Bombardier Abroad: Patterns of Dispossession

BOMBARDIER ABROAD

BOMBARDIER ABROAD PAT TE R N S O F D I S P O S S E S S I O N

DAVID P. THOMAS

FERNWOOD PUBLISHING HALIFAX & WINNIPEG

Copyright © 2018 David P. Thomas All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Editing: Brenda Conroy Cover design: Tania Craan Printed and bound in Canada Published by Fernwood Publishing 32 Oceanvista Lane, Black Point, Nova Scotia, B0J 1B0 and 748 Broadway Avenue, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R3G 0X3 www.fernwoodpublishing.ca Fernwood Publishing Company Limited gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada, the Manitoba Department of Culture, Heritage and Tourism under the Manitoba Publishers Marketing Assistance Program and the Province of Manitoba, through the Book Publishing Tax Credit, for our publishing program. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Province of Nova Scotia to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Thomas, David P., 1974-, author Bombardier abroad : patterns of dispossession / David P. Thomas.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-77363-029-8 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77363-030-4 (EPUB).-ISBN 978-1-77363-031-1 (Kindle) 1. Bombardier Inc. 2. International business enterprises--Social aspects. 3. Transportation equipment industry--Canada. 4. Aircraft industry--Canada. 5. Social responsibility of business. I. Title.

HD9709.C34B65 2018

338.7’629046 C2018-904497-7

C2018-903702-4

CONTENTS Acknowledgements................................................................................. vii 1. Bombardier, the Canadian State, and Dispossession.............. 1 Bombardier, the Canadian State, and Canadian Identity............6 Theoretical Framework of This Research.........................................9

2. The China–Tibet Case....................................................................21 Historical Context of China-Tibet Relations................................. 22 The Qinghai–Tibet Rail Project and Bombardier........................ 32 Problems with the Project................................................................. 35 Canadian Activism, Bombardier’s Position, and Implications of this Case........................................................... 54

3. The South African Case.................................................................59 Historical Context............................................................................... 60 Overview of the Gautrain Project.................................................... 67 Potential Benefits of the Project...................................................... 70 Potential Limitations and Problems with the Gautrain.............. 74 Shilowa’s Legacy and Proposals to Expand the Gautrain........ 88 Bombardier and Dispossession...................................................... 91

4. The Israel/Palestine Case..............................................................94 Historical Context............................................................................... 95 Bombardier in Israel........................................................................... 99

The Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line and International Law...................................................................... 102 The A1 Rail Project within a Context of Dispossession........ 108 The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions Context................... 110 Conclusion and Implications......................................................... 116

Conclusion: Political Implications and Moving Forward ............ 121 Additional Cases and Future Research...................................... 125 Final Thoughts................................................................................... 128

References............................................................................................ 132 Index........................................................................................................ 149

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

F

irst, I acknowledge the many people in the three countries featured in this book who are living under conditions of dispossession, but who remain steadfast and continue to disseminate information regarding their plight to the outside world. This book would not be possible without materials collected from organizations such as Stop the Wall, Coalition of Women for Peace, Congress of South African Trade Unions (cosatu), Free Tibet, and many others.

Second, I thank my friend and colleague Hayden King. Three years ago in my living room I described to him my preliminary ideas about a book on Bombardier and my three main cases. He suggested that using ideas from settler colonial studies would be useful in framing the nature of dispossession across the three cases. This suggestion had a tremendous impact on my approach to the book and also on my general approach to teaching and research.

I also acknowledge the excellent assistance I received from student research assistants at Mount Allison University over the past several years.

The following students have done research work that contributed to this project: Chris Balcom, Tyler Stuart, Tessa Dixon, and Jill MacIntyre.

Fernwood Publishing has been an excellent press to work with, and I am thankful for their support and assistance with this project. In particular, I thank editor Candida Hadley for her engagement with the text. Her analysis, feedback, and constructive criticism were essential in completing this project.

Finally, I thank my family, friends, and colleagues for their support during the writing of this book. vii

CHAPTER ONE

BOMBARDIER, THE CANADIAN STATE, AND DISPOSSESSION

J

oseph-Armand Bombardier was only 15 years old when he began designing his own snow vehicles. In 1937, when he was 30, Joseph-Armand commercialized his invention and launched a sevenpassenger B7 snowmobile. But it wasn’t until 1969 that Bombardier, then under the leadership of Joseph-Armand’s son-in-law, Laurent Beaudoin, became a public company and diversified its operations through acquisitions in the rail sector. Bombardier would become “the North American leader in rail transit” (Bombardier n.d.b) by 1982, while simultaneously expanding into the aerospace sector during the 1980s. Further expansion and acquisitions in the 1990s resulted in the company becoming a major global actor in both aerospace and rail transportation by the early 2000s.

Thus, from humble beginnings, Bombardier grew into a Canadian leader in innovation and expanded globally. Bombardier has also been recognized as a “good corporate citizen,” with numerous internationally recognized awards and accolades over the decades. In 2014, “Bombardier was listed among the top 25 of the Global 100 Most Sustainable Corporations in the World, an annual index released by Toronto-based media and investment advisory company, Corporate Knights Inc.” And in 2015, Bombardier was “chosen as an index component in the Dow Jones Sustainability North America index for the ninth consecutive year” (Bombardier n.d.c).

Headquartered in Montréal, Québec, Bombardier is now one of the 1

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world’s largest global transportation companies, with revenues of $16.3 billion for the fiscal year ending December 31, 2016 (Bombardier n.d.a).

Employing approximately 65,500 people in more than twenty-eight countries, Bombardier is a global giant in its two core business divisions — aerospace and rail transportation — and its shares are traded on the Toronto Stock Exchange. According to the company’s website, Bombardier Aerospace has “the most comprehensive aircraft portfolio and we hold the number one position in business and regional aircraft,” and Bombardier Transportation “is a global leader in the rail industry” (Bombardier n.d.a). Indeed, Bombardier is considered one of the most successful Canadian corporations in the modern era, and its activities have far-reaching effects in many regions of the world. This is one of the key reasons for examining Bombardier’s projects abroad and how the corporation is situated within our broader understanding of Canadian foreign direct investment.

Bombardier has often been in the headlines of newspapers across Canada over the past several years. Coverage has focused on issues such as the recent trade dispute with competitor Boeing, which alleged that Bombardier was selling planes below market value in the US (Zhang 2017), large executive pay increases while the company struggles financially (cbc News 2017b), federal and provincial (Québec) interest-free loans granted to the company (Marowits 2017), and allegations of corruption against Bombardier officials in securing contracts in Azerbaijan (cbc News 2017a) and South Africa (Sawa and Chichakian 2015). While these cases are newsworthy and warrant our serious attention, we rarely hear about the nature of Bombardier’s many business ventures abroad. As Bombardier is a large Canadian corporation with dealings in dozens of foreign countries and has been a central player in the Canadian corporate landscape for decades, it is somewhat surprising that very little is known in Canada about its international relationships and projects. The purpose of this book is to present an in-depth analysis of three key projects that Bombardier is involved with overseas — in China/Tibet, South Africa, and Israel/Palestine — and to explore the challenges that exist for companies such as Bombardier that choose to participate in controversial projects within deeply contested political spaces.

This analysis of Bombardier exists within the context of a productive

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and growing body of literature analyzing the impact of Canadian corporations abroad, especially in the extractive industries.1 Scholars and activists have carefully documented the environmental and social problems that often accompany Canadian mining activities at home and abroad, and the struggles by communities to resist mining projects. Gordon and Webber (2016) offer a cogent analysis of Canadian mining in contemporary Latin America, with an emphasis on locating the extractive processes within the wider context of global capitalism and accumulation. Other authors also draw useful connections between Canadian mining companies and the activities of the Canadian state that enable our corporations’ work abroad, which is an important aspect of this book as well. This book builds on the literature by extending the conversation beyond the extractive industries to the transportation sector and, in particular, the Bombardier corporation.

This project also contributes to a growing body of writing that engages in a critical analysis of Canadian foreign policy and the role of Canadian actors abroad. Many contemporary writers effectively challenge and deconstruct the myth of Canadian actors as always being benevolent, generous, peaceful, and helpful in their international interactions.2 A recent book on Honduras provides an excellent account of how the Canadian state reacted to the 2009 coup d’état in ways that undermined the democratic movements in that country and enabled Canadian business to flourish under the coup government (Shipley 2017). Another study (Thompson 2017) provides a detailed examination of the Canadian state’s inconsistent approach to human rights law over the past several decades.

This book, while addressing the activities of a specific corporation abroad, also adds to a more general analysis of our place in the world as Canadians.

The focus on Bombardier is important for a number of reasons: Despite being one of the most well-known, global Canadian corporations, Bombardier has attracted very little scholarly attention; expanding the literature beyond the extractive industries provides an opportunity to widen our analysis of Canadian trade and investment overseas; and the cases studied in this book bring to light important and unique questions surrounding international humanitarian law, sovereignty, and self-determination, and also highlight aspects of dispossession that complement existing literature on the extractive industries. In addition, this work

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situates Canadian foreign investment and trade as an important part of how Canadians interact with the world beyond our borders, and calls for scholars, activists, policy-makers, and ordinary citizens to interrogate these relationships more closely when engaging with important foreign policy debates.

Each of the three case studies selected for this analysis of Bombardier’s business enterprises abroad exist within unique circumstances and local contexts; however, similarities and cross-cutting themes bind them together. All three cases examine high-speed rail projects, and all exemplify the issue of dispossession. Using the framework of dispossession, I problematize Bombardier’s involvement in projects that have serious political, economic, environmental, and social ramifications for people in the affected regions. While at first blush it may appear that Bombardier is simply conducting business with internationally recognized and legitimate states, a closer examination of each local context raises many difficult questions regarding the benefits and costs of the rail infrastructure for local populations. The core argument is that Bombardier is conducting business in highly volatile and politically sensitive regions of the world and that the projects suggest a degree of complicity in processes of dispossession.

The first case study involves a high-speed rail project completed in 2006 in China. The Qinghai–Tibet railway links the western parts of China to the contested political space called Tibet, and Bombardier supplied the rail cars. Tibetan nationalists believe that Tibet should be an independent state, or at the very least possess substantial autonomy within China, and they are engaged in a struggle for self-determination. Critics argue that the new railway solidifies Chinese military, economic, and cultural control over Tibet and that the benefits of economic development brought about by the enhanced transportation infrastructure accrue disproportionately to the Chinese state and ethnic Han Chinese settlers in Tibet. This case is important because the Qinghai–Tibet railway provided Bombardier with a foothold in the lucrative Chinese transportation market, was the first Bombardier project to generate substantial resistance from civil society actors both within Canada and internationally, and is at the heart of a territorial struggle that pits the national self-determination of Tibetans against Chinese claims to Tibet as in integral part of China. I selected this case because of its importance to Bombardier, the resistance it has

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faced, and the crucial questions of sovereignty inherent in the China-Tibet conflict. Bombardier finds itself working with the Chinese state in what many consider the colonization or occupation of Tibet. There is difficulty in obtaining reliable information from Tibet, but my analysis is based on respected academic literature in the field, detailed reports from civil society organizations working within Tibet and in the exiled community, public statements by the Chinese state, and works by writers/journalists who have travelled and lived extensively in Tibet.

The second case study examines a high-speed rail line completed in 2010 — the Gautrain — in the Gauteng province of South Africa. The Gautrain links the major urban centres of Johannesburg and Pretoria, while also connecting to the international airport in Johannesburg. This new infrastructure was touted as creating jobs and economic growth and reducing traffic along the busy corridor between the two major cities.

However, critics argue that consultation and planning were inadequate, alternatives were not seriously considered, there is no environmental benefit to the new train, and, most importantly, the rail line entrenches mobility-related exclusion in the region. The urban geographies of apartheid are arguably not challenged by the new infrastructure, but rather reinforced, as the train primarily serves wealthy South Africans and excludes the poor majority. While this case does not exhibit the highstakes geopolitical character of the other two cases in the book, it points to important ways that dispossession can occur under seemingly innocuous circumstances. I chose this case because it is the first high-speed rail line on the African continent, and it exists within a post-apartheid environment that remains deeply divided along lines of race and class. My analysis is based on fieldwork conducted in 2011 and a detailed examination of both primary and secondary sources.

The third case under investigation analyzes a high-speed rail line in the volatile and historically contested space of Israel/Palestine. Connecting the cities of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, this railway is scheduled for completion in 2018. The key controversy in this project is based on the fact that the chosen route of the railway dips into the occupied West Bank in two places. This raises important questions related to international humanitarian law, in particular, the responsibilities of an occupying power vis-à-vis an occupied population. A German firm has even withdrawn

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from the project, citing foreign policy and legal concerns. Palestinians in the affected regions of the West Bank have called on the international community to pressure Israel to change the route of the train — to no avail. Moreover, this rail line exists within a broader context of Palestinian dispossession in the region and also of a global boycott, divestment, and sanctions (bds) movement directed at the state of Israel. I chose this case because it exists within one of the most highly contested territories on the planet, and it provides an opportunity to examine allegations of corporate complicity in grave violations of international law. The research for this case includes reports from Israeli and Palestinian civil society organizations, academic literature, government documents, news sources, and a careful reading of the relevant body of international law.

BOMBARDIER, THE CANADIAN STATE, AND CANADIAN IDENTITY The Canadian state regularly seeks to expand and enhance business opportunities for Canadian corporations, and accordingly, the government has played an important role in supporting the success of Bombardier over the decades. As the case of Israel/Palestine illustrates, Canada occasionally engages in direct diplomatic assistance to help open up new markets for the company. This normally encompasses trade missions led by the Canadian government into countries of interest, accompanied by executives from Canadian corporations such as Bombardier. These trips can potentially even result in bilateral free trade agreements reached, as was the case in the late 1990s with the inking of the Canada–Israel Free Trade Agreement.

In addition to diplomatic support, several government funds and agencies directly support Bombardier and other Canadian corporations.

Export Development Canada (edc), Technology Partnerships Canada (tpc), and Canada Account have all enabled Bombardier to pursue its production, sales, and research activities abroad. A 2009 Bombardier advertising pamphlet states: “Since 1997, it [Government of Canada] has invested a total of $142 million in research and development initiatives and the design of new aircraft under the Technology Partnerships Canada (tpc) Program.” Export Development Canada (edc) — Canada’s export credit agency — has also invested heavily in assisting Bombardier

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to secure lucrative contracts abroad. A Crown corporation, edc often provides financing to foreign companies in order to encourage them to purchase products and services from Bombardier. The role of edc in promoting Bombardier, and the wider aerospace industry in Canada, led the president and ceo of edc to comment in 2009: “edc’s history and that of Canada’s aerospace industry are inextricably linked” (Siegel 2009). Bombardier (2009) also recognizes the vital assistance of edc to its operations: “Export Development Canada (edc) … has been an important source of market-based financing for airlines purchasing Bombardier passenger aircraft around the world.”

Lending billions of dollars to potential Bombardier customers constitutes an important government support to the company’s activities.3 In addition, government assistance through Canada Account has been made available to Bombardier in cases where edc deems the risk to be unbearable. Canada Account is administered by edc, but decisions to dispense funds rest with the federal Cabinet. According to edc (n.d.), Canada Account is used to support export transactions which we are unable to support, but which are determined by the Minister for International Trade to be in Canada’s national interest. This is usually due to a combination of risks, including the size of transaction, market risks, edc’s country capacity, borrower risks, and/ or the financing conditions. We negotiate, execute and administer these transactions on the same basis as Corporate Account activities but the risks are assumed by the Federal government.

Canada Account financing has been dispensed at least five times in the past fifteen years to support the sale of Bombardier aircraft (edc n.d.), and Bombardier has received direct financial support from both the Québec provincial government and the federal government: $1 billion US from Québec in exchange for a 49.5 percent stake in the C Series program in 2016, and an interest-free loan from Ottawa worth $372.5 million in 2017 (cbc News 2017c). An article by Richard Popluck (2017) in The Walrus argues that direct financial support has been so forthcoming to Bombardier from the Canadian state, that “it’s impossible to imagine the company existing without corporate welfare. Since 1966, it has received

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nearly $4 billion in bailout money from both provincial and federal governments.”

Bombardier actively promotes itself as an important Canadian actor on the global stage. Through its advertising and promotional materials, the company repeatedly emphasizes its Canadian identity and urges Canadians to feel a sense of ownership and pride in the company. A key promotional pamphlet, entitled Canada’s Bombardier, celebrates the company’s accomplishments, while repeating the many ways that it is connected to Canadians and the Canadian government. It also links the company directly to Canadian communities: “As an industry leader, Bombardier makes a strong contribution to the creation of wealth and the development of Canadian communities” (Bombardier 2009). In addition, Bombardier’s television commercials screened in the late 2000s encouraged Canadians to feel proud of seeing Bombardier trains operating in the foreign countries they visit. This theme is repeated in the corporation’s print advertising as well. We also see this appeal to Canadian patriotism is its role in manufacturing the 2010 Olympic Torch. In a February 2010 press release, the corporation’s president and ceo explains: “Designing and manufacturing the 2010 Olympic Torch has given us an opportunity to apply our ingenuity in aerospace and rail transportation in a way that has inspired Canadians.” Bombardier strives to convince Canadians that the company is playing a constructive role both within Canada and abroad.

These images and narratives draw upon and manipulate feelings of patriotism and nationalism, which fosters a sense of pride in the company’s Canadian identity.4 This serves to distract Canadians from the potentially negative ramifications of Bombardier’s work abroad, illustrated by the case studies under investigation in this book.

The appeal to Canadian nationalism performs a second important function: it builds and reproduces the mythology of Canada as a benevolent, generous, helpful, and peaceful presence internationally. In other words, not only does Bombardier’s appeal to patriotism benefit the company, but it also plays a larger role in the construction of Canadian identity, especially as it relates to our place in the world. In this respect Bombardier is an excellent example of a Canadian corporation participating in the production of Canadian national identity. Not only are the marketing and promotional efforts of Bombardier designed to make us feel proud

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of our Canadian corporations — in this case Bombardier — they also aid in constructing the positive image we have of ourselves as Canadians.

This point is important in demonstrating both the discursive power of Canadian corporations in general and the salience of studying Bombardier in particular.

Canadian citizens are helping to finance, and are profiting from, Bombardier’s international work in a variety of ways. Bombardier is a profitable, publicly traded company, and many Canadians own Bombardier shares, either through private investments or managed pension funds.

As of March 2010, the Canada Pension Plan owned $40 million worth of Bombardier shares (cpp Investment Board 2010). Raising funds in capital markets is crucial to the success of companies such as Bombardier, and all Canadians are more than likely implicated in the ownership of these shares in some way. This is in addition to the substantial role played by the Canadian state in assisting Bombardier (as noted above) and the tax revenue paid by Bombardier to the Canadian government. Thus, there are multiple, extensive, and overlapping connections between companies such as Bombardier and regular Canadians. The various ways in which Canadians finance, and profit from, the activities of Bombardier overseas should provide pause in evaluating the company’s participation in international projects, not to mention extending this critical analysis to other corporations as well. At the very least, many Canadians might be interested to know exactly how these processes unfold, the nature of dispossession that potentially arises, and the degree to which they are complicit in these processes.

THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK OF THIS RESEARCH The overarching theoretical framework that guides the research rests on a broad interpretation of the concept of dispossession. This includes a political economy approach known as “accumulation by dispossession” and also integrates ideas of dispossession from Indigenous studies and settler colonial studies. The intention is to build on important theoretical interventions by scholars such as Glen Coulthard (2014), Nicholas Brown (2014), and Dawn Hoogeveen (2016), who argue that discussions of dispossession must be place-specific, including in contexts of colonialism

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and settler colonialism. They argue that the political economy approach, if focused exclusively on questions of labour exploitation, imperialism, and other economic processes, runs the risk of missing (or minimizing) important elements of dispossession. In particular, Hoogeveen (2016: 39) points out that “settler colonial studies has played a role in shifting emphasis towards the centrality of land in primitive accumulation and dispossession narratives.” The centrality of land, and the colonial conquest of land, adds important nuance to many cases of dispossession, as the cases of China/Tibet and Israel/Palestine demonstrate. While my analysis of the South African case conforms to a more traditional political economy approach, understanding the forms of dispossession in the other two cases requires this additional emphasis on territory, colonialism, and settler colonialism. Combining the two approaches provides a robust theoretical lens for the study at hand.

Accumulation by Dispossession Accumulation by dispossession, a concept developed by renowned geographer David Harvey, provides a useful theoretical tool for understanding the contemporary restructuring of space and place in order to facilitate the accumulation of capital. Building on both Marx’s idea of primitive accumulation5 and Luxemburg’s theory of imperialism,6 Harvey theorizes how capital creates and reproduces the conditions under which accumulation can occur most profitably. In other words, Harvey is interested in explaining the mechanisms through which the social world around us is re-organized on a regular basis in order for capitalism to continue to expand.

Capital accumulation can best be understood as the process by which those who own the means of production make profit and build further stocks of capital. Although we can easily identify and explain the process of accumulation at the site of production — for example, owners who extract surplus value from workers in a factory — scholars such as David Harvey focus on how social spaces and institutions are also configured to create the conditions for capital accumulation.

Given capitalism’s tendency towards over-accumulation, surplus capital needs to be reinvested constantly, which requires the opening up of new

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spaces for capitalist production, such as urban infrastructure projects in the global South.7 Harvey begins with Marx’s notion of primitive accumulation, whereby the relation of capital is created in new geographical spaces by depriving people of their ability to sustain themselves through collective or noncapitalist modes of production. Accumulation by dispossession, however, entails a wider range of processes and as Harvey (2005: 145) notes, can include the commodification and privatization of land and the forceful expulsion of peasant populations; the conversion of various forms of property (common, collective, state, etc.) into exclusive private property rights; the suppression of rights to the commons; the commodification of labour power and the suppression of alternative (indigenous) forms of production and consumption; colonial, neo-colonial, and imperial processes of appropriation of assets (including natural resources); the monetization of exchange and taxation, particularly of land; the slave trade; and usury, the national debt, and ultimately the credit system as radical means of primitive accumulation.

Harvey’s point is that these processes are not part of ancient history but remain ongoing in the contemporary period. The concept of accumulation by dispossession therefore strives to account for more recent methods of expropriating the commons for the purposes of private profit-making.

The point is to create a dynamic and flexible interpretation of primitive accumulation that can be applied convincingly within the current neoliberal context. Harvey aims to draw our attention to the similarities between processes of accumulation in the initial stages of the expansion of capital (such as the expulsion of peasants from communal lands) and processes of accumulation in later stages of capitalist development (such as the privatization of basic infrastructure in the urban setting).

Harvey stresses that states participate actively in the opening up of new spaces for capital accumulation. As has been amply demonstrated (see for example, Gordon and Webber 2016; Campbell 2008; and Sabine 2008), the Canadian state has played an aggressive role in promoting the

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interests of Canadian mining corporations overseas. This support from the Canadian state is also evident in the case of Bombardier, which has received important backing for its production, sales, and investment in overseas markets.

Within contemporary neoliberal capitalism, new spaces for accumulation are created when resources that once belonged to the commons (meaning held under common or public ownership) are transferred into private hands, often under the tutelage of international financial institutions such as the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank (Taylor 2017). The privatization of water utilities, post-secondary education institutions, and public housing has opened up new repositories (or opportunities) for the accumulation of private capital. With relevance to the South Africa case, public private partnerships (P3s) have become a popular form of privatization that provides a way for private capital to invest in, and profit from, public works projects that may otherwise have been entirely public in nature. While the state may remain the legal owner of the infrastructure under the terms of the contract, P3s such as the Gautrain project in South Africa, represent a case of dispossession because that which belongs to the public (or the commons) is expropriated for private use or benefit when it might otherwise have been purely public. P3s are widely considered to be a contemporary form of privatization. Even pro-privatization scholars such as Savas (1999) explicitly list P3s as a method of privatizing public infrastructure. Furthermore, the evidence is mixed regarding the outcomes of P3s in delivering transportation infrastructure (Siemiatycki 2010). Corporations such as Bombardier profit directly from this expropriation of public dollars, as the case study of South Africa demonstrates in this book.

Although the creation of a P3 to deliver urban services is usually less controversial than more violent processes of dispossession, such as those within the extractive industries whereby citizens are physically dispossessed of land or resources, the Gautrain case also represents a highly exclusionary form of development. Indeed, in spite of the fact that the project is considered the result of a “normal” business transaction or collaboration between the state and private firms, accumulation by dispossession is nonetheless occurring through the normalized processes of contemporary capitalist development. Despite the fact that this form of

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dispossession is less spectacular than in the mining sector, it is similarly exclusionary in the sense that it serves to reproduce and solidify the racialized geographies that were created under white minority rule.

Dispossession, Colonialism, and Settler Colonialism Contemporary scholars have established an important body of literature that analyzes the nature of settler colonialism, and how it differs from other forms of colonialism. Two key differences are important for the purposes of this study. First, colonialism involves the control of land and the exploitation of the labour power of the Indigenous population, while under settler colonialism the goal is the acquisition of land and eliminating/erasing the Indigenous population. European colonization of many African territories, for example, involved the exploitation of Indigenous labour in order to extract minerals or produce on plantations. In most cases, the colonial power needed Indigenous labour in order to access and produce the resources they sought to export back to the metropolis.

Conversely, settler colonialism, in North America, Australia, and arguably Israel/Palestine, requires not the exploitation of Indigenous labour but rather the elimination or erasure of Indigenous Peoples in order to access the land. It is a project of replacement: the goal for settlers is to “replace Indigenous societies with their own” (Pasternak 2014: 147). Patrick Wolfe (2006: 388) explains that “territoriality is settler colonialism’s specific, irreducible element” and that this is the “primary motive for elimination.”

In other words, under settler colonialism, “the most important concern is land/water/air/subterranean earth… Land is what is most valuable, contested, required” (Tuck and Yang 2012: 5).

The second key difference is that colonial powers extract resources and use the colony from afar, while under settler colonialism, the colonizers create a new “home” in the colonized territory with no plans of leaving. Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang (2012: 5), in their influential article “Decolonization is not a Metaphor,” summarize this difference between settler colonialism and other forms of colonialism by insisting that “settlers come with the intention of making a new home on the land, a homemaking that insists on settler sovereignty over all things in their new domain.”

In other words, settlers do not view this as a temporary project, and thus

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the process of dispossession becomes fundamentally different. Audra Simpson (2014: 19) refers to the work of Patrick Wolfe when elucidating these two core aspects of settler colonialism: He [Wolfe] argues that settler colonialism is defined by a territorial project — the accumulation of land — whose seemingly singular focus differentiates it from other forms of colonialism. Although the settler variety is acquisitive, unlike other colonialisms, it is not labor but territory that it seeks… The desire for land produces “the problem” of the Indigenous life that is already living on that land.

Following these scholars, I argue that the importance of territorial acquisition is essential to engaging with the forms of dispossession taking place in both Israel/Palestine and China/Tibet, and the place of rail infrastructure in both cases.

Several contemporary scholars (for example, Coulthard 2014; Brown 2014; and Hoogeveen 2016) have broken important ground by integrating thoughts on dispossession from settler colonial studies with political economy approaches to dispossession, discussed in the section above.

These new theoretical interventions grounded in settler colonial studies suggest that traditional political economy approaches to dispossession, while useful in understanding the ongoing problems associated with capitalist forms of accumulation, lack sufficient attention to the specific forms of dispossession associated with colonialism and settler colonialism.

Hoogeveen (2016: 44) asserts: “Harvey’s thesis negates focus on colonialism towards a configuration of market-based capital. This may be more useful for analyzing broad international financial trends, with examples in the Global South.” Indeed, accumulation by dispossession does an excellent job of explaining the many ways that accumulation takes place within an ever-expanding array of market relations. However, Brown (2014: 4) makes the case that it is not sufficient on its own: By focusing on the relationship between primitive accumulation and settler colonialism, the conventional meaning of the former (within political economic theory) is modified by the latter. And it is modified, I suggest, in ways that make political economy more relevant to anti-colonial struggle. Indigenous critical theory, in

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other words, allows us to consider the specific means by which primitive accumulation functions within settler-colonial contexts.

In order for settler colonialism to proceed, “land is remade into property and human relationships to land are restricted to the relationship of the owner to his property” (Tuck and Yang 2012: 5). This constitutes a fundamental assault on the way in which many Indigenous nations understand their relationships to the land. Moreover, removing Indigenous Peoples from the land is not a question of simple relocation but rather the destruction of a way of life. Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017: 42) argues that the removal of physical bodies from the land “erases the political orders and relationships housed within Indigenous bodies that attach our bodies to our land.” Relationships to the land are crucial in order to maintain political, spiritual, cultural, and linguistic integrity within many Indigenous societies, not to mention the material basis to sustain life. Thus, removing Indigenous Peoples from the land under settler colonialism, even if it does not require extermination, constitutes an act of cultural genocide and erasure. It is crucial to understand and engage with the specific forms of dispossession within colonial and settler colonial contexts in order to strengthen the framework. Coulthard (2014: 12) emphasizes this point: By ignoring or downplaying the injustice of colonial dispossession, critical theory and left political strategy not only risks becoming complicit in the very structures and processes of domination that it ought to oppose, but it also risks overlooking what could prove to be invaluable glimpses into the ethical practices and preconditions required for the construction of a more just and sustainable world order.

In concrete terms, it is not enough to analyze dispossession without interrogating the specific relationships that dispossessed people have with the land and the level of destruction that being removed from the land entails.

Including an analysis of colonial dispossession profoundly enriches the study of the cases of Israel/Palestine and China/Tibet in this book.

Some scholars understand the dispossession of Palestinians to exhibit colonial features and describe the illegal occupation of the West Bank as

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a settler colonial project. Wolfe (2006), for example, includes the state of Israel and the plight of the Palestinians in his analysis entitled “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native.” The state of Israel captured the territory during the 1967 war with neighbouring Arab states and has continuously transferred settler populations into the occupied territory in direct violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention. While this case is developed further in Chapter 4, for now it is important to emphasize that the tools of analysis from settler colonial studies are crucial for locating the nature of dispossession in the Palestinian case.

This also applies to my analysis of the rail project in China/Tibet.

The Tibetan government-in-exile — Central Tibetan Administration — refers to the Chinese occupation of Tibet as a colonial project. The prime minister of Tibet’s government-in-exile, Lobsang Sangay, states emphatically: “There is no socialism in Tibet. There is colonialism” (Shivakumar and Lamont 2011). Several elements of Chinese control over Tibet and Tibetan resistance suggest a reading of dispossession that combines a political economy approach with vocabulary centring colonialism. For example, the importance of land and the Indigenous Tibetans’ historical connection and custodianship over the land are central features of the resistance to Chinese rule in Tibet. While the Tibetan situation is not typically described as settler colonialism, the nature of dispossession is certainly colonial, which once again benefits from the addition of this perspective to the political economy ideas of dispossession.

It is important to locate processes of dispossession historically and geographically because this also helps us explain the nature of resistance to colonial dispossession. Audra Simpson (2014: 7–8) reminds us that the processes of colonialism and dispossession are not complete but rather ongoing and contested: “Colonialism survives in a settler form. In this form, it fails at what it is supposed to do: eliminate Indigenous people; take their land.” Or as Hoogeveen (2016: 25) explains: “Settler colonial dispossession operates in tension with the rejection and resistance of Indigenous nations, peoples, and communities.” While the work of these scholars focuses primarily on Indigenous struggles in North America, the framework of colonial dispossession is useful in analyzing cases in multiple contexts. Resistance to colonialism and dispossession is alive and well in the case studies in this book, and “resistance and survival are the

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basis upon which genuine postcolonial and post settler colonial passages can be built” (Veracini 2011: 8).

