3. ASSESSING THE IMPACT

This section of the paper aims to highlight some of the impacts, from a livelihoods perspective, of the early implementation experiences and initiatives described in the preceding section. Writing in 2001, Alda Salomão neatly summed up some of the legal and institutional challenges that were still being faced in the attempts to involve local community groups in the management of natural resources:

“The question of participation without powers or the precarious nature of rights, the question of representation without legitimacy or of legitimacy without responsibility, the question of excessive bureaucracy in procedural aspects linked to the challenge mounted by the need of integrating and harmonizing the formal and informal legal systems, all these constitute key aspects of the involvement of communities in the sharing of powers, responsibilities and benefits from the management of natural resources...” (Salomão, 2001)

This section will demonstrate that these are indeed the issues that are mediating the impact of the new policies. The section therefore looks at the issue of impact from the following perspectives: the nature of community “representation” as conceived by the various policies and processes; an assessment and categorization of the benefits that are accruing to community groups as a result of the new NR policies; the extent to which benefits may be being captured within elite groupings, rather than accruing to community groups as a whole; the perceived benefits to peoples’ livelihood strategies and the incentive regime in this regard; institutional capacities at a community level and the nature of disputes relating to natural resource access and allocation.

3.1 Local communities, new institutions, representation and participation

It would appear that the new resource use rights relating to land, forestry and other resources are viewed as “...commendable but (that) they have moved ahead of the institutions and structures that link them to resource rights and endowments” (DfID 2000). Thus, while community resource management “appears to be at the centre of legal and policy frameworks, the envisaged decentralization of resource management is moving forward in the context of weak civil society and a lack of clarity over the transfer of rights, responsibility and authority” (ibid). In other words, there is a problem still with the forms of participation, with the mechanisms of decentralization and the creation of “new” institutions of natural resource management.

One of the key findings of a research process into natural resources and livelihoods in Mozambique, conducted over the last three years, was that local micro politics affect how natural resource policies work in practice, and particularly how the process related to the decentralization of powers occurs. Along with other southern African countries, Mozambique is committed to administrative and political decentralization. But this is taking a particular form in practice. The operation of local elite networks, party connections, kin-based linkages, and relations between government and traditional authorities all play a part in affecting the degree to which decentralization (in its various forms) leads to benefits for the poor living in rural areas. Many rural areas in Mozambique remain remote and marginalized from the political and economic mainstream and, as a result, the standard patterns of administrative and political authority do not operate. Very often there are intermediaries - local elites, NGOs, donor projects and others - who have significant influence on the way in which resources are allocated. Thus it is at the local level where bargains are made, deals negotiated and politics practised and this is where the gains or losses for livelihoods are made. With multiple and competing lines of authority, the local political context is key, and is often ignored in the standard models and assessments of decentralization policies (Scoones, pers. com.).

Box 10, for example, reveals the potential for institutional conflict that is being created by the implementation of Decree 15/2000 in the context of parallel processes in the land policy, where new community institutions may clash with newly-empowered traditional structures. Social relations of importance to resource access go beyond the village confines, with a range of other institutions (local political parties, national and international NGOs, private sector and religious entities) being important. Régulos in particular have derived much power and legitimacy from being used by agents as a first part of contact, but other actors can be equally important.

Research in the forest reserve in Derre, Morrumbala (see Box 11), identified the fact that membership of a local association, with strong links to a donor project that was supporting local community involvement in management and control of the forest resources, was perceived by many of the local population to the preserve of a local elite and not for, as they put it, “we nude people” (SLSA, 2001). In other areas, participation in projects of this nature reveals a mismatch between the overall objective and the particular motivations of the communities for becoming involved. A community in Bajone, Maganja da Costa, for example, had a different perception of a local land committee from that of the NGO that had initiated and guided its establishment - essentially they saw the committees as a potential source of gain.

Where there are problems with the legitimacy of authority, or of “leaders” that form part of the local administrative structures, the role played by outside agents in assisting communities to take advantage of the new policy principles becomes crucial. There are many examples that reveal the extent to which the Land Law, in particular, is opening up the space for fundamental transformations in local power relations and allowing previously marginalized groupings to assert themselves^[46]. However, the role of NGOs in this respect can be decisive.

