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The Wildlife Utilization Task Force Report: Is This Land Grab Through Conservation Policy?

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The members of Wildlife Utilization Task Force have attempted to facilitate the blatant colonization of our lands through wildlife management chicanery. Whether their respective roles were a deliberate conspiracy or unwitting, remains to be seen. However, we will never forget their names. We Kenyans deserve better and should never accept this shame they have visited upon us.

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The Wildlife Utilization Task Force Report: Is This Land Grab Through Conservation Policy?
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In February 2018, following a reorganization of the Kenya Government, the conservation and management of wildlife was moved from the Ministry of Natural Resources (MENR) to the Ministry of Tourism. With that move, the statutory wildlife conservation agency, Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) became the major line parastatal under this ministry. I have always felt that the pairing of Tourism and Wildlife is a ridiculous supplication of government structure to the aspirations of foreigners in the management of natural heritage. My skepticism was fueled by the fact that the Cabinet Secretary (CS), Mr. Najib Balala is someone with decades of experience in the tourism sector (even prior to joining politics) but none in the wildlife conservation sector.

In a rare display of honesty from a member of the Kenya Cabinet during his maiden visit to KWS headquarters as CS, he stated that he needed time to fully understand the goings-on in the organization and the sector at large. My skepticism at the initial realignment of wildlife under the tourism ministry quickly turned to consternation when after just one month in charge of the wildlife docket, the minister said that we should revert to serving game meat in high-class restaurants in order to improve the foreign tourists’ experience in Kenya. Many of the conservation fraternity in Kenya reacted to this statement with revulsion at the thought of officially sanctioned ‘bushmeat poaching’, while others were bemused that anyone could suggest something so ludicrous.

I was stunned into silence on the 29th March 2018 when the CS appointed a task force to look into the issue and report back to him, not least, because the power of the conservation elite over Kenya’s conservation policy was shamelessly displayed. The catharsis I had felt after John Mbaria and I published the ‘The Big Conservation Lie’ about a year earlier instantly evaporated. Those who have read the book, or closely monitored the conservation sector in Kenya will know that the sector never responds quickly (if ever) to requests or issues raised by indigenous Africans. Nonetheless, I rapidly got my thoughts in order, with the aim of submitting my negative opinions on this scheme as clearly and forcefully as possible. I was ready to do this, until I saw the mandate of the task force –

“… to assess and advise on the modalities of implementing the provisions of the Wildlife Conservation and Management Act, 2013 (WCMA 2013) on sustainable, consumptive wildlife utilization (CWU). CWU within the WCMA 2013 includes deliberate mechanisms by which wildlife resources in Kenya can be used to provide benefits to wildlife, the national economy, and individuals and communities living with wildlife”.

The task therefore, was not to collect any views but to work out ways of implementing a racist and selfish piece of legislation sneaked into place by conservation pirates as a ruse to colonize Kenya’s rangelands. So what’s new or unique about this? Personally, I haven’t in my years experienced any such blatant self-interest pushed through government organs and structures by people who aren’t part of the system. It is important for us to understand that for the past 5 years, Kenya’s conservation sector has been operating within a policy vacuum where conservation decisions and actions are undertaken by KWS based on personal whims of the management, or the personal desires of whoever is funding the process being undertaken.

In light of this, a good place to start the interrogation of this process is to examine and unpack the composition of the task force Itself:

Dr. David Western, Dr. John Waithaka  (Chairman), Dr. Benson Okita-Ouma, Ms. Caroline Kariuki, Ms. Gladys Warigia, Dr. Holly Dublin, Ms. Munira Bashir, Dr. Shadrack Ngene, Mr. Stephen Manegene, and Mr. Solomon Kyalo.

To do this, first we must first exclude Dr. Ngene and Mr. Kyalo who are both KWS staff and Mr. Manegene, the Director of Wildlife Conservation in the Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife. As I stated earlier, there was no policy decision to be made by this committee, and these gentlemen simply comprise the ‘facade of government’. Whether or not they knew about the nature of their role, is a story for another day. Next, we have Ms Caroline Kariuki, the CEO of Kenya Private Sector Alliance (KEPSA). Kenya currently suffers from a case of what education scholar Wandia Njoya refers to as managerialism- that senseless belief that anyone with a knowledge of management and business administration can fit into any position, hence the rampant appointment of business people to provide leadership in any sector, and the feigned surprise at the spectacular failures that ensue.

The task therefore, was not to collect any views but to work out ways of implementing a racist and selfish piece of legislation sneaked into place by conservation pirates as a ruse to colonize Kenya’s rangelands.

A case in point was the appointment and unsuccessful tenure of the banker Kitili Mbathi as Director-General of KWS. Ms. Kariuki presence gives the whole wildlife decimation scheme a ‘business face’, conferring a certain human, yet dispassionate commercial cachet that can be used to portray any opposition to it as ‘emotional’ or ‘unreasonable’. Apart from that, there is nothing in her background that suggests that she could competently discuss the impacts of this decision on our natural heritage. Dr. David Western is a highly experienced wildlife ecologist and a former director of Kenya Wildlife Service. His KWS tenure was curtailed by a bitter war between the old primitive wildlife colonial project, and the new, sophisticated wildlife colonial project, which lost that particular battle, but is now in ascendancy. The wildlife colonial project in Africa is simply the use of wildlife conservation and wildlife-related recreation as a tool to exercise control over the lands inhabited by wildlife. This ‘tool’ is especially effective in the annexation of rangelands shared by wildlife and pastoralist livestock producers. In recent years, Kenyans have become pretty erudite in matters conservation and tourism, so the primitive old project that rode on personalities like George Adamson, Richard Leakey, and other white people with ‘bush experience’ (as opposed to academic qualifications) has become obsolete. The colonial project had to go on, and Dr. Western with his strong academic credentials, Caucasian extraction and Kenyan citizenship fit the bill for this particular assignment.

He was appointed Chairman when the task force was initially constituted, and of all the members, is the one most likely to have mooted the idea to the minister. He immediately opted out of the Chair for unknown reasons. We can only speculate that voicing the arguments would have betrayed his personal role and that of the colonial project in the whole scheme. His next best option was Dr. John Waithaka, a former KWS scientist who Dr. Western had mentored in the past, but had since made his name, working with distinction as a senior biologist at Parks Canada. Many in the know felt reassured that a man of Waithaka’s stature would see the hole in this scheme and advise against it. In light of this, it felt fortuitous, if not deliberate that after a few weeks, he got appointed Chairman of the KWS board, effectively removing him from the position, which was taken over by Dr. Ben Okita, the head of monitoring at Save the Elephants. With Dr. Waithaka’s exit, everyone left in the committee, apart from the ‘government people’ represented the aspirations of different players in conservation colonial project.

…. Kenyans have become pretty erudite in matters conservation and tourism, so the primitive old project that rode on personalities like George Adamson, Richard Leakey, and other white people with ‘bush experience’ (as opposed to academic qualifications) has become obsolete.

Dr. Okita’s role as the third-choice chair of the group does not imply any expectations amongst the powers-that-be that he will do anything other than toe the set line. Dr. Holly Dublin is a representative of the conservation colonial project, working for an amorphous group of international capitalists called the “B-Team” www.bteam.org. Keen observers will notice that the ‘B-Team also included the late Bob Collymore, immediate former CEO of Safaricom, a major “investor” in conservation through various conservancies and NGOs in Kenya. Dr. Dublin works as the B-Team’s ‘sustainability expert’ which basically means she advises on how this capitalist group can commodify natural resources, invest in management structures and exploit it in the long term for their own benefit. She chaired the African Elephant Specialist Group of the IUCN for 25 years and was instrumental in getting Dr. Okita into that position in the same year (2018) that he assumed the chair of the task force. It is important to note that she is a special advisor to the Zeitz Foundation, founded by Mr. Jochen Zeitz, the German millionaire investor, and former CEO of Puma sportswear. Zeitz was also appointed to the KWS board of trustees. A puzzling appointment, until one understands how Kenya’s wildlife is the tool through which global capital has chosen to colonize our lands.