The other element of resistance that is crucial to the study at hand draws our attention to the importance of land in anticolonial struggles against dispossession. It is difficult for non-Indigenous Canadians to fully understand Indigenous relationships and attachments to the land or place. Our relationship to the land consists of a form of commodification, where the land holds resources that we can own and exploit. This is not to say that settlers do not form connections to place, but rather our worldview, political structures, and culture are not inextricably connected to our relationships with the land. Conversely, Indigenous relationships to the land “are the source of intricate systems of thought and vast stores of knowledge, dynamic and durable structures of governance, ecological and resource management systems, and cultural and spiritual traditions of incredible power and profound meaning” (Lowman and Barker 2015: 50). Removing Indigenous Peoples from the land can be considered a form of cultural genocide that involves an assault on their most integral systems of belief and organization. Indigenous scholars have written extensively on the spiritual, material, cultural, political, and ecological systems that Indigenous Peoples have built in relation to the land and the destruction of these ways of life under colonialism. It is worth quoting Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017: 43) at length in order to understand the nature of Indigenous relationship with the land and their resistance to dispossession: Throughout my life, the land-based people I have come in contact with categorically refuse this expansive dispossession. In some ways, this refusal is acute in my homeland because we have so little Nishnaabeg space left. My people are out on the land, even if we are criminalized, even if we have to ask settlers for false permission, even though the land is not pristine, even though, even though. This is in part because within Nishnaabeg thought, the opposite of dispossession is not possession, it is deep, reciprocal, consensual attachment. Indigenous bodies don’t relate to the land by possessing or owning it or having control over it. We relate to land through connection — generative, affirmative, complex, overlapping, and nonlinear relationship.

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We can sense a completely different relationship and connection to the land and begin the journey of understanding why dispossession is such a violent assault on Indigenous ways of life. Coulthard (2014: 13) elaborates on what this means for resistance to colonial dispossession: Stated bluntly, the theory and practice of Indigenous anticolonialism, including Indigenous anticapitalism, is best understood as a struggle primarily inspired by and oriented around the question of land — a struggle not only for land in the material sense, but also deeply informed by what the land as system of reciprocal relations and obligations can teach us about living our lives in relation to one another and the natural world in nondominating and nonexploitative terms.

Coulthard uses the term “grounded normativity” to describe the ethical orientation of existing in a reciprocal relationship with others, both human and non-human, and having obligations to one another and to the land.

Not only does this help explain the very different relationship Indigenous nations have with the land, but also the severity of removal, and how land is central to forms of resistance to dispossession.

Questions surrounding territory and dispossession are crucial to the cases dealing with Bombardier’s projects in Israel/Palestine and China/ Tibet. Both of these contexts involve historical and contemporary processes of dispossession that have loss of land as a central feature. Ongoing resistance in both contexts is organized around analyses of land, sovereignty, and self-determination. In the case of Tibet, the Indigenous Tibetan population has lived in harmony with the land for thousands of years, and the Chinese occupation of Tibet has generated forms of resistance that are deeply informed by Tibetans’ relationships with the land. One of the main Tibetan grievances against the Chinese state is its destructive treatment of the land and the lack of consultation with Tibetans on how the land is accessed and used.

A book about dispossession would be incomplete without an acknowledgement and understanding of the settler colonial context in its place of writing. Hoogeveen (2016: 40) asserts: “I argue for the importance of placing settler colonialism as central to discussions around dispossession,

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and this includes an analysis of the lands in which we work.” Thus, it is important to note that this book is being written on unceded Mi’kmaw territory in the settler colonial state of Canada. The Peace and Friendship Treaties established between the British Crown and Indigenous Peoples in this region in the eighteenth century did not involve surrendering rights to the land and resources used by Mi’kmaw, Maliseet, and Passamaquoddy First Nations. Scholar Pamela Palmater (2016: 24) points out: These were not land-surrender treaties, nor were they treaties agreeing to the relocation of the Mi’kmaq from any of the seven districts in Mi’kma’ki (Mi’kmaw territory) onto reserves. The treaties signed with the Mi’kmaq were about mutual respect, mutual peace and mutual prosperity.

Therefore it is crucial to acknowledge the ongoing dispossession, and resistance, in this region to settler colonialism. As a settler on this land, my intention is not to deflect attention from, or abdicate responsibility for, contemporary forms of dispossession in Canada by focusing on case studies abroad. On the contrary, my goal is to highlight the fact that Canadian actors are simultaneously complicit in processes of dispossession both at home and abroad and that dispossession abroad is in some ways normalized because of dispossession at home.

NOTES 1. See Gordon and Webber (2016), Butler (2015), Veltmeyer (2013), Deneault and Sacher (2012), Abadie (2011), Gordon (2010), Coumans (2010), Campbell (2008), and North, Patroni, and Clark (2006).

2. There is an extensive and growing body of literature that challenges this mythology from multiple perspectives and on multiple fronts. See Shipley (2017), Black (2015), Engler (2015), Klassen (2014), Brown, den Heyer, and Black (2014), Brown (2012), Barry-Shaw and Jay (2012), and Sjolander, Smith, and Stienstra (2003).

3. It should also be noted that ultimately this support landed the Canadian state on the losing end of a World Trade Organization (wto) dispute with Brazil. In 2001 the wto ruled that Canadian loans to Air Wisconsin, which purchased Bombardier jets, constituted an unfair export subsidy and violated international trade rules. See the full wto ruling at <wto.org/english/tratop_e/dispu_e/cases_e/ ds222_e.htm>.

4. It is also possible that Bombardier’s public relations campaign in the late 2000s was in part a reaction to criticism the company received in relation to its activities

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in China/Tibet. This case is analyzed in Chapter Two. 5. For two good resources on understanding primitive accumulation, see M. Perelman (2001) and De Angelis (2001).

6. Rosa Luxemburg’s main contribution on the topic centers on the idea that a closed capitalist system could not absorb all the surplus capital generated within the system. Thus, capitalists would need to continually expand internationally in order to access new outlets for capital, often in places where non-capitalist modes of production exist. See Luxemburg (2003).

7. For a contemporary discussion of the concept “crisis of over-accumulation,” see Bello (2006).

CHAPTER TWO

THE CHINA–TIBET CASE

T

he world’s highest railway, reaching 5,072m above sea level at its highest point, began operating in 2006 and fulfilled Chairman Mao’s dream of connecting Tibet to the rest of China via train. The completion of the Qinghai–Tibet Railway marked a significant accomplishment for the Chinese state, as former President Hu Jintao remarked at the time: “This is a magnificent feat by the Chinese people, and also a miracle in world railway history” (bbc World News 2006). However, given the tumultuous history between China and Tibet, the rail project has also generated sustained opposition and criticism since its inception. These critiques have ranged from exposing direct and indirect environmental problems related to the rail infrastructure, to noting serious concerns regarding the impact on Tibetan livelihoods, identity, culture, autonomy, and self-determination.

The Tibetan cause in general has attracted broad interest around the world from civil society actors, and the railway in particular was an important focus of this attention in the early 2000s. Actor Richard Gere (2006), chair of the International Campaign for Tibet, argued: This railway across the roof of the world will result in an expanded Chinese military presence in Tibet, accelerate the already devastating exploitation of its natural resources and increase the number of Chinese migrants, marginalizing the Tibetan people still further.

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Indeed, the new rail infrastructure constitutes an important piece of the Chinese state’s assault on Tibetan sovereignty and self-determination. The rail line deepens and entrenches the occupation of Tibet and aids several processes of accumulation and transformation in Tibet that are causing great suffering for the Tibetan people.

Bombardier, along with several consortium partners, supplied 361 rail cars for the Qinghai–Tibet line. Bombardier’s participation in this highly contested and controversial project involves the firm in deeply problematic processes of dispossession. Chinese rule over Tibet is viewed by many as a form of colonialism. The Chinese plan to develop and modernize Tibet “is Han-centric in its essence and effect, and envisages a classical colonial pattern of development. The western region and particularly the Tibetan plateau will, according to this Communist Manifesto, provide raw materials for a Middle Kingdom manufacturing metropolis” (Norbu 2006: 159). As the Qinghai–Tibet rail line plays an important part of this process, it provides an excellent opportunity to critically examine the role of Bombardier in a contentious political context overseas.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF CHINA-TIBET RELATIONS It is important to understand the historical context of China/Tibet in order to grasp the problematic nature of Bombardier’s involvement in the Qinghai–Tibet high-speed rail project. The project exists within a context of deep and protracted contestation regarding the status of Tibet, and many of the problems with the train are directly related to the conflict between competing visions of the place of Tibet within (or outside of) China. While it is beyond the scope of this chapter to provide a comprehensive historical account of the complex relationship between China and Tibet, it is nonetheless crucial to offer a brief synopsis of the key features of this long-standing political dispute.

Since Tibet is a deeply contested geographic space, there are different political notions of what Tibet actually is. The Chinese state defines Tibet as the Tibet Autonomous Region (tar), which is the southern portion of the Tibetan Plateau, furthest from Beijing. But only

T h e C h i n a – Tibe t C ase 2 3

half of all Tibetans live there, and the area includes only half the Tibetan Plateau. The other half of the 6 million Tibetans live in the Chinese provinces of Qinghai, Gansu, Sichuan and Yunnan, making them less visible. (Lafitte 2013: vi) The Tibet Autonomous Region (tar) is the name the Chinese state gave to the administrative unit containing the capital of Tibet — Lhasa — in 1976.

However, there are Tibetans living in adjacent Chinese provinces, and even outside the Chinese borders, in a broader space identified as the Tibetan Plateau. Dividing the Tibetan Plateau up into the tar and four additional Chinese provinces was a way for the Chinese state to secure its grip on Tibet and deny attempts to unify historic Tibet to resist Chinese rule. The tar is often understood by scholars as “political Tibet,” while the larger geographic space is referred to as “ethnographic Tibet.” And for Tibetans, this distinction is often described as the difference between “Tibet” and “Greater Tibet,” which also includes Tibetans living in the neighbouring states of Nepal, Bhutan, and India. Tibetans contest the narrow geographic rendering of Tibet asserted by the Chinese state, arguing instead that Tibet should be understood as the broader geographic space of the Tibetan Plateau. For the purposes of this project, I use the Tibetans’ own definition.

Gabriel Lafitte (2013: vii) explains the reasons for this preference: Adopting a natural geographical unit as the definition of Tibet seems appropriate because there is a remarkable congruence of nature and culture, unique to this central part of continental Eurasia. Whether one takes as the frame of reference the geography of the plateau 4 km in the sky or uses linguistic identifiers, diet, crops, mode of production, everything points to the Tibetan Plateau as a single and distinctive entity. Fortunately, if one looks at the counties, prefectures and regions officially designated by China as areas of Tibetan autonomous governance, the result is almost the same, covering nearly all of the Tibetan Plateau, despite fragmentation into tar, Qinghai, Gansu, Sichuan and Yunnan provinces.

Thus, Tibet in this book refers to not just the tar but the broader space that is often referred to as “ethnographic Tibet.” When speaking specifically

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of the administrative and political unit created by the Chinese, I use “the tar.”

These debates regarding what Tibet is, or is not, are the result of deeply contrasting views of history and over sixty years of authoritarian Chinese rule over Tibet. Chinese officials and Tibetan nationalists present opposing positions on the historical status of Tibet, which have an important bearing on present-day issues in Tibet. According to the Chinese state (Anand 2006: 287), “for more than 700 years the central government of China has continuously exercised sovereignty over Tibet, and Tibet has never been an independent state. There was no such word as ‘independent’ in the Tibetan vocabulary at the beginning of the 20th century.” However, the Chinese perspective of this history “does not grapple with the indigeneity of Tibetans in Tibet and with the very real historical reality that prior to 1950 most Tibetan areas … were essentially self-governed by Tibetans and in the Tibetan language” (Fischer 2014: xxxix).

On the other hand, the Government of Tibet in Exile (Anand 2006: 287) argues: “From a legal standpoint, Tibet has not lost its statehood. It is an independent state under illegal occupation. Neither China’s military invasion nor the continuing occupation by the pla [People’s Liberation Army] has transferred the sovereignty of Tibet to China.” This history is unavoidably contentious, with both sides marshalling historical evidence and arguments to support their position. On the one hand, the Chinese state claims that Tibet has always been an integral part of China, while on the other hand, Tibetan nationalists claim that Tibet has always been an independent state. Barry Sautman and June Dreyer (2006: 3) point out that, “as with many sovereignty disputes, the seas of ink spilled in polemics over historic claims have not formed an ocean of wisdom.”

It is important to clarify the use of the term “Indigenous” when referring to the Tibetans. The Chinese state claims that there are no Indigenous people in China and refers to Tibetans as minzu (ethnic minority). It claims that “the category of ‘indigenous peoples’ is irrelevant because all of the nation’s citizens are equally indigenous” (Yeh 2007: 81). Tibetans themselves, both within Tibet and in exile, rarely identify as an Indigenous People. For Tibetans within Tibet, the claim of indigeneity is “too strong under the current political situation; instead, identity claims in the People’s Republic of China are only considered legitimate if expressed through the

T h e C h i n a – Tibe t C ase 2 5

category of minzu” (71). It appears to be a strategic decision within Tibet to engage with the Chinese state in a way that might be most favourable to Tibetans’ interests, which means adhering to the framework of ethnic groups and ideological multiculturalism enforced by the Chinese state. For Tibetans in exile, and in particular the Central Tibetan Administration (or government-in-exile), “indigeneity was understood as sovereignty without secession, which limited separation from China” (Lokyitsang 2017).

This is based on their reading of Indigenous movements as not typically seeking secession from the state they reside in; the government-in-exile prefers to frame its identity as an occupied nation potentially seeking to secede from China (or at least gain substantial autonomy within China).

However, recent trends may suggest a re-thinking of this position among some exiled Tibetans, especially as the concept of indigeneity evolves and acts as a trans-national mobilizing force of solidarity among political movements struggling against various forms of colonialism. Dawa Lokyitsang (2017) articulates this position as follows: Tibetans living in North America, for example, have contemplated these possible solidarities by promoting Indigenous movements such as the Idle No More in Canada, and recently the No Dakota Access Pipeline campaign in the US in communal spaces. These movements also became avenues for Tibetans like myself to reflect on indigeneity as a decolonial praxis that could prove useful for Tibetans in addressing settler colonialisms, sovereignties, refusals, and potential solidarities.

This more contemporary reading of Tibetan identity and struggle in the exiled community means that “non-organizationally based Tibetan civilians in North America are presently considering indigeneity as defined

by Indigenous movements to address Tibet’s recent histories of settler colonialism and ongoing histories of Tibetan Nationhood.” While appreciating the broader context around how Tibetans typically identify as a people, I use Lokyitsang’s recent intervention into this debate as a point of departure for cautiously talking about the Tibetans as an occupied population, with many features of Chinese occupation resembling colonial and settler-colonial practices.

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One central theme is repeated in the literature regarding the historical relationship and struggle between the Chinese state and the Tibetans: “There is no neutral historical ‘truth’ that can resolve whether Tibet was always an independent nation or an integral part of China” (Anand 2006: 287). More importantly, casting the relationship in such absolutist terms is relatively new for both parties involved. Dating back to the time of the Mongol invasion of Tibet in 1240, Tibetans have understood their relationship with foreign powers using a vocabulary that is alien to the Western world in contemporary times. Dennis Cusack (2008: 21) describes the relationship with the Mongol invaders: Tibet became part of the Mongol empire, but the khans governed it through the Tibetan lamas in a unique priest-patron relationship known as cho-yon. As religious leaders, the Tibetan lamas granted spiritual legitimacy to the Mongol ruler’s power. He, in turn, acknowledged the lamas’ authority over Tibetan affairs.

From that point on, the Tibetans used the cho-yon relationship as an instrument of their foreign relations with both the Mongols and the Chinese, with varying degrees of success.

This priest-patron relationship existed under Manchu rule as well. It recognized the importance of both parties in the relationship and allowed considerable autonomy for the Tibetans to govern themselves according to their own ways. Melvyn Goldstein (1991: 44) adds that historically, “for Tibetans, the Dalai Lama and the Manchu emperor stood respectively as spiritual teacher and lay patron rather than subject and lord.” Thus, the twentieth century presented a world where both sides needed to adapt to the dominant language of sovereignty, self-determination, and independence that governed the international community. While the Chinese state has consistently maintained that Tibet is an integral part of China, the Tibetan resistance movement argues for the self-determination and independence (or at least autonomy) of Tibet. This transition to a new vocabulary for describing the goals and aspirations of both participants is an important historical shift in the relationship and has created a lasting impasse to this day.

The Tibetan people, recognized as possessing a unique language,

T h e C h i n a – Tibe t C ase 2 7

culture, religion, and set of economic and political organizing principles, have existed on the Tibetan Plateau since at least the seventh century.

This is the time when a unified Tibet emerged under the rule of Songtsen Gampo (Van Schaik 2011: 5–7), and Buddhism entered Tibet from Northern India. Historians often begin with the rule of Gampo and the spread of Buddhism at this time, as Tibetan Buddhism played such an important role in defining the political, spiritual, and cultural lives of Tibetans from that moment forward. However, Tibetans lived on what is now known as the Tibetan Plateau for many centuries before the arrival of Buddhism, with some accounts placing Tibetan empires as far back as 1063 bce (Central Tibetan Administration n.d.b.). Overall, there is a long history of a distinct people called Tibetans, who have existed as a unique political and social community for millennia in what is now known as the Tibetan Plateau.

Regarding relations with the Chinese, “a stone pillar in front of the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa commemorates a treaty between Tibet and China dating from 822, which resulted from more than a century of intermittent battles, including a brief occupation by Tibetan troops of the Tang Dynasty capital at Chang’an” (Cusack 2008: 21–22). During the next centuries, Tibet was conquered and ruled by the Mongols, and then by Manchu-ruled China from 1720 to 1912. However, the extent of actual control and administration of Tibet by its “rulers” during these periods was limited. Historian Melvyn Goldstein (1991: 44) argues: “By the mid-nineteenth century, if not earlier, Manchu Chinese influence was minuscule. For example, the Tibet-Dogra War of 1841, the Tibet-Nepal War of 1857, the Nyarong War of 1862–1865, and the British invasion of Tibet in 1903–1904 were fought and settled without Chinese assistance.”

Regardless of debate involving the degree of Chinese influence over Tibet during those centuries, scholars appear united in describing the period from 1911 to 1951 as one where Tibet exercised de facto independence from China. After Chinese nationalists overthrew the Manchu Qing Dynasty in 1911–12, the Thirteenth Dalai Lama expelled the last Qing troops and … declared Tibet an independent state. From 1911 to 1951, Tibet was an independent country, controlling its own internal affairs,

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as well as its borders and relations with other governments. It participated as an equal with Great Britain and China at the Simla Conference of 1913–14, called to demarcate the borders between India, Tibet, and China. (Cusack 2008: 24) Goldstein (1991: 815) reiterates this point: “Though the nature of SinoTibetan political relations before 1913 may be open to dispute, Tibet unquestionably controlled its own internal and external affairs during the period from 1913 to 1951 and repeatedly attempted to secure recognition and validation of its de facto autonomy/independence.” Yet it is also true that authorities in China continued to believe that Tibet was historically part of China, and that it needed to be eventually re-unified with the “mother” country.1 In 1950, under the leadership of Mao Zedong, Chinese troops entered Tibet in order to bring the territory under Chinese control. The Dalai Lama initially tried to work with Mao on a peaceful transition toward incorporating Tibet into China as an autonomous region, as the Chinese forces were clearly superior to the Tibetan resistance. In addition, Mao believed that the incorporation of Tibet into China needed to proceed slowly and with the consent of the Tibetans. Van Schaik (2011: 219) summarizes Mao’s approach as follows: So Mao considered Tibet’s inclusion within China as nonnegotiable. Yet he had no intention of simply sweeping away the old system and imposing Chinese rule in Tibet. Knowing that there was no grassroots support for socialist reform in Tibet, he adopted a more gradual approach. Thus, between 1951 and 1959, the Chinese Communists courted the Tibetan aristocrats and did little to change the old hierarchical social system in Tibet.

But this was not to last. One of the key turning points was the first Five-Year-Plan, announced by the Chinese in 1953, which involved reorganizing agriculture across the country. According to Van Schaik (2011: 225), “this meant that land was to be ‘collectivised,’ with the aim of moving from the ancient hierarchy of landowners and peasants to the creation of socialist cooperatives.” The move to radically alter land ownership was immediately resisted by Tibetan monasteries, nomads, and land-owning

T h e C h i n a – Tibe t C ase 2 9

classes. The result was violent clashes between Tibetans and the Chinese authorities (Van Schaik 2011: 225–226).

Mao’s Great Leap Forward plan in 1958 was another flashpoint for Tibetan resistance to Chinese rule. The plan involved joining together rural cooperatives into communes, with the goal of rapidly raising production. However, as summarized by Sam Van Schaik (2011: 226), “Mao’s Great Leap Forward was a disaster, leading to one of China’s worst famines and the untimely deaths of 35 million people.” Others, such as Frank Dikotter (2011), put the estimated death toll at 45 million. These events led the Dalai Lama to flea Tibet in 1959 and live in exile in North India along with thousands of his followers. The exiled Tibetans have since worked toward liberating Tibet from the outside and building sustainable communities for themselves in India and beyond. Disillusioned with the Chinese state’s repressive rule over Tibet, they calculated that it was no longer possible to negotiate a reasonable place for Tibetan autonomy within China. The Chinese state views the invasion and occupation of Tibet as a “liberation” of the region and the completion of a project to clarify their historical position regarding the place of Tibet within China.

On the other hand, the Tibetan nationalist movement views the invasion as a fundamental breach of Tibetan sovereignty. They see themselves as an occupied nation and argue that China is violating their rights to selfdetermination in myriad ways. As we work through the various problems with the rail line in this chapter, it will become clear that, Chinese state propaganda notwithstanding, the Tibetans are indeed an occupied and colonized people at risk of losing many important aspects of their way of life.

For those who remained in Tibet, Chinese occupation meant that “a brutal effort had begun to replace Tibetan Buddhist culture with an alien communist ideology” (Cusack 2008: 5). The Tibetan way of life, grounded in a spiritual and material connection to the land, was about to undergo a substantial upheaval. After centuries of relative autonomy and self-governance, Tibet was now under total political control of the authoritarian Chinese state. The Chinese government’s repression of Tibetans has been widely documented since the occupation began in 1950. Human Rights Watch summarizes its 2017 findings in Tibet: “Authorities in Tibetan areas continue to severely restrict religious freedom, speech, movement,

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and assembly” (hrw 2018). When describing the one-party authoritarian state in recent years, hrw (n.d.) elaborates as follows: Since President Xi Jinping assumed power in 2013, the government has arbitrarily detained and prosecuted hundreds of activists and human rights lawyers and defenders. It has tightened control over nongovernmental organizations, activists, media, and the internet through a slew of new laws that cast activism and peaceful criticism as state security threats.

For Tibetans, this means that many aspects of their culture and way of life are essentially criminalized and declared to be “separatist activities” by the Chinese state. In recent years the Tibetan language has been almost entirely prohibited from being used in schools as a first language (Wong 2015). The elimination of the Tibetan language would have devastating consequences for the long-term survival of the Tibetan people, as it would for any nation or ethnic group. Moreover, the Chinese state acts swiftly against those who try to object and raise awareness about this issue. Amnesty International (2018) documented the case of Tibetan activist Tashi Wangchuk, who organized a “campaign for Tibetan language education in schools.” Wangchuk was accused of “inciting separatism” for participating in a New York Times feature on the subject of Chinese repression of Tibetan language and culture. He was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison. Tenzin Jigdal of the International Tibet Network, which is a coalition of groups supporting Tibetan self-determination, argued that Wangchuk “has been criminalized for shedding light on China’s failure to protect the basic human right to education and for taking entirely lawful steps to press for Tibetan language education” (Buckley 2018). The case of Wangchuk is indicative of a broader, systematic attempt by the Chinese state to erase the identity and way of life of Tibetans, and I return to this theme later in the chapter when discussing problems with the rail line.

In addition to the struggles surrounding the status and governance of Tibet, there have been significant economic challenges surrounding the integration of Tibet within China. Upon effectively occupying Tibet in the 1950s, the Chinese state inherited a feudal economy that was largely

T h e C h i n a – Tibe t C ase 3 1

agrarian and nomadic. The Chinese state began a process of modernization, including the construction of two highways into Tibet, along with “a modern hospital, bank, and post office” in Lhasa by 1954 (Van Schaik 2011: 221). However, Tibetans did not necessarily benefit from the decades of rapid and sustained economic growth that occurred throughout many regions of China in the past half century. This eventually brought about a more ambitious economic plan for Tibet from the Chinese authorities: Recognizing that Tibet and other areas in western China had been left behind in China’s economic boom, in 1999 the Chinese premier, Jiang Zemin, announced a massive investment of resources called Xibu Da Kaifa, “Open Up the West.” That same year, teams of geologists were sent to Tibet to work on secret projects assessing the extent of the region’s natural resources. (264) This plan to more aggressively “develop” the western regions of China began an era of large-scale state expenditure in Tibet that resulted in robust economic growth in the region. As I argue later in the chapter, this economic growth in Tibet represents a form of “disempowered development,” as the policies have been “determined by non-Tibetans and by the ebb and flows of political dynamics occurring outside the Tibetan areas in ways that have borne little or no relation to actual conditions within Tibet” (Fischer 2014: xxx). The plan also included the transfer/ migration of ethnic Han Chinese into Tibet, which had already been proceeding rapidly for years. We return to the question of ethnic Han Chinese settlers in Tibet when discussing the high-speed train, but for now it is important to note that this aspect of Chinese rule over Tibet is crucial to understanding why many call economic growth in Tibet ethnically exclusionary. Norbu (2006: 161) provides an economic assessment of the impact of Han migration into Tibet: The Chinese population transfer to Tibet has had devastating economic effects on the indigenous population. The Han settlers and their children take away better houses, jobs, schools, businesses, and hospitals from the indigenous people, who are automatically pushed to the peripheries of this new economy as tourist curios.

In 1992, a curious western tourist conducted a covert survey in

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the tar. He observed that there were 12,227 shops and restaurants in Lhasa (excluding the Barkhor) of which only 300 were owned

by Tibetans. In Tsawa Pasho, southern Kham, the Chinese owned 133 business enterprises whereas the Tibetans owned only 15.

The ownership ratio is similar in other Tibetan towns: 748 to 92 in Chamdo, 229 to 3 in Powo Tramo.

Thus, it appears that the Chinese state’s control over the territory of Tibet and related economic project has disproportionately benefitted ethic Han Chinese settlers and the Chinese state, to the detriment of indigenous Tibetans. We return to this aspect of colonial dispossession later in the chapter.

THE QINGHAI–TIBET RAIL PROJECT AND BOMBARDIER Railways have been an important piece of transportation infrastructure across the globe since the nineteenth century, and the Chinese state has had a keen interest in connecting its core infrastructure in the east to the western regions of the country, including Tibet. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, rail construction accelerated rapidly, and “by the early 1990s, China had formed a relatively integrated railway network, with two-thirds of cities connected by railway” (Wang et al. 2009: 769). It was also during this time that the Chinese state began building rail infrastructure toward the western regions of China. One of the first steps was the construction of a rail line from Lanzhou to Xining in 1959, “marking the first arrival of a train to the Tibetan plateau” (Arya 2008: 107). This line was extended in 1979 from Xining to Golmud, which became the future site of the extension to Lhasa in the early twenty-first century.

The Qinghai–Tibet rail project brought to fruition one of Mao’s initial revolutionary goals for the Chinese state: the construction of a high-speed rail line into Tibet. Shailender Arya (2008: 107) documents the process in the 1990s as follows: In July 1994 the Third National Forum for Work in Tibet was held at Beijing by the Communist Party. It exhorted officials to dismantle Tibet’s isolation from China and help create “an

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inseparable organic link” between the two economies. Soon, on the 7th October 1994, the push towards Lhasa was formally announced. Under China’s Ninth Five Year Plan (1996–2000) a preliminary route survey and feasibility studies were conducted.

Construction began in 2001, and the project was completed in 2006.

The rail line runs a total of 1,140 kilometres and cost between US$4 and US$5 billion to build, depending on whether estimates are obtained by the Chinese state or outside actors. Upon completion of this formidable project, China was poised to take its place among the great industrial powerhouses of the world with regard to rail infrastructure: “In 2007, the length of operating railways reached 77,966 km, exceeding India and trailing only the US and Russia” (Wang et al. 2009: 766). The railway is a significant source of pride for the Chinese state: President Hu suggests that it projects a China that is “ambitious, self-confident and capable of standing among the world’s advanced nations” (bbc World News 2006).

Furthermore, this project is located within an ambitious set of plans by the Chinese state to expand rail infrastructure in Tibet, and possibly to neighbouring countries surrounding Tibet. They are already planning a second rail line to Lhasa, this time from Chengdu, capital of Sichuan province (ndtv 2017). Other plans exist “to extend the railway in Tibet to the borders of India, Bhutan and Nepal by 2020, and the construction of a new line east from Lhasa close to India’s border, in a new strategic network” (International Campaign for Tibet 2014). The completion of this initial line into Tibet has had a profound impact on the Tibetan people, while providing the Chinese state with remarkable access to the region.

Bombardier’s relationship with the Chinese state began over fifty years ago, when Deutsche Waggonbau, later acquired by Bombardier, “began supplying China with rail equipment, including freight cars and passenger coaches” (Bombardier 2014b). However, it wasn’t until the late 1990s and 2000s that Bombardier took its place as “one of the most successful foreign companies” in China (Kohler 2013). Through both joint ventures and wholly foreign-owned enterprises, Bombardier has advanced its rail and aerospace sectors in China during the past twenty years.2 In 2014, the company boasted:

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More than 4,000 employees work at our four joint ventures and seven wholly foreign owned enterprises in China, as well as at our offices in Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou and Hong Kong. In rail transportation, our long-standing presence in China has generated orders for over 5,000 rail cars and more than 560 electric locomotives to date. In aerospace, we account for one third of the business jet fleet in China with over 100 aircraft. Six airlines operate 47 Bombardier commercial aircraft in Greater China. (2014b) It is within this context that Bombardier was ultimately awarded a contract to supply rail cars for the Qinghai–Tibet high-speed project. In February 2005, Bombardier announced that the company, with its joint venture partners Power Corporation of Canada and China South Locomotive and Rolling Stock Industry (Group) Corporation, along with one consortium partner, “received an order from the Ministry of Railways of China for the production and delivery of 361 cars to be used for new train line services to Lhasa in Tibet.” The order was valued at roughly US$281 million, with Bombardier’s share at approximately US$78 million. The 2005 press release also went into detail about the rail cars: The order includes 308 standard cars and 53 special tourist cars.

The trains will be equipped with unique state of the art technology as they will be operated with enriched oxygen systems and special uv protection. Moreover, the tourist trains will ensure a unique experience to the passengers by providing luxury sleeping rooms with individual showers, cars with a panoramic view, entertainment and dining in a luxurious environment.

The trains were delivered as requested and have run successfully on the track since 2006.

The Qinghai–Tibet project is an integral part of the Chinese state’s broader strategy to “develop” and modernize the western regions of China.

Moreover, the rail line is important to the Chinese state in terms of deepening the process of integration for Tibetan regions of the country. The alleged benefits of the project are largely hailed as providing an opportunity for rapid economic growth and development in Tibet. The economic rationale rests first and foremost on the Chinese state’s twin strategic

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pillars for economic growth in Tibet: tourism and resource extraction.

