Joël’s view
The first law of poverty is based on economics. Neither the moralization of capitalism, nor the redefinition of progress, nor the tribulations of imperialism are the concerns of Africans. What matters is a rapid and sustained rise in worker productivity, the only true guarantee of improving living standards.
As Nobel laureate Paul Krugman put it: “Productivity isn’t everything, but, in the long run, it is almost everything. A country’s ability to improve its standard of living over time depends almost entirely on its ability to raise its output per worker.”
Between 2015 and 2023, Côte d’Ivoire’s value added per industrial worker rose 60%, manufacturing output doubled to $9.5 billion, and the poverty rate — defined as living on less than $2.15/day — fell from 33% to 10%. Meanwhile, in Cameroon, industrial productivity stagnated. The manufacturing gap between the two countries widened to $3.5 billion, and Côte d’Ivoire’s GDP lead over Cameroon grew from $7 billion in 2010 to $30 billion in 2023. Unsurprisingly, the poverty rate in Cameroon remains 23%, 2.7 percentage points lower than a decade ago.
Few realities are harder to accept than the fact Africa’s economic poverty is rooted in low productivity. Nothing else is met with such denial and confusion. When a World Bank official reported 100 million Nigerians lived in extreme poverty in 2013, the presidency dismissed it. Instead, the authorities pointed to the 122 million mobile phone lines. How could a country with that many phones have so many indigents? At the time, living on less than $1.25 (200 naira) defined extreme poverty. Currency depreciation later pushed that to 1,430 naira, and by 2022, the threshold rose to $2.15 (3,300 naira). Abuja finally admitted 133 million Nigerians (63%) lived in poverty — if not “extreme,” at least “multidimensional.” Small mercies.
Denial and misdirection stem from one fact: Boosting productivity is hard. It demands relentless focus on countless details. Or, as Citigroup’s Emerging Markets economist David Cowan puts it: “Economic growth has a political dimension. Some countries and leaders take it seriously, others don’t.”
One need only look at the resurgence of “Captainomics” in the Sahel — the belief that bluster, short-term fixes, and coercion by strongmen can reshape economic reality. Desperate for funds, West Africa’s military juntas who came to power between 2021 to 2023 first pressed local banks to buy government bonds. They then nationalized mining assets — even sequestering Australian mining executives for a $160 million ransom, politely labeled a “tax dispute settlement.” All the while, they waved the flags of revolution, anti-imperialism, anti-colonialism, and African pride. Never mind that they will pay dearly in arbitration courts, investors will flee, and their economies will suffer.
The alternative — renegotiating contracts, rebuilding donor ties, and enacting economic reforms — is simply too difficult. Too mundane.
No figure better embodies the contradictions of romantic African economic thought than Thomas Sankara. The shadow of Burkina Faso’s Captain-President remains, four decades after he was betrayed and assassinated in 1987 following his ‘revolutionary’ policies of land nationalization and union-busting that antagonized the elites and parts of the grassroots movements of his nation. It still paralyzes thought between a nostalgic “if only” and a dogmatic “if and only if.”
From Sahelian juntas to South Africa’s Economic Freedom Fighters, the obsession with shortcuts persists — all to avoid the hard, tedious work of improving productivity and fostering long-term growth. Some call it a “revolutionary path.” Others see it for what it is: wishful thinking in search for a shortcut where none exists.
Adapted from Enterrer Sankara, Essai sur les économies africaines (Beyond Sankara: A Reflection on African Economies), a book by Joël Té-Léssia Assoko, a veteran reporter and editor covering African markets.