Mr. Peter Hetz is the director of Laikipia Wildlife Forum, which was a grassroots conservation NGO, but now functions as a lobby group for the (white) large scale land owners in Laikipia, Kenya. A prominent member of this group is one Jochen Zeitz, owner of the 55,000-acre Segera Ranch and member of the KWS board of trustees. Next, we have Ms. Munira Bashir, the country director for The Nature Conservancy (TNC), probably the world’s prime example of conservation capitalism. Last but not least, there is Ms. Gladys Warigia, a lawyer and joint secretary of the task force. She works for the Kenya Wildlife Conservancies Association (KWCA), one of TNC’s proxies in Kenya that is helping them take over and exercise their hold over rangelands through the ‘community conservancy’ model. Through the latter two, TNC will have a finger on the deliberations and the legal ‘pulse’ of the task force and its deliberations in real time.

Peter Hetz is also on the board of KWCA, so this committee that looks diverse to the lay person is actually a complete convergence of the interests of the conservation colonial project, accompanied by a few ‘window dressers’ who have no say in its machinations, but are content to enjoy the largesse that comes with membership of such committees in Kenya. Another perceived advantage is that if the conservation colonial project gains power in Kenya, they will be in pole position for the plum ‘gun-bearer’ jobs as these avaricious foreign elite pillage our natural heritage. I have long lamented the intellectual vacuity that resides in the leadership of our statutory authority, Kenya Wildlife Service. However still, this didn’t mitigate my consternation at seeing its officers willingly participate in a process that is leading their institution to the gallows.

The report itself is a startling collection of contradictions, obfuscations and reference to privileges that are only available to the “conservation 1%”. This is the sector of our society that have own large tracts of land in wildlife habitats, are plugged into international tourism markets, are licensed to hold high-velocity firearms, hold current licenses to capture, kill, or otherwise handle wildlife and lastly, overwhelmingly white.

Environmental journalist and co-author of ‘The Big Conservation Lie’ author Gatu Mbaria says that in Kenya, the truth about conservation (and many other things) lies within what isn’t said or written. A very powerful and dishonest message lies in the photos in the report, starting from the cover, where the collage includes bamboo and aloe, betraying a startling level of hubris and underestimation of Kenyans’ intelligence. The second (dishonest and pretty insulting) picture message is on the title page where there is a headline “Consumptive Wildlife Utilization” and a photo of a Maasai man holding a spear while watching a herd of wildebeest. This is the most important page to the capitalists who will be expected to fund this plan – “Give us money to take ownership of this wildlife and use it before the black savages eat it all”. Forget the fact that the Maasai frown on consumption of meat from wild animals, and are among the best custodians of wildlife in Kenya.

The insults to Kenyans’ collective intelligence begin right from the preamble;

“…. the Task Force’s terms of reference emphasized that trophy hunting in Kenya remained banned and that there are no intentions of re-opening it. Therefore, its further consideration was not taken up by the Task Force”.

Trophy hunting is not defined by regulators, but by the intellectual circumstance of the killing. If I kill a rat, it is the individual, NOT the government that decides whether I am doing pest control, trophy hunting, or consumptive use.  The killer is the one who decides whether to throw it out, eat it or mount its head on the wall.

As an instructor, a part of my teaching method has always been to ask students to read and analyze all literature in detail, but this report requires a change of tact, for two reasons; Firstly, one needs to ignore the nonsensical details therein, which are designed to obscure, rather than illuminate the true objectives. Secondly, one needs to pick up on the subtle details which reveal the truth.

The conservation 1% sector own large tracts of land in wildlife habitats, are plugged into international tourism markets, are licensed to hold high-velocity firearms, hold current licenses to capture, kill, or otherwise handle wildlife and lastly, overwhelmingly white.

Here is an example of the latter; The ‘all options considered’ chart purports to propose a framework through which authorities will govern the way we use our wild plants! Is KWS now seeking to even police the way in which we harvest managu (African nightshade) as a vegetable, eat wild fruits, and gather medicines and mushrooms from our environment? This spurious notion is not designed to convey any meaning but as a distraction to the reader. These are some of the sections to ignore. Another part of the flowchart claims that this ‘consumptive wildlife utilization’ will increase “cultural and religious benefits” of living with wildlife, implying the presence of some savage cultural and traditional religious beliefs that demand the killing of wildlife. Racial prejudice has always been par for the course in African conservation practice, but it is seldom expressed so pointedly in official government documents. Racial slurs, however painful it is to black or brown people around the world, should never be ignored in conservation, because it is a reminder of the conservation colonial project’s Achilles heel -hubris.

These distracting details are too many enumerate, so it is more efficient to look at the telling ones. Firstly, there is the oft-quoted research from Dr. Joseph Ogutu (a biostatistician, not a biologist) at the University of Hohenheim which is always a favourite of proponents of sport hunting wanting to hide the ‘whiteness’ of their aspirations behind statistical gymnastics, educational qualifications and an African name.

Quoting from the report:

Ogutu et al.’s (2016) report shows that the numbers of mammals with an average body weight greater than 3 kg have declined by 68%. More recent data suggest that this trend is continuing and that population growth, habitat loss, bushmeat poaching for subsistence and commercial purposes, inadequate institutional and technical capacities, institutionalized governance challenges, insufficient regulations to devolve user rights to landowners with wildlife, the absence of benefits and incentives for landowners to maintain wildlife, and the general absence of awareness and knowledge of mechanisms and benefits of CWU undermine the potential of CWU in the country”.

Crudely translated, this means ‘There are too much pressure exerted on wildlife from black people. Also note that ‘bushmeat’ is something only eaten by black people -when white people eat wildlife, it is ‘game meat’ or ‘venison’. Secondly, that KWS is useless and unable to fulfill its mandates. Consequently, the only way we can conserve wildlife outside parks is to create instruments that can confer stronger ownership to the white people, so the blacks can conserve it in the service of white people.

This is the much-vaunted ‘job creation’ we are told will accrue from the slaughter of our wildlife. Game scouts, trackers, skinners, meat inspectors, and the like. This is what is seen as a fair exchange in return for our natural heritage. Probably the most insidious recommendation is hidden under the innocuous-sounding sub-title “Innovations”. It states that KWCA should be given the mandate for the following aspects of consumptive wildlife utilization; management planning services, business planning services,  Wildlife and biodiversity monitoring efforts and audits for conservancies employing non-consumptive and consumptive wildlife uses.

The hubris raises its ugly head again when the authors disingenuously added the statement “This could complement government efforts in CWU implementation and management”.

This doesn’t complement KWS efforts -This is the total replacement of KWS by The Nature Conservancy through proxy.

Racial slurs, however painful it is to black or brown people around the world, should never be ignored in conservation, because it is a reminder of the conservation colonial project’s Achilles heel -hubris.

One of the key lessons from this entire caper is that the conservation colonial project is very calculating, and nothing, even the most minute detail that happens around the wildlife sector in Kenya is random. As is apparent from the composition of the task force, the substantive members all share a connection to capital interest in conservation, and that’s where the danger to our societies lies. The wildlife in question here does not fly in the air, but lives in lands shared by rural indigenous Kenyan communities. If any of this is implemented, they will lose their land, for the simple safety reason that it won’t be possible to graze your animals or go about your livelihoods in the same place where this avaricious global elites will be indulging their bloodlust. It is worth noting that this plan didn’t begin in 2018, it began nearly a decade earlier, and how it was thwarted by the former President Mwai Kibaki is a story for another day.