Of course, it is not only the state-appointed administrative leaders that may abuse their roles; traditional chiefs may “manufacture” participation in order to facilitate community consultation over the issuing of licences in return for favours (cash, or otherwise). Frequently those consulted are in physical proximity to the local authority. This process narrows the range of participants and helps to establish an entrenched “elite participants” group, who, through the distribution of benefits, may become particularly powerful, particularly as the demand for participation increases.

The most important aspect of how the policy is playing out in practise is the institutional messiness. The tendency for NGOs and administrative authorities to establish a multiplicity of institutions in certain localities was evocatively described by one old man in Bajone, Mozambique as the “committee disease” (SLSA, 2003). New institutions parachuted on to communities attempt to lump together people from different social groups and political parties and from administrative and traditional authorities. The same man described the resulting conflict and disorder as like having a cat and mouse living together in the same room. However he went on to explain that he attends meetings held by most of the groups operating locally in the hope of gaining benefits from each. Nhantumbo (2002) notes that this confused situation has prevented many communities from being able to truly take control of local resource management, in harmony with state institutions that recognise their legitimacy and support their role.

Further confusion arises from the use of an operating manual (an instrument with no legal force) to “trump” legal provisions from different sector legislation and lump all of the community institutions into a single body. The recently-produced DNFFB manual on community institutions states:

“After its formation the (committee) will become the community institution which relates to the state, with local business people, with NGOs and with other institutions and which will defend the interests of the community and assist the local administrative authorities on any local development subject”^[47] (DNFFB, 2003).

3.2 Forms of benefits for local communities

Social capital

Knight (2002) presents strong evidence for the building of social capital amongst community groups as a result of the implementation of the Land Law. She identifies four significant areas in which the law is having a beneficial impact (Box 12), all of which relate to an improvement in the internal functioning of groups or the extension of their external links to other actors. It is likely that the widespread policy consultation processes around both the Land Law and the Forestry and Wildlife Regulations served also to build this kind of social capital. For example, a case study evaluation of participatory forestry research promoting the co-management of publicly owned reserves in Malawi found that the research itself had positively affected participating communities’ social capital in terms of improved relationships with local forestry department staff and a greater sense of rights, responsibilities and ownership (Henderson, 2000). Mansur & Cuco (2002) point out that there are clear advantages in the present community forest areas when compared to zones where no initiatives under this programme are being implemented. Such advantages include community empowerment, some forest management, the possibility of developing and testing methods and tools, and a better relationship between government officers and local people (Mansur & Cuco, 2002). Where the relationship does not get better, there is evidence that power relations are becoming more balanced (see Box 12).

There is also evidence that some of the negative impacts of the messy institutional environment can be offset by the more thoughtful and carefully planned establishment of representative bodies. The structure of a Natural Resource Committee within one community divided the top two leadership positions in the committee between locally important actors, representative of FRELIMO and RENAMO, and made all committee decisions contingent upon the agreement of the Chief. In contrast to the “cat and mouse” situation described by the old man in Bajone, it was argued that in this way the committee had “guaranteed its’ overarching power in the community - as it had enfolded all the community leaders into the committee’s core structure” (Knight, 2002). This was said to have been a successful strategy, as outlined by Chief Nyakwanikwa, who described himself as being an integral part of the leadership structures of the Committee:

“I am part and parcel of the committee because the committee itself won’t do anything before they consult with me, the Mambo. When I approve a plan, we refer what we have agreed upon to the land law manual - there we have the concrete foundation for what we have agreed upon... We have now seen that we are one in common, everything is done unanimously. During community meetings, secretaries unite the people, and the mambos tell them the traditional rules. Because of the unity between the mambos and the secretaries, we are now having the access of moving anywhere to exchange ideas with others.”

In another community, also from Manica province, the NGO involved in community delimitation reported a series of benefits related to the increased stock of social capital accruing to the community (Box 13). That these impacts are being felt by the previously powerful is perhaps illustrated by comments from a researcher looking at the attitudes of forest sector stakeholders in Zambézia province:

Both government officials and logging managers express a considerable amount of contempt toward environmental NGOs and organizations working on issues such as land tenure and rights education. For instance, NGO workers have apparently received threats for continuing with their work and, in conversation, operations managers make a deliberate attempt to discredit the need for such work (Reyes, 2003)

Human capital

Box 14 shows the results of an analysis done on some of the agreements flowing from land consultations with communities in Zambézia. The predominant form of agreement (58 percent of cases) was for opportunities for local employment. In only one of the 48 cases, however, was any detail provided in respect of this agreement; for the vast majority, the number and nature of opportunities to be created, remuneration levels, selection policies, etc. were all unspecified.