In addition, the hope is that better transportation will lower the cost of goods being shipped into Tibet, while simultaneously providing a better market for Tibetan goods to be shipped to the rest of China. However, the costs and benefits of this economic strategy are deeply contested by scholars and civil society actors with an interest in Tibet.

PROBLEMS WITH THE PROJECT The Chinese state argues that the new railway into Tibet will bring an abundance of economic benefits to the people of Tibet, as well as contribute to the government’s broader plan to further integrate the western regions of the country with the rest of China. Construction of the railway contributed roughly one-third of the US$45.4 billion the Chinese state invested in the tar since 2001 (Fish 2010), as the plan to open up the west has proceeded rapidly over the past two decades. According to Chinese state sources, the result of this development plan in the tar has been rapid and sustained economic growth. The Chinese government states: “In 2016, Tibet reported 11.5-percent gdp growth, realizing the 24th straight year of double-digit growth” (Xinhua 2017). Rapid economic growth in Tibet is typically accounted for by increasing numbers of tourists, expansion of mining activities, state expenditure on infrastructure and administrative expenses, and growing trade flowing in and out of Tibet. Moreover, much of this economic “success” is attributed to the completion of the highspeed rail line into Lhasa. Ben Hillman, a Tibet expert from the Australian National University’s China institute, argues that “a clear benefit of the train was that it makes industrial goods cheaper for Tibetans, who, like everyone else in the world, like household conveniences, but normally had to pay very high prices” (quoted in Fish 2010).

Thus, the Chinese state’s twin economic pillars for the Tibetan economy — tourism and mining — in addition to facilitating more efficient trade links, are all said to contribute greatly toward development and poverty alleviation in Tibet. While it appears that the train has indeed accelerated certain forms of accumulation and economic growth in Tibet, there are many concerns regarding the type of economic growth that is occurring and several key problems with the project. Scholars, Tibetan nationalists,

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and civil society organizations across the globe that are affiliated with the Tibetan resistance movements have relentlessly criticized the Qinghai– Tibet rail line. Broadly speaking, critics argue that the project plays a crucial role in cementing China’s iron grip on Tibet, including the ability to rapidly deploy military and other security personnel to the region.

Further criticisms fall roughly into three other categories: economic, cultural/spiritual, and environmental.

Before discussing the rail line’s many challenges, it must first be noted that obtaining independent information from within Tibet is a complicated matter. Canadian author and journalist Michael Buckley (2014: 18–19), who has travelled extensively in Tibet, summarizes the difficulty of obtaining accurate reporting from the region: Gathering any kind of research on Tibet is extremely difficult because there’s a virtual blackout on media in Tibet. It is an information black hole. Information doesn’t get in, information doesn’t get out. Foreign journalists are refused entry to Tibet; a select few manage to make it there on brief, carefully orchestrated tours where every step is monitored by Chinese minders. And gathering information can be a risky business in China. Information disappears, along with the messenger. Anything to do with Tibet is classified top secret by Chinese authorities. Therefore, getting information out of Tibet is regarded as “leaking state secrets.”

For Tibetans, the penalty for being accused of this could be years in jail, though it is never specified what these state secrets are.

The difficulty in obtaining accurate information is the direct result of authoritarian and repressive Chinese rule in Tibet and the total lack of fundamental civil and political rights. In a state where more money is spent on internal security than external security (Buckley 2014: 19), the Tibetan experience is one where criticizing or challenging the government is very dangerous. Human Rights Watch (hrw 2016) conducted a study covering the period 2013–15, which was based on 479 cases of Tibetans being detained, prosecuted, or convicted in China. This report confirms what activists and scholars working in the area of human rights in Tibet have been arguing for years: the Chinese state is conducting an ongoing

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campaign of violence and intimidation against any form of political, social, or cultural resistance to Chinese rule in Tibet. The report summarizes its findings as follows: Our research shows diminishing tolerance by authorities for forms of expression and assembly protected under international law. This has been marked by an increase in state control over daily life, increasing criminalization of nonviolent forms of protest, and at times disproportionate responses to local protests. These measures, part of a policy known as wiewen or “stability maintenance,” have led authorities to expand the range of activities and issues targeted for repression in Tibetan areas, particularly in the countryside.

Most of the cases under scrutiny by hrw occurred in the rural areas of Tibet, and many of the victims were “local community leaders, environmental activists, and villagers involved in social and cultural activities, as well as local writers and singers.” Within a climate of severe repression, especially against those who might be challenging Chinese rule, it is difficult to hear directly from Tibetans regarding their immediate realities.3 In addition, the organization Reporters Without Borders, in its 2018 World Press Freedom Index, ranks China 176th out of 180 countries. A severe restriction on independent journalism also adds to the difficulties in obtaining reliable information. Thus, this chapter relies on a great deal of outside analysis of the rail project, both from scholars and writers who have travelled extensively in Tibet and from civil society actors with strong connections to Tibetan communities both within Tibet and in exile.

Military Aims and Objectives The first key concern regarding the impact of the train involves the ability of the Chinese state to rapidly deploy military and other security personnel along the rail line, as well as supplies to support these deployments. The ability to rapidly transport military/security assets into the region has two main purposes: internally, it’s used to control and repress dissent within Tibet, and externally, it’s used to project military power toward India and other states in the region. Hamish McDonald (2005) describes these two

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objectives succinctly, noting that the train will replace many of the long truck convoys strung out along perilous roads that take arms, oil, coal and food to the huge military force along Tibet’s border with India, as well as the garrisons of soldiers and armed police in the interior to suppress pro-independence activity.

Historically, Tibet posed a major geographic challenge for the Chinese state in terms of moving troops and supplies with sufficient speed. In order to control pro-independence activities, such as protests, riots, and military uprisings, the Chinese government has had to rely on ground travel to a significant extent. It often took days, if not weeks, to transport personnel and supplies to the Tibetan Plateau. The new rail line has fundamentally altered this logistical problem: The travel time from Golmud to the Tibetan capital has been drastically reduced from 72 hours to 16 hours with a direct impact on the troop movements. As reported by Xinhua (New China News Agency), the Chinese government itself has touted the railway as a means of transport for troops, saying that not only will the railway improve the efficiency of the army, but the army will improve the efficiency of the railway. (Arya 2008: 117–118) One author documents a case where armoured personnel carriers (apcs) were transported along the Qinghai–Tibet rail line to help suppress unrest in Tibet in March 2008 (Arya 2008: 118). These deployments are much quicker and easier for the Chinese state and help fulfil its immense task of suppressing dissent across the vast territory of Tibet.

The Chinese state can also use the new railway to project military power externally and secure its western borders with states such as India.

The Qinghai–Tibet rail line, in conjunction with the second rail line into Tibet currently under construction, will provide the Chinese state with rapid movement of weapons, troops, and other supplies to its border with India. After fighting a brief border war in 1962, both India and China have maintained an active military presence across much of the disputed territory. Tensions occasionally flare in several disputed areas, most recently

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in the state of Bhutan, when in June 2017 Chinese troops crossed into territory claimed as part of the Bhutanese state. Bhutan immediately requested Indian assistance, and a stand-off between Indian and Chinese troops ensued (Safi 2017). While this type of confrontation is typically not expected to escalate, the Chinese state is achieving the ability to rapidly deploy and supply the military along the border with India. Furthermore, the goal of political stability in Tibet is essential to any military aspirations externally. Arya (2008: 121) asserts: “It is a historical fact that one of the main reasons for the pla [People’s Liberation Army] to withdraw in November 1962 after a one-month occupation of Arunachal Pradesh and Ladakh was the serious unrest in Tibet at the time.” Thus, the goal of securing Tibet works in tandem with projecting military power externally and may even be a prerequisite.

Economic Impact The second major problem with the Qinghai–Tibet train involves the challenge of understanding the economic impact of the train for Tibetans.

While the Chinese state boasts of the benefits of increased tourism, mining, and trade for the Tibetan economy, there are many layers of nuance in assessing the economic legacy of the train. First, one must always read Chinese economic statistics with a healthy dose of scepticism. An article from the Washington Post (Denyer and Zhang 2016) notes: “The Chinese government says 23 million visitors will enter the Tibetan Autonomous Region this year, an 11-fold increase in a decade since it opened a train route across the high-altitude plateau. It is projecting arrivals to rise to 35 million visitors by 2020.” However, with a bit of digging, the journalists discovered that when the Chinese state counts tourists, they count the total number of places visited instead of the number of people. This inflates the numbers by a factor of almost three. The article also states: “In 2010, the Congressional-Executive Commission on China also examined the Chinese government’s ‘contradictory’ tourism data, noting that reported train arrivals in 2008 exceeded the railway’s carrying capacity.”

The Chinese state has an interest in making it seem as though its investments in Tibet are largely beneficial, and hence its information has a propaganda component.

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More importantly, there are serious concerns regarding the impact of tourism on the Tibetan people. First, there is the question of who benefits financially from the rush of tourists entering Tibet. Most of the economy within cities like Lhasa is dominated by ethnic Han Chinese businesspeople, and very little of the tourism revenue trickles down to Tibetans. The Chinese occupation, alongside the influx of Han settlers into Tibet, creates a colonial dynamic whereby Tibetans are not in control of key economic industries such as tourism. Andrew Fischer (2005: 52), who has perhaps conducted the most comprehensive analysis of the Tibetan economy to date, describes the tourism conundrum as follows: The fact that companies based outside the province control much of the tourist industry accentuates the fact that a large share of the tourism revenue simply leaves the region after a short circulation, perhaps not much longer than the tourists themselves, or else is perhaps saved for later repatriation. For instance, most of the tourists visiting the tar are (Han) Chinese nationals and they mostly stay in (Han) Chinese owned and run hotels on the west side of Lhasa, close to an abundant supply of (Han) Chinese restaurants and entertainment centres, complete with (Han) Chinese brothels and (Han) Chinese sex workers, who obviously service the military personnel and cadres stationed there as well.

The tourism industry in Tibet is one of the key aspects of the economy that constitutes its ethnically exclusionary nature. We re-visit the tourism issue when discussing the rail line’s cultural/spiritual challenges, as the erosion of Tibetan cultural and religious practises may in fact be a far greater problem with tourism than the uneven economic gains. It is also difficult to compartmentalize each of the effects, as they are invariably interconnected.

An additional economic concern with the train involves the second key pillar of China’s economic strategy in Tibet: resource extraction. While reliable figures are difficult to obtain, it is commonly understood that there are substantial deposits of several important minerals in Tibet, including copper, gold, lead, zinc, lithium, mercury, uranium, and chromium. The Chinese state is eager to exploit these mineral reserves in order to acquire

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much-needed raw materials for its continuing industrial boom, and it is also important to note that “large-scale mining in Tibet would not be possible without the train to export minerals economically” (Buckley 2014: 22). The new rail line is vital to ensuring that mining in Tibet is financially feasible and was one of the key reasons for such a large investment in transportation infrastructure. Moreover, the acquisition of these minerals requires the removal (and at times replacement) of the Tibetan people from the land in ways that conform to our theoretical discussion of settler colonialism described in Chapter 1.

Setting aside the environmental concerns with mining in Tibet for a moment, the economic and social impacts have thus far demonstrated troubling trends. There have been widespread allegations that many Tibetans have been forcibly displaced in order to make way for mining projects. Nearly half of the Tibetan population are pastoralists and have practised a nomadic way of life for millennia, which has posed a challenge for Chinese plans to conduct widespread extraction of minerals across Tibet. Human rights organizations have been monitoring and reporting on allegations of forced displacement in Tibet for many years, and some sources argue that more than two million Tibetan nomads have been removed from the land they have lived on for generations (Free Tibet n.d.). Human Rights Watch (hrw 2007) published a report that carefully detailed the processes and results of dispossession occurring in Tibet: Since 2000 the Chinese government has been implementing resettlement, land confiscation, and fencing policies in pastoral areas inhabited primarily by Tibetans, drastically curtailing their livelihood… Many Tibetan herders have been required to slaughter most of their livestock and move into newly built housing colonies in or near towns, abandoning their traditional way of life.

In a drive to “modernize” the Tibetan economy, the Chinese state has relocated many Tibetans with the hope of integrating them into the “modern” economy. However, according to hrw, this has largely occurred against the wishes of the nomadic people and has had devastating effects.

“Deprived of their conventional livelihood, the affected populations are unable to participate in urban, commercial economies, and are thus facing

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bleak futures.” More recently, bbc World News cited a report produced by exiled Tibetan officials in India claiming that “between 1.5 and two million Tibetan pastoralists have been forcibly displaced from their pastoral lands, while mines for gold and copper ore extraction have been mushrooming” (Khadka 2013). This problem of forced re-location of rural Tibetans was also monitored by the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the right to food, Olivier De Schutter. His 2012 report to the UN Human Rights Council contained the following excerpt regarding the implications of forcibly displacing people under international humanitarian and environmental law: The International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights prohibits depriving any people from its means of subsistence, and the Convention on Biological Diversity (1992) acknowledges the importance of indigenous communities as guarantors and protectors of biodiversity (art. 8 (j)). China has ratified both of these instruments. The Special Rapporteur urges the Chinese authorities to take all appropriate measures to immediately halt non-voluntary resettlement of nomadic herders from their traditional lands and non-voluntary relocation or rehousing programmes of other rural residents. (unhrc 2012) The displacement of rural Tibetans potentially calls into question China’s commitments under these important pieces of global governance, and De Schutter’s work validates what many human rights organizations have been documenting regarding the impacts of forced displacement on rural Tibetans.

The displacement of nomadic Tibetans to make way for mining interests resembles many processes of accumulation by dispossession throughout the world. Here, capital and resource accumulation penetrates noncapitalist spaces, with the resulting dispossession of those who previously inhabited the land. This process of dispossession in Tibet is also one of colonialism, whereby the Chinese state imposes its will and removes Tibetans from the territory in order to expand resource extraction. It is a direct violation of the self-determination and sovereignty of the Tibetan people, and this process has devastating consequences for the livelihoods

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and way of life for displaced Tibetans. The Tibetan nomads, who number in the millions and who have lived on the Plateau for millennia, “see themselves as gatherers of what the landscape generously provides; all that is necessary is to remain mobile, never overstaying” (Lafitte 2013: 19).

Pastoral livelihoods based on barley cropping, wool, and butter production sustain nomadic Tibetans in a land “conducive to material comfort and ease, available to feed those who know how to gather skilfully what nature provides.” Moreover, the spiritual, cultural, and social worldview of Tibetans is fundamentally shaped by this relationship and connection to the land. While these aspects of Tibetan life are discussed more extensively in the next section, it is crucial to emphasize that removing nomadic Tibetans from the land is an extraordinary act of violence. It is unfathomable to expect a people whose existence over thousands of years is grounded in a sustainable and nourishing relationship to the land to simply move into resettlement camps and being a new life as “modern” people. Yet this is precisely the colonial method of removal and dispossession experienced by Tibetans.

There is also the question of who benefits from the mining activity itself and the lack of consultation with local Tibetans regarding the projects. Author Gabriel Lafitte, who spent years with Tibetans, both within Tibet and in exile, carefully documents the negative effects of mining on the Tibetan population and the ruthless repression of those who attempt to resist the Chinese state. He includes many firsthand accounts from Tibetans in the mining areas who describe the lack of consultation and harms caused by Chinese mining in the region: They say that a big Chinese businessman signed an agreement with the government and his company is mining. Even we don’t know where he is from. It is a coal mine in between Suwa Village and Suwa monastery and the site is in a line across the mountain. People were not consulted at all. They just went ahead and started mining… From the past to the present, Suwa village did not receive even one yuan, but it seems like some government officials are reaping befit from it. (2013: 57) Although some Tibetans are opposed to the mining regardless of who

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shares in the revenues, others who view this form of “development” as inevitable would at least prefer the benefits to be shared equitably with Tibetans. Lafitte’s book is filled with troubling reports from Tibetans, almost all of whom spoke on condition of anonymity in order to avoid potential repercussions from the Chinese state. The book’s key findings suggest that almost all of the mine workers are brought in from outside Tibet, there is very little, if any, consultation with the Indigenous population, and the harms to local people far outweigh the benefits. Lafitte summarizes the situation by arguing that, “given the structural inequality and their exclusion from political participation, Tibetans feel they bear the social and environmental costs, with none of the benefits… Objection to mining is at the heart of Tibetan grief at Chinese rule” (87).

The overall economic legacy of Chinese rule in Tibet is deeply contested. Chinese authorities (and some analysts) point to economic growth figures as evidence that Chinese investment and trade in the region is largely beneficial. However, the impacts of economic growth are highly uneven across the population of Tibet. Scholar Andrew Martin Fischer has perhaps conducted the most rigorous independent analysis of the Tibetan economy. While Fischer documents the rapid and sustained economic growth in Tibet over the past two decades, he cautions that it should be understood as “ethnically exclusionary growth.” The economic processes unfolding in Tibet — increases in mining, tourism, dam construction, and transportation infrastructure — have primarily benefitted the Chinese rather than the Tibetans. Fischer (2007: 3) elaborates on this phenomenon: This means that despite exceedingly rapid economic growth, or precisely because of the exceedingly rapid unequal growth and its extreme dependence on outside sources of funding, the majority of Tibetans are just as rapidly being marginalized from this growth. In other words, they have less and less ability to act as significant participants or beneficiaries in the rapidly growing parts of the economy, even while their traditional bases in farming and herding are less and less able to sustain their livelihoods.

While in absolute terms the average Tibetan has become slightly better off

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economically over the past twenty years, this is not surprising to Fischer given the enormous injections of state money into Tibet. He suggests that “what is surprising is how little does in fact trickle down.” The core economic problem appears to be that Tibetans are not sufficiently benefitting from, or controlling, the direction of the economy in Tibet — a problem that could be exacerbated by the new rail infrastructure. Moreover, the problems with displacement (or removal) are more than just economic.

Politically, they are an assault on Tibetans’ rights to self-determination, and they have critical implications for Tibetans’ culture and spirituality.

Impact on the Spiritual and Cultural life of Tibetans The third area of concern regarding the overall impact of the railroad involves the spiritual and cultural aspects of Tibetan life. This concern intersects with both the economic and environmental problems associated with the rail project, and the more general Chinese domination of Tibetan life. Tibetan cultural and spiritual existence is grounded in Buddhism and many centuries of living a socially and ecologically sustainable life in an inhospitable climate. It is well known that “religious practice and Buddhist principles are a part of daily life for most Tibetans” and that monks and nuns “are often very active in protecting and promoting Tibet’s environment, language and culture” (Free Tibet n.d.). Tibetan spirituality, culture, and language are grounded in the territory in which they have lived for thousands of years. Lafitte (2013: 29) notes that across the landscape, the sacred is ever-present. To Tibetans, what seems to outsiders a thinly populated land is dense with meaning, agents and actors, reminders that this lifetime is the right time to prepare for the next, by behaving responsibly and mindfully. The land is crowded with minor local spirits and major deities who bound the horizon… Tibetan landscapes are rich sources for the metaphors that cascade through the poetry and songs.

Once again, it is important to recognize the connection between Tibetan identity and the land in order to understand the true magnitude of the Chinese occupation of Tibet. By removing Tibetans from the land and engaging in widespread “economic development” across the territory, the

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Chinese state is performing a form of erasure and dispossession that we can theorize through the lens of settler colonialism.

Buddhist monasteries and monks have played an important role in the political development of Tibet. Scholars Barry Sautman and June Dreyer (2006: 7) assert: “Spirituality and sovereignty are linked in the Tibet Question through Tibet’s traditional system of governance in which politics and religion were tightly intertwined.” Indeed, the Dalai Lama is a spiritual figure who is also the leader of the Tibetan administration in exile.4 This has inevitably led to problems with the Chinese occupation of Tibet, as despite claims to the contrary, the Chinese state views religion and the monasteries’ relationship to the state with great suspicion and hostility. Since the Chinese occupation began, there have been severe restrictions placed on the Tibetan faith. The number of monasteries has been drastically reduced, and “the number of monks and nuns are strictly controlled” (Free Tibet n.d.). Remaining monasteries are closely monitored, and in most areas of Tibet it is illegal to own an image of the Dalai Lama. Many Tibetans view the ongoing occupation of Tibet as a grave threat to their religion and by extension the very fabric of their unique identity as Tibetans. Removing Tibetans from the land and placing severe restrictions on their religious freedom operate in tandem as an assault on Tibetan identity and also on the Tibetans’ political order. The Tibetan connection between spirituality and political rule means that the monasteries are not simply spiritual sites, but also crucial political sites of sovereignty and resistance. Hence, the Chinese state is deeply invested in targeting and monitoring the spiritual practices of Tibetans in order to suppress their ability to organize and resist Chinese occupation.

Tibetans fear that the railway facilitates an influx of tourists, ethnic Han Chinese settlers, and resource extraction, all of which have the potential to undermine their ability to maintain a distinct culture and religion.

Tibetans often describe the influx of Han Chinese settlers into Tibet since the construction of the railway as the “second invasion.” While the Chinese state does not release statistics on the number of Han Chinese living in Tibet, it is commonly understood that most settlers live in urban centres such as Lhasa and that the population of Lhasa is now more than half Chinese. The fear is that Lhasa will lose its traditional Tibetan identity as more and more Chinese settlers arrive to work either temporarily or

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permanently. While the rail line was under construction, the Dalai Lama claimed that “some kind of cultural genocide is taking place. In general a railway link is very useful in order to develop, but not when politically motivated to bring about demographic change” (quoted in Watts 2005).

The Dalai Lama’s critical warning of cultural genocide is not solely related to the demographic changes taking place. While this replacement of Tibetans is a central feature of cultural genocide, it must also be linked to the removal of nomadic Tibetans from the land, the loss of linguistic and spiritual freedom, the harm to the physical environment, and the damage to traditional pastoral livelihoods. These are the real material effects of colonialism in Tibet.

While revenue from tourism can be an important source of economic growth in the region, Chinese ambitions to increase tourism can also threaten Tibetan spirituality and culture. There are reports that Chinese authorities have turned monasteries into tourist sites against the will of the local Tibetans. According to the advocacy group Free Tibet (2017), “Some monasteries have been renovated to turn them into tourist sites, or modified to create space for restaurants, hotels and shops. Monks have reported huge numbers of tourists coming to their monasteries on a daily basis, disturbing their studies and way of life.” Another civil society actor — Tibetan Centre for Human Rights and Democracy (tchrd) — published accounts about a monastery that was partly demolished to facilitate tourism in eastern Tibet: “Larung Gar, the world’s largest Tibetan Buddhist institute, resembles a sliced melon, a year after Chinese authorities dismantled thousands of monastic residences and evicted Buddhist practitioners” (tchrd 2017). The tchrd claims that this is part of an ongoing plan by the Chinese state to transform the site into a lucrative tourist destination. They assert that the Chinese state is turning Buddhist religious institutions and practices into tourist spectacles and that it is occurring without the consent of the local inhabitants. An article in The Economist (2016) claims that, after the damage inflicted on Larung Gar and the evictions of nuns and monks, “three nuns have reportedly committed suicide” and “of the more than 140 Tibetans who have set fire to themselves since 2011 in protest against Chinese rule, many were spurred to do so by repressive measures at their own monastery or nunnery.” Selfimmolation is a desperate act of protest occasionally used in Tibet when

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other avenues to address grievances prove futile, and its prevalence over the past ten years demonstrates the level of distress faced by Tibetans to the radical changes they are resisting.5 Environmental Impacts The fourth and final broad issue to consider when analyzing the impact of the rail project encompasses an array of environmental concerns. To begin, there are several environmental challenges with the actual construction and operation of the railway itself. The difficulties that need to be overcome include developing state-of-the-art technology to build and sustain the tracks on permafrost; ensuring the protection of rare wildlife in the region; protecting the grasslands and wetlands; and disposing of the construction waste in an ecologically friendly manner (Qin and Zheng 2010: 860). Many scholars have analyzed the environmental challenges associated with the construction of the project, as it truly constitutes a monumental engineering achievement. Most analysts suggest that the Chinese state, and the companies involved in the project, have undertaken extraordinary measures to ensure that the abovementioned concerns are addressed sufficiently. For example, cooling systems are used in the rail in order to prevent the permafrost from melting, and “33 wildlife passageways were built along the railway to facilitate the migration and mating of wildlife” (Qin and Zheng 2010: 862). However, analysts also caution that the long-term environmental impacts of the railway should not be underestimated and that underlying concerns regarding the permafrost and wildlife require long-term monitoring and attention (Zhang et al. 2008).

The more pressing environmental concerns with the rail line exist within the wider context of what the train facilitates throughout Tibet. The Chinese state’s drive to economically “develop” Tibet, which is enabled by the train to some extent, presents a plethora of environmental challenges.

Scholars and activists point to the expansion of mining and dam building as cause for serious concern regarding the fragile ecosystem. Buckley has repeatedly documented the escalating environmental harms associated with Chinese industrial expansion into Tibet. In his 2014 book, he begins by drawing the link between the railway and the broader Chinese plans to “open up the West,” which, he argues, “is more of a Plunder-the-West

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campaign, as the railway was specifically built to exploit Tibet’s mineral resources and to enable dam building on the plateau” (22). With roughly forty-six thousand glaciers in the Himalayas, the Tibetan Plateau is often referred to as the “Third Pole.” Moreover, several major rivers originate from the Plateau and end in five mega deltas across South and Southeast Asia. Buckley argues: “One way or another, close to 2 billion people rely on Tibet’s waters — for drinking, for agriculture, for fishing, for industry” (1). He builds a case in his book to suggest that Chinese damming of these rivers has forced Tibetans off their land (58–59), damaged the grasslands due to flooding, and threatens the food and water security of communities living downstream. The stakes are high when it comes to environmental sustainability in Tibet. Scientist Jane Qiu (2008) emphasizes the importance of the Tibetan ecosystems: The Tibetan plateau gets a lot less attention than the Arctic or Antarctic, but after them it is Earth’s largest store of ice. And the store is melting fast. In the past half-century, 82% of the plateau’s glaciers have retreated. In the past decade, 10% of its permafrost has degraded. As the changes continue, or even accelerate, their effects will resonate far beyond the isolated plateau, changing the water supply for billions of people and altering the atmospheric circulation over half the planet.

The fragile ecosystem of the Tibetan Plateau will require meticulous care and attention over the coming decades in order to manage ice, down-stream water flow, and permafrost levels, and the Chinese state’s rush to “develop” Tibet is cause for tremendous concern on this front.

More importantly, Buckley’s analysis makes a clear case that ongoing dam projects are not protecting the interests of Tibetans or the environment, but rather exacerbating processes of dispossession by forcing Tibetans off the land and damaging ecosystems. This type of “development” in the region appears to conform to the wider trends of colonial dispossession described throughout this chapter, as Chinese access to land and resources results in dispossession for Tibetans. This will have consequences not only for Tibetans, but for the entire planet.

Mining in Tibet is also associated with a wide array of environmental

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problems. The International Campaign for Tibet (2008: 162) asserts that the environmental damage falls into the following categories: damage to topsoil, mountains, and grasslands from digging; contamination of water sources through the use of toxic chemicals such as cyanide and mercury; disturbance of the flow of groundwater resources by digging; and disruption of ecosystems by landslides and rockslides. Environmental ngo Greenpeace (2014) has also documented ecological concerns with mining in Tibet; in particular, they studied a giant coal mine on the Qinghai–Tibet plateau, which covers “an area 14 times larger than the City of London.”

They report: “By combining evidence gathered on seven separate trips to the remote region with satellite images and analysis by legal experts, Greenpeace campaigners have established that the coal development … violates a number of water protection laws and local nature reserve regulations.” Li Shuo, Greenpeace East Asia Climate and Energy Campaigner, emphasizes the severity of the situation: “China’s growing hunger for coal is not only fuelling the cycle of air pollution crises plaguing the country’s largest cities, it’s also using up enormous amounts of water, threatening whole regions with water shortages and desertification.”

Ecological damage from mining operations in Tibet is causing real material harms for many Tibetans. In addition to the displacement of Tibetans discussed earlier, those who remain in the mining regions contend with myriad environmental problems. Tibetan Amdo Tsolho Tsikorthang describes the ecological impact of mining, and the influx of Chinese workers, on Tibetan land and resources: They [the miners] draw water through metal pipes from the upper part of the mountain, and local nomads have been facing water shortage since they came. For generations, people have been living near the big Sershung river and both people and livestock drink the water of that river, but at present many Chinese people are dumping their dirty water into the river, as well as all the effluent from the gold processing plant. (quoted in Lafitte 2013: 64–65) The availability of fresh water is imperative for many Tibetan villages surrounding the mines, both for their own consumption and for livestock.

The heavy use of water in mining operations is placing severe strain on

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these resources and is another contributing factor to the erasure of the pastoralist way of life in Tibet.

A final aspect of the mining activities in Tibet combines the environmental and spiritual well-being of Tibetans on the Plateau. Tibetan Buddhists consider much of the physical environment, including mountains and rivers, sacred. When mountains are exploded for mining, or rivers dammed to create hydro-electric power, Tibetans feel a sense of deep spiritual loss. One Tibetan interviewed by Tibet Watch describes the issue as follows: “Destruction of the land, the mining of sacred mountains and holy lakes, are more than pollution and destruction of the environment.

It is a violation of our tradition, religious beliefs and the destruction of our forefathers’ legacy” (Free Tibet n.d.).

Even before the arrival and ascendance of Buddhism over 1500 years ago, Tibetans lived in a world surrounded by deities in nature. Historian Sam Van Schaik (2011: 24) recounts: Sometimes it is said that the world is ruled by three types of spirit: the lha in the heavens, the nyen in the air and on the peaks of mountains, and the lu in the underworld and rivers. The mountain deities were particularly revered, with each clan having its own mountain and the clan leaders considering themselves the descendants of the mountain’s divine embodiment.

In his book on mining in Tibet, Gabriel Lafitte (2013) also stresses the importance of the mountains, and other natural wonders, within the Tibetan spiritual and cultural world. He includes direct testimony by Tibetans on this subject throughout his book, which provides a convincing account of the spiritual and emotional damage being inflicted on the Tibetans by Chinese “development” in the region. The following testimony of Tibetan Tsikorthang provides a sense of the damage in an area of gold and copper mining in the mountains: At the foot of the mountain is the Sertang monastery of the Gelukpa school, where there is a community of about a hundred monks, studying the Buddhist teachings. It is said that within the bowels of the mountain there is a golden wild yak and a white crane, and these are generally acknowledged as the territorial

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deities of Tsigortang area, and especially of the Sertang holy place… When the mining started, the Sertang monastery was hit by falling rocks, and damaged… Then there are three pastoralist villages nearby… whose exclusive means of livelihood is animal husbandry; the pastures on which their flocks live became littered with stone once the government mining operation started. Not only that, but they were forced to move elsewhere. Also, with all the mining machinery, blasting and so on, the livestock in the vicinity were poisoned and some died (quoted in Lafitte 2013: 80) This account weaves together the spiritual and material elements of this assault on the Tibetan land and way of life. The Economist (2013) reports on another mine, the Jiama mine, which has sparked protest by local residents: “The Jiama mine, in a valley known to Tibetans as Gyama and revered as the birthplace of a seventh-century Tibetan king, has been the focus of protests by locals angered by environmental and other issues.” The Washington Post (Denyer 2016) quotes an environmentalist in Tibet, who remained anonymous for fear of being persecuted by the Chinese state: “God is in the mountains and the rivers, these are the places that spirits live. When mining comes and the grassland is dug up, people believe worse disasters will come. It destroys the mountain god.” This same environmentalist also claimed, based on an oral survey of local opinion, that Tibetans “would oppose mining projects even if companies promised to share profits with local communities, to fill in mines after they were exhausted, and to return sites to their natural state.”

