A story is told that a few years after independence in 1964, Kenneth Kaunda, Zambia鈥檚 first president, visited one of the mines in the mineral rich Copperbelt Province and was immediately struck by the complete absence of Zambians in senior management positions. He proceeded to ask the mine owners as to when they reasonably thought Zambians would be ready to occupy positions of influence within the country鈥檚 mining sector. With straight faces, the mine owners responded 鈥渘ot before 2003, Mr. President.鈥�

Following independence from Britain, Zambia鈥檚 economy was organized broadly along capitalist free market lines. The economy, split up into mining and non-mining sectors, was wholly in the hands of foreign private interests. The copper mines, the country鈥檚 jewels, were owned a 100% by Anglo American Corporation and American Metal Climax. Both companies having obtained the rights to mine copper in perpetuity from Cecil Rhodes鈥� British South Africa Company (Rhodes had himself obtained the mining rights under dubious circumstances). The non-mining sector 鈥� including banks, insurance companies, construction companies and so on 鈥� were similarly in the hands of foreign interests.

The logic, or at least hope, in organizing the economy in this way was that unfettered foreign capital would not only drive productivity improvements at home, including knowledge and technological transfers, but would, crucially, play a big role in meeting the newly independent country鈥檚 social expenditure targets. The latter point was of vital importance given that the colonial government had disproportionately privileged whites in the provision of social services.

Unsurprisingly, unfettered foreign capital did the exact opposite. Instead of re-investing a considerable proportion of their profits in local operations, the mining companies externalized almost everything. Before independence, mining companies had re-invested about 50% of their profits in Zambian operations. After independence, the rate of re-investment fell to about 20%, according to , a Zambian development expert.

Things were not any better in the non-mining sector. Saasa estimates that the outward remittance of dividends to foreign owners increased by 84% in 1966, two years after independence. As for the commercial banks, they continued just as before to favor resident Europeans in the provision of credit facilities. Only was extended to Zambian citizens, a move that constrained the emergence of an indigenous entrepreneurial class. In as far as funding the state purse was concerned, the mining and non-mining companies utilized all manner of gimmicks, including 鈥渋nvisible costs,鈥� to ensure that their tax liabilities in Zambia were kept to a bare minimum.

It very early on dawned on Kaunda and his team that 鈥�.鈥� Rather than be engaged in a never-ending game of dubious logic with the foreign capitalists, Kaunda decided to act.

On 19th April 1968, he announced the Mulungushi Reforms and ordered that the state would henceforth take a controlling position in all private retail, transport and manufacturing firms in the country. In the following year, at a community meeting in the historic township of Matero, Kaunda announced a partial nationalization of the country鈥檚 mines.

was now in the hands of the state. A process of realigning the objectives of enterprise with those of the country was immediately set into motion. The copper mines were to fund a generous 鈥溾�� welfare system that would reverberate beyond the Copperbelt and benefit everybody. Within a decade of the reforms, Zambians were occupying leadership positions in the economy putting to shame the dire predictions made in the 1960s. More importantly, free education and free healthcare for all with guaranteed social mobility became the mantra by which the country was to live by.

In 1991, Kenneth Kaunda graciously exited from office after losing that year鈥檚 elections. The new government, intoxicated by the fumes of neoliberalism then sweeping the globe, embarked on an ambitious privatization program whose coup de gr芒ce was the re-transfer of the mines to foreign private interests.

Immediately afterwards, unemployment and destitution, particularly on the Copperbelt, became the order of the day. Access to quality social services, once guaranteed to all, were now the preserve of a tiny elite. A schism ran right through the country forming class cleavages wherever it went.

In our hurry to get rid of Kaunda, we had also gotten rid of Kaundanomics and we therefore lost our way.

Grieve Chelwa is a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard University.聽

This article was originally published on .

Development economics as a field of study was formally launched in the 1950s by the Afro-Caribbean economist who, out of necessity, wanted to understand how his own country, Saint Lucia, could transform from an agro-based economy into a modern industrial state (later, in 1979, Lewis was awarded the for this work, the only black person to have won the prize to date). For Lewis, the key to providing a satisfactory answer to the problem of underdevelopment lay in studying those societies as they were and not in comparing them to some mythical ideal. Saint Lucia, like all developing countries, had a lot of underemployed labor in its agricultural sector. The question was how best to marshal this valuable resource into driving industrialization.