It was also noted that none of the agreements specified any form of training that was to be made available; the predominant feeling of those who were attending the consultations was that what was involved here was access to cheap labour rather than investments in and improvements to human capital. Several reports have noted the fact that usually only low-income positions are involved. In the case of the Bazaruto Archipelago, where employment creation was hailed as a potential major benefit for community groups, less than ten percent of the jobs created at the various tourism establishments were actually filled by inhabitants of the islands (Engdahl et al, 2001).

Natural capital

The next largest category of agreement from the Zambézia example (16 cases representing 20 percent) were cases in which the community did not object to the application but where no specific agreements on local benefits were made. It appeared in these cases that the natural capital available to communities (the land resources) was in fact being reduced. Only in four percent of the agreements was some form of compensation to be paid to existing rights holders. In only one percent of the cases did an applicant agree to make livestock available as traction power for ploughing and clearance of land, despite the predominance of applications for grazing land (ZADP, 2001) and the evident lack of this form of natural capital amongst the communities^[48].

Physical capital

A further 15 percent of the cases involved the applicant agreeing to make local produce available for purchase, to establish a local mill or to construct other amenities (including shops). Anecdotal evidence from elsewhere attests to the predominance of agreements that involve an investor promising to build social amenities such as a school or heath post, or to improve access roads to the area involved. An IUCN report on the benefits to communities within reserve areas states that many of these infrastructures provided by the private sector are built from local materials and hence last for only a short period of time (IUCN, 2003). A lack of coordination with local government authorities has left some new facilities unstaffed and unused.

In the forest areas there is evidence that physical capital may in fact be destroyed. There is apparently no expectation by government that logging companies will build or maintain transportation infrastructure. The requirement for management plans, for example, makes no explicit call for operators to invest in road or bridge construction, nor does it require them to repair damage done to existing roads and bridges. One group of villagers explained how a light-duty bridge built with the assistance of an international NGO allowed them to reach the nearest town during the rainy season. However, the bridge was used by logging trucks weighing well over the bridge’s capacity and before long the bridge was destroyed beyond use. Rather than rebuild, the loggers began using a much longer route that avoided major water crossings. The added distance of this route makes it much more difficult for villagers to reach the town, sell their goods, buy necessities and access health care (Reyes, 2003).

Financial capital

What are lacking still are concrete financial benefits to communities as a result of partnership or joint venture deals (it was noted above that only four of 100 consultations resulted in an agreement that resulted in the payment of compensation to existing rights holders - all of these were in the form of once-off cash payments). Box 15 shows the nature of proposals regarding local benefits put forward by private sector entities that were bidding for hunting concessions in Marromeu district. Only one proposal suggested any form of financial payments and this was to be made to the traditional chief of the area^[49]. In general, it appears that most proposals, in respect to community involvement, were vague in the extreme (Soto & Madope, 2000).

Writing in 2001, Matakala & Mushove state that there is little experience of benefit distributions of a financial nature and that the only examples are that of the Projecto de Gestão e Desenvolvimento da Reserva do Niassa and the Tchuma Tchatu project. The division of financial benefits as part of the former project are set by a legal instrument passed by the cabinet^[50]. This instrument states that the management of the reserve, which is a national conservation area, will be done by the Sociedade para a Gestão e Desenvolvimento da Reserva do Niassa, and anticipates a tripartite arrangement between the state, a private company (Investimentos Niassa) and the “local communities” as a third partner. The holdings within this society are set at 51 percent in the state and 49 percent in the private company; “over the next 10 years” it is envisaged that 15 percent of the holdings will be made available to the local communities and 19 percent to other “private investors”, with the state and company holdings reduced to 30 percent and 36 percent respectively (Rodrigues, 2001).

Presently, the only financial benefit flowing to the communities is the payment of 50 percent of the revenue from auctions of hunting quotas within the buffer zone, outside the core limits of the park. This money is paid only after there has been an agreement reached between the park management authority and the community groups on what it will be used for and it appears that this has included the payment of the salaries of those community members who have been involved in the maintenance of the park fences (ibid). In effect it would appear that the community has to pay itself, from its own revenues, for providing services to the park.