This point is so important to stress when considering the framework of dispossession in this project: the extraction and accumulation processes are so devastating to Tibetans’ existence as a people that in many cases it seems unfathomable to imagine a mining process in any shape or form that would be acceptable. Indeed, accumulation by dispossession is occurring, but the particular attachment to land in this context heightens the severity of the situation. Instead of simply discussing environmental damage and relocation as inconveniences for Tibetans, our analysis from settler colonial studies compels us to more deeply interrogate what the removal/erasure of Tibetans from the landscape means for them as a people. It is nothing less than cultural genocide: dispossessing Tibetans

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from their land, with the effect of eradicating their ability to remain as a distinct people.

Resistance It is important to note that Tibetans, despite severe restrictions on their civil and political rights, have continuously resisted these processes of dispossession, even at great personal risk to their physical and emotional well-being. Although it is often difficult to obtain clear and verifiable accounts of resistance within Tibet, there is an overwhelming volume of evidence suggesting that Tibetans have consistently resisted the destruction of their natural environment, livelihoods, and way of life.

Organizations such as Tibet Watch, Free Tibet, International Campaign for Tibet, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and Radio Free Asia, in addition to journalists and scholars from outside of Tibet, have all documented the resilience and determination of Tibetans to confront the authoritarian Chinese state. The International Campaign for Tibet (2016) states: Protests against mining and to protect Tibet’s fragile high-altitude environment have become increasingly frequent, and dangerous, as the Chinese authorities accelerate large-scale mining in copper, gold, silver, chromium and lithium. Tibetans who express even moderate concern about the impact of toxic waste, deforestation, and large-scale erosion risk are being imprisoned, tortured, or killed.

Resistance has taken the form of peaceful appeals to the Chinese regional authorities, non-violent protests, gatherings of concerned Tibetans, and in extreme cases of desperation, self-immolation. Lafitte (2013: 59) cites a report from Radio Free Asia describing a situation where “Tsering Dondrub, a 34-year-old father of two, self-immolated outside a gold mine in Amchok town in Gansu’s Sangchu county one morning in November 2012.” These startling cases of self-immolation should serve as a wake-up call to the outside world regarding the seriousness and desperation of the Tibetan situation under Chinese rule, but also of their determination to resist. In general, the Tibetan people have not

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been passive victims, nor have they acquiesced to Chinese rule. Moreover, they have spoken out directly and vociferously against the environmental, spiritual, economic, and political consequences of the Chinese occupation, which the train arguably plays an important role in solidifying.

CANADIAN ACTIVISM, BOMBARDIER’S POSITION, AND IMPLICATIONS OF THIS CASE First, it must be noted that Bombardier is not the only Canadian corporation with business interests in Tibet. Two other companies — PowerCorp and Nortel — were directly involved in the construction of the Qinghai–Tibet rail line. PowerCorp was part of the joint venture with Bombardier in building the rail cars, and Nortel provided “the line with a digital wireless communications network” (Canada Tibet Committee n.d.). In addition, several other companies headquartered in Canada have been active in the mining or dam-building aspects of China’s industrial plan in Tibet (Buckley n.d.).6 Thus, it is important to contextualize this case within the broader literature and analysis mentioned in Chapter 1 regarding Canadian corporate activity abroad. While Bombardier has played a central role as supplier of the rail cars, and the railroad has been an imperative aspect of Chinese control and dispossession in Tibet, it is one of many Canadian companies profiting from continued Chinese domination of Tibet.

A coalition of Canadian civil society organizations, including the Canada Tibet Committee, International Campaign for Tibet, and Students for a Free Tibet, called on Bombardier to withdraw from the project in the early 2000s. These actors also organized protests against Bombardier, including at the company’s annual general meeting in June 2005. Lhadon Tethong, executive director of Students for a Free Tibet, commented at the time: “To Tibetans inside Tibet, the railway is a death sentence…

The Chinese government already encourages Chinese settlers to move into Tibet in order to assimilate Tibetans and eliminate their resistance to Chinese rule” (International Campaign for Tibet 2005). Mary Beth Markey, executive director of the International Campaign for Tibet, added: “Bombardier takes no responsibility for the fact that Tibetans have not been consulted about whether they even want the railroad to be built. No

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matter the impact on Tibetan people or lands, they have told us there is ‘no way’ they will pull out” (International Campaign for Tibet 2005). Finally, Tenzin Dargyal, president of the Canada Tibet Committee, asserted: As a Tibetan and a Quebecer, I’m ashamed that Bombardier is helping the Chinese government build the railway… I support development in Tibet, but not development that is imposed

by Beijing and principally serves the interests of the Chinese Communist Party, rather than the great majority of Tibetans.

(International Campaign for Tibet 2005) This final point is worth emphasizing, as much of the resistance to the rail line, both within and outside Tibet, is grounded in the fact that Tibetans were not meaningfully consulted about the project and that the benefits are perceived to accrue disproportionately to the Chinese state, rather than to Tibetans. Many Tibetans support certain aspects of “modernization” and “development,” but insist that all of these processes are unfolding beyond their control and not for their benefit. Dr. Lobsang Sangay (2017), president of the Central Tibetan Administration in exile, asserts: We are not against Chinese development projects in Tibet per se, but we propose that the real beneficiaries of any development must be Tibetans in Tibet. Any projects that China undertakes must be environmentally sustainable, culturally sensitive and economically beneficial to local Tibetans.

This view was put forward by the Dalai Lama earlier in this chapter when he suggested that the rail line, in and of itself, could potentially be of benefit to Tibetans. Once again, the core problem is that Tibetans lack any degree of control or agency with regard to the planning and implementing of “development” activities in their territory and that the benefits of said activities are not sufficiently shared with the Tibetan population. And when Tibetans attempt to raise these concerns with the Chinese state through acts of resistance, they are often criminalized and repressed further.

The official responses from Bombardier to these concerns stress that the company does not involve itself in political issues, but rather focuses

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on conducting business only. Former chief executive officer Laurent Beaudoin told activists at the June 2005 annual meeting: “We don’t think it’s our responsibility to settle the political differences between China and Tibet” (Yakabuski 2005). In another exchange, Jianwei Zhang, president and chief country representative of Bombardier China, claimed: “The railway is not our responsibility… We’re just manufacturing the cars. Bombardier’s responsibility is to make certain of our long-term collaboration with China” (York 2006). The denial of any political involvement in the host countries is a theme repeated in the Israel/Palestine case as well. Yet the rail line into Tibet is a deeply political project, with multifaceted political impacts.

During the construction phase of the railway, former president Zemin acknowledged this in a straightforward manner: “Some people advised me not to go ahead with this project because it is not commercially viable.

I said, this is a political decision, we will make this project succeed at all costs, even if there is a commercial loss” (New York Times 2001). The goals of solidifying China’s rule in the western regions of the country and escalating the extraction of natural resources in Tibetan territory are profoundly political. Even though these political processes were not initiated or planned

by Bombardier, the company is nonetheless profiting from, and enabling, the completion of this important infrastructure project.

This brings us back to the central theme of the book — dispossession — and how it is manifested in the China/Tibet case. As has been elucidated, there are certainly elements in the case that resonate with the political economy concept of accumulation by dispossession. The forced displacement of nomadic Tibetans in order to make way for mining and damming projects demonstrates a form of accumulation for the Chinese state and private companies that relies on the dispossession of rural Tibetans. In addition, the commodification of Tibetan spiritual and cultural life for the purposes of packaging Tibet as an attractive tourist destination also conforms to the general contours of an accumulation by dispossession.

In this instance Tibetans are losing control over their own religious infrastructure in order for a lucrative tourism sector to thrive in Tibet.

But the political economy framework is not sufficient for engaging in a rigorous account of dispossession in this case. Thus, we can borrow tools of analysis from settler colonial studies to more fully account for the nature of dispossession in contemporary Tibet. Coulthard (2014: 6–15)

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stresses the centrality of territory in processes of dispossession when he grounds his political economy framework in an understanding of settler colonialism. Colonial dispossession requires, first and foremost, access to land. Moreover, under settler colonialism, Indigenous labour is often not required in order to accumulate resources on Indigenous land. As noted

by Wolfe (2006: 388), “it [settler colonialism] erects a new colonial society on the expropriated land base — as I put it, settler colonizers come to stay: invasion is a structure not an event.” Many of the objectives of the Chinese state in “opening up the west” require access to, and control of, Tibetan territory. This includes two goals, both of which are enabled by the rail infrastructure: projecting military power in Central/South Asia and controlling political dissent in Tibet; and conducting large-scale industrial development in Tibet, including mining and dam construction. These processes of dispossession not only require the use of Tibetan territory, but also the removal of many Tibetans from the land. As noted earlier, the mines and dams are often constructed and operated with labour from outside Tibet. And Han Chinese settlers own much of the tourism infrastructure in cities such as Lhasa. While it may not always be the case that ethnic Han Chinese workers aspire to permanently settle in Tibet and construct a new settler society, other aspects of the occupation are aided by this theoretical approach. These processes reflect a specific pattern of settler colonial dispossession that must augment the political economy approach to understanding dispossession.

This emphasis on the colonial nature of dispossession is perhaps illustrated most clearly by reflecting further on the impact of this dispossession on Tibetans and the resistance it engenders. As noted, Tibetans have a particular attachment to and respect for the lands they have inhabited for thousands of years. Their relationship with the land informs their reaction to the Chinese occupation and use of the territory. The mining of mountains and damming of rivers is viewed as a tremendous assault on Tibetan identity, spirituality, and way of life. Resistance is therefore premised on an attachment to the land and revulsion for the manner in which territory is being taken and abused. This results in forms of resistance that attempt to disrupt or protest mining activities and the associated dispossession that these projects create. In other words, Tibetans are not struggling against the Chinese occupation of Tibet solely because their

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resources and/or labour are being exploited, but also because of the loss of autonomy and control over their lands, which is so crucial to their overall well-being and existence. Finally, it is within this context that Bombardier has chosen to work so closely with the Chinese state and build a long-term, lucrative business presence in such a deeply contested political and geographic space. Indeed, “China holds the promise of huge rewards for Bombardier” (Kohler 2013) in the coming years. However, turning a blind eye to the political ramifications of major infrastructure projects means that Bombardier is potentially benefitting from deeply divisive and damaging developments. The fact that the company does not appear to have any moral or ethical concerns about working with an authoritarian state in this manner should raise alarm bells for Canadians.

NOTES 1. Goldstein is one of the most well-recognized historians of Tibet, and Goldstein (1991) provides readers with a rigorous historical account of Tibet’s quest for independence from 1913 to 1951, and its relationship with the Chinese state. His subsequent work (2007, 2014) completed a well-known anthology on TibetanChinese history in the twentieth century.

2. For an excellent article on Jianwei Zhang, the president of Bombardier China, and his success in navigating the Chinese market for Bombardier over the past several years, see Kohler (2013).

3. For more information on the lack of civil and political rights in Tibet, see the Freedom House annual publications on Tibet. The executive summary of their 2017 report states: “The Chinese government continued to implement draconian public surveillance and enforcement measures in 2016 as part of a significant expansion of its ‘stability maintenance’ policies in Tibet… Observers documented wideranging violations of fundamental rights, including an alarming rate of detentions, prosecutions, and convictions of Tibetans for the peaceful exercise of their freedoms of expression, assembly, and religious belief.” Freedom House gave Tibet a score of 1 out of 100, with 0 being the lowest level of civil and political rights.

4. See Van Schaik (2011) for a fine historical account of Buddhism and its overlap with the traditional governance structures in Tibet.

5. For further details on self-immolations in Tibet and efforts to hold the Chinese state accountable, see Amnesty International (2011). In addition, the Central Tibetan Administration (n.d.a) maintains an online document with a running total of self-immolation protests in Tibet since February 2009.

6. Michael Buckley has a website dedicated to his book and documentary film on the environmental damage caused by mining and dam-building in Tibet.

He documents the participation of Canadian companies at <meltdownintibet. com/q_mining.htm>.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SOUTH AFRICAN CASE

A

frica’s first rapid rail network, the Gautrain, connects the cities of Tshwane/Pretoria and Johannesburg with the O.R. Tambo airport.

Bombardier is one of the key firms involved with the planning, construction, and operation of the Gautrain, which was completed and operational in 2011. An ambitious and expensive project in the “new” South Africa, the Gautrain has generated a variety of criticism from scholars and activists within South Africa. According to activists, the project is aimed primarily at an elite class of people within the region.

Despite the dire and urgent need for more comprehensive and efficient public transit targeting the majority of the population, the Gautrain project is consuming an unprecedented amount of public funding. Scholar Ronnie Donaldson (2006: 344) even suggests that the project may in fact be deepening mobility-related exclusion in the province, which the postapartheid state was ostensibly tasked with alleviating. David Harvey’s concept accumulation by dispossession is useful in analyzing the manner in which private capital is profiting from this mega-project in South Africa. Public funds, or money that belongs to everyone, are being used to subsidize the profit-making of private firms involved with the project, such as Bombardier.

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HISTORICAL CONTEXT Colonialism in South Africa began with the arrival of the Dutch in the mid-seventeenth century and culminated in the British settler colonial state that was solidified in 1910 as the Union of South Africa. Centuries of colonialism resulted in the dispossession and exploitation of the Indigenous inhabitants of the region and a colonial state that built political, economic, and social structures to facilitate the extraction of natural resources and broader accumulation strategies by European powers. A startling example of this dispossession was the passing in 1913 by the British colonial state of the Native Land Act, which codified into law the confinement of the black population to roughly 13 percent of the land, despite the fact that they represented roughly 80 percent of the population (South African History Online 2013). The British state at the time “was obsessed with two things: entrenching white political power and entrenching racial segregation” (Terreblanche 2002: 247). This included the acquisition of the vast majority of the land, depriving non-white citizens of the ability to participate in political life, and entrenching an economic system that relied on the exploitation of Black labour. The latter was accomplished by driving Black South Africans off the land and thereby forcing them to engage in wage labour for the white population.

The year 1948 marked the beginning of what is known as the apartheid era in South African history. After winning the general election in 1948, the National Party introduced a wide range of laws to institutionalize the separation of races in the country. This included “a Population Registration Act in 1950, designed to allocate everybody to a racial group” (Davenport and Saunders 2000: 378), an act prohibiting marriages between whites and members of other groups, and several other pieces of legislation designed to separate the races and exclude non-whites from participating in the political life of the state. The apartheid state represented a form of institutionalized racism that continued the colonial economic domination of Black South Africans and also added significant political and social restrictions to their lives. Apartheid was fiercely resisted within South Africa, as exemplified by Nelson Mandela, who spent almost three decades in prison for organizing political opposition to the regime. A liberation movement coalesced around what became known as the Tripartite

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Alliance, which included the multi-racial political formation called the African National Congress (anc), the South African Communist Party (sacp), and the Congress of South African Trade Unions (cosatu). In addition, an international anti-apartheid movement applied pressure in the form of a boycott, divestment, and sanctions (bds) movement. By the late 1980s, a combination of both internal and external pressure compelled the apartheid state to release Mandela and other political prisoners, lift the ban on political parties that opposed apartheid, and begin negotiations to dismantle the apartheid system. In 1994 this resulted in the first free elections, in which Mandela’s anc transformed itself from a resistance movement into a political party and won an overwhelming electoral victory. This brought about the official end of apartheid.

The long history of settler colonialism and apartheid remains a defining feature of contemporary South African life. For instance, under the institutionalized racist system of apartheid, passenger transport was a crucial site of contestation and popular protest. Cities and urban systems of transportation were designed to service the white population’s economic, political, social, and cultural needs, while most Black South Africans were segregated into peripheral areas outside the cities known as townships. Infrastructure necessary to live a fulfilling life — schools, health services, cultural venues, and shopping — was either absent or inferior in non-white communities and difficult to access through public transport.

Like many rights and social services under apartheid, safe, reliable, and affordable public transportation was denied to the Black population.

Moreover, the geographical separation of the races meant that non-whites were largely denied access to economic and social infrastructure in predominantly white urban spaces. Meshack M. Khosa (1995: 167) notes: “The South African passenger transportation system was by and large designed for daily transportation of labor to and from the workplace.”

This highlights one of the central characteristics of the apartheid state: the goal was to separate the races and exclude non-whites from participating politically, while still relying on Black labour to power the economy.

The transportation system was emblematic of this problem; it facilitated the movement of people to their places of work but denied them access to the political, social, economic, and cultural infrastructure created by the industrial economy that was enjoyed by the white population. The

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system of apartheid left a legacy of social exclusion and artificial separation of people from both their places of work and the majority of social services required to live a productive life. Khosa elaborates: “In time, transport became a site of popular struggles and a dramatic expression of tensions and disputes over control, management and affordability of racially divided spaces” (168). Unsurprisingly, non-white South Africans regularly protested these aspects of exclusion, as they constituted a daily reminder of the injustice of the apartheid system. Particular struggles were documented by scholars and activists during the years of minority rule and constitute a rich historiography surrounding the important questions of public transport in South Africa (e.g., Pirie 1986; Swilling 1984; Lodge 1983; Dauskardt 1989).

It is important to understand that the urban geography of apartheid is not buried in the past but rather lives on as an intractable legacy of apartheid. While the Group Areas Act — the Act responsible for the urban segregation — was repealed in 1991, “the component elements of apartheid planning remained indelibly etched into the urban fabric of our cities” (South African History Online 2016). This understanding is essential in formulating an analysis of the high-speed rail project that Bombardier is involved with. Ronnie Donaldson (2006: 344) explains: One of the greatest spatial challenges to overcome in the postapartheid city is the inequality and spatial inefficiency caused by apartheid planning. Not surprisingly a World Bank report of the early 1990s considered South Africa’s cities among the most inefficient in the world. Cities were (are) characterized by low-density sprawl, fragmentation and separation, all of these contributing to the dysfunctional structure where privilege was racially determined. Over a period of four decades, black South Africans were systematically marginalized, among others, in terms of accommodation, leisure, employment, and transport.

Structural deficiencies in the former apartheid city, resulting from segregation and low-density sprawl, created long-distance work-travel patterns.

The result is an urban geography of a dual nature: an elite class living in

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“developed” areas of the city using cars, while in the poorest areas people travel by foot, bicycle, minibus, bus, taxi, commuter train, and sometimes cars or trucks.

Decades of white minority rule and the historical development of Johannesburg around the mining industry have produced this geography of separation and exclusion in the region.1 The city and its surrounding areas remain a patchwork of Black townships and predominantly white suburban areas, many of which have become gated communities. While wealthier (and predominantly white) residents can drive relatively quickly on freeways around the region, a Black resident of a township such as Soweto might need to take several different transportation modes, consuming a great deal of time and money, to reach a place of work. When I lived in a suburb just east of the downtown core, the domestic worker in the house where I lived explained that her journey to work took 1.5–2 hours and multiple forms of transport.

This form of separation is rooted in the racist ideology of a white settler state, and it worked in tandem with an oppressive economic system of extraction. Moreover, these important issues of class and race still define the geography of post-apartheid cities. Bombardier operates in many countries around the world, but because of the apartheid legacy, the South African case presents unique challenges for public transportation planning. Racial and class separation exist in a unique form in the urban geography, and the exclusionary aspects of the city make it imperative for the state to address issues of unequal access to transportation. However, as this case illustrates, Bombardier has decided to participate in a project that will most likely worsen, not improve, elements of exclusion in the province.

The post-apartheid challenge was to transform these geographies of exclusion and provide a more equitable and effective system of public transportation. Efforts to that end began in 1992 with the formation of the National Transport Policy Forum, marking the first time that public discussion occurred amongst as broad and credible representation of actors in the country. In addition, the 1994 Reconstruction and Development Programme (rdp), produced by the anc outlining the economic and social goals of the new government, declared the following:

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The needs of women, children, and disabled people for affordable and safe transport are important. Adequate public transport at off-peak hours, and security measures on late-night and isolated routes, must be provided. Additional subsidies for scholars, pensioners, and others with limited incomes will be considered. (anc 1994: 38) Transportation was viewed as a basic human right, along with other important social services such as health and education. The liberation movement acknowledged at this time that poor transportation was a crucial aspect of the apartheid system and that in order to live a dignified and fulfilling life, all South Africans needed mobility and access to safe and reliable public transportation. However, Khosa (2001: 4) notes: “The liberation movement in general, and the anc in particular, had not prepared a single comprehensive document on transport policy when the first general elections took place in 1994.” Although the liberation movement had flagged transportation as a serious issue for transformation, it did not develop relevant policy until after 1994.

A shift away from the language defining transportation as a basic human right and social service began in 1996, with the publication of the White Paper on Transport Policy. This roughly coincided with the anc’s macroeconomic shift away from the rdp toward gear (Growth, Employment and Reconstruction). The rdp was a document supported by a broad range of interests (anc, trade unions, civil society organizations) that charted a more social democratic path forward. The idea was to use the state to work aggressively on addressing the many destructive consequences of apartheid. gear, on the other hand, was a package of neoliberal economic reforms based on privatization, deregulation, and the promotion of open and free markets. This shift in economic strategy is associated with the transition to democracy in South Africa and has been referred to as the anc’s “short walk to orthodoxy” (Marais 2001), or an “historic compromise” (Taylor 2001). It is within this context that we also witnessed a shift in orientation around transportation policy, as Khosa (2001: 4) explains: “The central tenet of the White Paper on Transport Policy is that all freight and passenger transport operations should be run on a commercial basis rather than as a social service.” Rather than

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viewing transportation as a public good, which all people are entitled to regardless of ability to pay, there was a shift toward understanding it as being controlled by market forces. Where the logic of the public good argues that the state should subsidize transportation so that everyone has equal access, market logic suggests that only those projects whose costs can be recovered by users should be funded.

This market-based approach to transportation also opened up a more competitive tendering process. This meant that traditional suppliers of transportation, with unionized workers and decent conditions of work, would need to start competing with lower cost operators. Jackie Walters (2012: 2) documents this shift to a more market-based approach to the provision of transport services: “In future, all operators would be required to tender for their subsidised services. This would ‘open up the market’ to new previously disadvantaged operators… as well as to potential international operators.” Regarding the particular impact on bus services, Barrett (2001: 1) observes: “The government’s implementation of the competitive tendering system… is leading to cuts in jobs and declining conditions of employment for bus workers.” Transportation was not immune from the broader neoliberal logic embraced at the time by the ruling party.

Although elements of a populist transportation policy framework still existed, such as mentioning basic needs in line with the rdp, a significant focus of the White Paper was on promoting competition in the transport sector and reducing government involvement in the operation and construction of infrastructure and services (Department of Transport 1996).

This can also be understood as opening up the transportation sector as a site of accumulation for private capital. As the case of the Gautrain demonstrates, bringing the private sector into the business of planning, operating, and constructing public infrastructure can result in accumulation for the private sector in ways that dispossess many people.

In 1998, the government formulated a document entitled Moving South Africa (msa): Toward a Transport Strategy for 2020, the purpose of which was to provide a more detailed strategy for implementing ideas in the White Paper and to conceptualize concrete policy for the next twenty years (Walters 2012). The overall thrust of the document is described by Khosa (2001: 9):

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The vision captured in the msa is bold, but what differentiates it from the rdp and the White Paper on National Transportation Policy is its un-shameful use of the neo-liberal language and its commitment to user charges. Scattered throughout the msa report is the uncritical replacement of words, such as, “passengers” with “customers” and “clients,” in clear market orientated approach to public passenger transport in South Africa.

Two years later, in 2000, the central government passed the National Land Transport Transition Act. This sought to define clearly the responsibilities of each level of government in the delivery of public transport, support the establishment of transportation authorities, and clarify arrangements for competitive tendering. The Act also articulated a vision for creating safe, affordable, and effective land transportation across the country.

The most compelling evidence regarding the failure of the post-apartheid state to transform public transit infrastructure during the first ten years of democracy is contained in the Department of Transport’s National Household Travel Survey, conducted in 2003 and published in 2004. This survey is the first, and only, comprehensive national survey of South Africans dealing with the subject of public transportation. It provides a wealth of information regarding the population’s lived experiences of the transport system and constructs a dismal narrative regarding outstanding transport challenges. The survey indicates that the vast majority of South Africans were dissatisfied with the state of public transit, as transportation was either not available, too expensive, too far away from home, unsafe, or did not travel where needed. According to a summary of the findings

by Barrett (2004: 2), “24% said transport is not available or is too far, 19% said the safety of public transport is an issue (including driver behaviour), and 19% said it is too expensive.” On the specific issue of affordability, roughly one-third (32 percent) of households spent more than 10 percent of household income on public transport, which was the maximum target set by the White Paper in 1996, and 19 percent spent more than 20 percent of household income on public transport. Ten years after the collapse of apartheid, pressing needs for safe, affordable, and accessible public transportation remained. And it was precisely at this moment that

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the project highlighted in this chapter — the Gautrain — was launched into full swing.

The South African government has largely failed to address this crucial aspect of public policy planning in a sustainable manner. Scholar Karen Lucas (2011: 1320) asserts: “In general, there has been a very poor postapartheid government response to the escalating mobility needs of low income travellers, who constitute the vast majority of South Africa’s urban population.” The Congress of South African Trade Unions (cosatu 2014) summarizes its general agreement with this assessment: “Most citizens do not have access to reliable, affordable and safe transport.” While some recent projects do show promise in terms of addressing the transportation needs of the majority of South Africans, the overall performance of the South African state conforms to this view. Moreover, the case of the Gautrain demonstrates many of the key problems with transportation planning in the post-apartheid era. Applying Harvey’s formulation of accumulation by dispossession, we see public funds being directed toward elite projects such as the Gautrain, enriching the accumulation strategies of corporations like Bombardier, while at the same time dispossessing the vast majority of South Africans of the funds needed to fix the pressing basic needs around transportation for the majority population.

OVERVIEW OF THE GAUTRAIN PROJECT Gauteng province of South Africa represents the industrial and financial core of the country, accounting for 35 percent of South Africa’s gdp and 10 percent of the total gdp of the African continent (Molokwane 2014).

As South Africa’s most populous province, Gauteng accounts for “about 40.3% of manufacturing, 33% of electricity and gas production and water output, 43,8% of the construction sector and 35.2% of the wholesale and retail trade in South Africa” (Molokwane 2014). However, transportation infrastructure has not kept pace with the continued economic and population growth in the province. Severe problems exist for citizens across the province (and the country) regarding accessibility, cost, and safety of public transportation. Economic growth and vast wealth in the province have not resulted in an equitable distribution of resources for all citizens.

Poverty, inequality, and unemployment remain serious challenges in

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Gauteng. Official unemployment is roughly 22 percent in the province, while one-third of its citizens live below the poverty line. Across South Africa, income distribution is severely polarized between the rich and the poor, and Gauteng is no exception (see Pauw 2005).

In February 2000 former premier of Gauteng Mbhazima Shilowa announced that the provincial government would build the first high-speed metropolitan transport network on the continent. This announcement came after his predecessor, Tokyo Sexwale, visited Munich, Germany, in 1997 with current Gautrain Management Agency ceo Jack van der Merwe to investigate the possibility of a rapid rail system (Venter 2009). A German prefeasibility study was completed in 1999, which led to the ultimate decision by Shilowa to proceed with planning the project.

A feasibility study was subsequently completed by July 2001, an environmental impact assessment (eia) commenced in January 2002, and a request of prequalified bidders was released in early 2002. The Gauteng provincial government decided to engage in a public private partnership (P3) in order to design, construct, and operate the rail system. A P3 is an arrangement where the public sector works together with private partners to deliver a public good or service. It is also viewed as a contemporary form of privatization, as typically P3 projects are a shift away from an entirely state owned and operated project to one with private sector partners that need to profit from the project. Public opinion tends not to view out-right privatization of public services favourably, but the P3 model achieves partial privatization without appearing to be a wholesale takeover of the public good/service. One of the problems with P3s is that “privately financed P3s are more expensive than if public financing were used, no matter how clever or concealed the accounting” (Whiteside 2016: 116).

This is because governments can typically secure lower-interest financing than the private sector. With this particular P3, the Gauteng provincial government remains the owner of the rail infrastructure, while the project was designed and built and is operated by private sector partners, including Bombardier.

After an international tender process, the Gauteng government chose to partner with the Bombela Concession Company, an umbrella organization composed of six companies/shareholders: Murray & Roberts; Bouygues Travaux Publics; Bombardier Transportation UK; SPG Concessions; Absa

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Capital; and J&J Group. Four of the partners are South African firms, while Canadian firm Bombardier is joined by French company Bouygues Travaux to constitute the two foreign partners. These two foreign partners own 50 percent of the company, while the other 50 percent is owned by the South African firms. Bombela’s obligations in the partnership “include the design, construction, part-financing, operation and maintenance of the system,” and the agreement lasts over a “54 month construction and development period followed by a 15.5 year operating and maintenance period” (Bombela Concession Company 2011).

Intending to connect Tshwane/Pretoria, Johannesburg, and the O.R. Tambo Airport, the Gautrain Rapid Rail Project is a “world-class public transport system” that travels at a maximum speed of 160 kilometres per hour (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.a). It services ten stations over a total distance of 80 kilometres, a relatively small area of South Africa, and hopes to persuade car commuters between Johannesburg and Tshwane/Pretoria to take the train instead. This project may work in tandem with proposed road tolls in Gauteng by Sanral (South African National Roads Agency Ltd), which considers tolls an incentive for car users to switch to riding the Gautrain. The train project also targets airport passengers. The Gautrain Management Agency (n.d.b) projects a ridership of 120,000 passengers per day, and the fares “will be lower than the perceived cost of using a car.” Keeping in mind the post-apartheid urban geography explained earlier, the Gautrain’s route essentially connects the wealthy (and predominantly white) suburbs of Johannesburg and Pretoria to the downtown cores of each city and the airport outside of Johannesburg. It does not connect to any of the surrounding townships. As such, the train is designed to service a professional class of South Africans in the province, and thus reinforces and reproduces the geographies of exclusion and separation that were established under colonialism and apartheid.

The Gauteng government conveys multiple rationales for the project: to ease severe traffic congestion between Tshwane/Pretoria and Johannesburg; to stimulate economic growth by directly creating jobs related to the project, and also broader growth through tourism; and to develop a more environmentally friendly method of transport for the region (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.c). The first section of the

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train was completed in time to facilitate travel during the World Cup of Soccer in July 2010, while most of the remaining sections, which were delayed due to water seeping into the tunnel, were opened on August 2, 2011.

POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE PROJECT One of the primary objectives of the Gautrain is to alleviate road traffic congestion on the N1 Ben Schoeman Freeway between Johannesburg and Tshwane/Pretoria. This is one of the most congested freeways in the country, and the 55-kilometre drive can take one to two hours during the busiest times of the week. The Gauteng government asserts: “Traffic congestion on the N1 Freeway is currently estimated to cost more than R300 million per year, including production time lost during travelling time, higher transport costs and above average accident rates. Furthermore, traffic congestion impacts negatively on quality of life” (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.c.). If the projected ridership of 120,000 passengers/day is reached for the train, with roughly 20 percent of existing drivers on the Ben Schoeman switching to the rail system, this will indeed help with the congestion problems. However, given the 7 percent annual increase in cars on the Ben Schoeman, it is estimated that there will still be more cars on this freeway after the completion of the project than when construction began (Portfolio Committee 2005: 3). Nevertheless, the situation would be far more dire without the existence of the Gautrain. Thus, if ridership estimates turn out to be reliable, the project will aid with the problem of traffic congestion on this busy and important route in the province.

