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TANZANIA: Corruption, Democracy And The Strange Case Of John Pombe Magufuli

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President Maghufuli
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Dar es Salaam, Tanzania – THE STRATEGY: CHANGING HEADS

JPM’s key policy concerns are tackling official waste and corruption, enhancing tax compliance, and creating large numbers of jobs through industrialisation. In the past 12 months, he has dismissed numerous senior officials in central and local government and state corporations for suspected corruption or poor performance, removed thousands of ghost workers from the government payroll, slashed unnecessary spending on out-of-office meetings, foreign travel, and official functions, increased tax compliance, and declared war on corruption and waste in the ruling party and, for good measure, the East African Community!

JPM’s strategy sees corruption as a matter of personal shortcomings rather than a systemic institutional problem. The solution is replacing corrupt with honest officials. As opposition legislator Zitto Kabwe puts it: ‘Changing heads alone means that the president is more interested in perfecting the existing system than overhauling it.’[1]

In our view, continuity rather than change characterises the engagement of the new government with rent-seeking behaviour of all kinds. The current government has moved to reduce the space for party political debate and action, passed legislation on access to information, cybercrime, and, most recently, the media, which may be enforced to limit access to information, and private freedoms.[2] Bloggers and Facebook users have been arrested for expressing ‘treasonable’ views or insulting the president. Here it is argued that moves to limit transparency and accountability predate the arrival of JPM.

CAPACITY TO DELIVER: SELECTIVE CONTROL

Opposition parties describe JPM’s governance style as ‘authoritarian.’ Impatient with due process, the president and Prime Minister Kassim Majaliwa have issued countless decrees, not all of which are congruent with official policy, spending priorities, or due process. Though suspicious of the integrity of the courts, JPM still relies on the Prevention and Combating of Corruption Bureau (PCCB) to investigate and prosecute grand corruption cases. In January, JPM dismissed Dr Edward Hosea, the Director General of the Bureau, ostensibly for ignoring major corruption in the port and the Tanzania Revenue Authority. His removal was supposed to clear the way for PCCB to bring some major corruption cases to court.[3] PCCB’s problem is that political pressures prevent certain cases from being investigated or prosecuted, and the most corrupt politicians and businessmen are simply untouchable. The Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) routinely returns files to PCCB citing ‘inadequate evidence’ to bring a case to court.

Tanzania’s longest-lasting and most ruinous corruption case, the infamous Independent Power Tanzania Ltd (IPTL) power plant and the plunder of the Tegeta Escrow Account in the Bank of Tanzania in 2013, was thoroughly investigated by PCCB but no charges were ever brought. President Magufuli has complained bitterly about the cost of procuring power from private producers such as IPTL, vowing to put an end to corrupt public-private partnerships (PPP).[4] When asked why the IPTL case was not being prosecuted, Hosea’s replacement, Valentino Mlowola, said the case was ‘still active.’

If Magufuli wanted to make an example of IPTL he would simply order Mlowola to bring charges immediately. But against whom? The Kikwete government was heavily implicated in the escrow scam, as were other ‘untouchables’ including Andrew Chenge, one of IPTL’s key supporters for two decades, and James Rugemalira, who owned the minority 30 per cent of the power plant.[5]

One of the heads that rolled as a result of the investigation of IPTL/Escrow by the Public Accounts Committee in 2014 was that of Prof Sospeter Muhongo, Kikwete’s minister of energy and minerals. Magufuli’s reappointment of Muhongo to the same ministry in December sent out the message that is was business as usual in the power sector, and IPTL, under its new owner Harbinder Singh Sethi, continues to supply overpriced electricity to power utility Tanesco, despite Magufuli’s strictures on the subject. Other examples could be cited that suggest a selective approach to corruption control.

On becoming Tanzania’s fifth post-Independence president just over a year ago, John Pombe Magufuli (JPM, aka ‘The Bulldozer’) wasted no time in attacking tax-evasion by big business and waste, corruption and laxity in government, earning him plaudits both at home and abroad. Given the entrenched cronyism in business-government relations and pervasive rent-seeking within the state apparatus, can he succeed where so many African leaders before him have failed? To succeed, Magufuli needs a clear strategy, the capacity to deliver, and sustained support from both inside and outside parliament. All are problematic

To deal with the rapidly growing number of corruption cases, the government has set up the Economic, Corruption and Organised Crime Court, which has just begun operations. Time will tell whether the ECOCC has more teeth than Tanzania’s existing courts, which are routinely manipulated by the wealthy and the corrupt to make sure that justice is rarely if ever done in prosecuting major scams such as IPTL/Escrow.

