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    Machinery of the state

    In Mai Hassan’s studies of Kenya, she documented the emergence of a sprawling administrative network officially billed as encouraging economic development, overseeing the population, and bolstering democracy. But Hassan’s field interviews and archival research revealed a more sinister purpose for the hundreds of administrative and security offices dotting the nation: “They were there to do the presidents’ bidding, which often involved coercing their own countrymen.”

    This research served as a catalyst for Hassan, who joined MIT as an associate professor of political science in July, to investigate what she calls the “politicized management of bureaucracy and the state.” She set out to “understand the motivations, capacities, and roles of people administering state programs and social functions,” she says. “I realized the state is not a faceless being, but instead comprised of bureaucrats carrying out functions on behalf of the state and the regime that runs it.”

    Today, Hassan’s portfolio encompasses not just the bureaucratic state but democratization efforts in Kenya and elsewhere in the East Africa region, including her native Sudan. Her research highlights the difficulties of democratization. “I’m finding that the conditions under which people come together for overthrowing an autocratic regime really matter, because those conditions may actually impede a nation from achieving democracy,” she says.

    A coordinated bureaucracy

    Hassan’s academic engagement with the state’s administrative machinery began during graduate school at Harvard University, where she earned her master’s and doctorate in government. While working with a community trash and sanitation program in some Kenyan Maasai communities, Hassan recalls “shepherding myself from office to office, meeting different bureaucrats to obtain the same approvals but for different jurisdictions.” The Kenyan state had recently set up hundreds of new local administrative units, motivated by what it claimed was the need for greater efficiency. But to Hassan’s eyes, “the administrative network was not well organized, seemed costly to maintain, and seemed to hinder — not bolster — development,” she says. What then, she wondered, was “the political logic behind such state restructuring?”

    Hassan began researching this bureaucratic transformation of Kenya, speaking with administrators in communities large and small who were charged with handling the business of the state. These studies yielded a wealth of findings for her dissertation, and for multiple journals.

    But upon finishing this tranche of research, Hassan realized that it was insufficient simply to study the structure of the state. “Understanding the role of new administrative structures for politics, development, and governance fundamentally requires that we understand who the government has put in charge of them,” she says. Among her insights:

    “The president’s office knows a lot of these administrators, and thinks about their strengths, limitations, and fit within a community,” says Hassan. Some administrators served the purposes of the central government by setting up water irrigation projects or building a new school. But in other villages, the state chose administrators who could act “much more coercively, ignoring development needs, throwing youth who supported the opposition into jail, and spending resources exclusively on policing.”

    Hassan’s work showed that in communities characterized by strong political opposition, “the local administration was always more coercive, regardless of an elected or autocratic president,” she says. Notably, the tenures of such officials proved shorter than those of their peers. “Once administrators get to know a community — going to church and the market with residents — it’s hard to coerce them,” explains Hassan.

    These short tenures come with costs, she notes: “Spending significant time in a station is useful for development, because you know exactly whom to hire if you want to build a school or get something done efficiently.” Politicizing these assignments undermines efforts at delivery of services and, more broadly, economic improvement nationwide. “Regimes that are more invested in retaining power must devote resources to establishing and maintaining control, resources that could otherwise be used for development and the welfare of citizens,” she says.

    Hassan wove together her research covering three presidents over a 50-year period, in the book, “Regime Threats and State Solutions: Bureaucratic Loyalty and Embeddedness in Kenya” (2020, Cambridge University Press), named a Foreign Affairs Best Book of 2020.

    Sudanese roots

    The role of the state in fulfilling the needs of its citizens has long fascinated Hassan. Her grandfather, who had served as Sudan’s ambassador to the USSR, talked to her about the advantages of a centralized government “that allocated resources to reduce inequality,” she says.

    Politics often dominated the conversation in gatherings of Hassan’s family and friends. Her parents immigrated to northern Virginia when she was very young, and many relatives joined them, part of a steady flow of Sudanese fleeing political turmoil and oppression.

    “A lot of people had expected more from the Sudanese state after independence and didn’t get it,” she says. “People had hopes for what the government could and should do.”

