The U-shaped arc of Tanzania's post-independence economic trajectory is broadly familiar. It divides into two periods of unequal length. After a brief period of growth immediately following independence, Tanzania entered an era of economic decline that lasted for about twenty years, from the mid-1960s through the mid-1980s. This was followed by economic reforms that have led to three decades of economic expansion, from the mid-1980s to the present. Several questions suggest themselves: What caused the economic decline? Why did it persist for so long? Why did Tanzania change its policies in the mid-1980s? And, what has the change meant for ordinary Tanzanians?

Introduction

Academic discussions of Tanzania frequently begin – and often end – with consideration of the influence of founder-president Julius Nyerere. His humanistic socialism portrayed a self-reliant society that would devote its resources to improving economic conditions for the poorest Tanzanians. Nyerere's philosophical idealism provides ongoing subject-matter for nostalgic discussions in scholarly conferences and required reading in university classes on African politics. It also provides a counter-culture of social justice against which some Tanzanians judge the current administration. Some narrators abet this imagery by portraying the Tanzanian story as one of Nyerere's personal idealism brought low by a fatal combination of forces including self-interested political opponents, the class interests of those who might lose out under socialism, and the corrosive force of individual acquisitiveness (Mwakikagile 2009).

Not all agree. Coulson (2013) directs attention to the dissonance between Nyerere's vision and the dismal reality of an economy whose failings placed its most valued components, universal access to primary education and basic health services, at risk. Tanzania's decline is well documented. The World Bank's classic study of Africa's economic crisis, Accelerated Development in Sub-Saharan Africa: An Agenda for Action (World Bank 1981), known as the Berg Report, singled out Tanzania alongside Ghana as one of Africa's leading examples of poor economic performance. The Berg Report (p. 26) emphasized the loss of foreign exchange earnings caused by a decline in agricultural exports:

WHAT we know of Herbert of Bosham we owe to two chief causes. The first and fundamental is the role that the self-dramatising Herbert played in the even greater drama of Thomas Becket. From this in turn springs the second cause for our knowledge of Herbert: the Victorian fascination with Becket. It was as a minor satellite of Becket's stardom that Herbert attracted an editor, John Allen Giles. In turn, it was Giles’ edition of Herbert's works, published in 1845–46, that first brought Herbert to wider attention. Even now, it is Giles’ edition as pirated by the Abbé Migne for volume 190 of his Patrologia Latina (1854) that still serves as the principal port of entry for modern scholars interested in Herbert's career. Even today, it is Giles’ edition with its many failings and omissions that continues to determine Herbert's reputation in our post-Victorian age. In what follows, I hope to subject both Giles and his edition to a degree of scrutiny. To understand Giles and his work, nonetheless, we must begin not with Giles himself but with the wider Victorian reception of Thomas Becket.

Becket mattered to the Victorians in ways that have only recently begun to be appreciated. As a bone of contention, left over from the great ossuary that Henry VIII and the Protestant Reformers had made of such remains, Becket could not be ignored by any historian of the Catholic Middle Ages. To a majority of writers, from the 1530s through to the 1790s, he remained nonetheless a divisive and for the most part indigestible medieval relic. To declare oneself in favour of St Thomas was to side unequivocally with a Catholic or crypto-Catholic cause, with a love for saints, relics and ritual. Such was the case, for example, with the Jesuit scholar Thomas Stapleton, author of the Tres Thomae published in 1588 as parallel lives of St Thomas the Apostle, St Thomas Becket and St Thomas More.3 To declare oneself against Thomas, by contrast, was to stand proudly for Reformation, King, country and the established Protestant church. Those in the first camp were inclined to refer to ‘St’ or ‘the Blessed’ Thomas. Those in the second, to ‘Becket’. In either case, Thomas himself remained combustible stuff.

Of the ample collection of tapestries recorded within Dunnottar Castle in 1612, the only ones to be described in any detail are a group of six depicting the story of Samson. As the only pictorial and narrative set, this was the most prestigious that the family owned. The sheer cost involved in commissioning such pieces meant that the subject matter was never chosen lightly; patrons displayed figures and concepts with which they desired to be associated. From all the historic, legendary and classical stories, the Keiths chose the biblical story of Samson, suggesting that the earls were keen to foster a religious identity. William, the fourth earl, was especially noted for his devotion, having been an early convert in the 1540s. Few could doubt the zeal he expressed in his speech at the Reformation Parliament:

William's surviving letters show the religious concern of a very devout man, often invoking the Holy Spirit and frequently thanking, praising or praying to God, to an extent that surpasses the letters of his close family members. The English described him as ‘very religious’. George, the fifth earl, was likewise consistently described by English commentators as ‘well affected in religion’ and Lord Hundson even remarked during the regime of the earl of Arran in 1584: ‘and for the Erle Marshall, he ys the only nobell mane that ys too be accowntyd of too stande faste for matters of relygyon’. The minister to the French-speaking Calvinist community in London, Jean Castol, recommended Marischal to the earl's old tutor, Theodore Beza, as the subject of the dedication of his next book in 1583, saying Marischal was the most appropriate choice, for his piety, reliability and great reputation among those of good breeding. The two Earls Marischal were clearly committed and recognised Protestants.

For a man consistently described as a sound Protestant, Earl George is largely absent from the works of contemporary Kirk historians, merely being mentioned in passing a handful of times.