The lesson here is that the conservation colonial project is committed. They are relentless and well-endowed with resources. That is why for the last few years the office of director-general of KWS has been so thoroughly protected from being occupied by anyone who can intellectually participate in this discourse and fully understand the goings on in the sector.

The late historian Patrick Wolfe wrote in 2006 that settler colonialism is “the process in which the exogenous settlers displace Indigenous peoples for access to their lands and resources”. This is such an elegant definition of the conservation colonial project that he may as well have been writing about the miasma that is Kenya’s conservation sector. The most important part of Wolfe’s findings is that settler colonialism is a structure with ongoing effects rather than a single or past series of events. In this manner, the Wildlife Utilization Task Force Report is simply a proposed structure for conservation colonialism in Kenya.

The members of Wildlife Utilization Task Force have attempted to facilitate the blatant colonization of our lands through wildlife management chicanery. Whether their respective roles were deliberate conspiracy, or unwitting, remains to be seen. However, we will never forget their names. We Kenyans deserve better and should never accept this shame they have visited upon us. Neither intellectual vacuity nor dishonesty are acceptable in the stewardship of our natural heritage. Whatever opprobrium accrues now and in the future to everyone involved in this is richly deserved.

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Mordecai Ogada is a carnivore ecologist from Kenya and co-author of The Big Conservation Lie.

Culture

The Empire Strikes Back at Lawino: The Heresy of Okot

In the third and final part of a review of Lawino’s People: The Acholi of Uganda by Okot p’Bitek and Frank Knowles Girling, A.K. Kaiza concludes that it is Okot’s writing on the religion of his Central Luo that may have rubbed tender egos the wrong way, and the reason why he was failed by Oxford University.

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The Empire Strikes Back at Lawino: How Oxford Failed Okot p'Bitek
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I think Okot p’Bitek stopped giving thought to Oxford. He understood the colonial venture quite clearly and he believed that we Africans needed to sort ourselves out. In any case, by the time they asked him to revise the thesis (after which they would fail it again) he had already been a successful poet and cultural icon in his own right — setting up arts festivals in Kisumu and Gulu as well as being the first African director of the National Theatre in Kampala.” Juliane Okot Bitek

Woko, Wi-lobo and Ru-piny were not deities, not spirits or powers. They were not worshiped, no sacrifices were offered to them. And when a man cried ‘Wi-lobo,’ he was not calling on anybody or anything. They were not a prayer or supplication. They were descriptive of the sad predicament of human existence.”

These words, lying deep in the book, after so much has been said and said so passionately, are not the most dramatic in a 625 page-strong tome. But if you were to choose which ones best capture the spirit of this publication, they would not be a bad place to start.

They sound a fairly representative note of the intellectual locus of the man who wrote them. A world view you likely first encountered in Song of Lawino, that gently insistent, powerfully cultured note has since become so much a part of the literary furniture of postcolonial Africa that attributing them to Okot is no longer necessary.

The phrase “sad predicament of human existence”, may sound like any pithy observation that makes instant sense, but after 511 pages, at which point they appear, you as an African reader are desperate for the insight this brings.

Why was the thesis failed?

The sidelining of the academic and scholarly works of Frank Girling and Okot p’Bitek by Oxford University under the supervision of Prof Evans-Pritchard remains a scandalous event, at least to those of us who expected better from British higher learning. In his introduction to the double publication, Tim Allen, Professor and director of the Firoz Lalji Centre for Africa at the LSE, writes that “In the case of Frank Girling, it is obvious why his work is neglected. Although he managed to secure his D. Phil in 1952, he had fallen foul of the Protectorate authorities in Uganda . . . in contrast, the overlooking of Okot p’Bitek’s anthropological contributions is harder to understand.”

Prof. Tim Allen explains that another Evans-Pritchard student and Oxford alumni, Talal Asad, published a collection by well-known anthropologists expounding the very views Okot had postulated. This was the view that British anthropology had played handmaiden to colonial injustice, providing the justificatory, academised loot that made the whip and chain wielders feel less guilty. Allen goes on to say that by the late 1960s, Okot was angry (as a black man, being called “angry” is not flattering), and defiant.

He explains that the offending thesis itself is moderate in tone. So, Okot could not be accused of going rogue activist in the haloed temple of academia.

Whydunit?

“It was even more of a casualty of British anthropology’s colonial encounter,” he writes, addressing and at the same time, not addressing, the intrigue.

It has been five decades since the event and we still don’t know why. But after 625 pages, does resolution come?

As far as the Okot part of the publication is concerned, there is nothing really new in the way Girling’s bit is. The central attraction in the Okot section, The Religion of the Central Luo, was published in 1971 by The East African Literature Bureau and went on to have its stellar moment in thinking on African societies.

This resurrection renews the work, and Allen’s introduction along with the shattering clarity of Girling’s materialist approach to anthropology, opens the secret socio-political chambers hidden in the rites and rituals Okot describes here.

The two transform Okot’s text into a crime scene. We approach it, sleuthing tools in hand, ferreting in the undergrowth of scholarly nuance for that stray error that exclaims, aha! Got you!

It is so very much like Okot to come back from the grave to give us once again that frisson of novelty and courage.

But the stigmata is visible. There is an odd, incompleteness in it. We already encountered this oddity in Girling’s part of the book. The explanation for that, we were told, is that the colonial authorities and their academic mentors in Oxford cut Girling’s work with one year left in it so any publishing can only stitch mismatching body parts on.

This affects Okot’s work at a structural level. He describes well the history and politics of Jo Paluo and Alur in the opening chapters. He is starting to establish a historical particularity for his subject. He is also challenging the idea of tribes by showing the cultural-political continuum across colonially tribalised communities.

In Chapter 2, he glancingly connects these to Bunyoro, but we assume that was outside his scope, or he did not have the time to delve much into that, although we can infer from the long line of queen mothers of Bunyoro-Kitara rulers (Abakama) taken from the Luo-speakers, and the tracing of its lineage to Labongo, that this is the case. In any case, the politics of Bunyoro and that of the Central Luo, particularly the Payira Clan, who are also Babiito, like the rulers of Bunyoro-Kitara, which filial connections cover the other kingdoms in the country, were so interwoven that calling them allies would be an under-description.

Okot ropes the Lango into this Central Luo grouping whilst acknowledging the difficulty of saying so with certainty. The Lango too had their tight military alliances with Bunyoro-Kitara.

But we note a glaring omission. Okot talks at length about Acoli religion and religious practice when the section arrives. He does not do so with that of the Jo Palwo, Alur or Lango. Could the frustrations he met at Oxford have prevented further work? What emerges sounds more like the religion of the Acholi than of the Central Luo. Is it even remotely possible that Okot did not see such a thing, so that his failure to recognise the obvious failed his D.Phil?

Going after Driberg, Crazzolara, Roscoe et al

One of the most important contributions Okot makes to African studies is on ethnicity. Where his errant antecedents Driberg, Crazzolara and Roscoe wrote of “tribe” in such a way that Africa is transformed into an archipelago of hostile communities, Okot raises out of the colonial abyss the many connecting cultural bridges, so that the familiar fact which prompts Africans when they meet fellow Africans to declare “we really are one people,” emerges. Had Oxford given its imprimatur to such a view, might the likes of Kwame Appiah have written a less discreditable book than In My Father’s House, a book with an annoying colonial view that Africans are disparate tribes?

