Book Review : The Rise and Fall of the Department for International Development

Mark Lowcock and Ranil Dissanayake

If I was given to tears, I would have been greeting (as they say in East Kilbride) by the final chapters of this book.

This is a story as tragic as a Shakespearean play, the denouement a mixture of the jealousy of “Othello” and the perfidy that runs through “Julius Caesar” – with Boris Johnson playing the role of Brutus, and many shady Cassius’s in the wings egging him on.

This is not just a book for development types who have worked for, or with, DFID, though those, undoubtedly, will be its most avid audience. It’s also a fascinating account of successful institution building. All the classics of a business school case study are to be found : the visionary leadership, the laser-focused agenda that crossed party lines, the expertise of those really committed to development – and the resources to fund it all.

There are serious and instructive lessons too for anyone interested in the serendipitous confluence of politics and organisational expertise that can lead to the creation of a truly world-class organisation. Ranil Dissanayake and Mark Lowcock, both of whom worked for DFID, have done an excellent job of piecing together the story of its Icarus-like rise and fall, writing both dispassionately and compassionately.

The heroes of the tale are primarily the far-sighted Clare Short, the progressive money-bags, Gordon Brown, and the political populist, Tony Blair. It was the aligned agendas of each – accompanied most importantly by a strong and growing economy, a weakened opposition and a relatively uncritical (at that time) right-wing press, that allowed the midwifing of DFID without attempts to strangle it at birth. But, as in every tragedy, the villains were, even then, plotting.

The early chapters, highlighting the uncertainty that surrounded the creation of DFID, are told interestingly and well. And the way in which Short’s single-minded focus on an easily communicated big idea, “eliminating poverty”, enabled effective partnerships to be forged, is a textbook example, not just of political nouse, but of reading the times and finding the space where opportunity lay.

One of the most telling aspects of DFID’s institutional development was how it survived, and became even stronger, after its driving force, Short, departed the stage after resigning over the Iraq war. Here the book foregrounds less well-known players in this saga ; John Vereker, the PS under Short, Suma Chakrabarti his successor and the team of civil servants working under them. The authors make clear that the development of good administrative processes, training, self-reflection and external scrutiny all created expectations of quality and stability that became DFID features, making it the top Department in government for staff satisfaction.  

Other politicians who made their mark in this period, primarily by driving in the same direction, and leaving their egos at the door, included Hilary Benn, and Douglas Alexander. It’s notable that in the first fifteen years of DFID’s existence it had only five Secretaries of State ; it had five in the last four years. Stability matters.

The change from Labour to a coalition government, rather than a Conservative one, proved a blessing in disguise, blunting potential attacks from the Conservative right wing, and allowing one nation Conservatives like David Cameron and Andrew Mitchell, some wriggle room to justify their continued support for DFID as a part of coalition politics.

Post-2010 Mitchell appears as one of a, now nearly defunct, type of politician, the type who knows a good thing when he sees it, regardless of party label. In the two years he held the Secretary of State (SoS) post, he worked to build on past progress and develop DFID. After Greening, who followed him, it was mainly downhill with a series of SoSs who showed barely a passing interest in development or were not in post long enough to do anything. Mitchell reappears, stage left, after 2022 to play Mark Anthony to DFID’s Caesar, coming to praise it, not bury it – but it was too late.

The chapter describing the machinations leading to the announcement of the merger, and the way in which merger decisions were made by a tiny coterie of politicians and civil servants, should be required reading for anyone who still thinks that evidence-based policy making lies at the heart of the British government. It is one of the most shameful episodes in British politics and the authors pull few punches in identifying the real political drivers, naming names and pointing fingers. Though, if I had a quibble, it would be that some senior civil servants are let off lightly on the assumption that they simply follow their political masters’ direction. Simon Case has showed us that this is not always true.  

The real contribution of this book lies in setting out a valuable historical record of the development of a major institution of state. The authors don’t shy away from identifying that some of DFID’s greatest strengths turned out to be weaknesses vid. “the albatross of 0.7%” in a time of austerity, and an identification with progressive internationalism in a time when the country and politics was turning inward. But, without the nakedly populist rhetoric (“cash points in the sky”) and Johnson’s jealousy of the DFID budget and one-dimensional understanding of development, there could have been an alternative path. It is at his door that this wanton act of vandalism is rightly laid.

My own career coincided with this period and I’m proud that Cambridge Education delivered a very high proportion of the education work for which DFID is praised. And, while I enjoyed reading the inside story and seeing that perspective, there are other perspectives that I hope this book will elicit from different internal and external commentators of the period. As the book makes clear, institution building is not a linear process of well-planned steps – and there was plenty of criticism of DFID throughout its life, not least from those closest to it.

For example, the authors characterise the period from 2003 – 2010 as a golden period, but, as a supplier, it felt one of the worst because budget support led to a significant reduction in demand for technical expertise. This book lauds the technical expertise provided by DFID as one of its most prized characteristics, but only passingly acknowledges that a great deal of this was outsourced, especially at the programmatic level.

Likewise, the sections which look at the creation and growth of different internal strengths in DFID (Economists, Private Sector, Social Development etc.) from the outside often appeared faddish and transitory. For a while “innovation” was the buzzword and no self-respecting proposal or project could afford not to sprinkle the word liberally – but, there was no-one in DFID who knew what it meant and after a couple of years it disappeared.

The apogee of this trend, of capture of DFID by different internal interest groups, was when the procurement and commercial department (PCD) took control, driving down costs, centralising decision-making, shifting risk and trying to set outcomes contractually years in advance, completely ignoring the reality of the development process. These perspectives don’t change the big picture but offer different angles and colour.

On the most important perspective though, most ex-DFID staff and suppliers would agree : DFID was, for a long period, the world’s most respected, dynamic and flexible aid agency, bar none. As an organisation it was ground breaking, brave, committed and adaptable. It saved the lives of millions and made life better for millions.

This book is an important record of those achievements and what it took to deliver them. Born of a vision of possibility and opportunity, believing the UK’s power and expertise could be harnessed for the greater good, it died at the hands of a narcissistic Brutus, and his accomplices, whose motives were the antithesis of everything DFID stood for.

As Mark Anthony says in Julius Caesar :

The evil that men do lives after them

The good is oft interred with their bones.

 (Act 3, Scene 2, Julius Caesar)

Andy Brock, November 2024

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