In the case of the Tchuma Tchatu project, once again the division of benefits had to be authorised through a specific high level legal instrument^[51]. According to this the division is as follows: 21 percent and 10 percent for the district administrations of Mágoè and Zumbo respectively, 35 percent to the state operation in charge of the concession. The project known as Chipanje Chetu, in Nissa province, attempted to follow this model but failed as a result of the lack of a legal instrument for the payment of benefits (see Box 16 below).

There is also some evidence that the new policies are leading to an (unintended) loss of benefits for local groups, particularly in respect to the relationships with forest operators who, as a result of the new Regulations that allocate 20 percent of the tax revenue for the benefit of local communities, appear to be using this as an excuse to reduce their allocation of direct benefits.

A loss of livelihood options is also being noted in the case of some private sector development initiatives, particularly those in the tourism sector that target areas of high conservation value. Under the guise of providing support for alternative livelihood strategies and generating local wealth, some of these projects are in fact having a net prejudicial impact upon local livelihoods. Tourism projects, in particular, are prone to overstating the extent of community agreement and participation involved in their establishment with one operator^[52] even claiming that the Quirimbas National Park is the only conservation area in the world to be proclaimed at the request of the local inhabitants, despite clear independent evidence of local resentment, suspicion and marginalization on the part of the archipelago community (Johnstone, 2003).

Other large concessions that have an impact upon local land rights, mostly related to mining activities, have tended to take a classic compensation route and aside from a few social infrastructure developments appear not to be interested in establishing long term relationships with local people.

3.3 Community incentives and capacities to claim and secure rights and manage resources

An important aspect of local community involvement in the formal management systems of natural resources is the perceived benefit to their livelihood strategies in doing so and the incentive regime in this regard is therefore important to analyse. Institutional capacity at a community level is also a key element. While the legal system and policy framework may define and enforce some rights, the administrative structures and service deliverers are often the primary institutions through which entitlements are delivered or withheld. The interactions between citizens and “street-level actors” (local bureaucrats, police, etc.) are central to the conversion of abstract rights into concrete reality. Box 16 shows examples of both these kinds of failures: a failure on the part of regulatory frameworks to adequately address the issue of incentives and failures as a result of the withholding of benefits by local power structures.

Knight (2002) states that information regarding the Land Law has had the effect of making people more aware of this process, a first step towards improving their capacity to challenge local actors who distort messages or withhold entitlements. Teaching villagers about national laws is allowing them to clearly see the differences between national policy and local governance. One woman interviewed stated that:

“In my opinion the local government is totally wrong, because it changes what was approved by the central government and puts it in their own words.” (Quoted in Knight, 2002)

Such a distinction between local officials and national policy is important, as it has made clear to communities that local corruption can be fought - one need only go above the corruption to a higher level, or refer to the law and base your power and conclusions in its mandates (ibid). Similar conclusions were drawn by Anstey (2000) in his observations regarding the willingness of the Sanga community guards to challenge locally powerful interests who were flouting the law.

A report on the Goba community, one of the initial projects implemented under the auspices of the FAO implemented project within the DNFFB, acknowledges problems of both incentive structures and capacity:

“The incentives for participation may not be sufficient to compensate the costs of engagement in community organization including the imposition for charcoal making restriction even understanding the advantage of sustainability of forests for present and future generations. Currently, there is a lot of enthusiasm among communities while the project exists to support the initiatives, but the alternative activities have not yet produced incomes to sustain people expectations and confidence to drop dependence on charcoal making. We should acknowledge the strength of organization of Goba Community and the capacity to make it work, but on the other hand, the level of illiteracy is very high and may create some limitation on communication with other stakeholders and investors”. (Kumagwelo, 2000)

Even the flagship Tchuma Tchato project was critiqued from a similar perspective:

“The major problem with Tchuma Tchato was that the role of local authorities was not clearly defined, although it is recognised that they should be involved and directly benefit from the revenue distribution process. Tchuma Tchato shows us that a weak legal framework is one of the critical constraints for productive collaborative interaction between necessary parties (government institutions, communities and the private sector). The main problem was the perceived uneven distribution of responsibility and mechanisms of distribution which did not integrate the equity principles for the benefit of the community.” (Foloma, 2000)

Nhantumbo & McQueen (2003) point out that poverty and illiteracy militate against the participation of local communities in management regimes for natural resources; the need to satisfy basic necessities means that poor forest communities do not often have the luxury of a long planning horizon for the use of resources. They highlight the fact that there are only ad hoc initiatives in respect to building capacity for natural resource management and that there is no national strategy for this.