Okot lends powerful evidence to the position of many black scholars who insist that African societies are language, rather than tribal groups. But it is in Okot on the religion of his Central Luo that one instinctively feels that his work may have rubbed tender egos the wrong way.

Okot goes to War

It is a lively, closely observed section running to six chapters. He opens by examining theories of Jok, then the variations on the idea, and expanding on the African pantheistic concept of deism. He next turns attention to worship places, the Abila, or Kac, the family shrines. He looks at spirit-possession, witchcraft and sorcery, then that social institution of lam, kir and kwong which he calls curses but can also be expansively seen as invocations, and which we need to hear more of for it is a literary genre of African societies which in our time has been brought dramatically to life by Stella Nyanzi. But that is another topic altogether. As these topics follow one after the other, a pattern starts to emerge. He tackles first the idea of God (Jok), and gradually works down to practices that have a filigree of the religious but are otherwise quasi-spiritual and mostly having nothing to do with worship but have been erroneously attributed so.

Take Chapter 9 on Woko, Wi-Lobo and Ru-Piny. As he explains them, these concepts are philosophical, prepositional; Wi-lobo as boundarisation of existence, “Wi, on top of, above, and the common noun lobo, earth. Literally it meant on the land above the soil or earth. But in the context in which we are discussing it, Wi-lobo meant the state of being alive on the earth, being in this world.”

Wi-lobo approximates to what other philosophical traditions refer to as Being. Woko, literally translating as outside, is synonymous with Wi-lobo but as Okot explains it, the idea is something like becoming, a state of transience from, into and beyond. There is much ambiguity about Ru-Piny. It means dawn, dawning, which on the face of it is the passage from darkness to light, the burnishing of the night. And yet, it is also about the exchange of the woes of darkness with those of the light, the double-facedness of existence — an existentialist notion.

Okot puts it better in his inimitable way: “Against Wi-lobo and Ru-Piny, man was impotent. They knelt on their victims and crushed them. There was nothing you could do to prevent them from carrying out their cruel schemes . . . because Wi-lobo, Woko and Ru-Piny were also deaf, blind and senseless.”

These concepts are far-reaching and are to be found as the framing concepts of Luo arts and music, the protagonists of much music and theatre flung into the face of inscrutable fate. Mr Crazzolara, and you benighted Boccassino, this is about art and philosophy, not religion!

Okot’s focus on this triad is, in my opinion, the key that provides entrance into what the religious belief of the people was and what it was not; it is also the key that frees African theology from the demonic incarceration imposed on it by imperial Christianity and anthropology. But before we have arrived at this point (chapter 9) we have been through six prior chapters during which Okot took on the establishment of western scholarship on African religion.

Our Simple Minds

In few places has the black man been more traduced than in his relationship with God. In sexuality, industry, politics, science, commerce, marriage and health, the entire heritage of the black man came under attack by the amassed battalions of enslavers, colonisers and free traders. These attacks follow a template, which is that what is African is dirty, at a primitive stage, without order and purpose.

The other name they used for black people, besides savages, is heathens, kafir, as though our souls (when allowed that we had any) were properties of the devil already.

Okot’s thesis here charges explorers, imperial agents, scholars and missionaries for not only refusing to understand African religions, but for calling whatever they saw happening as so much animist garbage. Africans were accused of worshiping forests, rocks, streams and lakes; we had no idea of a supreme being, no idea of an afterlife.

The Heresy of Okot

Okot calls up one at a time, the big names that misled the world about African spirituality:

Sir Samuel Baker, John Roscoe, Joseph Pasquale Crazzolara, Charles Gabriel Seligman, Renato Boccassino, Godfrey Lienhardt, Jack Herbert Driberg, Captain Ernest Grove, John Beattie, Bere, Hayley, Kitching, Tarantino, Taylor Tempels, Middleton, Menzies, Southall, Gray, and many more quoted here, had the same approach — the Africans did not know what they were saying; pay no attention no matter how intelligent they appear to be; study his ways and draw conclusions from that.

Anthropology, in a way, is the fine art of not listening.

Crazzolara best captures this attitude when he writes of what went on in the conversion enterprise: “Natives were urged with tiresome questions to make a choice as to which of the Jok among the many had created them. Such questions implied suppositions which probably never occurred to their simple minds . . . they answered that they did not know, which was more near the truth.”

On the back of a single observation in Equatorial Province, Baker, the pugnacious explorer-colonial agent, concluded that Africans had no religion nor conception of a deity. Baker had a theological debate with a man he names as “Commoro”, in Lotuko, over the existence of a being superior to mankind. This debate, done via a Lotuko translator who understood Bari, to a Bari translator who understood Arabic henceforth to Baker, is recorded by Baker whom we can only take at his word. It is comical. After intense, very patronising exchanges, the man Commoro replies to Baker (of good and bad people): “If they are strong they take from the weak. The good people are all weak; they are good because they are not strong enough to be bad.”

The statement is startling with its raw, irreproachable realism. But Baker, Okot charges, was only interested in affirming his own beliefs and not learning that of Commoro.

Missionaries

The approach they took was to strip-search Africans for spiritual beliefs and feed what they found into a bonfire of racism, an act of culturecide. But there was a challenge to overcome. People don’t let go of their beliefs like that. To make it stick, the Christian god they carried with them (in much the same way African rulers carried Jok from one place to another) had to be disguised as an African deity — a bizarre minstrel act in which Jahweh wore blackface — and faked an African accent. This necessitated taking an existing African deity, emptying it of content and replacing it with Roman-Christian theology. This gave conversion the feel of a smooth segue, with converts often not feeling the jab.

And this is the violence Okot rails against. Through this mendacity, African pantheism was replaced by a monotheistic ethos. The senatorial Republic of gods was superseded by a tyrannical, fili-deist, Augustan imperialism, a one family-rule religion. Rubanga was bleached white, right here in the tropics. The function of African gods disappeared under the harsh colonial regime. Black gods like Mungu, Nyasae, Katonda, Ruhanga, Ngai, Nzambe and Rubanga, worshiped long before the White Fathers and Church Missionary Society arrived, became colonially reconstructed évolués, front-company enterprises; like Liberian flags of convenience, they concealed the real, tax-dodging paymaster in the background. They had become spiritually possessed by an invasive spiritual species.

Among his Central Luo, the missionaries settled on an import from Bunyoro-Kitara, the Luo-ised “Rubanga” (also Lubanga/Obanga) from “Ruhanga”. This was one god among many, picked out because one missionary caught a whiff of the word “mold”, synonymous with create. In similar vein, in Buganda, the missionaries alighted on the Kiganda god of fabricants, Katonda, a lesser deity compared to Lubaale, also from the root verb okutonda (to fashion) as Jahweh’s tropicalised incarnation there. In the case of the Luo, the missionaries did not listen long enough to know that they saw Rubanga as an unpleasant god that afflicted man with tuberculosis of the spine. The name stuck, much to the amusement of South Sudanese writer, Taban lo Liyong, who has had much to say about it.

Trees, forests and rocks

These scholars did not listen to what the Africans were saying about their beliefs. They chose to infer instead and came up with such ideas as “supreme being”, “life force”; their African sources said they had nothing of the sort. They next looked to the places where worship took place, in “forests”, rocks, along rivers and lakes and said Africans worshiped these; the Africans said this was not true. The Africans, they decided, were too daft to know their own minds.

What kind of defence can one start to mount? Okot presents the many ways in which African religious practice was misrepresented. The central pattern in all these is that the interlocutors had come to impose their beliefs and truth is always an inconvenience to imperial enterprise.