In finalizing contract negotiations with the Bombela Consortium, the province built socioeconomic development (sed) obligations into the Gautrain project. This included a commitment by the private sector partners to local job creation, Black empowerment, and the employment of historically disadvantaged groups. Although estimates vary regarding the number of overall jobs created by the project, the Bombela Consortium estimates that 92,900 direct, indirect, and induced jobs were created by the end of May 2009 (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.d). Gauteng Minister for Local Government Qedani Dorothy Mahlangu announced in March 2009 that roughly 11,700 direct jobs were created (Mail & Guardian 2009).

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The vast majority of these jobs, however, were temporary during the period of construction, and the total number of permanent positions required to operate and manage the Gautrain upon completion will be roughly 2,700 (Portfolio Committee 2005: 3). In addition, Bombela reported in 2009 that they had exceeded their sed obligations for the Gautrain, included the following data (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.d): • 10,310 local people were employed, compared to an obligation of 5,046.

• 9,345 Historically Disadvantaged Individuals were employed, compared to an obligation of 3,851.

• 593 women were employed, compared to an obligation of 298.

• 52 people with disabilities were employed, compared to an obligation of 47.

• Unskilled staff and semi-skilled staff attended more than 11,390 courses to improve their skills levels.

• Bombela has committed to a dedicated Women Training Programme, which was introduced in February 2007. By April 2009, 90 women had participated in this programme.

Consortium member Bombardier was responsible for executing this final task regarding the training of women. The company implemented a women’s learnership and mentoring program, which resulted in 121 women completing learnerships by the end of 2010 (Gautrain Management Agency n.d.e). These women were selected through a competitive process and received training in a wide variety of business administration and technical areas. For example, Kedibone Kalaote (2011) received training in human resource management and subsequently worked for Bombardier as a human resources officer. Kinsse Kgole (2011) completed courses in electrical engineering and was also employed by Bombardier upon completion of the courses. Both of these women suggest that the Bombardier learnership had a profound impact on their careers and lives.

Kalaote notes: “It really had an impact in our lives… and afforded a lot of us an opportunity, a great opportunity.” Although many of the women who completed the skills training program will not be employed by the consortium after the construction of the project is complete, the learnership is nonetheless helpful in pursuing future job opportunities. Kgole (2011) commented,: “Even for the people that went out currently [due

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to the temporary nature of most positions] that name Bombardier, that name Gautrain, it’s a brand itself, it opens huge doors for them.”

Another skills development initiative implemented by Bombardier involved the assembly of Gautrain’s rolling stock of rail cars — the Bombardier Electrostar series. These rail cars were manufactured at Bombardier’s Union Carriage and Wagon Partnership in Derby, UK. Seventeen South African Bombardier employees were sent to Derby in order to work on the assembly of the first fifteen rail cars. The remaining eighty-one cars were then assembled at a mirror plant in South Africa.

At the plant in South Africa, Bombardier “commissioned a team of around ten experts from Derby to work alongside South Africans… to ensure that local production standards are on par with the Derby plant” (Gautrain Management Agency 2008). This process ensured that a significant proportion of the rolling stock was assembled in South Africa and that a degree of skills transfer to South African workers ensued.

However, it should also be noted that most of the parts required to assemble the trains are manufactured in Derby and cannot be replaced

by South African firms. Replacement parts will need to be imported from abroad as needed.2 Another important goal of the project is to stimulate overall economic activity and development in the province of Gauteng. The financial and economic viability of the Gautrain is highlighted in the Environmental Impact Assessment (eia) of 2002. The authors of this report assert: “The Gautrain Rapid Rail Link project in its totality will contribute about one per cent to the gdp of Gauteng” (Bohlweki Environment Ltd. 2002a: 17). This estimate is based on the job creation projections, incoming investment, and overall manner in which economic development will be facilitated by improved transportation infrastructure. Although future economic data will be required to evaluate such a claim, the construction phase of the project undoubtedly produced a much needed injection of jobs into the economy. There are also potential economic spin-offs in the way of residential and office booms around individual Gautrain stations.

Economist Chris Hart argues that “Gautrain’s 10 stations would prove to be development hubs and add a new dimension to how cities are developed and designed” (in Dlamini 2011a). Hart refers to the Gautrain as the “backbone of economic development” in the province and believes

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that significant economic activity will flourish around each station. While this economic activity may not address crucial issues involving income inequality in Gauteng, it does hold the possibility of growth and opportunity along this elite corridor.

Finally, there are environmental implications of the Gautrain for consideration, especially in light of the Gautrain Management Agency’s claim that “it will have distinct environmental advantages over other forms of transport” (Gautrain Management n.d.c). The Environmental Impact Assessment from 2002 focused on potential impacts of the project on vegetation, open spaces, surface hydrology, geohydrology, and fauna.

The report concludes: “Since the Gautrain rail corridor passes through an already largely urbanized area, most identified impacts pertain to the socio-economic environment. Potential impacts on the biophysical environment are relatively few” (Bohlweki Environment Ltd. 2002a: 25).

Thus, the project is relatively neutral on this front. The environmental impact of thousands of drivers switching to rail transportation raises the possibility of decreased carbon emissions from vehicles, and less air pollution in the province. Indeed, the Gautrain Management Agency (n.d.e) claims the following: Public transport produces 95% less carbon monoxide, 90% less in volatile organic compounds and about half as much carbon dioxide and nitrogen oxide per passenger-km as private vehicles.

In line with this, Gautrain will considerably reduce air pollution generated by transport as it is anticipated that Gautrain will reduce CO2 emissions by about 70 tons.

However, this assessment fails to consider the substantial increase in emissions generated by power stations that provide electricity to operate the Gautrain. This is particularly relevant in South Africa, as most electricity is generated by coal power plants. The conclusions drawn from the eia regarding the emissions debate reveal a startling reality. After careful analysis of the data on emissions, the eia concludes: No net gain or decrease in overall emissions can be observed after comparisons are made between the overall increase (power station) and decrease (from a regional decrease in vehicle numbers)

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in calculated emissions. Viewed purely on an air emissions basis this suggests that the impact from the Gautrain development will be neutral. (Bohlweki Environment Ltd. 2002b: 40) In fact, decreased emissions along the busy corridor between Johannesburg and Tshwane/Pretoria will be offset by rising emissions from coal power plants in other provinces, such as neighbouring Mpumalanga. Although air quality will improve in Gauteng, this pollution will simply be transferred to other areas of the country.

It should also be noted that building the Gautrain complements the South African government’s broader strategy of pursuing mega-projects in order to facilitate and host mega-events. Since 1994, South Africa has hosted several large international events, such as the 1995 Rugby World Cup, the 2002 UN World Summit on Sustainable Development, the 2003 Cricket World Cup, and the 2010 fifa World Cup. The rationale for focusing on mega-events as a path to development is grounded in the assumption that these events will bring economic benefits to the host country. Moreover, in order to formulate successful bids for these events, quality infrastructure is required. Although it is beyond the scope of this chapter to engage in a detailed discussion on this point, scholars have undertaken to critically analyze the efficacy of attracting mega-events as a “development” strategy in the South African context (Cottle 2011; Black and Van der Westhuizen 2004; Cornelissen and Swart 2006). It is sufficient to note that constructing the Gautrain conforms to a larger logic of building “modern” infrastructure in the country.

POTENTIAL LIMITATIONS AND PROBLEMS WITH THE GAUTRAIN Critical analysis of the Gautrain reveals several potential problems with the project. These critiques focus on a number of interconnected issues: it may deepen mobility-related exclusion in the province; it prioritizes wealthy, as opposed to poor, citizens in the allocation of public funds; costs for the project have escalated considerably from initial estimates; and other options for a more effective and integrated transportation plan were not sufficiently considered. Each one of these problems aids in understanding the nature of both accumulation and dispossession in this case. The

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escalating costs reveal the manner in which private firms — including Bombardier — are benefitting more than originally stated in the planning process. Furthermore, understanding mobility-related exclusion and the problematic aspects of urban infrastructure in the province of Gauteng provides insight into the nature of the dispossession occurring. Examining the details of this case also reveals the unique aspects of infrastructure planning and development, and how accumulation by dispossession manifests itself in such a case.

First, it is important to remember that the Gautrain is aimed primarily at a ridership composed of current car drivers. As noted by Gautrain Management ceo Jack van der Merwe, “Our focus is on the car user… if you have enough money for a car, you have enough money for the Gautrain” (Railways Africa 2011a). The route and stations of the Gautrain run along regions of the province that primarily service “professional” individuals. The project was explicitly designed to promote public transportation for an elite class of citizens living in geographically distinct areas from the poor majority. The national government’s Portfolio Committee on Transport echoed these concerns in 2005 when it recommended that the project should not go ahead: “Projected ticket-prices, the up-market location of the majority of stations… these and other features have all been deliberately chosen to provide an affluent sector of the Gauteng community with a first-world public transport mode” (2005: 4). While it is understandable, and perhaps even necessary, to build safe and reliable public transportation for those in wealthier socio-economic positions, the risk is that a two-tier system of mass transit will be established that reinforces historical patterns of exclusion and segregation.

Critics claim that spending an unprecedented amount of public funds on this project may do very little to address the spatial separations within urban areas. In fact, mobility-related exclusion could be intensified by the construction of the Gautrain. Mobility-related exclusion is defined

by Kenyon et al. as the process by which people are prevented from participating in the economic, political and social life of the community because of reduced accessibility to opportunities, services and social networks, due in whole or in part to insufficient mobility in a society

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and environment built around the assumption of high mobility. (in Donaldson 2006: 346) The Gautrain will arguably deepen this process at a time when the post-apartheid government should be committed to overcoming it. The Portfolio Committee on Transport notes: “The location of the rail-line is remote from most of the major townships in Gauteng, and there has been very little consideration of ensuring connectivity with the major modes of transport used by township dwellers in Gauteng” (2005: 4). Indeed, the train does not extend into any of the townships and primarily services the elite suburbs of Johannesburg and Pretoria/Tshwane. The former national spokesperson for the Confederation of South African Trade Unions (cosatu), Patrick Craven, echoes this sentiment: It [the Gautrain] will actually, if anything, reinforce them [spatial distinctions] because it will serve what were previously all white areas, where still only a minority of black people probably live…

And it is precisely the former black areas that are still so badly served by the existing transport system. (2011) In addition, unprecedented spending on the Gautrain project occurs at a time when forms of public transport for the poor are crumbling. As indicated in the National Transport survey, the lack of safe, accessible, and effective public transport is a serious issue for residents of Gauteng.

Given the history of colonialism and apartheid and the urban geographies created by these processes, it is important to ask whether the construction of new infrastructure works to reinforce or dismantle mobility-related exclusion within the region. If the project tends to reproduce or deepen the exclusion and separation within urban areas, as appears to be the case with the Gautrain, we can analyze this as a process of dispossession for the majority population. Massive public funding is being used to intensify mobility-related exclusion, while private sector partners such as Bombardier accumulate the profits.

Interconnected with questioning the overall impact of the Gautrain on the urban geography of the region, scholars and civil society actors within South Africa have criticized the allocation of public funds toward an elite class of citizens. Despite the dire and pressing need for more

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comprehensive, safe, and efficient transportation for the majority of South Africans — who are living below the poverty line — the Gautrain caters to the wealthy minority. In fact, the South African National Land Transport Transition Act of 2000 stated explicitly: “Public transport services are planned where possible so that subsidies are aimed to assist currently marginalised users and those who have poor access to social and economic activity” (Republic of South Africa 2000: 11–12).3 Madeleine Fombad (2015: 1211) points out that, from a rights-based perspective, “it is contrary to the provisions of the South African Constitution, which guarantees all citizens equal rights and privileges to access socio-economic opportunities.” Both the Act and the Constitution were designed to protect against the type of dispossession inherent in projects such as the Gautrain.

In 2006, when South Africa’s powerful trade union cosatu threatened to strike over the proposed Gautrain, the question of priorities was a core issue. A cosatu press release at the time argued, “Gautrain fails to tackle the most significant transport problems in Gauteng.” The union cogently identified the central problem with transportation in the province: the lack of an effective mass transit system to take people from townships to cities. Jane Barrett, former policy research officer at the South African Transport and Allied Workers’ Union (satawu), emphasizes the point of spending priorities as well: “satawu has been consistently opposed to the large amount of money spent on the Gautrain compared to complete underfunding of the rest of the transportation infrastructure” (2011). cosatu (2006) also argued: “Gautrain diverts limited public finances away from projects aimed at eradicating poverty.” Scholars such as Ronnie Donaldson (2006: 349) echo the concerns of cosatu and argue that the diversion of such a large amount of public funding toward the Gautrain ignores the more pressing needs of the poor.

Transportation expert Dr. Vaughan Mostert (2011: 18) highlights the pitfalls related to the allocation of spending toward the Gautrain within the South African context: No country has two layers of rail infrastructure — one for the upper class and another for the “lower ranks.” Most rail systems merely provide different classes of comfort within the same train.

Indeed, most metro systems worldwide do not even have different

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classes. South Africa cannot afford the luxury of building new “upmarket” rail transport infrastructure while its existing rail infrastructure suffers from unresolved problems. (These include low levels of investment, lack of co-ordination with other modes, unreliable services, poor security, etc.) These problems need to be dealt with first.

Civil society actors and transport scholars in the country have consistently raised this concern regarding government spending priorities. This was especially evident in the 2012–13 provincial budget in Gauteng, in which infrastructure spending was cut from R36 billion to R30 billion — a fact that representative from the Gauteng finance department Jeff Mashele acknowledged was the result of expenditures on the Gautrain (Stone 2012). In other words, the provincial government is sacrificing other areas of infrastructure development in order to fund the Gautrain.

This extends our theoretical understanding of the dispossession element within Harvey’s concept of accumulation by dispossession. In addition to the lost opportunity of spending scarce resources to correct, rather than entrench, problems with mobility-related exclusion, this project insures that longer-term exclusion will continue in the province. This is a form of dispossession perhaps unique to cases of public transportation infrastructure development where circumstances such as those described

by Mostert exist. And once again, in tandem with dispossession under Harvey’s formulation, is the aspect of accumulation by the private sector partners.

The initial cost estimate to build the Gautrain was R7 billion (or just under cad$1 billion), and this was the figure used to conduct feasibility studies and cost-benefit analyses for the project. However, the total costs escalated to over R30 billion (Serrao and Van Schie 2011). It is instructive to compare this figure to other investments in public transit and note whom these investments will benefit. Keeping in mind that this R30 billion project will target roughly 60,000—70,000 individual passengers, the 2005 budget “makes allocations for existing and ailing passenger rail infrastructure of R100 million for 2006–7 and R250 million for 2007–8 [which are used by some 7 million South Africans]” (Portfolio Committee 2005: 1). The Portfolio Committee on Transport argues that

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the very significant size of the estimate cost to the public sector of the Gautrain project and the relatively modest number of passengers it will carry do need to be weighed seriously against the back-drop of the bulk of our public transport systems which are in a dire state, with extremely high levels of public dissatisfaction. (2) In other words, the Portfolio Committee was not convinced that the benefits of the project were commensurate with the cost, especially in light of other more urgent transport needs for a greater number of citizens. Indeed, ridership data collected since the train began operating appears to cast significant doubt on the benefits of the train, especially when compared to the projections used to justify it. The Gautrain Management Agency (n.d.b) initially predicted that the train would carry 100,000 passengers per day, rising eventually to 120,000. Yet the numbers per day in 2013 and 2014 ranged between 40,000 and 52,000 passengers (Van der Westhuizen 2017: 546). One South African commentator (Louw 2014) summarized the apparent contradiction of spending these funds on the Gautrain: “No sooner had the transport portfolio committee weighed evidence and advised against the Gautrain than the government proceeded with it, which amounts to saying it diverted billions of rand from the poor, who never use the Gautrain, to the rich, who love it.”

Escalating costs to the public for transportation infrastructure projects is not a problem specific to the South African case or new phenomenon.

Scholars Bent Flyvbjerg, Mette Holm and Soren Buhl (2002) conducted a systematic analysis of the actual and estimated costs of 258 transportation infrastructure projects internationally, which was the first statistically significant study of its kind. They found that costs were underestimated in nine out of ten cases and that rail projects were particularly problematic in this regard. Moreover, the authors conclude: “Cost underestimation cannot be explained by error and seems to be best explained by strategic misrepresentation” (290). While Bombardier cannot be blamed for the Gauteng government’s underestimation, or perhaps misrepresentation, of the costs, it certainly works to Bombardier’s advantage that the project proceeds despite the increasing cost estimates. This contributes to what Flyvbjerg (2017: 12) describes as “the ‘iron law of megaprojects:’ Over budget, over time, under benefits, over and over again.” Furthermore,

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Flyvbjerg expands on this research to describe what he calls the “megaprojects paradox”: On one side of the paradox, megaprojects as a delivery model for public and private ventures have never been more in demand, and the size and frequency of megaprojects have never been larger.

On the other side, performance in megaproject management is strikingly poor and has not improved for the 90-year period for which comparable data are available, when measured in terms of cost overruns, schedule delays, and benefit shortfalls. (12) Although one cannot identify a deliberate attempt to mislead the public regarding the total costs of the Gautrain, Flyvbjerg’s research findings cannot be dismissed lightly. Such a significant difference between the estimated and actual costs of the Gautrain demonstrate at best inaccurate and poor planning and at worst a deliberate attempt to underestimate the costs in order to have the project approved.

The province could afford the initial R7 billion estimate, but as the figures escalated Gauteng was forced to approach the national government in 2005 to secure additional funds to complete the project. It was at this point that the National Cabinet approved the project, despite a recommendation from the Portfolio Committee on Transport not to do so.4 One of the key factors in the decision by the National Cabinet to approve additional funding for the Gautrain was that it was already well into the planning and development phase. By that point it was almost impossible to discontinue the project, with Gautrain project leader Jack van der Merwe arguing this would send an inappropriate signal to foreign investors and risk tarnishing the country’s image in the run-up to the World Cup of Soccer in 2010. This case appears to be consistent with the research conducted by Flyvbjerg surrounding the megaprojects paradox, and that cost underestimation could continue to be a serious problem for future mega-projects of this kind.

The final concern related to escalating costs on the project involves the provincial debt payments for construction of the train and the potential for ongoing and costly public subsidies to operate the Gautrain. First, “the province owes the national government about R4.2bn and Absa

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[Bank] nearly R1bn; these loans are to be repaid over several years” (Flanagan 2012). Although details of the contract between the Gauteng government and the private sector partners are not available to the public, reports of a “patronage guarantee” offered to the private companies by the province have surfaced. This appears to be a standardized aspect of public-private partnerships in order to cover some of the risk for the private investments (see Dlamini 2011b). For the 2011–12 fiscal year, the Gauteng Department of Roads and Transport included R259 million to cover “patronage guarantee” costs (see Flanagan 2011). According to the Gautrain Management Agency’s 2015–16 annual report, the patronage guarantee for the financial year was R1.190 billion (2016: 37). However, this aspect of the partnership was not made public or adequately disclosed to the national government in the planning stages. Deputy Minister of Transport Jeremy Cronin claims that he was aware of a guarantee, but that no precise figures were discussed. He comments: “We were never told at what level they were guaranteeing… We certainly asked that question a great deal” (in Flanagan 2011). This speaks to the accumulation element of Harvey’s theory. Regardless of the ridership levels or “success” of the project, Bombardier and the other firms are guaranteed to make a profit, even if this means receiving money directly from the South African state.

Bombardier accumulates profit while the result for most South Africans in the region is one of dispossession.

The subsidy is not in place to cover lower than expected ridership levels but rather to ensure a minimum revenue level for the Bombela Consortium. Commenting on the arrangement between the public and private sector partners, Dr. John Middleton of the World Bank asserts: “The deal that the operating consortium got was so sweet they will never be out of pocket. However, whether the government will ever get a return on its investment is highly debatable” (Railways Africa 2011b). This quote encapsulates the problem with many contracts between the public and private sectors involving large-scale infrastructure projects, and the Gautrain is no exception. While the private partners are assured to profit from the project, benefits to the public sector are less secure, and the question of ongoing subsidies remains a challenge. In fact, there has recently been an additional mysterious payment directly to Bombardier from the Gauteng government. It was reported by the opposition Democratic Party that

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“the Gautrain Management Agency (gma) together with the Gauteng Treasury and Department of Roads and Transport has paid out R980 million to Bombardier, the Gautrain operating company in an out of court settlement” (Campbell 2017). The payment was made in order to settle “all outstanding matters relating to phase one of the Gautrain project.”

Subsidies, and other costs, for the Gautrain could potentially translate into less money for other transportation needs in the province. This concern was highlighted in 2005 by the Portfolio Committee on Transport: “The Committee is concerned that a significant part of the Gauteng province’s public transport budget could be swallowed up in ongoing subsidies for the Gautrain at the expense of other priorities” (2005: 4). Even the Automobile Association (Engineering News 2015) has railed against the level of subsidies to the Gautrain: “The Gautrain subsidy is now consuming almost a quarter of the Gauteng Department of Transport’s budget.” They believe this money could be spent more effectively on other transportation needs, especially highways/freeways. While it is impossible to ascertain exactly how much money Bombardier itself will make from this venture, the P3 format will ensure that steady profits will flow to the consortium for the duration of the contract.

A fourth major concern with the Gautrain is that other options, in particular less expensive ones, were not adequately investigated or publicly discussed prior to the decision to begin the project. cosatu (2006) lamented the lack of engagement with other priorities and systems of transportation, arguing that “we must debate the alternatives.” Scholar Janis Van der Westhuizen (2007: 340) asserts: “Alternative transportation modes also do not seem to have been properly investigated, nor has it been shown why Gautrain expenditures are considerably more than other alternatives.” He mentions several potential alternatives to the Gautrain, such as a dedicated bus lane, electric trolleybuses, and a light rail system, all of which would be far less expensive. However, there is little evidence that the provincial government debated any of these alternatives in a rigorous manner. In fact, a systematic cost-benefit analysis of the Gautrain reveals fundamental problems with the proposed benefits of the project in light of the massive expenditure of public funds.5 Urban transport expert Romano Del Mistro, of the University of Cape Town, agrees: “In my view, alternative modes of transport other than the Gautrain have not

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been debated sufficiently” (in Stephen 2005). He argues that passengers travelling via bus on dedicated bus lanes could potentially travel between Tshwane and Johannesburg in 69 minutes, compared to 60 minutes on the Gautrain, but the cost would be far less. Overall, the province proceeded with the project without transparently and rigorously debating alternatives to rapid rail in the region.

On the issue of transparency, critics also question the manner in which this project was decided and negotiated. This chapter already noted the failure to disclose the nature of the patronage guarantees in the negotiation phase of the project. A scholar at the University of South Africa, Madeleine Fombad (2015: 1205), argues: Transparency issues regarding the Gautrain included nondisclosure of the partnership information, inadequate budgetary information, corruption allegations and the absence of explicit bidding criteria. Negotiations between the public and private partners were conducted in closed, private settings, on the grounds of “commercial confidence,” including a clause in contracts between governments and private agencies to ensure secretiveness in partnerships.

Once again, this type of secrecy is a common problem with the negotiation of P3s throughout the world, but it has particular characteristics in this context. South Africa’s corruption watchdog began an investigation in 2015 into allegations that Bombardier had paid millions of dollars in fees to influential people in order to secure the Gautrain contract for the consortium. In an interview with the Globe and Mail, “Mr. Zarrouk said he received a success fee of $3.5 million from Bombardier for his work on the Gautrain contract, in which he collaborated with a South African lobbyist and businessman who has close connections to the ruling party, the African National Congress” (York 2018b). This investigation is ongoing, and according to Canadian reporter Geoffrey York (2018b), “has been delayed by budget shortages and a backlog of other alleged corruption cases.” South Africa’s Mail & Guardian Centre for Investigative Journalism was the first to break the story in 2012 that “Bombardier hired the controversial agent, Youssef Zarrouk, from Tunisia and agreed to pay him

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$35-million if the train contract could be won” (Sawa and Chichakian 2015). It was also alleged that Zarrouk signed a contract with Peter-Paul Ngwenya, “in return for his help in lobbying to secure the contract on behalf of the company” (Fombad 2015). The cbc (Sawa and Chichakian 2015) reported: cbc News has obtained an earlier version of the contract between Bombardier and Zarrouk as well as the contract Ngwenya signed with Zarrouk. Both are shorter than 10-pages and contain almost no detail about the work they are supposed to perform for the millions they were promised. Experts say, generally speaking, contracts that lack details raise concerns about possible corruption and bribery.

While Bombardier is cooperating with the investigation and denies any wrongdoing, these types of payments in order to obtain contracts remain deeply suspicious.

The payment of “success fees” is not unique to the South African case but appears to be a much wider phenomenon for Bombardier. In 2017, the Globe & Mail conducted an investigation into the payment of such monies by Bombardier, which took reporters to several places across the globe, including South Africa, Tunisia, South Korea, and Malaysia. A former Bombardier employee, who spoke on conditions of anonymity, revealed: “What is a ‘success fee’? It’s a bribe. It’s money that gets paid to an agent — but do you get paid $8-million to $15-million just because Bombardier wins a contract? No, that money gets passed around” (Globe & Mail 2017). The term “success fee” means that the money is only paid if the bid is successful, and the whistle-blower claimed that it was usually about 5 percent of the overall price. Even though it might be common practice in many parts of the world to pay people such as Zarrouk to help secure contracts, this demonstrates the overall lack of transparency in the day-to-day world of global commerce. It also raises important questions about democracy and accountability if contracts involving substantial public funds can be secured in this manner, especially those involving the delivery of public goods/services such as the Gautrain. Finally, it demonstrates that Bombardier is skilled in the art of competitive bidding

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for international projects, despite the alleged lack of transparency and/or corruption that this might entail. In other words, in order to accumulate profits, companies such as Bombardier need to be proficient in using the services of consultants such as Zarrouk.

A second case of alleged corruption in South Africa involving Bombardier has recently emerged. In 2014, Bombardier was one of four firms awarded a contract to supply locomotives to the state-owned freight enterprise Transnet. But in 2018, the new South African president, Cyril Ramaphosa, began operations to clean up several state-owned enterprises, including Transnet. Minister of Public Enterprises Pravin Gordhan cited an investigation conducted by the Werksmans law firm into the handling of the US$1.2 billion locomotive contract with Bombardier that urged suspending the contract. A leaked copy of the report from Werksmans “concluded that the locomotive deal was ‘cloaked in corrupt and reckless activity.’ The evidence of ‘bribery and similar unlawful conduct’ should be investigated by a judicial inquiry” (York 2018a). While this case is not directly related to Bombardier’s work on the Gautrain project, it helps us understand the company’s larger role in South Africa. This related case is also important because it shows the direct involvement of the Canadian state in Bombardier’s work abroad. Export Development Canada (edc) “provided US$450 million in financing for the locomotive project to help Bombardier become one of four manufacturers to secure contracts in the deal” (York 2018a). This demonstrates the clear linkages between Bombardier and the Canadian state, as government support is often important to helping the firm secure contracts abroad.

When considering alternatives to the Gautrain, critics have raised important questions regarding the lack of long-term strategic planning and integration of public transit infrastructure in the province. Mostert (2011: 2) summarizes the acute problems related to integration in Gauteng: There is no holistic transport system in Gauteng or for that matter, anywhere in South Africa. Formal public transport is fragmented, inadequate in terms of both route coverage and frequency, and has failed to develop in keeping with urban expansion. There is no integrated ticketing, scheduling, marketing or branding.

Different operators offer different services under different sets

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of rules. Users do not perceive formal public transport to be a coherent product.

Indeed, the Gautrain “is still very much a standalone system” that lacks integration with already existing transportation infrastructure in the province (Cronin 2006). This includes a commuter train called the Metrorail, buses, and minibuses/taxis. Another transport expert, Jackie Walters (2014) from the University of Johannesburg, reiterates and expands on this lack on integration and planning with recent projects such as the Gautrain: These projects, however, are not integrated in a logical manner into the broader public transport system and are often referred to as stand-alone interventions because of a lack of managing public transport in terms of integrated transport plans. The traditional commuter rail, bus and 16-seat taxi industries therefore operate in policy silos and, in the case of the bus and rail industries, are planned and funded independently of each other, leading to a further lack of integration.

The Gautrain was built without consideration for how it could potentially be integrated with these other systems, and functions as a parallel system of transit for the “professional” class.

One possible exception to this trend, and one of the more promising projects currently being implemented in South Africa, is that of Bus Rapid Transit (brt). brt was initially proposed in the Department of Transport’s Public Transport Strategy Action Plans of 2007 and constitutes a system of buses with dedicated lanes/tracks and stations for individuals to access the service. brt systems currently in operation are the Rea Vaya in Johannesburg and the MyCiTi in Cape Town. In Gauteng province, unlike the Gautrain, the Rea Vaya connects residents of Soweto — a large township just outside Johannesburg — to the core of Johannesburg, and covers other routes that are used by less wealthy citizens. This is a positive step in terms of battling mobility-related exclusion for citizens who can access the stations. In addition, it is much less expensive to build than rapid rail transit and is more affordable for travellers. However, the brt system had to be designed and implemented after the Gautrain was already a fait accompli. Planners did not deliberate and debate in

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advance of constructing the Gautrain, but rather built it as a stand-alone project without considering how it might integrate with other modes of transportation, such as a brt system. Thus, although the brt holds some potential as a system to integrate with the Gautrain, the two systems were not built with coordination in mind.

This lack of planning and/or integration of public transport is compounded by the existence of several layers of government implementing transport systems in the region, with little coordination between them.

This problem is evident in the case of the Gautrain, as at least two of the major municipal governments in the region were not sufficiently consulted during the planning of the project. The City of Tshwane Metropolitan Municipality commented: “The Department’s Transport Division was not proactively involved, or invited, in the feasibility and planning studies undertaken for the project by Gautrains” (in Portfolio Committee 2005: 1). The Gautrain was managed by the provincial government as a standalone project, despite the fact that municipal governments are typically responsible for planning public transport in the province (Fombad 2015: 1204–205). An 2006 article in the South African Communist Party’s online journal captures this problem well: Municipalities are required to draw up integrated transport plans and drive the implementation of such plans… However with the Gautrain we have a project that has been driven provincially.

The province has by-passed the spirit of the law and of national policy by setting up the Gautrain as a separate public company.

The project has ridden roughshod over the integrated transport planning of the three major metros in Gauteng, all of whom have had to retroactively accommodate it, prejudicing their own plans and potentially compromising funds available for more pressing priorities.

Thus, the provincial government’s process of planning and implementing the Gautrain project has resulted in a rapid rail system being planted in the region with very little consideration for how it might integrate with municipal transportation priorities and plans. This overall lack of transparency, integrated planning, and discussion of alternatives makes

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both the accumulation and dispossession elements in this case difficult to swallow.

After hearing sustained criticism of its approach to implementing the Gautrain project, the provincial government announced the creation of a specialist steering committee to develop a long-term integrated transport plan for the province. The team, composed of transport planning experts, academics, government officials, and the Policy Research Officer of the South African Transport and Allied Workers’ Union, was tasked with developing a five-year plan by January 2012 and a twenty-five-year plan

by March 2013 (Department of Roads and Transport 2011). Although the formation of this committee was a welcome and necessary development for the future of transportation in Gauteng, the fact that this occurred after the unprecedented expenditure on the Gautrain remains troubling.

The committee was tasked with working reactively to accommodate and integrate the Gautrain with other modes of transit. Given that the Gautrain was already complete, this committee may be the only productive way forward for the province and will ideally contribute to a more comprehensive and rigorous system of planning in the future.