3.4 Social differentiation and marginalization

Land tenure rights as they operate in customary systems in Mozambique are, as in many other areas, highly dynamic and complex. They intersect with other forms of relationships in myriad ways. The implication of their recognition in formal law is that inequalities, where these exist in the “customary” systems, can be reinforced. Some, such as gender inequalities, are nominally excluded from this reinforcement since they are contrary to the constitution.

However, in the absence of legislated state support for the new institutions, that steers them towards practises that do not unfairly discriminate against any group, this counts for little. The recognition of customary tenure must be done in such a manner that ensures that there is a choice available beyond narrow definitions of “traditional authority” mechanisms. In Mozambique this has been provided for through the very broad definition allowed to groups that wish to call themselves a “local community”. In this way, the customary tenure that is being recognised is nothing more than a set of rules and institutions that derive their legitimacy from within the community.

That said, the space and freedom that exists for people to break out of existing systems is constrained by unequal power relations, unequal access to information and the potential loss of social capital that flows as a result of membership of a particular group. This capital may well bind people to continued membership of a “traditional grouping” and, as Bingen (2000) puts it, “the ties that bind are also the ties that exclude.” In other words, those “excluded” as a result of familial or kinship institutions are likely to remain so even where governments have devolved authority to local levels (SLSA, 2003).

Customary tenure systems have proved themselves remarkably adaptable to changing circumstances, including rising land scarcity, and the commercialization of agricultural production. They can provide means of access to resources for groups with weaker traditional claims, such as women and young people, as well as migrants and other mobile groups. In Mozambique the most common support networks comprise kinship and family but also include membership in church congregations, for example (see Box 17).

However, the incidences where benefits are captured by local elites are many. Many of the individuals employed by forestry companies in Zambézia, for example, are related to local leaders. One company representative noted that he always pays a salary to the local traditional authority, even though the individual is not required to work. Another company official noted that many of the individuals hired are nephews, relatives or closely associated with the traditional authority, party secretary or other local leader (Kloek-Jensen, 1999). Other recruitment processes also marginalize the poorer members of community groups:

“Villagers explained how loggers arrive in an area to begin cutting and make it known that laborers will be needed. The operator will generally place a Mozambican in charge of choosing the workers. Vying for jobs, people offer livestock and other scarce valuables in exchange for work. The result is that those villagers who can afford to pay the most are most likely to get jobs” (Reyes, 2003).

The example given in Box 18 also demonstrate how the processes and institutions can be manipulated by local elites, whether these are consultations or involve the registration of rights.

The position of women as a commonly marginalized group may be changing as a result of the messages transmitted by the Land Law, although there are community groups that contend that this marginalization never existed in customary systems. In all four of the communities studied by Knight in Manica, community elders of both genders firmly insisted that according to local custom, widows had a clear right to remain on their lands after the death of their husbands. For them, the land law’s insistence that widows and unmarried women have the right to have their own land was merely another example of how the land law mirrors their own customary rules. She contends, however, that the land law is deeply affecting gender dynamics in other ways and shifting the balance of power within households, particularly in relation to resource-management decisions:

“Female members of the drama group in Musiyanharo reported that after learning about the land law, their husbands allowed them more freedom. One woman explained the changes that have come about as her husband has learned and understood the land law, saying, “Long back, without knowing this new land law, my husband was not able to give me the permission to sell any of our family production. But now that he knows that it is written in the land law that women have their rights to use the land, now I am free to decide on my production and also to sell it, and I am also free to do this community work.” (Knight, 2002).