Jok

Outside of the monotheistic framework, getting a handle on gods gets complex. But Okot is also entering very dangerous territory. Any African knows just how dangerous it is to even express knowledge of pre-colonial gods; even if you know, you must pretend ignorance. Even the most highly educated feels the pressure to pay lip service to the Christian god. At Makerere, Okot would have walked past the Main Hall flanked by two Christian churches, his own faculty under the shadow of the Protestant St. Francis Church. It need not be said that academia, as the British brought it to Uganda, must first acknowledge the primacy of the Christian doctrine. Throw away the cloak of academia from colonial anthropology and you can clearly see the medievalism in the saga. Growing up in Lango, I was aware that the word Jok was associated with the unsayable, not exactly the devil himself, but the dark and the demonic. And yet next door to the Luo speakers, among the Ateker, the very word itself denotes goodness and sanctity: in Teso we used to sing “Ejok na Edeke” – God is good.  In Lango itself, a song sang to children wishing them a prosperous future mentioned Jok, “Jo’jok amalo do/Atini dong roman do,” as a line went, so it was also a word associated with the good among the Luo, for who wishes demons upon her baby?

It was in later years that I came to understand that the fear of jok was itself the shame we had in our own material past, which shame the priests reminded you of each Sunday morning, and via a catechism you learnt by rote. Those of us who dodged catechism classes for confirmation were forbidden from the Eucharist, and can never marry under the Christian banner. These catechism classes are the forges in which black people are still daily taught to be ashamed of their blackness. It will never end, for the forced conversion accuses us of a sin we can’t help but commit; it accuses us of being black.

Okot’s unacceptable truths

Okot starts his dissection of Jok by going into the myths of their genesis. The Jok came in various ways. But one interesting one is that it was the founding leaders of the various Acholi states (chiefdom is a reductive colonial term) that also brought the Jok, as indeed Constantine imposed Christianity on Rome. The founder of Patiko, Atiko himself (we learn from Okot that the many Acholi states starting with “Pa” follow after their founder. Hence, Atiko founder of Patiko, Aweli founder of Pawel, etc.); so that this Jok becomes thought of as the god of Atiko, as others can speak of the god of Abraham.

The Jok of Patiko were Baka and Alela. The complexity here is that Baka and Alela then gave names to hills, so that when he came to Patiko, John Beattie concluded that these hills were considered the father and the mother of the people. Okot sought out a priest of Baka who he said laughed at the idea and said Jok Baka and Alela merely resided in caves in the hills.

He examines the Jok of Koc, called Jok Lokka. It is recognisable in many religious founding myths when the Acholi of Koc, after they fled hunger and crossed the Nile (not the first people in religious mythology to cross the Nile in search of bounty) to Bunyoro, say that one Ojwiya disappeared into the wilderness and returned transformed and started performing miracles, including for instance, multiplying the number of chicks. They called the Jok of Ojwiya Jok Lokka because he came from across the Nile. A people with a religious myth like this can only be converted for political, not religious, reasons. In truth there was little daylight between the religion of it in these parts and the biblical accounts.

As Okot writes, he refamiliarises to you the African reader, what colonial ethnographers had alienated. But he also puts these religious beliefs squarely within the locus of what all religions appear to have — founding myths, miraculous births, disappearances into the wilderness. But religion is politics, and imperialism commanded that savages cannot have a past similar to that of the conqueror.

These anthropologists never imagined that black people would ever read what they wrote. Open any anthropology text and the statement is always there. This may have emboldened them to print any balderdash they cooked up. But could these scholars also not have considered that people were forbidden to discuss their religion with strangers and that the answers they received were wilfully diversionary? Was Okot told the truth because he was himself a local?

Absurd lies

Okot also discusses totems and food prohibitions. Although these are closely held, they are not gods, Okot insists, for these totems were so interpreted by colonial scholars who henceforth said that because say an elephant or leopard totem was given near-human potency, it indicated worship. They ought to have followed the matter to discover that those of the elephant clan considered it one of them but not above them.

Okot also states that keeping an ancestral shrine (Abila), and making sacrifices to ancestors did not indicate ancestor worship.

Ala, Omarari and Abiba

It gets more intricate, and as the unfurling of Jok continues, it begins to appear that the term was indeed very widely conceived. It seems to go beyond the idea of a deity. Take the so-called “cults” of Ala, Omarari and Abiba. Omarari is said to have appeared at the end of the First World War. Ala came earlier, Abiba around the Second World War.

It is on the question of “cults” that it starts to become hard to call colonial anthropology an academic discipline. Even Okot’s own reaction is problematic. Could they and he not see what was right there in their face?

The “cults”, said to have “followers” and that feel different to the earlier “jok”, are Ala, Omarari, Abiba and others but I will concentrate on these three.

Take Ala. The “cult” performance of Ala consisted of wearing long white robes and turban and pronouncing Arabic words. We already start to see where this is heading. The “followers” of Abiba are said to have believed that a “witch” sent kites into the sky which had fire in their anuses. There is less description of Omarari except to say it followed an epidemic.

Each of these “cults” follow major events and intrusions into these societies. And then they disappear as quickly. What they appear to be are memorialization and communication, performance arts that mark their epoch.

Were these gods, cults or simply pieces of theatre and performing arts, in the manner of masquerade ceremonies? Do plays and films that gain cult status signal worship? Does Elvis Presley following, sightings, costuming, festivals or re-enactments of the American Civil War signal religion? Is the one a god and Gettysburg worshiped? Are the ritualized practices of psychotherapy to heal soldiers returning from war witchcraft? The so-called Abiba cult, a presentation of bombers in mythologised form, was precisely that, albeit by African experts to heal black soldiers returning from Burma (the painting, Guernica, had its own way of portraying this terrifying new power).

There is reason to believe that the “cult” of Ala was a way of dealing with the trauma of Arab slavers from Sudan, for they invoked “Allah” when they attacked Africans.

As with Woko, Wi-lobo, Ru-piny, and Bala and Alela rocks, the notion of the cult reveals the pugnacious impatience imperial scholars had towards the ways of the people they had come to occupy. Those who waited a minute to really try and understand Africa, like Girling, were accused of going native. White people who disagreed with imperialism were severely ostracized. Nuances that would have separated philosophy, legalities (we have not even talked about the manner in which African laws were reduced to taboos), performance arts from religion were cruelly traduced.

To worsen it, The Witchcraft Act was passed which broadly illegalised the people’s beliefs, arts, philosophies and psychotherapy practices. Missionaries established missionary villages at which children were held captive and punished if found to have learnt their culture.

The amassed ranks of colonial scholars are today a disgraced lot. Few if any in Africa take them seriously. Colonialism and its colour bars had artificially kept their magic alive. Decolonisation meant western universities had to tread carefully and, in an interesting twist, many Western scholars are today at the forefront of the defence of African history, as witness the publication of this book. But the hegemony persists, for rather than colour bars, new barriers like travel restrictions mean that western research maintains its extractive practice. The kind of access western scholars have to Africa, African scholars cannot have in their countries. In this industry, we remain native informers. The prosthetics of censorship such as Okot suffered may have kept their respectability for only so long, but the damage they and universities like Oxford did to people of colour will endure for a very long time.

By now, we are wondering where Lawino and her song comes in. Very closely indeed. It appears to have its roots in the worship and prayer ceremonies to jok, which is fitting, for arts everywhere are largely secularised religious rites. Okot being Okot, we expect him to move beyond the turf war with European scholars and celebrate the social and religious side of his Central Luo. He does so with aplomb. His thesis settles frequently into enjoying the beauty of Acholi culture. The most humorous part for me is the quotation of the prayer offered by the people of Palaro to their Jok, Lapul. It bears quoting at length for there is the suggestion that this is the prototype for the Lawino-Okot joust:

Pule ye
Pule oh (Pule is pet name of Lapul)

Pule pa Lacic
Pule (daughter) of Lacic

Anyaka mutero coo i rok
The girl who marries a man outside the chiefdom

Mor wange woko
Explode her eyeballs

Anyaka ma deg awone Palaro
The girl who rejects men of Palaro

Anyaka me mito lu-rok
The girl who loves foreigners

Nek Wang cware woko
Kill her husband’s eyes

Nek cware woko
Kill her husband

The men had had their say before God. Now the women stepped forth:

Pule ye
Pule oh

Pule pa Lacic
Pule (daughter) of Lacic

Anyira wai bene litinni
The girls are also your children

Wegi bolli no
Your children with the spears (penis)

Bene gukelo anyira rok
Have also brought foreign girls

Ci pe ineko wanggi
But you have not killed their eyes

Wan bene gin ma neko wang wa peke
We too nothing will kill our eyes

Okwong ki la-lam
Let it (misfortune) begin with the ill-wisher

Pule pa Lacic
Pule (daughter) of Lacic

Wek okwong ki-lam
Let it begin with the ill-wisher

Mukelo anyira rok
Whoever brings a foreign girl

Nek wange woko
Kill his eyes

Nek dako-ne woko
Kill his wife

Okwong ki-lam
Let it begin with the ill-wisher

Pule pa Lacic, konywa
Pule (daughter) of Lacic, help us

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Culture

The Existential Crisis Created by Humanity’s Addiction to Plastic

The materials used to make every day plastic items are harmful to human health yet we still make plastic because we need it. It is the medium through which we transport and store food, medicine, water, and just about everything else.

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The Existential Crisis Created by Humanity’s Addiction to Plastic
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The late American comedian George Carlin had a hilarious routine where he made fun of our existential crisis about plastics and the environment. “The planet . . . is a self-correcting system,” he’d say, “The air and the water will recover, the earth will be renewed.” Then he’d add, “And if it’s true that plastic is not biodegradable, well, the planet will simply incorporate plastic into a new paradigm: the earth plus plastic.”

We might as well be living in that reality now—of the earth plus plastic. In the same way different eras of human history are named for the materials that most defined them, like the Iron and Bronze Ages, some geologists now refer to our time as the Plasticene—The Age of Plastics. We’ve never mass produced or distributed any other synthetic substance at so large a scale across the world as we have plastic. With it has come vast plastic pollution, finding the solution to which is hampered by the fact that we created plastic and now need it despite the dangers it poses to every living thing on earth.

Plastic, broadly defined as “a synthetic material made from a wide range of organic polymers”, is a relatively modern invention. Although its history dates back to the 19th century, we didn’t start large-scale production of completely synthetic everyday materials until the 1950s. And we’ve never stopped.

In the seven decades since the ‘50s, human beings have created more than 9 billion metric tons of plastic, more than half of them in the last two decades alone. That’s billions of tons of a material we know to be essentially non-biodegradable.

Some optimistic estimates by organisations such as UNEP are that we have recycled about 9 per cent of it, while environmental activists say it is a lot less than that. Either way, it means that most, if not all, the plastic ever made is still around, and every year, we add nearly 400 million tons more. A lot of it is single-use plastic, destined to be used once and thrown away.

“We currently dump 11 million metric tons of plastic into the ocean each year and this figure is projected to double by 2030 and nearly triple by 2040,” UNEP Executive Director Inger Andersen said recently, adding, “In 2018 alone, impacts on tourism, fisheries, and aquaculture together with other costs such as those of clean-ups, were estimated to be at least US$6-9 billion globally.”

Plastic was originally good for the environment. When it was first invented in the mid-19th century, it was primarily made from cellulose, the basic building block of all plants. Its biggest selling points, even then, were that it was malleable, meaning it could be moulded into different shapes and designed for different uses. In fact the word plastic—from the Greek word “plastikos” which means to “grow” or “form”—initially referred to this capacity to be deformed without rupturing. A derivative type of that early plastic made in the 1860s soon found use as an alternative to ivory, which was harvested off slaughtered elephants and used to make everything from piano keys to billiards.

Modern hydrocarbon-based plastics trace their history back to 1907, when Leo Baekeland, a Belgian-American chemist, invented a fully synthetic plastic, the first of its kind, and called it Bakelite. Known as the “material of a thousand uses”, it was Bakelite that ushered in the age of plastics that we are still living in more than a century later. Unlike the cellulose-based plastics that had come before, Bakelite was cheap to make and could be easily mass-produced. But it would be another four decades before plastics spread across the globe. In that time, research focused on making new plastics and finding uses for them. Plastic and other related inventions of the pre-World War II era, such as nylon, soon found uses on the war fronts, increasing demand and boosting production.

Known as the “material of a thousand uses”, it was Bakelite that ushered in the age of plastics that we are still living in more than a century later.

We still make plastic because we need it. Plastic is the medium through which we transport and store food, medicine, water, and just about everything else. It’s in our homes, our offices, our cars, our computers and phones, and in nearly every aspect of our lives. It makes toys, pipes, building materials, furniture, medical equipment and countless other things.  For example, by the time Kenya banned single-use plastic carrier bags in 2017, the plastic industry was supplying an estimated 100 million plastic bags to supermarkets every month.

A prevailing defence by Big Plastic is that when it comes to transporting food, beverages and other essentials to 8 billion people, plastic has the lowest carbon footprint compared to alternatives. The main problem though, is that its relatively short useful lifespan does not justify how long it persists in the environment. Even worse, most consumer plastic is designed to be used only once and discarded; US magazine advertisements in the 1950s pushed plastic as better than existing reusable products because it was cheap and easily replaceable.

Such overt advertising of the most visible pollutant we’ve ever made would not work today. The reason is that in the last six decades, plastic has progressively lost its lustre. It is unclear when plastic began losing the crowd, but one aspect of this decline in reputation was the very things that made plastic such a popular material in the first place. Plastic is cheap, so the word ‘plastic’ soon acquired a new use, as a word used to describe something that is cheap (in quality), and fake. By the late 1960s, it was increasingly clear that plastic was here to stay, and that it was not good for the environment. The growth and impact of the anti-plastics movement in the next two decades triggered questions about how the situation could be salvaged, hence the birth of recycling campaigns from the early 1970s.

Recycling was never going to work, and the proof of this is that it was a compromise solution driven primarily by the plastic industry. After a major oil spill in the United States in 1969 kindled political pressure to act on the environment, the plastic industry lobbied heavily against drastic action. Their solution was to push for recycling, although everyone involved already knew that it would not work because the technology to do it effectively did not exist at the time.

Recycling has improved since the 1980s, but it is still an ineffective way of managing all the plastic waste produced each day. Another very problematic aspect of recycling is the global waste trade, which sees countries in the West send their plastic waste to poor countries to be sorted and recycled.

We’ve always known that the hydrocarbons we so lucratively mine from the earth and transform into fuels and plastics are not just polluting the planet, but could also be affecting our health. Part of the reason for the slow pace in dealing with the threat posed by plastics, despite the fact that their ubiquity means that any potential harm could be widespread, is that the “war on plastics” has focused mainly on where discarded products end up, and the indirect impact on health. In a 2018 report, UNEP reiterated the known risk that “By clogging sewers and providing breeding grounds for mosquitoes and pests, plastic bags can increase the transmission of diseases like malaria.”

However, a growing body of research now shows that plastic is not just in the environment around us, it is also inside us. Plastics and their additives are in the air we breathe, the food we eat, the water we drink, and the things we touch. We eat seafood and land animals that have consumed plastics. For example, a 2018 study by the National Environment Management Authority (NEMA) found plastic bags (and nylon strings and synthetic hair) in the stomachs of more than half the animals slaughtered in three major abattoirs.

“Marine and other species ingest plastics and absorb the chemicals within them,” says Erastus Ooko, Plastic Project Engagement Lead for Greenpeace Africa, “and then we ingest them. It has been clear for a long time that the toxins in their bodies are going up the food chain but it is hard to quantify in practice.”

Plastics and their additives are in the air we breathe, the food we eat, the water we drink, and the things we touch.

Further, chemicals such as Bisphenol A, also known as BPA, which is used to harden plastics and is found in a number of consumer products, including drinking containers, baby bottles, and the linings of infant formula and food cans, have also been shown to leach into foods and beverages. Thus the question is not whether we are consuming plastic, but how much of it we are consuming and with what impacts.

Although plastic is non-biodegradable in that it takes a long time to degrade, it does break down with time and usage into smaller particles known as microplastics, which can also degrade over time into even smaller particles known as nanoplastics. Most of the plastic we consume is in this micro and nano form, making it hard, but not impossible (in the case of microplastics), to detect or even study. A 2020 study found that infants consume millions of microplastic particles per litre when fed using polypropylene (PP) infant feeding bottles. PP is a common household plastic, and other studies have shown PP microplastic release from food containers, kettles, and other everyday items.

That we eat a substantial amount of microplastics is not itself a surprise—we also inhale and consume dust, sand, insects and other minute things unknowingly every day. The difference is that microplastics are synthetic and pose direct risks as foreign bodies in our bodies, and because of their chemical makeup.

We most likely excrete most of these micro plastics. But there is a significant gap in research on the damage they do to our bodies, and in what gets absorbed into the body. What is known so far is that many of the materials used to make everyday plastics are harmful to human health, and that the plastics in our bodies could be harming us in multiple ways. A 2020 report by The Endocrine Society found that “one hundred and forty-four chemicals or chemical groups known to be hazardous to human health are actively used in plastics.”

The dose makes the poison

One of these is BPA, a known endocrine disrupting chemical that interferes with normal hormonal function. These effects are not minor; studies have suggested that the disruption can lead to birth defects, developmental problems in children, cancers, and immune system suppression.

The key challenge in assessing just how badly this chemical group has affected human health is that within plastics, which are complex polymers, BPA is a benign addition. It can, however, be released as plastics wear down, or are heated repeatedly, meaning that it’s hard to trace just when and where it enters the human body and what damage it leaves behind.

Another chemical, Diethylhexyl phthalate (DEHP), is a suspected carcinogen and potential endocrine disruptor. DEHP was the most common plasticiser for decades, mainly used in the making of Poly Vinyl Chloride (PVC) but is slowly being replaced with alternatives due to concerns about its toxicity to multiple organ systems, including the reproductive system and thyroid function. A recent study compared the levels of DEHP and two other chemicals in dog testes from several regions in Europe and found a parallel between high DEHP and testicular conditions. The study suggests that this may be indicative of the situation among human males, because dogs and human beings share the same everyday environment and are exposed to the same household contaminants.

What is known so far is that many of the materials used to make everyday plastics are harmful to human health, and that the plastics in our bodies could be harming us in multiple ways.

The most obvious place to begin when assessing the direct effects of plastics to human health is with those who make them. Since the 1970s, for example, scientists have suspected, and subsequently confirmed, that vinyl chloride, the building block of PVC, is a carcinogen that can and has led to occupational cancers. A 2011 study found a link between high DEHP concentrations in the air breathed by workers in PVC plants with negative effects on sperm motility, among other adverse effects. Another exposed group, Ooko says, are communities who live around plastic manufacturing plants, who could be suffering health conditions due to the fumes and other chemicals released during the manufacturing process.

For these and other reasons, the European Union has banned DEHP and two other chemicals from all plastic items that children might put in their mouths, such as toys, since 2007. Under new rules that came into force in 2020, this ban is now extended to all other consumer products, regulating the amount of DEHP and other potentially harmful chemicals that people come into contact with. “There has been a huge knowledge gap in how plastics affect human health. Things get attention when direct connections can be made, and the direct connections between plastic and health conditions came in at a later stage,” Ooko explains.

Similarly, chemicals used to make styrofoam products such as styrene monomer and benzene are suspected carcinogens. Then there’s the heavy metals, water repellents, and flame retardants used in the making of plastics. Although heavy metals such as lead, mercury, chromium, arsenic, and bromine are found in nature, our current exposure to them is primarily through synthetic things like plastic. Some research has shown that not only are these metals, which in substantial quantities are detrimental to human health, present in plastics, but they can also be absorbed by microplastics from the environment.

In the 2000s, as our appetite for plastic exploded, scientists began focusing more and more on the health effects to human beings and animals beyond just marine life. Bans such as the DEHP bans in Europe and single-use plastic bans in Kenya and other places are driven not just by environmental concerns, but also by human health ones. This transition is still slow, because the research on health effects is still scant, and is held back by complications such as how to determine what harm plastic is doing to our health when it is present in the body of nearly every living human being.

Carlin’s comedy set ends with the idea that perhaps plastic was the only reason the earth allowed us to be spawned in the first place. “It wanted plastic for itself. Didn’t know how to make it. Needed us.” Then he’d add, “Could be the answer to the age-old egocentric philosophical question: ‘Why are we here?’” It is an answer that may be slowly poisoning us.

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Culture

Book Review: Power, Politics and the Law by Githu Muigai

Prof Githu Muigai book, whose full title is Power, Politics and Law: Dynamics of constitutional change in Kenya, 1887- 2022 delves into the history of constitutional change from the colonial era to the present day, and will be found helpful by those looking for an overview of the key developments in our constitutional history.

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Book Review: Power, Politics and the Law by Githu Muigai
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Kenyans are often chided for not being interested in their history, a claim that I find as reductive as it is insulting. There are many Kenyans who are interested in—and actually learn—our history, at least the one that has been presented to us. Even where we know that the history presented to us is curated to serve particular ends, we consume it and also attempt to read between the lines. Furthermore, history is not just what is written. There is a good tradition of oral history that helps us critique what has been presented to us in books.

That being said, it is delightful when Kenyan scholars and intellectuals set their sights on documenting various aspects of Kenyan history and offering it to us. In recent years, we have seen the publication of numerous memoirs by public figures that are, to varying degrees, helping us to catch glimpses of our history and of that part of our society that many of us do not have access to. These are useful and we need more of them; hopefully better written and more honest ones. However, we also need analytical texts that delve into particular topics in depth. Prof Githu Muigai’s book Power, Politics and Law: Dynamics of constitutional change in Kenya, 1887- 2022, published in 2022 by Kabarak University Press, is one such intervention.

Githu’s book presents a history of constitutional change from the colonial era to the present day. Overall, the book feels very much like a series of lectures that Prof Muigai would deliver to his Constitutional Law classes at the university. The core argument that he advances in the book, that constitution making is political, is a fairly straightforward one. Still, the book has important gems that are worth encountering. The book has a textbook feel, which is at once helpful and frustrating. It will no doubt be helpful for those looking for a consolidated overview of the key developments in our constitutional history. However, it will frustrate those who are looking for more depth into the political dynamics undergirding constitutional development, who Prof Muigai may argue are not his target audience. This notwithstanding, I have found the book useful and will certainly be referencing it in my writing because it documents things that we know but whose sources we may struggle to find and name.

