INVESTOR OR EXPLOITER?
Why Communities Sometimes Rise Against Investors
By
Wole Akanbi Adedimeji
There is a thin but important line between an investor and an exploiter.
An investor brings capital, expertise, technology and enterprise into an asset and creates value not only for himself but also for the owners of the asset and the community around it.
An exploiter may bring the same capital, build impressive infrastructure and run a profitable enterprise, but gradually behaves as though the asset, the land, the heritage and even the people from whom the opportunity came have become secondary to his commercial interest.
That is where trouble begins.
And this is why, whenever a community rises against an investor, we should resist the temptation to immediately describe the people as hostile to investment, troublesome or ungrateful.
Sometimes, the real question is not:
“Why are these people fighting an investor?”
The better question may be:
“What happened between the investor and the community?”
Imagine a community possessing a traditional asset that has belonged to its people for generations.
It may be a waterfall, a spring, a forest, a mountain, a sacred grove, a beach, a historical monument or some other natural or cultural inheritance.
Before commercialisation, the people had a relationship with that asset.
Their fathers knew it.
Their mothers visited it.
Their children grew up around it.
Their festivals, histories, livelihoods and collective memories may be connected to it.
Then comes an investor.
He sees what others may not have seen.
He sees commercial possibilities.
He puts down millions of naira.
He constructs roads, buildings, accommodation facilities and recreational infrastructure. He introduces marketing, management systems and perhaps transforms a neglected attraction into a commercially viable destination.
This deserves acknowledgement.
Investment requires courage. Capital deserves a reasonable return. Nobody should expect an investor to commit millions to a project and operate it as a charity.
But investment does not erase ownership, history or community interest.
Development must not become dispossession.
That an investor has spent millions developing a community asset does not mean that the community should suddenly become strangers at the gate of its own heritage.
And sometimes the alienation goes much deeper than that.
The community may discover that it cannot even enjoy the services now being derived from its own traditional asset.
First, there is the gate.
The people who once had a natural relationship with the asset must now pay to approach it.
Then, after paying the gate fee, another barrier confronts them: the prices of the services created around the asset are simply beyond the reach of many ordinary members of the host community.
So what exactly has development brought to them?
They cannot freely access what historically belonged to their community.
They cannot comfortably afford the services being provided from it.
They watch outsiders arrive, pay, enjoy themselves and leave.
They watch the enterprise grow.
They see prosperity around an asset inherited from their forefathers, yet many of them cannot afford to participate in the experience created from that inheritance.
Imagine the contradiction.
A man can live a few kilometres from a tourism attraction belonging historically to his community and yet be economically incapable of experiencing what tourists travelling hundreds or thousands of kilometres come to enjoy.
He is geographically close but economically excluded.
That is a dangerous form of alienation.
And when the community complains, the investor sometimes behaves as though whatever the people receive is a favour.
A donation becomes evidence of generosity.
A few jobs become evidence of benevolence.
A community project is presented almost as philanthropy.
An occasional giveaway is treated as though the community should remain permanently grateful.
But there is a fundamental difference between philanthropy and obligation.
The host community should not be made to feel like a beggar around an enterprise built upon its own heritage.
The investor is not doing the community a favour merely by investing.
Neither is the community doing the investor a favour merely by allowing investment.
It is supposed to be a partnership.
The community contributes the asset, history, cultural legitimacy, environment and social licence.
The investor contributes capital, expertise, infrastructure, management and market access.
Both sides bring value.
Both sides should therefore be treated with dignity.
The investor may say:
“We have invested heavily here.”
Correct.
“We created jobs.”
Excellent.
“We employ people from the host community.”
Commendable.
“We occasionally support community programmes, give donations and provide assistance.”
Good.
But those statements do not end the conversation.
There are deeper questions.
What is the community getting structurally from the enterprise?
How much is paid directly to the community under the governing agreement?
Is there an agreed royalty, lease payment, revenue share, development levy or other measurable benefit?
Is it paid transparently and when due?
What percentage of the economic value generated by the community’s asset returns to the community?
What concession, if any, exists to ensure that residents are not completely priced out of experiencing their own heritage?
Beyond cleaners, gardeners, guards, attendants and other junior positions, how many members of the host community are being trained and deliberately prepared for supervisory, technical and managerial positions?
How many local entrepreneurs participate in the supply chain?
How many community businesses have grown because of the investment?
These questions matter.
Giving a few bags of rice during festivities, sponsoring an occasional ceremony, donating money to a community programme or employing a handful of people cannot substitute for a properly structured relationship between an investor and a host community.
Corporate charity is not the same thing as community benefit.
And occasional generosity cannot permanently compensate for exclusion.
Indeed, frustration becomes inevitable when a community suffers a double deprivation:
It is deprived of easy access to its traditional asset by the gate fee, and then deprived of meaningful enjoyment of the services developed from that asset because the prices are beyond its reach.
At that point, development may be visible everywhere, but the community may struggle to identify its own place within it.
That is when resentment starts to grow.
There is also the question of dignity.
When members of a host community raise concerns, how are they treated?
Are they listened to?
Are their questions answered?