POLITICAL SUPPORT: RESORT TO ‘DIRECT’ RULE

One of JPM’s self-declared strengths is that he is not beholden to any network (mtandao) of wealthy businessmen and political brokers within the current ruling elite. This is at once a strength and a weakness. It is reasonable to suspect that the majority of Tanzanian politicians are uneasy with the Magufuli strategy as it threatens their own rent-seeking activities. This is also the case for many lower level central and local government officials for whom ‘rent-scraping’ assures a significant proportion of their livelihoods. JPM has also declared his intention to clean up CCM.[6] Anecdotal evidence suggests that the wheels of the bureaucracy are turning even slower than usual as senior officials try to remain under the State House radar.

JPM aspires to marginalise opposition parties and to eliminate party politics in local government. There are stories of virtual ‘direct rule’ by Regional and District Commissioners in opposition-run councils. Many new District Development Directors are said to have been recruited from among CCM cadres and ‘operatives.’ Both CCM and opposition MPs have complained about their ‘incompetence’ and the powers usurped by the new DCs and RCs, many of whom are retired army officers.[7]

Magufuli has confounded those critics who expected a much messier transition from Phase 4 to Phase 5. Still, it remains unclear how he can maintain his anti-corruption momentum in the absence of a solid base of support both inside and outside parliament and the ruling party.

BUSINESS SUPPORT: FOLLOW THE SUGAR

JPM has expressed his dislike of companies that practise state capture and tax evasion. One of his first moves was to trace more than 300 containers to inland depots that had been cleared at Dar es Salaam port without paying duty. One of the depots and some of the containers belonged to Said Bakhresa, founder of the Azam group of companies, who also had a consignment of sugar impounded.

For year, sugar imports have been a contentious issue. The local sugar industry was almost bankrupted by massive sugar imports and smuggling during 2012-13. In February this year, the government announced the suspension of sugar imports so that local producers could market unsold stocks. It was announced that further import licences would only be granted by State House. Sugar prices shot up to over Tsh2,000 (about one US dollar) a kilo, compared with the government’s ‘indicative price’ of Tsh1,800. Local importers were blamed for creating artificial shortages to sabotage the president’s initiative. The stand-off lasted until May.

JPM’s stand-off with segments of the Asian and Arab business community over smuggling and tax evasion was resolved in October, when he opened a fruit canning factory near

Dares Salaam built by Azam’s Bakhresa. His consignment of sugar was also released from the port, and JPM promised to allot him land to set up a large sugar estate.[8] Asian and Arab conglomerates are key players in Tanzania’s ambitious industrialisation plans, an issue requiring separate coverage.

POPULAR SUPPORT: SCRATCH MY BACK…

The Tanzanian voter is generally characterised as a potential ally in the fight against corruption. Certainly, polls suggest that JPM’s anti-waste and graft project has really impressed many people, after years of poor governance. But we should be wary of assuming too much. There is a widespread popular view that a politician or official who fails to ‘eat’ when the opportunity arises (or is created) is a fool who will die poor after retirement for failing to abuse his or her public office.’[9] In a 2014 Afrobarometer survey, respondents were asked: ‘In your opinion, what are the most important problems facing this country that the government should address?’ The main problem areas mentioned were health, education, agriculture, water, infrastructure/roads. Corruption ranked 7th, equal with fighting poverty.[10] In a more recent survey, Tanzanians aged 18-35 were asked whether they would be prepared to give or take a bribe: Some 44% said they would; 58% agreed that ‘It doesn’t matter how you make money as long as you don’t end up in jail’; and 39% said they would only vote for a candidate who bribed them. Finally, three-quarters said that they were ‘afraid to stand up for what is right for fear of retribution.’[11]

Though numerous NGOs have a mandate to promote transparent and accountable government, Tanzanian civil society has generally not (with a few notable exceptions) played a major role in fighting corruption, even though many ‘governance’-oriented organisations exist. The Legal and Human Rights Centre has consistently challenged JPM’s governance practices, but there has not been a popular mobilisation of support for his anti-corruption policies or against his human-rights record.