SHILOWA’S LEGACY AND PROPOSALS TO EXPAND THE GAUTRAIN If so many problems with the Gautrain were known before the provincial government began the project, how do we explain its approval and continuation? South African scholar Van der Westhuizen convincingly answers that the rationale is found within an understanding of political symbolism. Megaprojects such as the Gautrain are often associated with the government in power at the time, and the Gautrain is quite a legacy. While Van der Westhuizen (2007: 334) agrees with Donaldson and cosatu that the Gautrain is consuming an unprecedented amount of public funding for a project which may deepen mobility-related exclusion and does not address the most important transportation needs in the province, he argues: Political symbolism appears to override utilitarian or rational considerations and within that context, the Gautrain as a megaproject needs to be understood as signalling South Africa’s

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pre-eminence as the modern African state. In other words, the Gautrain symbolically buttresses the country’s quest to punch above its weight in international affairs.

Van der Westhuizen suggests that, within the context of other megaprojects throughout the Global South, the quest to appear modern plays an important role in the construction of such projects. Moreover, “notions of speed, connectivity and above all, modernity perform a highly strategic discursive role, not only in terms of urban boosterism but also as a demonstration of South Africa’s being a part of the African continent” (2007: 337). It is also useful to view the approval of the Gautrain in light of the 2010 Soccer World Cup, hosted in South Africa. Van der Westhuizen (2017: 549–550) argues: “Tying major infrastructural projects discursively to mega-events enables project advocates to infuse both notions of national identity, and to underline the necessity of conforming to the demands of ‘competitiveness’ as dictated by the pressures of globalization.” The argument that this infrastructure project was required in order to adequately prepare for the World Cup resonates with a nationalist and modernist desire to engage with the world.

Given the nature of the Gautrain, and the multiple problems it elicits for the majority of South Africans in the province, an analysis of the political symbolism behind the project appears appropriate. Indeed, the Gautrain is often referred to as the “Shilowa Express” in South Africa, suggesting that the legacy argument is fitting. Jane Barrett (2011) elucidates: “Shilowa was clearly enamoured with the idea of having a smart train… and wanted a legacy project with his name on it.” This quest for “modernity” and for a legacy project may have clouded the judgment of Shilowa and others who initially approved the Gautrain project. This helps explain why a project with so many fundamental flaws would proceed without substantial debate or consideration of less expensive alternatives, or other spending priorities for the province in the area of public transportation.

Despite the multiple problems with the Gautrain identified in this chapter, the Gautrain Management Agency (gma) is preparing to expand the rail network. The gma has completed a feasibility study for the expansion, and “it has been submitted to Provincial and National Treasuries and to major stakeholders that were consulted during the

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feasibility process” (2017). The new project would add 150 kilometres of rail to the existing 82 kilometres, in addition to nineteen new stations.

The feasibility study was completed in 2016, and “the project is currently with the National Treasury, seeking to pass muster in terms of the Public Finance Management Act regarding affordability, risk transfer and value for money” (Venter 2017). The gma is waiting on approval from the National Treasury before formally seeking expressions of interest from the private sector, but based on the initial feasibility study, the gma is making similar predictions regarding the benefits of the extension that it did with the initial Gautrain project: The feasibility study concludes that the extension of the Gautrain rail network will provide significant economic and transport related benefits to the province and the country at large; that it offers value for money, and appropriate risk transfer if procured as a Public-Private Partnership. (Gautrain Management Agency 2017) The expansion would potentially alleviate traffic congestion in the region further, while helping to connect more areas to the high-speed network.

According to the gma, the economic benefits include a projected “211,000 jobs created in construction; R19 billion procurement spent on black owned entities; increased black ownership of companies in the rail sector; a strong focus on local content in the supply chain, and increased capacity in the rail sector through skills development.”

Although no monetary figures have been attached to the expansion plans yet, this would undoubtedly constitute another sizeable investment of public finances in the Gautrain infrastructure. In addition, the expansion would not necessarily alleviate many of the problems discussed in this chapter regarding mobility-related exclusion, the use of unprecedented public funds on a project for the elite, or the fragmentation of public transportation in Gauteng. Thus, many of the initial critics of the Gautrain have shared similar sentiments regarding its proposed expansion. Citing the expensive ridership guarantees currently in place for the Gautrain, Jeremy Cronin (2017) adds: “As chair of the parliamentary transport portfolio committee I argued that the Gautrain was a strategically wrong

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priority and a costly diversion of resources better deployed elsewhere. I continue to believe this.” Cronin states his position clearly: “Let us not expand Gautrain” (sabc 2015). cosatu (2016) echoes Cronin’s concerns regarding the tremendous costs to the public: “Workers continue to spend more than 20% of their income on transport. It is unacceptable that the tax payers money is spent to cater the comfort of the elite, such as the building and expansion of the Gautrain.” Transport analyst Mostert is also opposed to the expansion, noting that it would make a far bigger impact to invest in other forms of transport, such as buses (Jozilife n.d.). Although it is impossible to provide a concrete assessment of the proposed expansion at such a preliminary stage, the project runs the risk of reproducing several of the core problems with the existing Gautrain. It should also be noted that Bombardier would be well positioned to profit from the expansion, if it is eventually approved. York (2018b) reports: “Bombardier is expected to be among the front-runners for a much bigger contract to supply as many as 350 coaches” for the proposed expansion. This would be a substantial increase compared to the existing 96 coaches for the Gautrain.

BOMBARDIER AND DISPOSSESSION Studying the role of Bombardier in this case leads to a broader analysis of our role as Canadians in processes of accumulation by dispossession abroad. From the analysis of the Gautrain presented above, it’s clear that Bombardier is profiting from a very problematic and potentially devastating project in South Africa. But this case offers an opportunity to analyze accumulation by dispossession in a way that departs from the more conventional cases of privatization or resource extraction, and sheds light on the complexities and subtleties of assessing other forms of accumulation and dispossession. While the dispossession element does not appear as explicit as in cases where local inhabitants are driven from their land to make way for mining projects, dispossession is nonetheless occurring by way of public funds being channelled towards private benefit.

Furthermore, dispossession is magnified in this case by the immediate and long-term impact on mobility-related exclusion that the Gautrain reproduces. Our understanding of dispossession is broadened by analyzing transportation infrastructure spending and the urban geographies

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of exclusion in the post-apartheid South African cities. The case also highlights the more routine and legal aspects of dispossession under contemporary capitalism; the construction of the Gautrain appears to exist as a perfectly legal and legitimate project. Lacking the more spectacular elements of environmental destruction, gross human rights violations, and/or violations of international humanitarian law, projects such as the Gautrain challenge us to deepen our theoretical and political analysis of Canadian trade and investment abroad. The point is to transform our perception of Bombardier’s investment in South Africa from viewing it as a benign, perhaps even benevolent, process, to critically assessing the deeper implications for the recipients of this investment.

The Gautrain may in fact constitute an unprecedented appropriation of public transportation funds for the benefit of a wealthy elite in Gauteng and corporations such as Bombardier that will profit from the project. The ethical implications of funding and profiting from such a project extend beyond the scope of Bombardier itself and fall upon both the Canadian government and Canadian citizens at large. In Chapter 1, I discussed several ways that that Canadian state directly and indirectly supports Bombardier, such as diplomatic assistance and funding through Export Development Canada (edc) and the Technology Partnerships Canada program, as well as lending the company money through both federal and provincial governments. These are public funds. While there does not appear to be direct government support for Bombardier on this particular project in South Africa, it is difficult to untangle one specific project from Bombardier’s overall operations and health as a corporation. The Canadian state has played an important role in making sure that Bombardier is a competitive and effective player in global markets.

In addition, Canadians own shares in Bombardier, both individually and institutionally through pension funds, and therefore invest in and benefit from the “success” of Bombardier.

Understanding this particular case, as well as the place it occupies within a broader analysis of global accumulation, adds to our overall analysis of Bombardier’s work. In some ways the South African case is very different than the other two major cases examined in this book.

It does not exist within a colonial context but rather in a state that is attempting to recover from a long and damaging history of apartheid and

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colonial rule. It does not engage with issues of international humanitarian law and geopolitics as in the Israel/Palestine case, nor with issues of self-determination, autonomy, and environmental destruction as in the China/Tibet case. However, the South African case is illustrative of a political economy approach to understanding processes of dispossession that extends beyond the usual land-based analysis of dispossession and demonstrates the ways that Bombardier’s work abroad can be understood as varied forms of accumulation by dispossession.

NOTES 1. For an excellent historical analysis of the creation and development of Johannesburg, see Beavon (2004).

2. Participant observation by author at the Bombardier facility in Johannesburg, South Africa, June 7, 2011.

3. It is also significant that this requirement was dropped from the later version of the National Land Transport Act passed in 2009. One could speculate that this was done in order to “water down” the Act, which would allow projects such as the Gautrain to proceed without a court challenge.

4. Committee Chair Jeremy Cronin has written extensively on the problems of the Gautrain and why the Committee opposed it. For example, see Cronin (2005).

5. See Van der Westhuizen (2007: 335–342). In particular, he argues that the four most pressing problems involve “the connection between the costs and the target market; compatibility between existing and alternative transport systems; the issue of public support; and finally, time frames” (338).

CHAPTER FOUR

THE ISRAEL/PALESTINE CASE

I

n two small Palestinian villages in the West Bank — Beit Iksa and Beit Surik — residents have struggled against Israeli occupation and annexation of their land for many years. While the Israeli state has historically confiscated land around these villages to build illegal settlements and the separation wall, the most recent land seizures are for a different purpose — the construction of a high-speed rail line connecting Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, promising to move travellers over the 56 kilometres between the cities in 28 minutes flat. The route passes through the occupied West Bank in two places and crosses the Green Line — the demarcation line between Israel and its neighbours that was negotiated after the 1948 Arab-Israeli war and held until 1967.

This chapter explores the role of Bombardier in this controversial rail project. The company currently provides and services double-decker coaches for the rail system in and around Tel Aviv and will presumably continue to do so when construction of the new Tel Aviv-Jerusalem Electric Line, or A1 high-speed train, is complete. The fact that the rail line runs through the West Bank for roughly 6 kilometres raises both legal and ethical questions for foreign companies participating in the construction of the project, as well as for those who profit from its operation, such as Bombardier. There is strong evidence to suggest that the construction of this rail line is in violation of international law. Furthermore, the completion of this project must be viewed within the broader historical context of annexation and dispossession that has characterized the Israeli occupation 94

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of the West Bank since 1967. Similar to the China/Tibet case, this case study presents an opportunity to integrate an approach to dispossession that highlights a specific context rooted in settler colonialism. When considering these two points, Bombardier’s approach to this project may be surprising or unsettling for Canadians who are interested in a just resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Moreover, resistance to the project, especially in the form of the boycott, divestment, and sanctions movement, will ultimately become an inconvenience, at the very least for Bombardier.

The case of Bombardier in Israel/Palestine is important to study for the following reasons: the case has attracted very little attention in Canada, despite its significance in one of the most volatile and contested places on earth; it reiterates and reinforces themes of dispossession, described in Chapter 1, especially ideas surrounding colonial dispossession; and it involves important elements of international humanitarian law that make the case unique, but it also highlights aspects of dispossession that complement existing literature on the extractive industries. In addition, this chapter also situates Canadian foreign investment and trade as an important part of how Canadians interact with the world beyond our borders and calls for scholars to interrogate these relationships more closely when engaging with important foreign policy debates. This case raises serious questions regarding corporate complicity in violations of international law, not to mention the role of the Canadian state in supporting the company’s entrance into the Israeli market.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT In order to understand the political implications of the high-speed rail project it is first necessary to look at the nature of Palestinian dispossession in the context of the formation of the state of Israel. Without a homeland of their own, Jewish people lived in scattered diasporas around Europe and Russia and faced persecution almost everywhere they lived. In the late nineteenth century, we begin to see the rise of Jewish nationalism.

For many Jewish people this meant achieving cultural autonomy in the states they lived, but for a small portion of the population this national movement became the impetus to begin building a Jewish state. Gershon Shafir (2017: 90) writes:

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Jewish nationalism was born in the 1880s in the Pale of Settlement (the western region in Imperial Russia to which Jews were confined) in response to the checkered accomplishments of the integrationist hasakla (Jewish Enlightenment) in czarist Russia and a wave of pogroms directed against the most integrated communities of the southern pale.

Zionism, the name for this small movement of Jewish nationalists seeking a new home, “was eager to territorialize itself and soon debated the question of just where to do so.” It was in this spirit that, “in April 1897, the British lawyer Herbert Bentwich sailed for Jaffa, leading a delegation of twenty-one Zionists who were investigating whether Palestine would make a suitable site for a Jewish national home” (Thrall 2017: 77). At the time, the Jewish share of the population in Palestine was roughly 5–8 percent, but “by 1935, Jews made up more than a quarter of the territory’s population” (78). In 1917, Britain had also issued its famous Balfour Declaration, which promised to support the establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine, then part of the Ottoman Empire. And after the horrors of the Holocaust and the Second World War, when approximately six million Jews were murdered by Nazi Germany, the United Nations began a process of officially creating the Zionist state. Nathan Thrall (2017: 79) describes the partition process and its outcome as follows: When the United Nations proposed partition in 1947, Jews made up less than 32 percent of the population and owned under 7 percent of the land. The U.N. Proposal, which was rejected by the Palestinian leadership and the Arab League, granted the majority of the land — 55 percent — to the Jewish minority. The plan was approved by the U.N. General Assembly even so, and war broke out the following day, November 30, 1947.

This led to the founding of the state of Israel itself in 1948, or what Palestinians refer to as the “Nakba,” meaning catastrophe. Ilan Pappe (2006: 8–9) documents what he refers to as the ethnic cleansing of Palestine, where roughly 750,000 Palestinians either fled or were removed from their land in the late 1940s. Pappe notes: “Half of the indigenous people living in Palestine were driven out, half of their villages and towns

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were destroyed, and only very few among them ever managed to return” (9). Many others have joined Pappe in this critical analysis of Zionism and the birth of the modern Israeli state, documenting an initial and significant period of dispossession for Palestinians, and the beginning of a turbulent relationship between the new state of Israel and Palestinians in the region.1 Scholars use a broad range of analytical tools to elucidate the processes of dispossession unfolding in Israel/Palestine since the formation of the state of Israel, often using the terms “colonialism” and “settler colonialism” as reference points.2 In documenting the Zionist political project, Gershon Shafir (2017: 91) argues: “Zionist state building has followed from its very beginning the settler-colonial method of piecemeal colonization that also created Canada, Australia, South Africa, and the Spanish-speaking states of the New World … the dominant feature of their society is not the exploitation but the replacement of the native population.” This process intensified after the war of 1967 between Israel and some of its neighbouring Arab states, resulting in Israeli control over what is known as the Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt). Today the opt include the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem, and the occupation is widely recognized as a fundamental breach of international humanitarian law (Tilley 2012).

The Israeli occupation of these territories, in particular the ongoing construction of illegal Israeli settlements in the opt, is one of the central sticking points to reaching a lasting peace in the region. The occupation can also be understood as a colonial project as “the construction of settlements in the West Bank entails the separation, by law and by force, of the land itself from the people living on it” (Shafir 2017: 4). Construction of settlements and the transfer of Israeli populations into the West Bank are both extensions of the settler-colonial project of Zionism. Several scholars have refined their descriptions of dispossession or colonialism in order to more accurately describe its occurrence in this particular context. Sari Hanafi (2009: 107) uses the term “spacio-cide” (as opposed to genocide) to describe the manner in which Israel has removed Palestinians from the land, suggesting that the project “targets land for the purpose of rendering inevitable the ‘voluntary’ transfer of the Palestinian population, primarily by targeting the space upon which the Palestinian people live.”

For Hanafi, this started with the expulsion of 750,000 Palestinians in

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1948–49 during the formation of the Israeli state and continues through annexations similar to the one described in this case study. The target, according to Hanafi, is the land rather than the Palestinians themselves, and the goal is to make life so unbearable that the Palestinians will simply leave. As we saw in earlier discussions, this emphasis on the land is what distinguishes settler colonialism from colonialism.

Stephen Graham (2002: 642) uses the term “urbicide” to describe certain aspects of the Israeli state’s dispossession of Palestinians. Writing after Ariel Sharon ordered the bulldozing of the centre of the Jenin refugee camp in April 2002, Graham argues that the purpose of urbicide is “to deny the Palestinian people their collective, individual and cultural rights to the city-based modernity long enjoyed by Israelis. Sharon’s was a deliberate strategy to compel Palestinians to indefinite poverty.” Graham cites the large-scale destruction of urban infrastructure during times of conflict and the disproportionate levels of investment in modern infrastructure in the settlements as opposed to Palestinian communities, as evidence to suggest that the Israeli state is attempting to deny Palestinians access to vibrant, modern urban spaces.

In addition to the academic literature in this area, several non-governmental organizations (ngos) have documented the processes of dispossession on the ground. B’Tselem, an Israeli human rights organization, has dedicated considerable effort to detailing the Israeli state’s ongoing demolitions of Palestinian structures in the West Bank.3 Palestinian civil society actors have also documented this aspect of dispossession, with a report written by the Palestinian Grassroots Anti-Apartheid Wall Campaign — Stop the Wall focusing on the rural communities Al-Hadidiya and Um al-Kheir. These communities are located in a peripheral part of the West Bank often referred to as “Area C,” which has been under “temporary” Israeli military and civilian control since the Oslo Accords in 1995, with the intention of eventually handing the territory over to the Palestinian Authority. However, Stop the Wall (2017: 12) argues that temporary measures “are used to legitimize the steady colonization and concomitant expulsion of the Palestinian population from over half of the West Bank.” This includes denying building permits to Palestinians and then demolishing structures that are built “illegally.”

Stop the Wall summarizes the impact of the repeated demolitions of

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hundreds of Palestinian structures: “What is at stake is the expulsion of Palestinians from territory that the Israeli government seeks to dominate and incorporate into the borders of the state” (9). This organization also uses the lens of settler colonialism to describe the nature of dispossession in these peripheral areas: From our perspective displacement, military occupation, civil control over Area C, and home demolitions are all particular expressions of a deeper settler colonial logic… Like the Wall, forced removal is justified by Israel as necessitated for security reasons… In effect “security” for Israel hinges on securing settler homogeneity through indigenous removal. (14)

BOMBARDIER IN ISRAEL Bombardier began its relationship with the Israeli state and Israel Railways Corporation Inc. — the independent government-owned rail corporation — in the late 1990s. Shortly after the Canadian government signed a free trade deal with Israel in 1996, executives from Bombardier accompanied dozens of other corporate representatives, Canadian politicians, and Jewish lobby groups on a trade mission to Israel. The goal of the mission was to “inaugurate the Canada-Israel Free Trade Agreement (cifta), which came into force on January 1, 1997, and opened doors for Canadian businesses wishing to export their goods to Israel” (Canadian Jewish News 1997: 5). This trip took place in February 1997, and it was reported that “the Israelis want[ed] to discuss their plans for a new subway-rail network in greater Tel Aviv, an area where companies such as Bombardier have particular expertise” (Israelson 1997: E3). A second trade mission, organized by the Canadian government in February 1999, included two senior sales executives from Bombardier (Kalman 1999: A16). The efforts of the Canadian state and Bombardier to enter the Israeli rail market began to bear fruit very quickly. In the summer of 1999 the company received its first contract with Israel Railways to deliver four double-deck trainsets.

Valued at roughly $48 million, the trainsets consisted of one driving coach and three centre coaches; the contract also included “options for another eight trainsets in a first phase, as well as 18 trainsets in a second phase”

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(Globe & Mail Report on Business 1999). Thus began a partnership between Bombardier and Israel Railways that still exists today — a partnership the Canadian state had a significant role in fostering.

Shortly after negotiating its first deal in Israel, Bombardier bid on a controversial contract to build and operate a light rail system in Jerusalem.

Controversy centred around the fact that part of the rail system was to be built in illegally occupied East Jerusalem, which Israel had annexed in 1967.4 Palestinians opposed the construction of the rail line, viewing it as “an attempt by the Israelis to reinforce their annexation of Arab lands conquered in 1967” (Adams 2002: B6). Ziad Abu Zayyad, then Palestinian minister for Jerusalem affairs, articulated the objections as follows: “Israel is trying to change the status of Jerusalem and create more facts on the ground to make these changes irreversible. This is on occupied territory and any act that Israel does on that occupied territory is illegal. And anyone who will participate in this act would be participating in an illegal act” (Adams 2002: B6). Although the Canadian state does not recognize Israel’s annexation of East Jerusalem, it did not oppose “the participation of Canadian companies in the rail project, saying that is a ‘commercial decision.’” Thus, the Canadian state continued to support Bombardier, despite the legal questions surrounding the status of East Jerusalem and the potential complicity of Bombardier in Israel’s alleged violation of international law. Bombardier withdrew from the consortium of firms bidding on the contract in early 2002, as did Canadian firm snc-Lavalin.

In announcing its withdrawal from the process, a spokesperson for Bombardier claimed: “Our decision to pull out is independent from any political decision. It was entirely for commercial reasons” (Scheer 2002: C02). However, Israeli sources suggested that it was in fact a reaction to political pressure exerted by the Palestinians. Regardless of the precise motivations for withdrawing its bid, Bombardier re-focused its efforts on becoming the key supplier of trains for Israel Railways.

From 2002 to 2012, Bombardier gradually became the primary supplier of double-deck trains to Israel Railways’ operations “used on Tel Aviv’s suburban network and for regional traffic” (Bombardier 2016). In 2002, the company signed a deal worth $47 million to deliver six trains, which brought “to 23 the number of double-deck trains ordered by Israel Railways, with 14 already delivered” (Calgary Herald 2002: D5). This was

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followed by a 2004 deal to supply a further 54 cars (Edmonton Journal 2004: F3). Additional sales culminated in a 2010 purchase of 78 doubledecker train cars in a deal that left Bombardier as the only competitor in the tender (Barkat 2010). The 2010 deal was significant in that Bombardier also agreed to build a maintenance facility in Israel for the trains. Yossi Daskal, chief country representative of Bombardier Transportation in Israel, stated in 2010 that “Bombardier will grow from employing seven people to 70 in 2012, and more depending on the purchase of our coaches.”5 In 2012, Israel Railways ordered 72 more Bombardier coaches, which increased the total fleet of double-deck coaches purchased from Bombardier to 222 (Globes 2012). A deal worth $340 million was concluded in August 2015 for Bombardier to supply a further 62 electric locomotives, as Bombardier is playing an important role in electrifying the fleet of trains (Railway Gazette 2015). Finally, Bombardier confirmed a deal in January 2018 for 54 double-deck coaches “for use on the new high-speed Tel Aviv-Jerusalem rail link” to be delivered by August 2020 (Globes 2018). Thus, over the past twenty years, Bombardier and Israel Railways have established a long-term and productive partnership.

With the assistance of the Canadian state, Bombardier has emerged at the primary supplier of double-decker coaches for the transit system in and around Tel Aviv. This is important for the analysis that follows, as Bombardier’s rail cars will operate on the controversial Tel Aviv-Jerusalem rail line currently under construction.

It should be noted that there is no evidence of direct support from the Canadian state for Bombardier’s role in the A1 rail project. The Canadian government has not publicly taken a position on the legal or ethical questions involved with the A1 project and has not provided direct material support to Bombardier for supplying the rail cars. However, the Canadian state played an integral role in the initial stages of Bombardier’s entrance into the Israeli market through the cifta and by including Bombardier representatives in trade missions. In addition, Canada’s ongoing material support of Bombardier on multiple fronts indicates that the activities of Bombardier and the Canadian state are difficult to disentangle on a case-by-case basis. The state is so deeply invested in the success (or failure) of Bombardier in general, and played such an important role in Bombardier gaining access to the Israeli market in particular, that it is

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ultimately implicated in this project. The Canadian government has also been a staunch diplomatic ally of Israel over the decades, which helps Canadian businesses feel welcome in Israel.

THE TEL AVIV–JERUSALEM ELECTRIC LINE AND INTERNATIONAL LAW The existence of a rail line between what is now Tel Aviv and Jerusalem dates back to the late nineteenth century, when “the project was part of a larger effort of the Ottoman Empire to connect its center via Syria and Palestine to Egypt” (Auerback and Sharkansky 2005: 290). It served the Ottomans well for decades until improved roads in the 1930s created debilitating competition. The rail line continued to be used sparingly by the newly created state of Israel after a temporary closure from 1948 to 1950 but finally closed in 1997: In its last years, one train a day was taking an hour and 50 minutes.

It served more tourists wanting a scenic trip through mountain valleys than any serious travelers between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Express buses left for one city or the other every 15 minutes, and took an hour or less for the trip. (292)6 Beginning in 1993, the Authority for Ports and Railroads in Israel started planning a new high-speed train connecting Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Many years of study ensued, as a wide variety of concerns were discussed by Israeli officials. The complexity of the project is captured well

by Auerback and Sharkansky (2005: 304): Involved are competing perspectives of environmentalists about a scenic area of mountains and valleys. Property developers are eyeing the same terrain with plans for more housing. Suburban authorities demand to make their input. Solutions involving long tunnels raise the costs and add to the opposition of the Finance Ministry. There is also international pressure concerned with the ideal route that crosses over Israeli and Palestinian conceptions of national boundaries not yet agreed.

Initially scheduled for completion by 2008, the rail line is now scheduled to officially open in the fall of 2018 (Jerusalem Post 2018). Delays have

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been attributed to many actors, including the transportation ministry, the finance ministry and Israel Railways, which all allegedly “approved the project before sufficient inspections and analyses of possible problems were conducted, and without waiting for all the construction permits to be authorized … [also] one of the main causes for delay in construction was Israel Railways’ failure to conduct a proper environmental impact study, leading to legal disputes with environmental groups over the route of the track” (Friedman 2010).

The central point of controversy regarding the chosen route of the train for my analysis is the fact that it crosses into the occupied territory of the West Bank in two places. First, the path dips into the West Bank in order to create the most direct route, while in the second instance, it crosses the line “to appease Israelis who objected to tracks in their backyard” (Jerusalem Post 2010). In total the rail line runs for roughly six kilometers across the Green Line — the demarcation line between Israel and its neighbours from 1949 to 1967 — in occupied territory.

This raises significant legal concerns regarding the construction of the A1, most importantly regarding Israel’s commitments to international humanitarian law. Scholars have produced a substantial body of work that documents and debates several illegal aspects of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, which can be understood as an ongoing act of settler colonialism.7 The Canadian state — one of Israel’s closest allies — does not recognize permanent Israeli control of the Occupied Territories (Global Affairs Canada n.d.), and multiple UN Security Council (unsc) resolutions and UN General Assembly (unga) resolutions have deplored the Israeli state’s continued occupation of Palestinian territories and failure to abide by the Fourth Geneva Convention. The unsc passed Resolution 2334, in 2016, condemning all measures aimed at altering the demographic composition, character and status of the Palestinian Territory occupied since 1967, including East Jerusalem, including inter alia, the construction and expansion of settlements, transfer of Israeli settlers, confiscation of land, demolition of homes and displacement of Palestinian civilians, in violation of international humanitarian law and relevant resolutions.

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The confiscation of land inside the occupied West Bank to build the rail line must be understood within this context.

In order to assess the legality of the rail line, one must review those aspects of customary international humanitarian law that pertain to the use of public and private property in occupied territory. The Hague Regulations (1907), the Fourth Geneva Convention (1949), and the Statute of the International Criminal Court (icc) are the three key treaties. The Hague Regulations were designed to establish rules and regulations for states to follow regarding war on land, and most importantly for the case at hand, laws and customs regarding occupation. Although there were only thirty-eight state parties to the Hague Regulations in 1907, they “are considered as embodying rules of customary international law. As such they are also binding on States which are not formally parties to them” (International Committee of the Red Cross n.d.). Article 55 of the Hague Regulations provides the occupying State shall be regarded only as administrator and usufructuary of public buildings, real estate, forests, and agricultural estates belonging to the hostile State, and situated in the occupied territory. It must safeguard the capital of these properties, and administer them in accordance with the rules of usufruct. (International Committee of the Red Cross n.d.)

Although this Article has historically been interpreted in many ways, most scholars argue that it means that the occupying power is prohibited from undertaking permanent changes in the occupied territory.8 In addition, the limitations in the Article “strictly prohibit the occupier from interfering with the economic activity of the occupied territory with a view to drawing economic benefits for itself ” (Azarov 2012). Rail lines are typically regarded as permanent infrastructure, and the A1 project is designed specifically to benefit Israeli citizens. Palestinians living in the Occupied Territories will generally not have access to the areas where the train operates, aside from some Palestinians living in Jerusalem.

Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention is also relevant to this case: Any destruction by the Occupying Power of real or personal property belonging individually or collectively to private persons,

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or to the State, or to other public authorities, or to social or co-operative organizations, is prohibited, except where such destruction is rendered absolutely necessary by military operations. (International Committee of the Red Cross n.d.)

The annexation, and subsequent destruction, of land to build the A1 rail line in occupied territory arguably constitutes a violation of this article.

Furthermore, the rail project does not have military applications and has never been argued to be militarily necessary. The Statute of the icc provides further guidance in analyzing the legal implications of annexing land in the context of war and occupation. Article 8(2)(b)(xiii), which covers serious violations amounting to war crimes, defines “destroying or seizing the enemy’s property unless such destruction or seizure be imperatively demanded by the necessities of war” (Rome Statute of the icc 2002) as a war crime. Although Israel is not a state party of the icc, this is important when discussing corporate complicity. One report summarizes the legal concerns as follows: In blatant violation of its obligations under international humanitarian and human rights law, Israel as the occupying power has, without military necessity, expropriated privately owned Palestinian land with the aim of constructing permanent infrastructure, ostensibly to serve the needs of its own civilian population. (badil Resource Center for Palestinian Residency and Refugee Rights n.d.)

A final legal issue concerns the materials that have been extracted from the train tunnels. Part of the railroad crossing into the Occupied Territories will be running in underground tunnels, and a significant amount of soil and rock has been unearthed and removed from the area during the construction phase. According to Who Profits from the Occupation (2010: 8), about 530,000 cbm are estimated to be extracted from the first tunnel alone, almost entirely from within the occupied Palestinian territory. Another 515,000 cbm will be extracted from the two other tunnels which cross into occupied areas, two thirds of which

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is estimated as reusable material, to be used by the contractor or sold for use in the construction industry.

In a legal opinion produced by Al-Haq, an independent Palestinian nongovernmental human rights organization based in Ramallah, West Bank, the extraction of these materials has legal implications. Drawing specifically on Article 55 of the Hague Regulations, quoted above, it argues that “they [the materials] should be considered as non-renewable resources which are part of the land and whose substance cannot be exploited for the benefit of the Occupying Power” (2013: 5). Al-Haq argues that, if these mined materials are removed from the Occupied Territories and sold/used for the benefit of the occupying power, or the private companies performing the construction work, this would constitute a further violation of international law.

In responding to these legal concerns, an Israeli planning committee initially argued that preliminary plans exist to extend the rail line to Palestinian cities within the West Bank, such as Ramallah, and even to the coast of Gaza. Therefore, they argued, the rail project could benefit both Israelis and Palestinians in the Occupied Territories and does not violate international law (Who Profits from the Occupation 2010). However, given the protracted nature of the occupation, Palestinian opposition to the train, the ongoing siege of Gaza, and the lack of mobility for Palestinians living in the Occupied Territories, this claim appears weak, if not disingenuous.