Or are they immediately labelled troublemakers, enemies of progress or people attempting to frustrate investment?
Are eyebrows raised whenever someone asks uncomfortable questions?
Are influential voices intimidated into silence?
Does management behave as though questioning its operations amounts to challenging its authority?
That approach is dangerous.
A community may remain silent for years, but silence should never be mistaken for satisfaction.
Frustration accumulates.
People watch.
They compare what existed before the investment with what exists afterwards.
They calculate what has been gained and what has been lost.
They see the visitors arriving.
They see money being made.
They see their natural or cultural inheritance becoming increasingly valuable.
And inevitably, they ask:
“Where are we in this prosperity?”
That question should not frighten a responsible investor.
It should be expected.
The wisest investor understands that a host community is not merely another stakeholder to be managed. It is part of the social foundation upon which the investment rests.
The community provides something capital alone cannot manufacture:
Social licence.
Government may grant a concession.
A contract may confer operating rights.
Lawyers may prepare watertight agreements.
Millions may be spent on infrastructure.
But sustainable investment requires something beyond legal possession — the continuing confidence of the people who live around the asset.
Lose that confidence and an investment can become surrounded by resentment.
This is particularly important in tourism.
Tourism is unlike an ordinary factory where raw materials can simply be purchased and processed.
The community itself is often part of the tourism product.
Its culture is part of the attraction.
Its history gives meaning to the destination.
Its food enriches the visitor experience.
Its festivals provide colour.
Its stories give the rocks, rivers, forests, springs and waterfalls their identity.
Its people are custodians of memories that no investor can construct with concrete.
Therefore, sustainable tourism must create a triangle of benefit:
Government must benefit.
The investor must benefit.
The host community must benefit.
Remove any side of that triangle and instability becomes increasingly likely.
The investor deserves profit.
Government deserves revenue and successful development.
But the community deserves dignity, access, opportunity and a clearly defined share of the benefits arising from the commercial use of its heritage.
This does not mean that communities should dictate every commercial decision.
It does not mean every indigene must enter free of charge.
It does not mean services should be provided below sustainable commercial rates.
Neither does it justify harassment of investors, arbitrary demands, obstruction of legitimate business or attempts to rewrite agreements simply because an enterprise becomes successful.
Investment cannot survive under such conditions either.
The responsibility is mutual.
But surely there can be intelligent arrangements that recognise the peculiar relationship between a host community and its heritage.
There can be community access days.
There can be reasonable resident concessions.
There can be educational visits for community children.
There can be preferential opportunities for local enterprises.
There can be skills-development programmes.
There can be deliberate pathways through which qualified indigenes progress from junior employment into technical and management positions.
And where the agreement provides for community payments or benefits, these should be transparent, measurable and accountable.
These are not acts of charity.
They are instruments of sustainable investment.
The best investment agreement, therefore, is not necessarily the one that gives an investor maximum control.
It is the one that creates maximum sustainability.
An enlightened investor should never behave as though the community must perpetually thank him for coming.
The investor came because he saw value.
He invested because he saw opportunity.
He expects returns because it is business.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
But if it is business for the investor, it cannot suddenly become philanthropy when the legitimate interests of the host community are being discussed.
That distinction must be understood.
The community is not asking for pity.
It is asking for partnership.
And partnership requires respect.
Because once respect disappears, suspicion enters.
Once suspicion enters, every action is interpreted negatively.
And once a community begins to believe that somebody has come not merely to develop its inheritance but effectively to take it away from them, an investor may suddenly discover that millions of naira in infrastructure cannot purchase peace.
That is when people rise.
Not necessarily because they hate development.
Not necessarily because they oppose private capital.
Not necessarily because they are ungrateful.
Sometimes they rise because frustration has replaced hope.
They rise because they feel excluded.
They rise because the gate separating them from their heritage has become symbolic of something much bigger.
They rise because they cannot afford the very services being generated from the asset sitting in their backyard.
And sometimes they rise because they feel invisible in the prosperity created from what they still regard, rightly or emotionally, as their inheritance.
The lesson is simple.
If you invest in a community asset, build more than structures.
Build trust.
If you make profit from their heritage, create visible pathways through which prosperity reaches them.
If you put a gate around their inheritance, create a reasonable framework through which they can maintain a relationship with it.
If the services you provide are beyond the economic reach of most residents, consider sustainable ways of preventing total community exclusion.
If you employ their people, do not condemn them permanently to the lowest rung of the ladder.
If they ask questions, answer them rather than intimidate them.
If disagreement arises, engage rather than demonise.
An investor should leave a community feeling fortunate that investment came.
A community should leave an investor feeling secure that his capital is among people who see his success as part of their own success.
That is partnership.
Anything substantially different deserves examination.
So, ultimately, the difference between an investor and an exploiter may not be determined by the number of millions invested, the magnificence of the buildings constructed or the occasional philanthropic gestures made to the community.
It may be determined by a far more fundamental question:
After all the millions have been invested, all the gates erected, all the tourists received and all the profits counted, are the original custodians of that heritage genuinely participating in its prosperity — or have they merely become spectators, standing outside the gate of their own inheritance?
WAA a journalist writes from Abuja