HERBERT of Bosham studied theology with Peter Lombard in the 1140s and 1150s. This training was crucial for his later employment. It also had a significant impact on his work, both as editor and author. Despite this, studies of Peter Lombard's school (or immediate sphere of influence) have often failed to take account of Herbert. The broad range of his activity and literary output has meant that those examining the theological tradition of Peter's Sententiae have looked elsewhere. At the same time, Herbert's own specialists have sometimes downplayed his intellectual formation in the school of the Lombard. Certainly the work that has received most attention recently, the commentary on the Hebraica, owes little to Peter Lombard. But other works are more informed by his training. It was not unusual for Peter's students to work in different areas, and none matched his complete commitment to the theological enterprise. Still, for Herbert, Peter remained ‘my master of pleasant memory’, and the editions he prepared of Peter's commentaries are a testament to this.

Peter Lombard taught theology in Paris in the 1140s and 1150s. He was under the authority of the chancellor of the cathedral school of Notre Dame, where he was a canon himself. Neither he nor his students, however, lived in the cathedral cloisters. The growing numbers of masters and students in Paris had made that impractical. Peter held various positions in the church of Paris in this period, and ultimately retired from teaching in 1159 when he was appointed bishop. The subject he taught, theology, was considered to be advanced study. Students who had completed their training in the liberal arts could choose to progress to theology, medicine or the law. In the arts it was normal to study with different masters, often in large lecture halls. Theology was different. The numbers were smaller, and students chose to study with one master at a time. By the time of the thirteenth-century university, anyone wishing to teach theology should have studied it for at least five years. In the twelfth-century schools, the period of study seems to have been longer. William of Tyre spent ‘six years uninterrupted’ studying with Peter Lombard, but still did not consider his theological training complete when his master left the schools to become bishop of Paris. He embarked on a further year of study with Maurice of Sully.

The central premise of this book, that the governing elite of late medieval London sought to shape political ideology in order to strengthen their legitimacy at a time of social change, has not been untouched by our current political climate. Modern political practice involves competing for control over language – and contemporary theory recognises this. The tools of the political communicator in the twenty-first century include traditional media such as newspapers and television, as well as new media such as the internet and social media. Political messaging, carefully crafted and responsive to market testing and focus groups, can acquire a ‘technical meaning that's really very much divorced from [its] actual meaning, sometimes the opposite of it’. The general perception of political and public comprehension of a political ideology is, in a very real sense, shaped by those who write it. In the context of the late medieval city, although aldermen lacked the ability to communicate so widely, this book has argued that they nevertheless recognised the value of controlling political rhetoric and that they sought to invest their statutes, legal processes, public ritual, civic investment and commemorative practices with a deliberate emphasis that helped determine the meaning of a discourse that benefitted them. This book has argued that the phrase ‘common profit’ could have competing meanings. On one hand, it represented those values integral to a functioning society and beneficial to the many – values such as justice, fair taxation and mutual support. On the other hand, it represented a closed discourse that isolated and protected the few – who benefitted from a body politic that might be willing to overlook their oligarchic tendencies when phrased in the language of community.

Steve Rappaport's study of sixteenth-century London examined the lives and careers of some 530 men granted citizenship in the 1550s. His conclusions suggested that, although life in London could be prosperous for merchants working in the city, and opportunities existed for many to hold offices in the various ‘worlds’ of the city (the ward, the parish, the household, etc.), very few were able to exercise direct participation: ‘that is, their access to political power – was limited since they could be neither wardens nor assistants and also because they had no regular, institutionalised means of influencing the formation of economic and other policies’.

Introduction

This chapter analyzes international aid (Official Development Assistance or ODA) to Tanzania over the period from 1980 to 2012 and makes comparisons with Ghana and Uganda, countries that are also significant recipients of aid and have experienced similar pressures from donors for policy reform. It considers the implications of some issues arising from the ODA statistics and reviews relevant literature, including official publications, relating to the Tanzanian ‘aid experience’. Particular attention is paid to the impact of aid on economic growth and poverty reduction. Specific Tanzanian ‘aid issues’ are discussed including Budget Support, corruption and alignment with the principles of the Paris Declaration.

The cases of two of the three countries referred to in this chapter, Tanzania and Ghana, are also discussed in Whitfield (2009). The growth experiences of all three of the countries discussed in this chapter are also referred to in Chapter 1 of this volume. Whitfield and Fraser (2009) make the point that the economies of some of the countries previously regarded as highly aid-dependent have experienced rapid economic growth and are now both less aid-dependent and have access to other sources of funding, particularly China and India. Such changes in the availability of funding options have implications for issues such as policy conditionality, although the reforms already carried out imply that such issues are no longer a major source of disagreement.

Initially this chapter presents the aid statistics for the three countries in recent years. It then considers their respective records in terms of economic growth and poverty reduction and makes comparisons of the aid experiences and growth outcomes for the three countries. The chapter then proceeds to examine the specific case of Tanzania in detail in relation to the issues of Budget Support, corruption and the specific aid strategies adopted over time before concluding on the Tanzanian experience.

Aid to Tanzania, Ghana and Uganda

Table 11.1 shows summary data from the OECD DAC's website (OECD DAC 2014a) for the years 2010 to 2012. In current US$ prices Tanzania's per capita Gross National Income (GNI) has recently been about 20 per cent higher than that of Uganda, and Ghana has a per capita GNI about 2½ to 3 times that of Tanzania and Uganda.

Introduction A World Bank report from several years ago (World Bank 2012) stated that, despite Tanzania's reasonable growth performance in recent years, the benefits of growth had flowed insufficiently to rural households. That report painted a dismal picture of agricultural performance, the conventional interpretation of the record. In turn, the view that agriculture has been quite stagnant spurs a search for new approaches to ‘transforming’ agriculture (e.g. through the Southern Agricultural Growth Corridor of Tanzania (SAGCOT)).

This chapter accepts that: