witnessed an explosion of debates, campaigns, and technological innovations, all aimed at eradicating what is now called ‘modern slavery’. From government agencies and humanitarian organizations to tech start-ups and academic institutions, everyone seems to be rallying around the cause, armed with satellite imagery, rescue missions, and helpline posters on airport luggage trolleys (Figure 1.1). The call is urgent, the funding immense, and the sense of mission palpable. Yet beneath this flurry of activity lies a persistent, uncomfortable question: Are these interventions really helping the people they claim to save?

The rhetoric of modern slavery often does little to help those it claims to benefit—a point that critical scholars have long argued.1 What this book offers is an ethnographic exploration of why this is the case, and why, time and again, workers find themselves returning to the very work they were rescued from. Ultimately, this book asks: If freedom is an illusion, and workers return to the work they were rescued from, what does that say about the millions invested in rescue operations worldwide? Rescue is not always wrong; in some cases, it is absolutely necessary. But the design and procedure of the process demand that we ask: Is it working? Is it worth it?

The purpose of this book is singular: to show, through the lived experiences of workers, what happens after rescue. This is not a simple question, nor is there a simple answer. In fact, the complexity of post-rescue life is precisely what makes it so difficult to package it into neat narratives or policy prescriptions.

This chapter reflects on the future of governance in an era where corporate-driven, private arrangements increasingly dominate key sectors, from artificial intelligence to biotechnology and beyond. While public power still contributes through research funding and normative frameworks, the sheer scale and speed of private actors often surpass traditional regulatory capacities. Governance today rests to a considerable extent with the internal factions of corporations—engineers, compliance teams, and public relations—who shape techno-normative frameworks with little public accountability. The chapter argues that governance by emulation offers a pragmatic, albeit imperfect, path forward. Emulating public law principles—such as accountability, self-governance, and due process—into private contexts can inject public-minded values into profit-driven structures. However, traditional private law mechanisms, such as contracts and fiduciary duties, need repurposing to address the scale and public significance of corporate governance. Similarly, the role of infrastructure, code, and technical frameworks in shaping governance must be acknowledged alongside conventional normative tools. While these developments hold both promise and peril, they also mirror the incremental evolution of liberal public institutions. By embedding public law ideals into emerging governance constellations, we may foster accountability structures capable of addressing the complexities of modern global power dynamics—marking a critical step toward a more balanced and responsive future governance framework.

When I first began this research, I thought of rescue as an idea that needed reframing. Too often, it rendered workers passive, erasing their histories as migrants and citizens. My aim was to challenge this erasure, to recover the agency of rescued workers by positioning them not only as survivors of exploitation but also as active agents navigating complex social, economic, and political landscapes.

Yet, as I followed rescued workers through courtrooms, shelters, construction sites, and city streets, it became clear that ‘rescue’ was not a single moment, nor a simple misrepresentation; it was an entire terrain of interaction among workers, NGOs, police, lawyers, and bureaucrats. In this terrain, harm and help were often entangled, and survival depended less on the moment of rescue than on what came after. Over the course of the research, however, the field pulled this project in new directions. The politics of access, the anxieties of representation, and the layered realities of post-rescue life demanded that I treat ‘rescue’ not as a solution to be critiqued, but as a site of power relations in its own right, an arena where the lines between harm and help are constantly negotiated.

Thus, the doctoral project from which this book evolved aimed at reclaiming the agency of rescued workers by framing them as both citizens and migrants, rather than as victims of trafficking. I sought out organizations that recognized the importance of migration in workers’ experiences.

It was another unremarkable day at the NGO office, one of those where the hours drag by in a haze of paperwork and quiet monotony. No courtroom hearings to attend, no site visits to meet workers—just stacks of legal documents to comb through.

Atul and I sat side by side, the silence punctuated by the occasional rustle of paper and the sluggish hum of the overhead fan. The air hung heavy, humid, and stifling, the fan offering little respite.

The quiet was broken when two men entered the office—Amal and Akash. Their exhaustion was etched on their faces, a mix of weariness and resolve. Their feet, cracked and dry from endless hours of toil in the brick kiln, were barely protected by tattered plastic slippers, frayed at the edges.

They wore beige shirts, the fabric clinging to them in a patchwork of dirt and sweat, stained and unwashed for days. Mud from the kiln had settled into the fabric, becoming part of its texture. Their hair was unkempt, sticking up in uneven tufts as if abandoned to its own devices. Their hands, calloused and dry, bore the unmistakable marks of relentless, backbreaking labour.

They stood before us, hesitant yet determined, as though weighing the gravity of the decision that had brought them here. In their silence, their bodies spoke volumes—a testament to the gruelling life they had endured and the hope, however fragile, that they had placed in this visit.

This chapter explores the genesis, structure, and potential of the European Union’s out-of-court dispute settlement bodies (ODSs), a cornerstone of the Digital Services Act (DSA) aimed at regulating social media platforms. As a manifestation of Governance by Emulation, ODSs blend public law principles with private governance, emulating individual rights adjudication to hold platforms accountable. This chapter examines the political context behind their creation, tracing the EU’s regulatory evolution and the legislative battles that shaped Article 21 of the DSA. While hailed as innovative tools for ensuring accountability, ODSs face significant structural limitations, such as non-binding decisions, weak cost incentives, and a narrow enforcement focus. Nonetheless, they present a promising avenue for resolving disputes efficiently and experimenting with integrating large language models in decision-making. Early implementation highlights a mix of creativity and challenges, offering insights into the EU’s broader regulatory ambitions to administrify platform governance and set global standards. By analyzing ODSs’ hybrid institutional design and initial practices, this chapter illustrates their dual potential: advancing accountability while exposing the risks of emulating public law mechanisms in private contexts. It concludes by reflecting on ODSs’ role as Emulated Guardians and their implications for future governance of digital public spaces. European Union