Sadly, development economics has moved away from Lewis鈥� pioneering contribution of studying poor countries on their own terms. For example, today鈥檚 development economists explain Tanzania鈥檚 lack of development as stemming from its inability to be more like Sweden. This way of studying development, termed the 鈥渟ubtraction approach鈥�, has led us down a dark alleyway where there is more confusion than elucidation. That, at least, is the charge leveled by economic historian in his book published in 2015, but still circulating and prompting debate in academia and amongst practitioners.

Aided by the revolution in computing power and by the supposed triumph of neoliberal thinking, a certain type of influential development economics arose in the 1980s whose dominant methodological approach was the compilation of cross-country datasets for the purposes of statistical analyses. These studies, termed the 鈥渇irst generation growth literature鈥� by Jerven, set out to show that economic growth depended on a standard set of globally relevant factors. For instance, government involvement in the economy was hypothesized to be a key factor explaining why poor countries had grown slowly, betraying the extent to which the ideological currents of the time influenced economic research.

Jerven shows that much of this research was flawed at a conceptual level. First, the data for most African countries was collected at a time when their economies were in crisis. This data was therefore not a typical representation of how these economies functioned in normal times. If anything, the data were an outcome and not the cause of the crisis. Second, the data for industrialized countries was reverse-engineered into the models to fit the story. For example, industrialized countries would automatically be presumed to have zero government involvement in the economy even though this was not the case (subsidies to US and European farmers, anyone?). Lastly, the economists working in the 1980s and 1990s were trying to explain a 鈥渃hronic failure of growth in Africa鈥�, something that had not happened in reality. African economies grew healthily in the 1960s and 1970s and did not grow at all in the 1980s and 1990s.

As a way of rescuing this literature from its conceptual malaise, a new literature arose in the early 2000s. This literature claimed that the answers to Africa鈥檚 failure to implement good policies (read: failure to be more like Sweden) were to be found in history. The continent was 鈥渢rapped in history鈥�.

The most famous account of the 鈥渉istory matters鈥� school was a 2001 by economists Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson and James Robinson. The article argued that the reason why African countries relied on 鈥渆xtractive institutions鈥� today, such as unsecure property rights, was related to patterns of colonization in history. Because Africa was not 鈥渃onducive鈥� for settlement, Europeans introduced institutions that would facilitate the extraction of natural resources. Elsewhere, such as Canada and Australia, they introduced 鈥渋nclusive institutions鈥� precisely because these places were conducive for their settlement.

Quite apart from the hubris contained in thinking that the universe of institutional types was only to be found in historical Europe, Jerven levels a series of conceptual criticisms at the 鈥渉istory matters鈥� school. If Africa is 鈥渢rapped in history鈥� and, therefore, condemned to a perpetual lack of growth, how is it that the continent grew rather spectacularly in the 1960s, 1970s and more recently in the 2000s? Even more damning, Jerven shows that growth in Africa has been a over the last 400 years. So a theory that tells us that a single historical event explains Africa鈥檚 slow growth today doesn鈥檛 take us far. We want to know why Tanzania has grown, slowed down, grown and then slowed down again throughout its history.

Sadly, the 鈥渉istory matters鈥� school is very influential. Ask any member of the thinking class to tell you why Africa is poor and they will likely refer you to , the 2013 book that summarized Acemoglu et al.鈥檚 work.

So what鈥檚 to be done? Jerven thinks development economics should engage more historians given their unique skills for interrogating historical data sources and narratives. This is welcome. Surprisingly, Jerven does not call for the active engagement of African economists given that most of what he critiques has been authored by North American and European economists (his book should really have been titled Africa: Why Western Economists Get It Wrong). This oversight is telling because his critique clearly builds on the often neglected of the Malawian economist Thandika Mkandawire.

This last pickle aside, Morten Jerven鈥檚 book is a refreshing contribution to the debate about development scholarship on Africa and it deserves to be read by all.

This article was originally published on .

Grieve Chelwa is a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard University.