The initial chapters of the book—especially chapters 2 and 3—kept me fully in their grip because they presented me with a history of Kenya that I have not encountered before, or that has not been presented to me in the systematic manner that Githu presents it. In my history classes both in primary school and secondary school, I learnt about Kenya’s colonial history from the Berlin conference of 1885 (the Partition of Africa), the entry of Imperial British East Africa (IBEA) company and the arrival of notable figures like Lord Delamere. We also learnt about the struggle for independence, the Lancaster Constitution and its mutilation in the post-independence years. In that sense, not much of what Githu presents here is new. Githu’s innovation—that I find incredibly helpful—is in drawing clear linkages between the various historical events that were presented to us as distinct and somewhat unrelated. He helps the reader to see the bigger picture.

Githu offers us some important historical insights that many readers will not have encountered. While the emergence of the Kenyan state is quite well known, the nuances of how the Imperial British East Africa (IBEA) company adopted and applied Indian Laws to Kenya are less well known. From Githu’s book, I learnt that the idea of dividing the territory into provinces and districts emanated from India. Additionally, Githu offers an interesting and nuanced historical analysis of the politics of European settlers in Kenya. We learn, for instance, that the settlers campaigned for Kenya to be made a colony in 1905 through their lobby group that was called The Colonists Association. Githu notes that their claims for Kenya to be made a colony were based on the idea that “a system of taxation without representation was unsatisfactory”. He also shows divisions between them as illustrated by the refusal of Lord Delamere, the leader of the settlers, to take up his appointment in the Legislative Council (Legco) in March 1913.

Githu’s innovation is in drawing clear linkages between the various historical events that were presented to us as distinct and somewhat unrelated. He helps the reader to see the bigger picture.

While I find the nuanced and complex picture of the settlers that Githu presents fascinating, it is also one of the sources of my frustration with the book, especially with respect to the treatment of Africans in the text. It is painfully obvious that Africans are completely absent from the early part of the book. As such, it appears as if the Kenyan state emerged in the complete absence of Africans. Assigning the same level of complexity to Africans as he does to the European settlers would have led Prof Muigai to note the collaboration and resistance of Africans to colonial rule. In fact, the first African to emerge in the book is Eliud Mathu (on page 72). We learn that he was a graduate of Balliol College at the University of Oxford who was nominated to the Legco in 1940s. This points to another challenge I have with the book: its focus on the elites. Notably, only the political elite and Western scholars are named in the main text of the book. Even where some Kenyan scholars are quoted directly and their contributions seem central to the argument being advanced in the text, Githu refers to them in generic terms, such as “student”, “scholar”, “historian”, with their names being relegated to the footnotes.

I need not go into his elaborate examination of pre-colonial constitutional change from 1945 to 1960, which he examines in Chapter 3, as this is probably well understood by anyone who is familiar with Kenyan colonial history. It is worth noting, however, that he presents a very useful overview of the various constitutions, from the Lyttleton Constitution to the Lennox-Boyd Constitution. He then proceeds, in Chapter 4, to examine the Lancaster conferences and the making of the Independence Constitution. Again, as these developments are widely presented in Kenya’s political history, it is not necessary to go into much detail here except to note how some of the conflicts between the political elite continue to resurface, albeit in varied forms, in present-day Kenya. One example here is on the structure of the executive representation. Here, Githu demonstrates that change has been a core part of our constitutional history because we have consistently postponed the most complex political questions that we face as a country.

Githu’s core argument is very adequately advanced in the latter part of the book (Chapters 5 to 8), where he examines constitutional change in post-colonial era. There are many gems here showing how elite conflicts were converted into constitutional questions, followed by constitutional amendments in some cases. Whenever the law was seen as an impediment to the exercise of power, it was changed. While society groups and foreign actors are completely absent in Githu’s analysis of the political and constitutional development of the 1960s to the 1980s, they emerge in a strong sense in the analysis of the period from the 1990s onwards. A divide that I find interesting here is between the mainstream churches, many of whose leaders stood against autocracy, and the evangelical churches that did not, saying that they were committed to “praying for the Government in obedience to the word of God and praying for those in authority”. This is an area that will require more scholarly engagement in the coming days especially given the ascendancy of evangelical Christianity in Kenya.

There are many gems here showing how elite conflicts were converted into constitutional questions, followed by constitutional amendments in some cases.

Githu also presents a good overview of the politics of expertise. He notes that the role of experts in the constitutional review process began with a consultancy offered by the Kenya Human Rights Commission (KHRC) to draft a model constitution. He then traces how “experts” came to increasingly occupy a central place in the drafting of the constitution that was eventually adopted by Kenyans in 2010. Here, it is curious that Githu fails to acknowledge that he was one of these “experts”. Even the reader who is not aware, going into the text, that Githu was a key actor in those processes will be made aware in the foreword by Prof Willy Mutunga, legal scholar and former Chief Justice, that Githu was a commissioner in the Constitution of Kenya Review Commission (2000-2005). Githu would later become Attorney General. This is a crucial omission. Honesty about his involvement in these processes would be crucial at this point because it would not only help the reader understand the lens through which Githu is presenting his analysis of the processes that he is involved in but also how his experiences shape how he interprets the past. It is important to acknowledge that, ultimately, there is no such thing as a neutral observer, let alone a neutral participant. This section of the book leaves the reader feeling that there is a wealth of insight that we have not been offered. Perhaps, this is reason enough for Githu to document his experiences elsewhere.

My key takeaways from the book are that inter-elite conflicts have been and will continue to be central to the making of constitutions in Kenya and that the core areas of conflict in Kenya are never fully resolved, meaning that they will keep resurfacing.

On the inter-elite conflicts, Githu adds to the existing commentary showing how our political leaders play an ongoing game of musical chairs (forming and leaving alliances constantly) and changing their policy positions guided by contingent political realignments. One may vehemently oppose a constitutional amendment today and become its most ardent defender tomorrow and vice-versa. There are so many examples of this phenomena that it is not necessary to present any here.

On the “never-quite-done” point, devolution presents a good example. It has been an issue from the pre-colonial days to the present day, and as Githu observes, is likely to continue being debated into the future. The structure of the national executive is another example whose continuity is best illustrated by the efforts of the Building Bridges Initiative (BBI) to re-establish the position of Prime Minister—by whatever name—and the appointment of Musalia Mudavadi to such a position (Prime Cabinet Secretary) by President Ruto recently.

Following his extensive historical survey of constitutional development in Kenya, I think that Githu aptly identifies the areas where efforts to review the 2010 constitution will emerge: devolution, senate, gender representation and the system of government, particularly as it relates to the structure of the executive. I would add that paying attention to the ascendancy of the evangelical movement, the issues on which the evangelical movement and the leadership of the current government campaigned against the 2010 constitution, such as abortion and Kadhi’s Courts, are likely to re-emerge.

Githu aptly identifies the areas where efforts to review the 2010 constitution will emerge.

In the end, Githu is optimistic about the 2010 constitution. He argues that “a rigid Constitutional amendment procedure, an active and vigilant citizenry, and the presence of activist judges in the Judiciary” will serve to anchor the resilience of the 2010 constitution. As such, he predicts that the fate that befell the Building Bridges Initiative (BBI) is likely to befall many of the reform efforts that are likely to emerge. I would like to agree with him. However, my reading of Kenyan politics, and given that none of the factors he notes are immutable, makes me more reticent about this outcome. To me, the resilience of the 2010 constitution remains to be seen; that is, if one is to say that it is the resilience of the constitution that matters more to the Kenyan people rather that its dynamism.

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