Indeed, these preliminary plans appear to have been replaced with a new plan to simply connect the Jerusalem light rail network to several Israeli settlements in the occupied West Bank (Lazaroff 2016).

The Israeli state argues that the rules and principles of the Fourth Geneva Convention, along with other aspects of international humanitarian law and human rights law, do not apply to the occupied Palestinian territories because they were not previously recognized as part of a sovereign state. This position was contested most clearly by the 2004 advisory opinion of the UN International Court of Justice (icj), when it ruled on the illegality of Israel’s separation wall. The icj (2004) clarified: “The Court considers that the Fourth Geneva Convention is applicable in the Palestinian territories which before the 1967 conflict lay to the east of the Green Line and which, during that conflict, were occupied by Israel.”

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German National Railways (Deutsche Bahn) decided to halt its work on the construction of the A1 railroad in 2011, citing concerns with the route passing through the West Bank. German Transportation Minister Peter Ramsauer announced at the time: “This Israeli railway project which runs through occupied territory is problematic from a foreign policy standpoint and is potentially against international law” (Lazaroff and Weinthal 2011). The German state-owned firm made this decision in response to concerns raised by members of the German Parliament, the Palestinian foreign affairs minister, and civil society organizations.

A spokesperson for Germany’s federal Ministry of Transport, Building and Urban Affairs, Vera Moosmayer, elaborated on Germany’s position regarding the firm’s activity: “The federal government out of principle sees to it that this activity does not include projects that might be potentially sensitive politically or with regard to international law…. That is a matter of principle and applied in all countries.” Thus, at least one of the firms involved with the initial construction and planning of the high-speed line was concerned enough about the legal implications of crossing into occupied territory to end its participation in the project.9 This principled stance is in contrast to the support the Canadian government offers the Israeli state, even in the face of potential violations of international law.

Deutche Bahn is owned by the German Republic, which makes the link between its business operations and the German government (and its foreign policy) more explicit, and allows citizens to demand a level of accountability from Deutche Bahn that Canadians may not be able to demand from private corporations such as Bombardier. However, given the level of state support for Bombardier through federal and provincial bailouts, edc and Canada Account financing, and diplomatic support, this difference should not be exaggerated. Canadians should be able to hold our corporations accountable for their activities abroad, as there are myriad connections between the firms, the Canadian state, and regular Canadians.

The other company that has faced substantial criticism for its involvement in the construction of the project is Italian firm Pizzarotti & C.S.p.A. An Italian coalition called Stop That Train mounted a campaign to pressure Pizzarotti to withdraw from the project. As a result, several municipal governments in Italy passed resolutions expressing political and moral

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condemnation for Pizzarotti’s conduct (Al-Haq 2013: 13). The coalition “calls on Pizzarotti to withdraw from the project, which constitutes a flagrant violation of International Law, in contravention of international norms on human rights, including the Fourth Geneva Convention prohibiting exploitation of land by an occupying power” (bds Italia 2011).

Pizzarotti eventually became a central focus for Al-Haq’s legal work in addressing alleged violations of international law and war crimes connected to the A1 project. Al-Haq (2013: 12) argues: Pizzarotti & C.S.p.A could be held responsible both as principal perpetrator and as aider and abettor in acts that can amount to serious violations of international law such as the war crimes of pillage and of destruction and appropriation of property according to both the Fourth Geneva Convention and the icc Statute.

Despite this pressure from civil society, and the legal allegations made against them, the company did not budge, instead completing its share of the work.

THE A1 RAIL PROJECT WITHIN A CONTEXT OF DISPOSSESSION In addition to the legal problems associated with the rail line, it is also important to contextualize the A1 infrastructure within historical and contemporary processes of dispossession in the region. First, some Palestinians are directly affected by the construction of the rail line within the Occupied Territories. The Israeli civil society organization Coalition of Women for Peace (cwp) conducted field research in two of the communities most affected by the route of the A1 — Beit Surik and Beit Iksa. Beit Surik had already lost more than 30 percent of its land to the construction of Israel’s separation wall prior to the beginning of the rail project, while Beit Iksa had lost about 60 percent of its land to Israeli settlements and the wall (Purkiss 2013). cwp’s research in the area revealed that in Beit Surik, following the construction of the separation fence, day workers could no longer work in Jerusalem, and they were left unemployed. About 30% of the village’s livelihood relies on agriculture: they grow plums, olives, and hot-house tomatoes and cucumbers.

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For many villagers agricultural work was no longer an option since access to much of the village’s land was cut off by the fence.

(Who Profits from the Occupation 2010) The risk of losing more land, this time to the rail project, was a serious threat to the people in these villages. Indeed, the act of annexation was realized when “Israeli Military Confiscation Order 321 (Decision n.

10-02-H) of 2010 appropriated 50,000 square meters belonging to the Palestinian village of Beit Iksa” (Al-Haq 2013: 7). cwp found that residents of the two villages opposed the chosen route for the train and had voiced their concerns with the Israeli authorities to no avail. Residents argued that the new development results in a direct loss of land in agricultural areas and called for international support in resisting the project. Beit Surik Village Council voiced its concerns: “This train line would bring inconvenience and suffering to the village in terms of the lost land and in noise pollution, without any benefits, as the train is to connect areas that village residents… are not allowed to enter” (Who Profits from the Occupation 2010: 15). Calling for international support and assistance, the Council urged: “We, the people of Beit Surik, do not want the train line to be built on our land. We see as fundamentally important that the people of the world support our right to decide on the use of our own land and help us change the route of this train line” (Who Profits from the Occupation 2010: 6) Thus, the train track is being constructed on occupied land against the wishes of its inhabitants.10 In the end, the train did not receive the approval of the Palestinian Authority, as required in order to take the track through the West Bank. Instead, the Palestinian Authority condemned the new Israeli plan and called on the international community to assist in stopping it.11 Although the amount of land lost and number of Palestinians directly affected by the train is relatively small, it is crucial to understand this land grab within the wider historical context of the region. While the academic literature and ngo reports use a variety of conceptual tools to describe and understand the nature of dispossession in this context, one constant is that the Israeli state has gradually expropriated more and more of the land for its own purposes since the occupation began in 1967. Land seizures have occurred in order to build Israeli settlements, checkpoints,

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and the separation wall.12 It is important to see the connection between the construction of the railroad and these other expansion projects — a connection that is also not lost on residents of the affected villages. The head of the Beit Iksa Council, Abu Shadi, asserts: “We do not know where to start: the checkpoint, the fence, settlement expansion on our lands, settler attacks, soldiers in the valley. The train is just one part of it all” (Who Profits from the Occupation 2010: 16). This succinctly illustrates the place of the rail line within the broader experience of annexation and dispossession experienced by Palestinians in the Occupied Territories.

THE BOYCOTT, DIVESTMENT, AND SANCTIONS CONTEXT Bombardier is poised to engage with Israel Railways in a long-term and profitable relationship, and it quickly dismisses any suggestion that its work in Israel is controversial or requires further scrutiny. In response to a question regarding the railway going beyond the Green Line into occupied territory, Dr. Lutz Bertling, head of Bombardier’s transportation division, replied as follows: This is not a problem. What do we provide? Railway systems to all residents, no matter their nationality. There is no apartheid in Israel. Eventually, everyone stands to gain from a good and effective railway, in any area it passes through. As far as we’re concerned there is a green light to participate in all bids in Israel, even in upcoming bids over the Jerusalem light rail. It’s not in our dna to deal with political issues. (Petersburg 2015) Contrary to the position taken by Deutsche Bahn, Bombardier’s public position is that it does not evaluate projects with an eye to foreign policy concerns or international law. Not only is Bombardier unmoved by the rail line passing into occupied territory, according to the statement above, it may also compete for the Jerusalem light rail project. As mentioned previously, Bombardier had withdrawn from bidding on that project in the early 2000s. The position that commercial decisions should not be affected by politics is in line with the Canadian state’s perspective, highlighted earlier in this chapter when addressing Bombardier’s work in Israel, not to mention the Canadian state’s close diplomatic relationship with the

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state of Israel. This mirrors Bombardier’s position on the high-speed rail project in China/Tibet, which argued that the company is simply engaged in business and not involved with politics. Given the deeply politicized nature of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and the importance of territory to the conflict, it is unfathomable that one would not view participation in the project as an act of political engagement.

It is also necessary to address Bertling’s assertion that “there is no apartheid in Israel.” A growing body of evidence suggests that apartheid may actually be an accurate descriptor of Israel’s relationship with the Palestinians. The UN Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (escwa) addressed the question of apartheid in Israel, based on a rigorous reading and analysis of international law. Its report (escwa 2017: 1) concluded: Israel has established an apartheid regime that dominates the Palestinian people as a whole. Aware of the seriousness of this allegation, the authors of the report conclude that available evidence establishes beyond a reasonable doubt that Israel is guilty of policies and practices that constitute the crime of apartheid as legally defined in instruments of international law.

This detailed and controversial report was ultimately withdrawn after pressure from UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres. Rima Khalaf, head of escwa, resigned shortly afterwards, stating: “I resigned because it is my duty not to conceal a clear crime, and I stand by all the conclusions of the report” (Abunimah 2017a). Speculation abounded that Guterres pressured escwa to withdraw the report due to the influence of the United States. The Palestinian bds National Committee commented: “The fact that a UN secretary-general has bowed to threats and intimidation from the Trump administration to protect Israel from accountability, yet again, is hardly news” (Abunimah 2017a). Regardless of the spectacle unfolding after the report was published, the report itself is perhaps one of the most rigorous and clear documents calling for the international community to recognize the situation as apartheid. The document also followed from an important report submitted to the UN General Assembly in 2007 by the Special Rapporteur on the human rights situation in the Occupied

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Palestinian Territories, John Dugard, a highly esteemed scholar of international law from South Africa. His report (2007) concluded: The international community has identified three regimes as inimical to human rights — colonialism, apartheid and foreign occupation. Israel is clearly in military occupation of the opt.

At the same time elements of the occupation constitute forms of colonialism and of apartheid, which are contrary to international law.

It joins a growing number of scholarly accounts that frame the Israeli state as conforming to a legal definition of apartheid (Falk 2017; Bakan and Abu-Laban 2016; Tilley 2012; and Corrigan 2016).

Bombardier’s work in Israel also exists within the context of a growing boycott, divestment, and sanctions movement directed at the state of Israel.

In its own words, the movement “works to end international support for Israel’s oppression of Palestinians and pressure Israel to comply with international law” (bds Movement 2016a). Roughly 170 Palestinian civil society organizations launched the movement in 2005 as a non-violent mechanism to put pressure on the state of Israel. According to scholars Abigail Bakan and Yasmeen Abu-Laban (2009: 42), “the bds call is unique in its clarity and unified base of support within Palestinian society.” It is a call for assistance from the international community to “impose broad boycotts and implement divestment initiatives … [and] to pressure … states to impose embargoes and sanctions against Israel” until Israel complies with international law by: 1. Ending its occupation and colonization of all Arab lands and dismantling the Wall.

2. Recognizing the fundamental rights of the Arab-Palestinian citizens of Israel to full equality; and 3. Respecting, protecting, and promoting the rights of Palestinian refugees to return to their homes and properties as stipulated in U.N. resolution 194. (bds Movement 2016b)

The bds campaign is a perfect example of what scholars in the field of global civil society call the “boomerang” effect. This means that civil society actors, failing to meaningfully influence their home state, reach

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out to global networks of civil society and state actors in order to bring the “boomerang” back to exert pressure on the local authorities.13 This strategy is often used in cases of human rights abuses, and the goal is to partner with likeminded actors abroad in order to effect change at home. In this particular case, civil society actors in several countries have heeded the bds call and have been mobilizing around the goals of the movement.

While the bds movement has been polarizing in many contexts, it claims a growing number of successes since its inception. These include several high-profile institutional investors divesting from companies that participate in Israel’s violations of international law, many famous artists supporting the cultural boycott, and dozens of academic associations and student unions passing resolutions in support of bds.14 In addition to the German firm mentioned above quitting the A1 construction project, another instance relevant to the analysis of Bombardier’s work in Israel is the decision by the French firm Veolia to sell all its assets in Israel, which included pulling out of the Jerusalem light rail project (Global Rail News 2015). This came after years of pressure on the firm from bds activists.15 The bds movement has also taken specific aim at the A1 rail project and the foreign corporations that play a role in building it. In 2010, the Palestinian bds National Committee (n.d.) stated that “Israel’s A1 high-speed train project designed to connect Jerusalem and Tel Aviv violates international humanitarian law and human rights law” and called upon “private businesses to immediately withdraw from the project.”

This became the rallying point for organizations in both Germany and Italy to begin campaigns against the participation of companies in their countries that were involved with the project. Although the German state-owned firm withdrew, the Italian firm Pizzarotti has continued its work on the project.

For its part, Bombardier is just now beginning to encounter civil society opposition in Canada to its participation in the A1 line. This is most likely due to the fact that the rail line is not yet complete, and therefore the focus of civil society resistance has largely been on those companies involved with the design and construction of the track itself. However, in late 2015, Independent Jewish Voices (ijv) Canada, a national Jewish organization that calls on the Israeli government to comply with international law,

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posted a letter to Bombardier on its website that publicly criticized the company and encouraged Canadians to sign the letter. The letter reads: “I am disturbed to have read that Dr. Lutz Bertling of Bombardier stated that he has no problem with Israeli trains going beyond the Green Line, the internationally-recognized border of Israel” (Independent Jewish Voices – Canada n.d.). As the opening of the high-speed A1 line approaches and the bds momentum continues to rise globally, this will likely not be the last time pressure is exerted on Bombardier. Both Bombardier and the Canadian state may come under far greater scrutiny for their work in Israel in the coming years.

Fortunately for Bombardier, the Canadian state is openly hostile to the bds movement. In January 2015, former foreign affairs minister John Baird met with his Israeli counterpart, Avigdor Lieberman, and in a press release issued after the visit, Baird stated: “Canada will fight any efforts internationally to delegitimize the State of Israel, including the disturbing Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (bds) Movement” (Government of Canada 2015). The election that swept the Liberals to power in 2015 does not appear to have altered the Canadian government’s position on bds. A Conservative motion condemning Canadians who promote the bds movement against Israel passed through Parliament by a vote of 229 to 51 in February 2016, with the support of almost all Liberal members (Huffington Post 2016). Hostility to bds is consistent with the Canadian state’s unwavering support for the state of Israel. In alliance with Israel, the Canadian government routinely votes against resolutions or motions within international organizations that aim to hold Israel accountable for violating international law. Canada was one of only seven states to vote against a UN General Assembly resolution in December 2017 that condemned settlement activity and urged Israel to abide by international law (unga 2017). Thus, Bombardier is somewhat secure in its dealings with Israel, as its statements and actions are more or less congruent with those of the Canadian state. However, ijv’s letter most likely foreshadows a growing movement of opposition to Bombardier’s work in Israel.

Bombardier, and the Canadian state, will ultimately need to craft a more nuanced and sophisticated response to the criticism of this project, as the evidence that the A1 rail line is legally and ethically problematic is difficult to ignore.

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In contrast to Canada’s members of Parliament, it appears as though the general public holds far more favourable views regarding bds. Ekos Research Associates conducted a poll from January 25 to February 2, 2017, on behalf of Independent Jewish Voices, Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East (cjpme), Dimitri Lascaris, and Murray Dobbin.

The poll revealed several important findings. First, 91 percent of those surveyed believe that sanctions are a reasonable way to censure countries that violate international law and human rights, and 78 percent believe that the Palestinians’ call for a boycott of Israel is reasonable (cjpme 2017).

Second, 53 percent opposed Parliament’s 2016 decision to condemn those who support bds, while only 26 percent supported this decision (cjpme 2017). This exposes a deep disconnect between the views of Canadians on these issues and the actions taken by our elected representatives. Dimitri Lascaris, a journalist, lawyer, and former justice spokesperson for the Green Party of Canada, commented to the Electronic Intifada: “These numbers are breathtaking… Our government’s support for Israel is not just immoral and unjust, it’s irrational, because it’s not a vote winner to be pro-Israel — the opposite is true” (Abunimah 2017b). This once again suggests the potential for Canadians to hold Bombardier, and the Canadian state, accountable for their role in this new rail infrastructure in Israel.

In an interview with The Intercept’s Glenn Greenwald, bds co-founder Omar Barghouti noted: Many people are realizing that Israel is a regime of occupation, settler colonialism, and apartheid and are therefore taking action to hold it to account to international law. Israel is realizing that companies are abandoning their projects in Israel that violate international law, pension funds are doing the same, major artists are refusing to play Tel-Aviv. (Greenwald 2016) As the bds movement grows internationally, Canadians can and should play an important role in challenging the Canadian state and corporations like Bombardier. National organizations, such as Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East (cjpme), ijv Canada, and Canadian bds Coalition, along with many other more local organizations are already mobilizing Canadians to join the bds movement. This activism is crucial

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in light of the government’s continuing support for the Israeli state.

Palestinian-Canadian activist and artist Rafeef Ziadah (2014) argues: “Unlike the endless rounds of negotiations, bds does not rely on the delusional belief in the goodwill of Western governments… As Israel’s actions continue unabated, the task of building a capacity for pressure is more urgent than ever.” The Bombardier case could lead to greater scrutiny of the Canadian connections to this particular project, while also drawing our attention to the efforts of activists to address the broader problems in the region.

CONCLUSION AND IMPLICATIONS The case of Bombardier in Israel/Palestine involves a unique context of occupation and resultant challenges regarding international law and the responsibilities of an occupying power. Although the nature of Palestinian dispossession is different than cases in the extractive industries, there are many thematic links to the literature on dispossession and Canadian multinational corporations, and the basic premise of a Canadian firm profiting abroad within conditions of dispossession resonates across the cases. The interaction between Bombardier and the Canadian state leads to a broader analysis of our role as Canadians in processes of foreign direct investment and trade abroad. As the analysis of the A1 rail line demonstrates, Bombardier is profiting from a deeply problematic project in this volatile region. Furthermore, it is possible that Bombardier is directly implicated in the alleged violations of international law detailed throughout this chapter. Canadian citizens are helping to finance and are profiting from Bombardier’s projects in a variety of ways, from owning shares in the company, to the use of tax dollars to fund state support for Bombardier, and to the tax revenue paid by Bombardier to the Canadian government.

The legal and ethical implications of funding and profiting from the A1 project extend beyond the scope of Bombardier itself and fall upon both the Canadian government and Canadian citizens at large. The Canadian state holds the position that “the Fourth Geneva Convention applies in the occupied territories and establishes Israel’s obligations as an occupying power,” and that “the settlements also constitute a serious obstacle to

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achieving a comprehensive, just and lasting peace” (Global Affairs Canada n.d.). I argue that it is difficult for the Canadian state to reconcile this position with the fact that a Canadian firm — Bombardier — is supplying trains for the A1 high-speed line. Not only did the Canadian state help Bombardier achieve access to the Israeli market, but it condemns those who support the bds movement and offers very little criticism of Israel’s illegal occupation of Palestinian territory. Bombardier is conducting business within a context of deep division and dispossession, while becoming the target of a global civil society movement aimed at pressuring the Israeli state to abide by international law.

The Israel/Palestine case builds constructively from the discussion of the China/Tibet rail project, especially regarding the colonial nature of dispossession. While the two contexts are different, they share a theme of dispossession that requires going beyond the traditional political economy approach. The case in Israel/Palestine once again highlights the importance of understanding the centrality of land in patterns of colonial dispossession. Palestinians in the Occupied Territories have lost land to the expansion of Israeli settlements and the separation wall and now face the annexation of land for the construction of the A1 railroad. Scholars, civil society actors, and bodies of global governance have articulated this as a process of colonialism. Over the past several decades, the Israeli state has gradually expanded its control over more and more Palestinian land and this annexation of territory proceeds alongside an apparent quest to remove indigenous Palestinians from the land. This is illustrated most dramatically in the demolition of Palestinian structures in the peripheral areas of the West Bank, documented by Stop the Wall (2017). However, a less dramatic example of Palestinian dispossession is evident in the villages of Beit Surik and Beit Iksa, both affected by the construction of the A1 rail line. As the occupation gradually chips away at their territory, it becomes harder and harder for them to sustain themselves on the land, and the rail infrastructure is adding to their woes.

In order to truly appreciate the nature of colonial dispossession in the Occupied Territories, it is crucial to once again examine the shape and character of Palestinian resistance to Israeli colonialism. The famous Palestinian-American public intellectual Edward Said argued many years ago that “the main aspects of Palestine life remain dispossession, exile,

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dispersion, disenfranchisement (under Israeli military occupation), and, by no means last, an extraordinarily widespread and stubborn resistance to these travails” (quoted in Falk 2017: 131). This resistance is seen in the Palestinians’ efforts to convince the Israeli authorities to change the route of the train and then to reach out to global civil society actors for assistance in magnifying these concerns. We also see it in the struggle of Palestinian civil society to build a global bds movement against the state of Israel. Yet there is a specific quality to this resistance that resonates with the Tibetan case and weaves the narrative of dispossession tied to colonialism across the two cases. The Arabic word sumud, meaning steadfastness or resilience, for the Palestinians in particular has come to mean “the art of living to survive and thrive in the homeland in spite of hardship and under occupation practices” (Marie, Hannigan, and Jones 2017: 10). More specifically, sumud is intimately related to the Palestinians’ connection to the land, because “remaining on the land is not simply a political issue, but a material one as well” (Stop the Wall 2017: 21). In documenting the continued resistance to Israeli colonialism and occupation, Stop the Wall (30) highlights the nature of sumud for organizations resisting dispossession, such as the Popular Council for the Protection of the Jordan Valley and the Land Defense Coalition: These organizers recognized that sumud, or steadfastness, in the face of settler colonial expansion required both supporting the economic needs of the community so that it could use and live off the land as well as developing strategies to directly confront Israeli attempts to expropriate it. As such, the material and the political were inextricably linked in the practice of sumud: one could not build a political project of resistance without attending to material needs, just as one could not attend material needs without confronting the many facets of the settler project.

Thus, their connection to the land and their insistence to remain on the land are paramount to the project of resistance. This emphasis on territory is critical in order to both meet the material needs of Palestinians and to build a political project of resistance.

The latest event of mass resistance to Israeli colonialism took place in

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April and May 2018, as Palestinians in Gaza marked seventy years since the Nakba, or catastrophe, by organizing a Great Return March. Out of a population of just under 2 million, roughly 1.3 million Palestinians in Gaza are registered refugees (unrwa n.d.), which means they were driven from their land when Israel was formed in the late 1940s. Palestinians organized a march to the Israeli barrier separating them from their land to call for their right to return to be honoured. The Israeli military responded by killing at least 119 Palestinians and wounding thousands more with live ammunition in an act that Amnesty International (2018) calls “a murderous assault against protesting Palestinians, with its armed forces killing and maiming demonstrators who pose no imminent threat to them.” Seventy years later, the Palestinian connection to their land is unbroken, and this relationship to the land shapes the nature and form of resistance. Here again, we witness the importance of analyzing the nature of dispossession from a settler colonial perspective. Bringing these two lenses together allows for a fuller and deeper understanding of the cultural and material effects of dispossession, while also allowing us to see the meaningful connections between disparate cases.

NOTES 1. For example, see Shlaim (2010), Pappe (2015), and Kovel (2007). In addition, Pappe (2015) maps out the history of this scholarship and is place within the contemporary intellectual landscape.

2. For example, see Reuveny (2003).

3. For a detailed discussion of the demolitions and the legal debates involved, see B’Tselem (2016).

4. For an excellent account of the spatial transformation of Jerusalem since the occupation began in 1967, see Thawaba and Al-Rimmawi (2012).

5. It is also important to note that the agreement to build a maintenance facility in Israel landed Bombardier in the middle of a protracted labour dispute between Israel Railways and Histadrut (General Federation of Labour in Israel). The deal was signed behind the back of the union, and they perceived this as a significant act of privatizing and outsourcing their work. For further analysis of the dispute, see Niv and Barkat (2012); Bar-Eli and Schmil (2012); and Katsovich and Niv (2012).

6. For further historical context on the rail systems in this region, see Cotterell (1986).

7. For example, see Ben-Naftali, Gross and Keren (2005); Tilley (2012); Dinstein (2009); Weizman (2012).

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8. For example, see Arai-Takahashi (2009).

9. See Marzano (2013) for an analysis of the growing concern by EU states (and others) regarding the Israeli settlements and occupation.

10. One potential benefit for Palestinians in the area is short-term employment during the construction phase of the project. In particular, The Electronic Intifada reported: “An estimated 200 Palestinians are employed on boring tunnls in the West Bank, as part of the so-called A1 railway, Israel’s largest infrastructure project in a decade” (Purkiss 2013). However, it also discovered that “some of these men have confirmed that they are working under highly exploitative conditions in Beit Iksa, a village near Jerusalem where two tunnels are being dug. One man from the surrounding area said he had been recruited by someone hired to supply workers to the construction site. The person who recruited him takes over half his earnings.” Thus, many of the common patterns of exploitation under occupation may be occurring with the employment of Palestinians on this project.

11. See Global Times (2016).

12. For a good spatial analysis of the West Bank, with particular emphasis on the politics of mobility, see Handel (2004).

13. One of the key texts describing the “boomerang” pattern is Keck and Sikkink (1998).

14. For a full account of the impact claimed by the bds movement, see bds Movement (2016c).

15. Although Veolia did not specify that the decision was based on pressure from civil society actors, companies almost never do. The norm is for a company to claim that it is a business decision so that it does not appear that the firm’s actions are in any way politically motivated.

CONCLUSION

POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS AND MOVING FORWARD

E

ach of the three cases under scrutiny in this book has a different context from the others, but they share the common aspects of dispossession. All three cases document the controversial nature of doing business within contested political and geographic spaces and the ways in which a company can be complicit in these processes of dispossession. These findings complement the growing critical work of scholars and activists addressing the Canadian extractive industry. This book also contributes to the more general critical literature on Canadian foreign policy and the importance of examining non-state actors, such as corporations, when analyzing Canadian interactions with the outside world.

Rather than assuming a helpful, generous, productive role in the world, Canadian corporations such as Bombardier are participating in business ventures that have adverse effects on many people in the host territories.

In addition, the Canadian state is involved in facilitating these trade and investment deals. This is certainly the case with Bombardier, which means both the Canadian state and the corporation are actively involved in projects mired in protracted political, social, and environmental struggles.

Important interventions in the field of settler colonial studies have enhanced our theoretical understanding of dispossession and make an important contribution to the analyses of these projects. Without an adequate grasp of the colonizing nature and implications of dispossession, 121

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a traditional political economy analysis runs the risk of missing (or minimizing) many of the core aspects of domination that exist in the sites of struggle outlined in this book. The focus on colonial dispossession also aids in providing a rigorous analysis of the land-based forms of resistance to that dispossession. Thus, the theoretical work highlighting patterns of dispossession across cases can act as an important point of departure for future scholarship and analysis of Canadian corporate activity abroad.

Bombardier’s response to critical questions regarding its work abroad falls in line with the usual corporate line in controversial contexts: it claims that its participation is not political, but rather that it is simply conducting business. The notion that large public infrastructure projects that are surrounded by such a degree of controversy are not political is absurd. The historical relationship between China and Tibet is incredibly contested, and the new rail infrastructure is critical in solidifying Chinese rule over, and access to, Tibet. While it is true that Bombardier did not create the situation in that region of the world, nor is it up to the firm to solve the China/Tibet dispute, it is also true that Bombardier is profiting from this deeply contested project and playing an important role in making sure that it succeeds. In the Israel/Palestine case, Bombardier is participating in a project in one of the most volatile regions of the world and is implicated in a situation that many describe as illegal under international law.

Both of these cases point to the inherently political function of major infrastructure projects in deeply contested geographic spaces. Even in the case of the Gautrain in South Africa, where high-stakes conflicts do not point directly to geopolitical implications of the rapid rail line, it is still unfathomable to describe this economic activity as simply a business venture. Van der Westhuizen (2017: 552) reminds us of the political nature of seemingly innocuous transportation projects: “Given the enormous costs involved in megaproject construction and especially transportation projects, and the impacts such projects have on the public fiscus, these projects are inherently political affairs.” The Gautrain case is a perfect example of how a state’s transportation spending priorities can play an important role in the political life of a country and can work to reinforce or transform geographies of exclusion. The analyses of the cases presented in this book make it clear how profoundly political these rail projects are and how important it is to understand these political implications.

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These cases also touch on several key areas regarding our understanding of international politics and international political economy. The China/ Tibet case involves big questions around sovereignty, autonomy, selfdetermination, and the historical challenges of territorial disputes. The Qinghai–Tibet Railway can either be viewed as a project that solidifies the territorial integrity and economic interests of a sovereign Chinese state, or conversely as a project that deeply violates the Tibetans’ autonomy and quest for self-determination. In addition, that particular case involves important questions and debates regarding environmental sustainability and resource management. Once again, these are all highly political issues that foreign companies such as Bombardier become implicated in when they choose to participate in such divisive projects. The Israel/Palestine case shares with the China/Tibet case several issues related to sovereignty and self-determination, with the added dimension of possible breaches of international law. The important legal considerations regarding the chosen route for the A1 rail line are to be weighed by the state of Israel, but they should also be of concern to corporations that may find themselves in violation of international law.

The South African case, on the other hand, does not exhibit the same type of explicit linkages to questions of human rights, international law, self-determination, or environmental destruction. However, the Gautrain case illustrates a type of structural violence that points to more subtle processes of dispossession. Paula Butler’s work about Canadian mining in Africa is especially salient for understanding the limitations of focusing exclusively on the more blatant or spectacular human rights violations when addressing injustice abroad. In discussing structural violence, she quotes Scheper-Hughes and Bourgois: Often the most violent acts consist of conduct that is socially permitted, encouraged, or enjoined as a moral right or duty. Most violence is not deviant behaviour, not disapproved of, but to the contrary is defined as virtuous action in the service of generally applauded conventional social, economic and political norms.

(Butler 2015: 87) As Butler (2016: 287) puts it, her aim is “to emphasize the rationalized,

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routine, unspectacular manner in which systemic harm occurs,” although it garners “little media attention and even less consistent public concern and outrage.” She also aims to show how that violence — the violence of routine inequality related to resource appropriation — is sanctioned by supposedly ordinary people (who are generally not called “settlers” or “colonizers”) from a supposedly ordinary modern democratic country (which is, outside critical academic circles, rarely called a “white supremacist settler-state”).

In the South African context, the Gautrain was approved by a legitimate, democratic government, with Bombardier participating in an open and competitive process to obtain a contract. Moreover, the company in question is based in Canada, a country that has a reputation within the international community for respecting human rights. This is exactly the kind of routinized, legal, and accepted form of commerce that Butler talks about that typically evades attention while simultaneously holding the potential to cause great harm.

Lacking the more extreme concerns of human rights violations and international law that plague the China/Tibet and Israel/Palestine cases (at least since the ending of apartheid), the Gautrain case requires us to think more carefully about the routinized business transactions embedded in deeply asymmetrical power relations across the globe. Massive corporations like Bombardier can pay “success fees” to secure contracts in places like South Africa and argue that “this practice is perfectly legal, provided for in the commercial codes of many countries, and used by many Canadian and international companies in a variety of industries” (Globe & Mail 2017). The negative impacts of the Gautrain addressed in this book point to a form of dispossession that is more subtle, but no less important, than in the other two cases. Yet at the same time, the legacies of colonialism and apartheid form the context of mobility-related exclusion in the region, which draws linkages between the three cases. Many poor South Africans struggle without proper access to safe and reliable public transportation, while the government spends unprecedented funds on servicing wealthy South Africans with the speed and comfort of the

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Gautrain. This is the systemic harm described by Butler, as mobilityrelated exclusion has the potential to maintain structures of inequality in a routine and unspectacular manner.