    Hassan’s Sudanese roots and ongoing connection to the Sudanese community have shaped her academic interests and goals. At the University of Virginia, she gravitated toward history and economics classes. But it was her time at the Ralph Bunche Summer institute that perhaps proved most pivotal in her journey. This five-week intensive program is offered by the American Political Science Association to introduce underrepresented undergraduate students to doctoral studies. “It was really compelling in this program to think rigorously about all the political ideas I’d heard as I was growing up, and find ways to challenge some assertions empirically,” she says.

    Regime change and civil society

    At Harvard, Hassan first set out to focus on Sudan for her doctoral program. “There wasn’t much scholarship on the country, and what there was lacked rigor,” she says. “That was something that needed to change.” But she decided to postpone this goal after realizing that she might be vulnerable as a student conducting field research there. She landed instead in Kenya, where she honed her interviewing and data collection skills.

    Today, empowered by her prior work, she has returned to Sudan. “I felt that the popular uprising in Sudan and ousting of the Islamist regime in 2019 should be documented and analyzed,” she says. “It was incredible that hundreds of thousands, if not millions, acted collectively to uproot a dictator, in the face of brutal violence from the state.”But “democracy is still uncertain there,” says Hassan. The broad coalition behind regime change “doesn’t know how to govern because different people and different sectors of society have different ideas about what democratic Sudan should look like,” she says. “Overthrowing an autocratic regime and having civil society come together to figure out what’s going to replace it require different things, and it’s unclear if a movement that accomplishes the first is well-suited to do the second.”

    Hassan believes that in order to create lasting democratization, “you need the hard work of building organizations, developing ways in which members learn to compromise among themselves, and make decisions and rules for how to move forward.”

    Hassan is enjoying the fall semester and teaching courses on autocracy and authoritarian regimes. She is excited as well about developing her work on African efforts at democratic mobilization in a political science department she describes as “policy-forward.”

    Over time, she hopes to connect with Institute scholars in the hard sciences to think about other challenges these nations are facing, such as climate change. “It’s really hot in Sudan, and it may be one of the first countries to become completely uninhabitable,” she says. “I’d like to explore strategies for growing crops differently or managing the exceedingly scarce resource of water, and figure out what kind of political discussions will be necessary to implement any changes. It is really critical to think about these problems in an interdisciplinary way.” More

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    New power sources

    In the mid-1990s, a few energy activists in Massachusetts had a vision: What if citizens had choice about the energy they consumed? Instead of being force-fed electricity sources selected by a utility company, what if cities, towns, and groups of individuals could purchase power that was cleaner and cheaper?

    The small group of activists — including a journalist, the head of a small nonprofit, a local county official, and a legislative aide — drafted model legislation along these lines that reached the state Senate in 1995. The measure stalled out. In 1997, they tried again. Massachusetts legislators were busy passing a bill to reform the state power industry in other ways, and this time the activists got their low-profile policy idea included in it — as a provision so marginal it only got a brief mention in The Boston Globe’s coverage of the bill.

    Today, this idea, often known as Community Choice Aggregation (CCA), is used by roughly 36 million people in the U.S., or 11 percent of the population. Local residents, as a bloc, purchase energy with certain specifications attached, and over 1,800 communities have adopted CCA in six states, with others testing CCA pilot programs. From such modest beginnings, CCA has become a big deal.

    “It started small, then had a profound impact,” says David Hsu, an associate professor at MIT who studies energy policy issues. Indeed, the trajectory of CCA is so striking that Hsu has researched its origins, combing through a variety of archival sources and interviewing the principals. He has now written a journal article examining the lessons and implications of this episode.

    Hsu’s paper, “Straight out of Cape Cod: The origin of community choice aggregation and its spread to other states,” appears in advance online form in the journal Energy Research and Social Science, and in the April print edition of the publication.

    “I wanted to show people that a small idea could take off into something big,” Hsu says. “For me that’s a really hopeful democratic story, where people could do something without feeling they had to take on a whole giant system that wouldn’t immediately respond to only one person.”

    Local control

    Aggregating consumers to purchase energy was not a novelty in the 1990s. Companies within many industries have long joined forces to gain purchasing power for energy. And Rhode Island tried a form of CCA slightly earlier than Massachusetts did.

    However, it is the Massachusetts model that has been adopted widely: Cities or towns can require power purchases from, say, renewable sources, while individual citizens can opt out of those agreements. More state funding (for things like efficiency improvements) is redirected to cities and towns as well.