Noticeable shifts are also occurring in respect to participation in community meetings. In fact, women’s participation in the dissemination meetings held by ORAM in Zambézia, which was monitored over a period of two years, outstripped that of men (ZADP, 2002). Knight notes that there is still much to be done, however, and quotes one female interviewee as saying:

“When women are working, the men approve that the women have their own pieces of land, but when it comes to harvest time, the men say, “You are my own, and so whatever you are harvesting is also my own.” (ibid)

3.5 Conflicts and dispute resolution

Lucas (2001) identifies two primary forms of conflict in respect to land resources: those arising between local community groups and third party interests from outside the community and those occurring between community members (or neighbouring community groups), with the former identified as having a far greater negative impact on the livelihoods of the rural poor. In common with other studies (see, for example, Norfolk & Soberano, 2000), this research identifies the fact that many contemporary conflicts have historical roots that can reach back to early colonial conquests and usurpation of land rights. Where this is not the case, the conflict very often arises between new investors that want to rehabilitate pre-existing farms and infrastructure, many of which, in the period since independence, have been abandoned and subsequently occupied by local people. Other conflicts arise as a result of locally incompatible land uses, as evidenced by the many conflicts in Zambézia province that occur between rice-growing local communities and livestock-owning investors.

As noted in Box 8, the initial land campaign stressed informal and administrative rather than judicial means of resolving conflict, an emphasis followed by ORAM strategies in seeking a consensual solution to a conflict through mediation and the promotion of partnerships between communities and the private sector. Lucas notes the mediating role of the traditional authorities in this respect and the tendency for these conflicts to be resolved through the payment of compensation to affected rights holders. Administrative authorities may become involved if this level of dispute-resolution is not successful and the actors in such cases can be from the local district administrations, the SPGC offices or the offices of the provincial governor.

The traditional authorities have a predominantly greater role in the resolution of conflicts that occur between community members or between neighbouring groups. Very often, these institutions will co-exist with the “community courts”, whose foundations lie in the peoples’ courts introduced by post-independence legislation. These function as a court of first instance in a local area. Cases that are impossible to resolve at this level can be referred to similar courts at a higher level in, for example, the administrative post. The “judges” are elected locally and in many cases comprise the local political/administrative functionaries and office bearers of organizations such as the OMM. Although the institution is largely respected and is recognised to play an important role, there are accusations of corruption in some areas. In Licoa, for example, researchers were told:

“When we go to the community court, in may cases it becomes complicated because some of us are poor and have nothing to pay the judges...when you are poor your problems are not resolved, you have to have a chicken or other animal in order to get any solution to your problem and if you do not have this you could wait your whole life...” (SLSA, 2003)

Similar comments were made in relation to the traditional dispute-resolution processes but here there appears to be a higher level of acceptance that the parties to a dispute must contribute something to the chief. Payments are recognised as “costs” rather than as inducements for a favourable verdict.

The legal incorporation of customary tenure rules into dispute resolution processes has been a crucial step. One researcher, who was evaluating agro forestry techniques in Nampula, noted the important role served by the existence of older cashew trees in identifying the legitimacy of claims to particular pieces of land and claimed that “the widespread presence of cashew on smallholder land in this province allows these trees to provide evidence of land ownership, and constitute legitimate evidence for dispute resolution” (Unruh, 1996). It further appears that this incorporation is a two-way process and that some elements of the land law are now being integrated into local customary rules for resolving disputes:

“The law has begun to be actively adopted into local conflict-solving strategies, both for internal conflicts and during external conflicts. In every community studied, leaders reported that local leadership structures have begun referring to the land law when resolving internal disputes. Furthermore, many villagers expressed variations of this statement, made by a man in Dororo: ‘For us to have power, we have to stick to the legal procedures!’ Such sentiments are proof that communities are embracing legal strategy, understanding that not only is it possible for them to make the jump to state-based procedures and legal process, but that it is also necessary” (Knight, 2002).

Other comments reveal the extent to which the law has reinforced some of the customary rules and procedures:

“The new land law hasn’t changed anything, only it has strengthened other things. Traditionally, we used to avoid people cutting trees unnecessarily, or starting veldt fires, or burning the cemetery grounds, the land law also recommends these things. The land law itself has also avoided people to cultivate in or open our traditional forests where we practice our spiritual ceremonies. Definitely the land law has strengthened our rules that were existing in the past. With the introduction of the land law, things seem to resemble the past” (quoted in Knight, 2002)

There is a striking degree of complacency as community groups watch their forests disappear. In other words, the study uncovered no reports of group protests, no stories of sabotage, and no accounts of police responding to unrest of any form. Instead, people simply shake there heads, shrug their shoulders and explain how they perceive the situation to be unfair but intractable. This is striking, but perhaps not surprising, as it fits squarely within the patterns of their centuries-long experience. (Reyes, 2003)