ADDITIONAL CASES AND FUTURE RESEARCH Bombardier has been involved with hundreds of transportation projects across dozens of countries over the past few decades. Most of these projects have evaded analysis and scrutiny from scholars and as a result there is very little research material available on most of the cases. My purpose here is to highlight three important cases in order to begin a discussion, and a research trajectory, related to the company’s international projects.

I hope that others will pick up where I left off, applying this analysis to other new and emerging projects like the ones in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and countries in Sub-Saharan Africa.

The Canadian government has been criticized for approving arms sales to Saudi Arabia, which is Canada’s “top non-U.S. destination for exporting military goods” (Marcoux and Brewster 2017). The Saudi government bought over $142 million worth of Canadian arms in 2016, which accounted for almost 20 percent of all sales abroad that year. Human rights groups were especially alarmed when the Liberal government allowed a $15 billion sale of armoured vehicles to Saudi Arabia to proceed, despite serious human rights concerns around the treatment of dissidents within Saudi Arabia and its involvement in the war in Yemen. A coalition of civil society groups, including Amnesty International Canada and Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East, argue that the Canadian government should have prevented the sale, despite the economic benefit for Canadians (Russell 2016).

However, the arms industry is not the only sector of the Canadian economy involved in Saudi Arabia. Bombardier has been awarded two contracts in the growing transportation market in Saudi Arabia. In the first instance, the Saudi government is expecting to complete a new public transportation project in the capital Riyadh in 2018. The new metro “will be 178 km-long with six lines and 85 stations, including underground, elevated and at-grade sections” (Railway Technology n.d.). This state-ofthe-art project is expected to “ease traffic congestion and reduce pollution

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by cutting the number of vehicles on the city roads” (Estimo Jr. 2014).

According to Bombardier (2013), the company has won a contract to deliver technology for the new metro line 3 in Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The contract involves system interface management, project management and design, as well as the delivery of 47 two-car driverless Bombardier Innovia Metro 300 trains equipped with Bombardier Mitrac Propulsion technology. The total value of the consortium’s contract is approximately $5.9 billion US (4.5 billion euro) with Bombardier’s share valued at approximately $383 million US (289 million euro).

In contrast with the South African case, this particular metro line is designed to intentionally integrate with 85 kilometres of bus rapid transport, with “all stations of the metro … integrated with the bus network” (Railway Technology n.d.).

The second project in Saudi Arabia is a monorail system for the Saudi capital city’s new financial district. It is a six-station monorail system covering 3.6 kilometers in the King Abdullah Financial District, and Bombardier’s share of the deal is worth $241 million (Star 2010).

Bombardier, in describing the impact of the deal, proclaimed: “The new urban centre will be an eco-friendly, car-free oasis in the capital city of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia” (Bombardier n.d.d). Between the two projects and the potential for future business opportunities, Bombardier is making strides in capturing a new market in Saudi Arabia — a market the Canadian state is wooing on behalf of some significant Canadian corporations. Although building rail infrastructure is different than selling weapons, both provide the Canadian state with further incentive to remain friendly with the repressive absolute monarch in Saudi Arabia and quiet in terms of raising questions about human rights. While little is known about any possible criticisms of the two projects within Saudi Arabia, one well-known Saudi feminist activist, Manal Al Sharif, mentioned the Riyadh metro while levelling a general criticism at the priorities of the government: The government is giving handouts to Egypt, Jordan, and Tunisia, and using a third of the country’s budget for this year to pay for

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the Riyadh metro. Meanwhile, Saudis are paying most of their salary on rent, private schools, and private hospitals — because public ones aren’t good — while salaries have practically stayed the same. (quoted in James 2013) These comments point to similarities to the South African case in terms of the spending priorities of the state. However, further analysis is required into the Saudi context and the impact of these projects on the ground.

Bombardier is also in the process of negotiating a rail contract with the state of Egypt. The first reports of a potential project emerged in 2015, when Egypt’s housing minister announced: “Canada’s Bombardier Inc and Egypt’s Orascom Construction OC.DI and Arab Contractors will build a $1.5 billion monorail near Cairo” (Reuters 2015). However, nothing further was announced regarding this project, and Bombardier does not currently list any projects in Egypt. More recently, it was announced that “Bombardier Inc. has signed a memorandum of understanding with the Egyptian government to develop a plan for a new metro line in Cairo, a project that could cost as much as $4 billion” (Siekierska 2017).

A spokesperson from Bombardier indicated that this is a non-binding agreement for the company to “spend the next six months developing a concept plan for the construction of Cairo’s proposed Line 6” (Siekierska 2017). This will be an important case to follow over the coming months and years, as the city of Cairo is deeply divided geographically between rich and poor areas (Stewart 1999; Harris and Wahba 2002). Some parallels might exist between this case and the Gautrain, where scarce state resources were used on a project to primarily benefit a particular class of people and urban geographies of exclusion are in play. In addition, human rights organizations argue that the current Egyptian government is repressive. Human Rights Watch (hrw 2017) notes: “Public criticism and peaceful opposition to the government remain effectively banned in Egypt… Security forces routinely tortured detainees and forcibly disappeared hundreds of people during 2016.” Similar to the cases in Saudi Arabia and China, critical voices and analysis in opposition to the project may not be heard, which adds to the urgency in understanding the project and Bombardier’s role in developing it.

Finally, it is important to continue monitoring Bombardier’s activities

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in Sub-Saharan Africa in the coming years. Many African states are embarking on ambitious transportation projects, and there is potential for Bombardier to grow its presence on the continent. In addition to the Gautrain project in South Africa, the company has supplied signalling technology (and other forms of control solutions) for several rail systems across Africa, including in Ethiopia, Zambia, Morocco, and Algeria (Bombardier 2014a). Future projects in Africa require careful scrutiny in order to identify patterns of dispossession and to analyze the impact of these projects on the social and political fabric in each context.

FINAL THOUGHTS The three cases presented in this book provide a sober analysis of Bombardier’s involvement in deeply contested political spaces abroad.

These are not innocuous business transactions devoid of political implications but rather constitute participation in a variety of forms of dispossession. Corporate accumulation, under the guidance and explicit support of the state, in these infrastructure projects abroad must be understood as a form of complicity in the dispossession and harm occurring in each case. At the very least we need to take seriously what it means for a corporation to profit from these politically controversial projects. From there, we can begin to chart a path forward to processes of accountability and justice.

In thinking about accountability, we often turn to one of the many codes of conduct or ethics that ostensibly inform the behaviour of corporations.

Bombardier’s Code of Ethics and Business Conduct spells out its core values, including integrity: “We behave with integrity and in an ethical manner in everything we do and say” (Bombardier n.d.e). Bombardier also looks for inspiration on corporate conduct to the UN Global Compact, which it joined in 2007. The Compact is “a call to companies to align strategies and operations with universal principles on human rights, labour, environment and anti-corruption, and take actions that advance societal goals” (United Nations Global Compact n.d.). Canada is also a member of the Organization of Economic Cooperation and Development (oecd), which focuses on promoting international economic progress. The oecd has developed Guidelines for Multinational Enterprises to encourage

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companies within member states to follow “responsible business conduct in a global context consistent with applicable laws and internationally recognised standards” (oecd n.d.). There is no shortage of codes and guidelines for corporations to follow when conducting business, but the problem is that these are all non-binding. Aside from being required to obey the laws of the state within which they operate, there is no formal enforcement mechanism in place to compel companies to behave in any particular way. Furthermore, short of outright corruption or violation of local laws, there is very little in the codes that would inform a company like Bombardier regarding the problems described in each of the three cases. And even if there were, without a formal enforcement mechanism the codes have no teeth.

Some might suggest we turn to the Canadian state to develop and enforce more meaningful codes of conduct for Canadian corporations abroad. The closest we have come to achieving this was Bill C-300: An Act Respecting Corporate Accountability for the Activities of Mining, Oil or Gas in Developing Countries. The private member’s bill was voted on in the House of Commons in 2010, and proposed explicitly to hold several Canadian government agencies — the edc, the Canada Pension Plan Investment Board, embassies, and the Trade Commissioner — accountable in relation to extractive industries (Thomas and Mitra 2017). The bill proposed that state agencies/institutions would withdraw support for a Canadian company found to be involved in human rights or environmental abuses overseas. Although the bill was ultimately defeated in the House, it did bring many of these issues to the public’s attention. While C-300 focused specifically on the extractive industry, civil society and foreign officials viewed it as “a starting point for more comprehensive reforms” (Keenan 2013: 116) to directly regulate overseas corporate operations. Despite these positive aspects of the bill’s introduction no further legislation on the matter has arisen since its defeat.

In general, we cannot count on corporations or the Canadian government to take meaningful action on their own accord to deal with problems of corporate behaviour overseas, and the mainstream media tends not to cover the actions of Canadian corporations very closely, with the exception of investigating and reporting on high-profile allegations of corruption in the Bombardier case. Companies and governments must be pressured

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to act, and the burden of this work typically falls on civil society actors both at home and abroad. Indeed, the fact that the Canadian government was even debating corporate conduct in the extractive industries and Bill C-300 was the result of years of hard work by a multitude of non-governmental organizations, independent media/publishing outlets, and social movements to build relationships with affected communities abroad, investigate and collect information regarding corporate abuse, disseminate information to the public in Canada, and pressure government to act. Organizations such as MiningWatch Canada, Breaking the Silence, Mining Injustice Solidarity Network, the Mining Justice Alliance, and the Canadian Network of Corporate Accountability were essential in casting light on harmful extractive processes both within Canada and abroad, and also educating Canadians on our complicity in this harm.

Likewise with the case of Bombardier (and other corporations outside the extractives), pressure from civil society will ultimately be the best chance at moving toward holding Canadian actors accountable and fighting for justice in the affected communities. The bds campaign against Israel is an example of how civil society is mobilizing globally to pressure companies, states, and other actors to adhere to the bds demands. The bds framework is a productive avenue for ultimately placing pressure on firms like Bombardier, and by extension the Canadian government. This type of civil society organizing is integral for raising awareness and holding corporations like Bombardier accountable.

In the longer term, imagining alternatives to neoliberal capitalism is essential in addressing many of the problems raised in these case studies.

Accumulation by (colonial) dispossession is not a problem particular to these case studies but rather a problem with contemporary capitalism: we entrust the production of many vital goods and services to a private sector whose core reason for being is to generate profit, rather than nurture and care for people and the planet. In other words, even if Bombardier and other corporations are pressured to act more ethically, many of the problems associated with dispossession will not simply disappear.

Certainly capitalism is central to David Harvey’s theoretical understanding of accumulation by dispossession, and many others working within a political economy framework have proposed alternatives that involve more public control over the functioning of our economies. One example of this

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can be seen in the Israel/Palestine case with the German transportation firm pulling out of the A1 high-speed rail project. Because the company is owned by the German state there may have been a more direct line of accountability to German citizens than in the case of private firms such as Bombardier.

But imagining alternatives to capitalism will require more than a traditional political economy approach. Nishnaabeg scholar Leanne Betasamosake Simpson (2017: 72–73) suggests that alternatives might be found in Indigenous thought: Indigenous peoples have extremely rich anticapitalist practices in our own histories and current realities. I think it is important that we continue the work of our Ancestors and our elders in critiquing and analyzing capitalism, how it drives dispossession, and its impacts on us from our own perspectives. Indigenous peoples in my mind have more expertise in anticapitalism and how that system works than any group of people on the planet.

We have thousands and thousands of years of experience building and living in societies outside of global capitalism. We have hundreds of years of direct experience with the absolute destruction of capitalism. We have seen its apocalyptic devastation on our lands and plant and animal relations.

Given the importance of colonial dispossession to the cases in this book, and the land-based resistance it has engendered, Simpson’s intervention cogently recognizes the importance of listening to those who have been most affected by the processes of dispossession — and seeing new possibilities for creating a more just world moving forward.

It is my hope that this book makes a valuable contribution to the work of creating this more just future by awakening Canadians to the social, cultural, and material effects of these infrastructure projects on local populations, and our own complicity in that. Armed with this knowledge, I hope Canadians are inspired to hold our governments and corporations accountable for their involvement in the deeply problematic and damaging processes of dispossession described in these cases and beyond.

REFERENCES Abadie, Delphine. 2011. “Canada and the Geopolitics of Mining Interests: A Case Study of the Democratic Republic of Congo.” Review of African Political Economy, 38, 128.

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INDEX A1 high-speed train. See Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line Absa Capital, 68–69 Abu-Laban, Yasmeen, 112 accumulation by dispossession, 9–13 in South Africa, 60, 81, 91–93 in Tibet, 42, 56 See also colonial dispossession; colonialism; mining/resource extraction; resistance; settler colonialism African National Congress (anc), 61, 83 Air Wisconsin, 19n3 Algeria, 128 Al-Hadidiya, West Bank, 98 Al-Haq, 106, 108 Al-Sharif, Manal, 126 Amnesty International, 30, 53, 119, 125 anti-apartheid movements, 61, 98 See also apartheid anticolonialism, 17–18 apartheid Israel, 111–112 South Africa, 60–69, 124 Arab-Israeli war, 1948, 94 armoured personnel carriers (apcs), 38 Arunachal Pradesh, India, 39 Arya, Shailender, 32 Auerback, Gedalia, 102 Authority for Ports and Railroads, Israel, 102

Azerbaijan, 2 Baird, John, 114 Bakan, Abigail, 112 Balfour Declaration, 96 Barghouti, Omar, 115 Barrett, Jane, 66, 77, 89 bbc World News, 42 Beaudoin, Laurent, 1, 56 Beit Iksa, West Bank, 94, 108–110, 117, 120n10 Beit Surik, West Bank, 94, 108, 117 Ben Schoeman Freeway, South Africa, 70 Bentwich, Herbert, 96 Bertling, Lutz, 110–111, 114 Bhutan, 23, 39 Bill C-300 (Canada), 129 Boeing, 2 Bombardier, Joseph-Armand, 1 Bombardier Inc. about, 1–2, 7–8, 34, 126 business not politics, 110–111, 122 Canadian identity of, 6–9 Code of Ethics and Business Conduct, 128 in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, 125–126, 127 Gautrain Rapid Rail Project (South Africa), 91–93, 122 public relations, 8, 19–20n4 Qinghai–Tibet rail line (China–

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Tibet), 22, 32–35, 33–34, 56, 58n2 resistance to, 4–5, 54, 113–114 Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line (Israel–Palestine), 99–102, 113–114, 119n5, 122 Transportation Division, 2, 68–69, 71 Union Carriage and Wagon Partnership, Derby, UK, 72 Bombela Concession Company, 68–69, 70–71, 81 Bouygues Travaux Publics, 68–69 boycott, divestment, and sanctions (bds) movement, 6, 61, 95, 110–115, 130 Brazil, 19n3 Breaking the Silence, Canada, 130 Britain. See Great Britain Brown, Nicholas, 9, 14 B’Tselem, Israeli human rights organization, 98 Buckley, Michael, 36, 48, 49–50, 58n6 Buddhism, 27 Buhl, Soren, 79 Bus Rapid Transit (brt), South Africa, 86–87 Butler, Paula, 122–123 Canada Breaking the Silence, Canada, 130 Canada Account, 6–7, 107 Canada–Israel Free Trade Agreement (cifta), 6, 99, 101 Canada Pension Plan, 9, 129 Canada Tibet Committee, 54–55 Canadian bds Coalition, 115 Canadian Network of Corporate Accountability, 130 Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East (cjpme), 115, 125 corporate responsibility, 129 diplomatic relationship with Israel, 110–111, 114

foreign policy, critical analysis of, 3 Green Party of Canada, 115 Canada Account, 6–7, 107 Canada–Israel Free Trade Agreement (cifta), 6, 99, 101 Canada Pension Plan, 9, 129 Canada’s Bombardier, 8 Canada Tibet Committee, 54–55 Canadian bds Coalition, 115 Canadian Network of Corporate Accountability, 130 Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East (cjpme), 115, 125 capitalism, 3, 10–14, 20n6, 92, 130–131 Central Tibetan Administration, 16, 24–25, 55, 58n5 China, 21–58 border war with India, 38–39 China South Locomotive and Rolling Stock Industry (Group) Corporation, 34 colonial dispossession, 16, 18, 22, 49 Five-Year-Plans, 28, 33 Han Chinese settlers in Tibet, 31–32, 46–47, 57 Manchu Qing Dynasty, 27 Mao’s Great Leap Forward plan, 1953, 29 People’s Liberation Army of China (pla), 24, 39 relationship with Tibet, 4, 16, 22–24, 27, 122–123 resource extraction from Tibet (mining), 34–35 views on religion, 46 See also Qinghai–Tibet railway; Tibet China South Locomotive and Rolling Stock Industry (Group) Corporation, 34 cho-yon relationship (priest-patron), 26 Coalition of Women for Peace (cwp),

R efere n ces

Israel, 108–109 colonial dispossession, 15–18, 49, 57, 117, 122, 130–131 See also accumulation by dispossession; colonialism; settler colonialism; individual projects colonialism China in Tibet, 22, 25, 47 and dispossession, 9–10, 13–19, 42 Israel in Palestine, 97–99, 112, 117–118 in South Africa, 60, 124 Congress of South African Trade Unions (cosatu), 61, 67, 76, 77, 82, 88, 91 Convention on Biological Diversity (un), 42 Coulthard, Glen, 9, 15, 18 Craven, Patrick, 76 Cronin, Jeremy, 81, 90–91, 93n4 cultural genocide, 15, 17, 47, 52 Cusack, Dennis, 26 Dalai Lama, 26–29, 46, 55 Dargyal, Tenzin, 55 Daskal, Yossi, 101 “Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor” (Tuck and Yang), 13 Del Mistro, Romano, 82–83 De Schutter, Olivier, 42 Deutsche Bahn (German National Railways), 107, 131 Deutsche Waggonbau, 33 Dikotter, Frank, 29 dispossession, accumulation by. See accumulation by dispossession dispossession and colonialism. See colonial dispossession; colonialism; individual projects Dobbin, Murray, 115 Donaldson, Ronnie, 59, 62, 77, 88 Dondrub, Tsering, 53 Dreyer, June, 24, 46

151

Dugard, John, 112 East Jerusalem, 97, 100 The Economist, 47, 52 Egypt, 125, 127 Ekos Research Associates, 115 Electronic Intifada, 115, 120n10 Ethiopia, 128 exclusion, mobility-related, 75–76 Export Development Canada (edc), 6–7, 19n3, 85, 92, 107, 129 Fischer, Andrew Martin, 40, 44–45 Five-Year-Plans (China), 28, 33 Flyvbjerg, Bent, 79–80 Fombad, Madeleine, 77, 83 Freedom House, Report on Tibet, 2017, 58n3 Free Tibet, 47, 53 Gautrain Management Agency (gma), 69, 73, 79, 81, 82, 89–90 Gautrain Rapid Rail Project, 59–93, 122–123 about, 5, 59, 69, 79 benefits, 70–74 cost, 78, 80 Environmental Impact Assessment (eia), 2002, 72–73 expansion of, 88–91 Gautrain Management Agency (gma), 69, 73, 79, 81, 82, 89–90 integration with other public transit, 85–86 limitations and problems, 74–88, 93n5 “Shilowa Express,” 89 symbolizing modernity, 88–89 See also South Africa Gaza, 97, 106, 119 See also Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt) Geneva Convention, 16, 103–104, 106, 116

152

BOMBARDIER ABROAD

genocide, cultural, 15, 17 Gere, Richard, 21 German National Railways (Deutsche Bahn), 107, 131 Germany, 96 Global South, 11, 14, 89 Globe and Mail, Canada, 83–84 Goldstein, Melvyn, 26, 27–28, 58n1 Gordhan, Pravin, 85 Gordon, Todd, 3 Graham, Stephen, 98 Great Britain, 27–28 Greater Tibet, 23 Great Return March (Gaza), 119 Green Line, Israel, 94, 103, 106, 114 Green Party of Canada, 115 Greenpeace, 50 Greenwald, Glenn, 115 grounded normativity, 18 Group Areas Act, South Africa, 62 Growth, Employment, and Reconstruction (gear), South Africa, 64 Guterres, Antonio, 111 Hague Regulations, 104, 106 Hanafi, Sari, 97–98 Han Chinese settlers in Tibet, 31–32, 46–47, 57 See also China Hart, Chris, 72 Harvey, David, 10–11, 14, 59, 67, 81, 130 hasakla (Jewish Enlightenment), 96 Hillman, Ben, 35 Histadrut (General Federation of Labour in Israel), 119n5 Holm, Mette, 79 Holocaust, 96 Honduras, 3 Hoogeveen, Dawn, 9–10, 14, 16, 18 Hu Jintao, 21, 33 human rights Canadian influence on, 124–129 law on, 3, 105–106, 108

in Occupied Palestinian Territories, 111–115 in Tibet, 36, 41–42, 47 See also Human Rights Watch (hrw); United Nations (un) Human Rights Watch (hrw), 29–30, 36, 41, 53, 127 Idle No More, Canada, 25 immolation, 47–48, 53, 58n5 imperialism, 10 Independent Jewish Voices (ijv) Canada, 113–115 India, 23, 28, 37–39 Indigenous Peoples critical theory, 14–15 labour power of, 13, 57 in Palestine, 96–97 relationship to land, 15, 17 in Tibet, 18, 24–25, 44 treaties and rights, 19 The Intercept, 115 International Campaign for Tibet, 21, 50, 53, 54 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (un), 42 International Criminal Court (icc), 104–105 International Monetary Fund (imf), 12 International Tibet Network, 30 Israel Arab-Israeli war, 1948, 94 Canada–Israel Free Trade Agreement (cifta), 6, 99, 101 Coalition of Women for Peace (cwp), 108–109 colonialism/settler colonialism/ dispossession, 15–16, 18, 97, 98, 117 Green Line, 94, 103, 106, 114 historical overview, 95–99 See also Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt); Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line

R efere n ces

Israel Railways Corporation Inc, 99–101, 119n5 Jenin refugee camp, 98 Jerusalem, Israel, 94 Jiama mine, Tibet, 52 Jigdal, Tenzin, 30 Jinping, Xi, 30 J&J Group, 68–69 Jokhang Temple, Lhasa, 27 Kalaote, Kedibone, 71 Kgole, Kinsse, 71 Khalaf, Rima, 111 Khosa, Meshack M., 61–62, 64–65 Ladakh, India, 39 Lafitte, Gabriel, 23, 43–45, 51 Land Defense Coalition, 118 Larung Gar, 47 Lascaris, Dimitri, 115 Lhasa, Tibet, 23, 46–47 Lieberman, Avigdor, 114 Lokyitsang, Dawa, 25 Lucas, Karen, 67 Luxemburg, Rosa, 10, 20n6 Mahlangu, Qedani Dorothy, 70 Mail & Guardian Centre for Investigative Journalism, South Africa, 83 Mandela, Nelson, 60–61 Mao Zedong, 28–29 Markey, Mary Beth, 54 Marx/Marxism, 10–11 McDonald, Hamish, 37–38 megaprojects, 79–80, 88–89, 122 Middleton, John, 81 Mining Injustice Solidarity Network, 130 Mining Justice Alliance, 130 mining/resource extraction and accumulation by dispossession, 3, 11–13, 56–57, 91 and human rights, 123, 129–130

153

in South Africa, 63 in Tibet, 35, 39–44, 48–54, 58n6 MiningWatch Canada, 130 minzu (ethnic minority), 24–25 Moosmayer, Vera, 107 Morocco, 128 Mostert, Vaughan, 77, 85, 91 Moving South Africa (msa): Toward a Transport Strategy for 2020, South Africa, 65–66 Murray & Roberts, 68–69 Nakba, 96, 119 National Household Travel Survey, South Africa, 66, 76 nationalism/patriotism, 8, 95–96 National Land Transport Transition Act, South Africa, 66, 77, 93n3 National Transport Policy Forum, South Africa, 63 Native Land Act (South Africa), 60 neoliberalism, 11–12, 64, 130 Nepal, 23 Ngwenya, Peter-Paul, 84 No Dakota Access Pipeline, us, 25 Norbu, Dawa, 31 Nortel, 54 Nyarong War, 27 Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt), 97, 103, 105–106, 112, 117 See also Gaza; Israel; West Bank Open Up the West (Xibu Da Kaifa), 31 Organization of Economic Cooperation and Development (oecd), 128–129 Oslo Accords, 1995, 98 Ottoman Empire, 102 Pale of Settlement, Imperial Russia, 96 Palestine, 16, 96, 118, 123 See also Israel; Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt); Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line Palestinian Authority, 98

154

BOMBARDIER ABROAD

Palestinian Grassroots Anti-Apartheid Wall Campaign — Stop the Wall, 98, 117–118 Palmater, Pamela, 19 Pappe, Ilan, 96–97, 119n1 patronage guarantees, 81, 83 Peace and Friendship Treaties, 19 People’s Liberation Army of China (pla). See China Pizzarotti & C.S.p.A, 107–108, 113 Popluck, Richard, 7 Popular Council for the Protection of the Jordan Valley, 118 Population Registration Act, South Africa, 60 Portfolio Committee on Transport, South Africa, 75–76, 78–80, 82, 93n4 post-apartheid, South Africa, 5, 59, 63, 66, 69 Power Corporation of Canada, 34, 54 priest-patron relationship, 26 privatization, 11–12 public private partnerships (P3s), 12, 68, 81, 83 Public Transport Strategy Action Plans, 2007 (South Africa), 86 Qinghai–Tibet railway, 21–58 about, 21, 33 and Bombardier Inc., 4, 32–35 environmental impact, 48–53 military purposes, 37–39 Qiu, Jane, 49 Québec provincial government, 7 Radio Free Asia, 53 Ramaphosa, Cyril, 85 Ramsauer, Peter, 119n5 Reconstruction and Development Programme (rdp), South Africa, 63–64 Reporters Without Borders, 37 resistance to Bombardier, 4–5, 54, 113–114

to dispossession, 16–18, 57, 122, 131 in Palestine, 95, 117–119 in South Africa, 61 in Tibet, 16, 18, 26, 29, 36–37, 53–55 See also boycott, divestment, and sanctions (bds) movement Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, 125–126 Said, Edward, 117–118 Sangay, Lobsang, 16, 55 Saudi Arabia, 125–126 Sautman, Barry, 24, 46 Savas, E.S., 12 self-immolation, 47–48, 53, 58n5 settler colonialism and dispossession, 10, 13–19, 57, 98–99 in Palestine, 95, 97, 103, 115 in South Africa, 61 in Tibet, 25, 41, 46 “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native” (Wolfe), 16 Sexwale, Tokyo, 68 Shafir, Gershon, 95–96, 97 Sharkansky, Ira, 102 Sharon, Ariel, 98 Shilowa, Mbhazima, 68, 88–91 Shuo Li, 50 Simla conference, 28 Simpson, Audra, 14, 16 Simpson, Leanne Betasamosake, 15, 17, 131 snc-Lavalin, 100 Songtsen Gampo, 27 South Africa apartheid, 60–69, 129 colonialism, 60 Congress of South African Trade Unions (cosatu), 61, 67, 76, 77, 82, 88, 91 economic exclusion, 5 Gauteng province, 67, 72–73, 81, 82

R efere n ces

post-apartheid, 5, 59, 63, 66, 69 transportation system issues, South Africa, 61–64 urban geography, 62–63, 69, 76 White Paper on Transport Policy, 64–66 See also Gautrain Rapid Rail Project South African Communist Party (sacp), 61, 87 South African National Roads Agency Ltd (Sanral), 69 South African Transport and Allied Workers’ Union (satawu), 77, 88 Soweto, South Africa, 63, 86 “spacio-cide,” 97 Special Rapporteur (un), 42, 111–112 SPG Concessions, 68–69 Stop That Train (Italian coalition), 107–108 Stop the Wall (Palestinian Grassroots Anti-Apartheid Wall Campaign — Stop the Wall), 98, 117–118 structural violence, 123–124 Students for a Free Tibet, 54 success fee, 84 sumud (steadfastness or resilience), 118 Technology Partnerships Canada (tpc), 6, 92 Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line, 94–121 about, 94 dispossession of land, 108–110 labour exploitation, 109, 120n10 legality of, 5–6, 102–108, 123 See also Israel; Occupied Palestinian Territories (opt); West Bank Tethong, Lhadon, 54 Thrall, Nathan, 96 Tibet British invasion of, 27 Buddhism in, 27, 44–48

155

dam projects, 49 dispossession of/displacement from land, 41–42 economics, 31–32, 34–35, 39–45 ecosystems, 49 Han Chinese settlers, 31–32, 46–47, 57 historical relationship with China, 22–32 human rights in, 36, 41 Indigenous Peoples, 24, 44 information/media, 36 language and culture, 26–27, 30, 44–48 Mongol invaders, 26–27 nomadic nature, 28, 31, 41–43, 47, 50, 56 relationship to land, 44–46, 51 resistance movements, 26, 36, 52–54 rights, civil and political, 58n3 self-determination, 4, 22, 27–28, 30, 58n1, 123 Tibetan Plateau, 23, 27, 49 Tibet Autonomous Region (tar), 22–23 wars in, 27 water usage, 50–51 See also China; Qinghai–Tibet railway Tibetan Centre for Human Rights and Democracy (tchrd), 47 Tibet Watch, 51, 53 trade agreements, 6, 99, 101 Transnet, South Africa, 85 treaties, 19, 27 Tripartite Alliance, South Africa, 60–61 Tsikorthang, Amdo Tsolho, 50, 51 Tuck, Eve, 13 Um al-Kheir, West Bank, 98 Union Carriage and Wagon Partnership, Derby, UK, 72 United Nations (un) Convention on Biological Diver-

156

BOMBARDIER ABROAD

sity (un), 42 Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (escwa), 111 General Assembly (unga), 103 Global Compact, 128 Human Rights Council (unhrc), 42, 96 International Court of Justice (icj), 106 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, 42 on Occupied Palestinian Territories, 111–112, 114 Security Council (unsc), 103 Special Rapporteur, 42, 111–112 urban geography of apartheid, South Africa, 62–63, 69, 76 “urbicide,” 98 van der Merwe, Jack, 68, 75, 80 Van der Westhuizen, Janis, 82, 88–89, 93n5, 122 Van Schaik, Sam, 28–29, 51 Veolia (France), 113, 120n15 violence, structural, 123–124 The Walrus, 7 Walters, Jackie, 86 Wangchuk, Tashi, 30 Washington Post, 39, 52 Webber, Jeffery, 3 West Bank occupation of, 15, 94–95, 97–98, 117 Tel Aviv–Jerusalem Electric Line running through, 5–6, 103–104, 109 tunnel materials, 105–106, 120n10 White Paper on Transport Policy, South Africa, 64–66 Who Profits from the Occupation (Coalition of Women for Peace), 105 wiewen (stability maintenance), 37,

58n3 wildlife passageways, 48 Wolfe, Patrick, 13–14, 16, 57 Women Training Programme, Bombela, 71 World Bank, 12, 62, 81 World Cups, 70, 74, 80, 89 World Press Freedom Index (Reporters Without Borders), 37 World Trade Organization (wto), 19n3 Xibu Da Kaifa (Open Up the West), 31 Xinhua (New China News Agency), 38 Yang, K. Wayne, 13 York, Geoffrey, 83 Zambia, 128 Zarrouk, Youssef, 83–85 Zayyad, Ziad Abu, 100 Zemin, Jiang, 31, 56 Zhang, Jianwei, 56, 58n2 Ziadah, Rafeef, 116 Zionism, 96–97