It is quite unclear how Tanzanian voters assess corruption in politics. Systemic rent-seeking in the CCM government was the main opposition political platform prior to the 2015 elections. One prime target was Monduli MP Edward Lowassa, who was forced to resign as prime minister over the Richmond power scandal during Kikwete’s first term. Nevertheless, Lowassa was by far the most popular candidate vying for the CCM nomination, perceived as a man of the people who was generous in rewarding his supporters out of his considerable fortune, however acquired. After being rejected by CCM’s Ethics Committee during the vetting process for the CCM candidature, Lowassa defected to Chadema and promptly became the opposition alliance’s[12] joint candidate for the presidency! This suggests that Lowassa’s image as a man of the people carried more weight than his reputation for corruption. He took his wealth and popularity to the opposition camp, and the opposition quickly forgot about his corruption.[13]

While polls suggest that Tanzanians are highly supportive of Magufuli’s policies to date, it is unlikely that the war on corruption will assure continued mass popular support in the absence of more material benefits to ordinary people.[14]

DEVELOPMENT PARTNERS… AND CHINA

The traditional multilateral and bilateral donors are hamstrung when it comes to engaging with what they see as the authoritarian JPM approach to fighting corruption and waste. Still heavily influenced by the proposition that democracy=development, many ‘development partners’[15] continue to finance programmes and projects designed to enhance transparent and accountable government. There is a strong case to be made that donor-inspired economic and political liberalisation since the mid-1980s have contributed to the competitive money politics that characterises the current political settlement. Arguably, JPM is right to discredit oppositionist politics: Prom a developmental point of view, party politics is a costly and often frivolous distraction of no obvious public utility. Whether it is JPM’s right to decide on the issue is another matter altogether.[16]

While the influence of established donors on policy has declined significantly since the beginning of this century, the influence of China as a major trade and ‘development partner’ has increased. Unlike OECD donors, the Chinese government deals exclusively with the central government and its agencies, and does not tie aid to concerns with human rights or ‘good governance,’ JPM recently signed off on a $7.6 billion soft loan to build a new standard gauge railway (SGR) to replace the existing Central Line. This and other projects bypass public procurement laws and regulations and parliamentary perusal. Projects such as the SGR have been criticised for their cost and their economic rationale. Magufuli’s infrastructural ambitions are again a subject for another day.

Many aid agencies continue to employ a normative approach to corruption. The notion that corruption is the result of personal ethical shortcomings is implicit in the widely used definition of corruption as the abuse of official position for personal gain.[17] Defining petty corruption in terms of ‘need’ and grand corruption in terms of ‘greed’ is equally normative and judgmental. Arguably, ‘corruption’ of all kinds is largely the consequence of competitive clientelism, or patronage, where inter-personal trust is lacking and formal institutions are weak. The widespread failure of traditional ‘supply-side’ approaches to corruption control through institution and capacity building, and on the ‘demand-side’ through ‘empowering’ citizens, civil society and the media is testimony to how difficult donors find it to go beyond the ‘good governance’ paradigm.

Unfortunately, JPM’s equally normative approach to governance is unlikely to work unless it can change the underlying incentive structure governing intra-state and state-business relations. Without massive popular support and a change in the way politics is done (the ‘political settlement’), the Magufuli approach to fighting corruption is likely to disappoint its supporters. As President Obama put it: ‘Africa doesn’t need strong men, it needs strong institutions.’[18]

REGIONAL SUPPORT: BUILDING BRIDGES

Space prevents a full treatment of this dimension of ‘Magufulism,’ but East African regional relations have been changing rapidly since JPM came to power. In particular, JPM has built bridges with Rwanda’s Paul Kagame, whose relationship with the previous Tanzanian regime was particularly testy. Observers note the parallels between Kagame’s and Magufuli’s undemocratic governance styles. Those who see human rights as the basis for sound development strategies cannot accept that Kagame and Magufuli are potentially more ‘developmental’ than their fellow presidents in the region. The intricacies of inter-EAC relations are a subject for future reflection.

THE LIMITS OF THE POSSIBLE?