    In both ways, CCA policies provide more local control over energy delivery. They have been adopted in California, Illinois, New Jersey, New York, and Ohio. Meanwhile, Maryland, New Hampshire, and Virginia have recently passed similar legislation (also known as municipal or government aggregation, or community choice energy).

    For cities and towns, Hsu says, “Maybe you don’t own outright the whole energy system, but let’s take away one particular function of the utility, which is procurement.”

    That vision motivated a handful of Massachusetts activists and policy experts in the 1990s, including journalist Scott Ridley, who co-wrote a 1986 book, “Power Struggle,” with the University of Massachusetts historian Richard Rudolph and had spent years thinking about ways to reconfigure the energy system; Matt Patrick, chair of a local nonprofit focused on energy efficiency; Rob O’Leary, a local official in Barnstable County, on Cape Cod; and Paul Fenn, a staff aide to the state senator who chaired the legislature’s energy committee.

    “It started with these political activists,” Hsu says.

    Hsu’s research emphasizes several lessons to be learned from the fact the legislation first failed in 1995, before unexpectedly passing in 1997. Ridley remained an author and public figure; Patrick and O’Leary would each eventually be elected to the state legislature, but only after 2000; and Fenn had left his staff position by 1995 and worked with the group long-distance from California (where he became a long-term advocate about the issue). Thus, at the time CCA passed in 1997, none of its main advocates held an insider position in state politics. How did it succeed?

    Lessons of the legislation

    In the first place, Hsu believes, a legislative process resembles what the political theorist John Kingdon has called a “multiple streams framework,” in which “many elements of the policymaking process are separate, meandering, and uncertain.” Legislation isn’t entirely controlled by big donors or other interest groups, and “policy entrepreneurs” can find success in unpredictable windows of opportunity.

    “It’s the most true-to-life theory,” says Hsu.  

    Second, Hsu emphasizes, finding allies is crucial. In the case of CCA, that came about in a few ways. Many towns in Massachusetts have a town-level legislature known as Town Meeting; the activists got those bodies in about 20 towns to pass nonbinding resolutions in favor of community choice. O’Leary helped create a regional county commission in Barnstable County, while Patrick crafted an energy plan for it. High electricity rates were affecting all of Cape Cod at the time, so community choice also served as an economic benefit for Cape Cod’s working-class service-industry employees. The activists also found that adding an opt-out clause to the 1997 version appealed to legislators, who would support CCA if their constituents were not all bound to it.

    “You really have to stick with it, and you have to look for coalition partners,” Hsu says. “It’s fun to hear them [the activists] talk about going to Town Meetings, and how they tried to build grassroots support. If you look for allies, you can get things done. [I hope] the people can see [themselves] in other people’s activism even if they’re not exactly the same as you are.”

    By 1997, the CCA legislation had more geographic support, was understood as both an economic and environmental benefit for voters, and would not force membership upon anyone. The activists, while giving media interviews, and holding conferences, had found additional traction in the principle of citizen choice.

    “It’s interesting to me how the rhetoric of [citizen] choice and the rhetoric of democracy proves to be effective,” Hsu says. “Legislators feel like they have to give everyone some choice. And it expresses a collective desire for a choice that the utilities take away by being monopolies.”

    He adds: “We need to set out principles that shape systems, rather than just taking the system as a given and trying to justify principles that are 150 years old.”

    One last element in CCA passage was good timing. The governor and legislature in Massachusetts were already seeking a “grand bargain” to restructure electricity delivery and loosen the grip of utilities; the CCA fit in as part of this larger reform movement. Still, CCA adoption has been gradual; about one-third of Massachusetts towns with CCA have only adopted it within the last five years.

    CCA’s growth does not mean it’s invulnerable to repeal or utility-funded opposition efforts — “In California there’s been pretty intense pushback,” Hsu notes. Still, Hsu concludes, the fact that a handful of activists could start a national energy-policy movement is a useful reminder that everyone’s actions can make a difference.

    “It wasn’t like they went charging through a barricade, they just found a way around it,” Hsu says. “I want my students to know you can organize and rethink the future. It takes some commitment and work over a long time.” More