What some see as an apparent resort to authoritarianism continues a recent trend to unwind governance gains achieved during the Kikwete administration that had allowed parliament inter alia to address the Escrow scandal and for the Constitutional Reform Commission to produce a new draft constitution with stronger controls on executive power.[19]After the Escrow debacle in 2014, conservative elements within CCM decided that the open government business had gone far enough, and took steps to reinforce executive power at the expense of parliament. In this respect, Magufuli can be seen as part of an underlying trend to shore up the ruling elite against its opponents, including the political opposition, and the traditional and social media. The 2016-17 budget saw a 50 per cent cut in the budget of the Controller and Auditor General (CAG), whose reports were frequently used by parliamentary committees to make life uncomfortable for certain senior officials.[20]

President Magufuli bears comparison with Tanzania’s first president of the competitive era, Benjamin Mkapa (1995-2005). Like Mkapa, Magufuli was a compromise candidate, not the frontrunner. Both he and Mkapa were ‘selected’ by the incumbent president to prevent other contenders from acceding to the presidency.[21] Though both were seasoned politicians, neither was particularly well-known by the public or highly networked within the ruling party. Mkapa was under pressure to clean up the mess left by his predecessor Ali Hassan Mwinyi’s casual approach to governance, just as JPM is doing in relation to Kikwete.

But there the comparison ends. Mkapa’s anti-corruption policies were strongly influenced by donors, and the path-breaking Warioba Report (1996) on the state of corruption in the country was never implemented with any conviction. By contrast, JPM hit the ground running, and has kept running, with homegrown rather than donor-driven momentum. Many of his ‘governance’ initiatives are clear indictments of his predecessor’s performance, yet there is no evidence of serious friction between the two.[22] JPM’s selective approach to anti-corruption may help explain why.

[1]Zitto Kabwe 2016. ‘Will the real opposition emerge under Magufuli’s presidency?’ Citizen on Sunday, August 7.

[2] Stakeholders are urging the president not to sign the Media Bill.

[3]PCCB prosecutes very few large corruption cases and loses most of the cases it initiates, including the small ones, which are the majority. See www.policyforum.or.tz for details.

[4] PPP has also been dubbed ‘Personal and Political Preferences’. The PPP model is uncritically embraced by most policymakers. IPTL was one of Tanzania’s first PPPs.

[5]In late 2014, Mr Rugemalira received $70m (in local currency) for his company’s 30 per cent share in IPTL. See: http://www.policyforum-tz.org/sites/default/files/TGR2014OnlineVersion.pdffor details.

[6]Polycarp Machira 2016. ‘JPM now to cleanse CCM’, Guardian on Sunday, Dar es Salaam, 24 July.

[7]Athuman Mtulya 2016. ‘Lawmakers criticise ’incompetent’ DEDs’, Citizen, Dar es Salaam, 11 November.

[8]Mohamed Enterprises, another Asian conglomerate, has also announced plans to open a large sugar estate.

[9]Mwassa Jingi 2016. ‘Setting leadership integrity pace’, Citizen, 24 January.

[10]REPOA interviewed a nationally representative, random, stratified probability sample of 2,386 respondents. The question cited was open-ended. Respondents were asked to list three problem areas. All three responses were weighted equally in calculating the ranking. See: afrobarometer.org/sites/default/files/publications/…/tan_r6_sor_en.pdf.

[11]Aga Khan University 2016.‘The Tanzania Youth Survey Report’ October. Only a third of 18-35 year olds (34%) thought it was important to pay taxes.

[12] The UKAWA/Umoja alliance was made up of four opposition parties, the most important being Chadema and CUF.

[13] Rumours that Lowassa bought the opposition candidature are circumstantial, though figures for who got how much are bandied about in social media. Only two senior opposition leaders resigned on principle upon Lowassa’s move to the opposition, Chadema’s Dr Wilbrod Slaa and CUF’s Prof Ibrahim Lipumba, both former presidential candidates.

[14]A recent Twaweza poll revealed that 58% of respondents did not consider Magufuli a dictator, while 60% supported the ban on political rallies. See: http://twaweza.org/uploads/files/DemonstrationsFinal-EN-web.pdf

[15] Including UN agencies, the IFIs, the EU, other multilateral and bilateral donors, international NGOs, presidential/state initiatives (Feed the Future, PEPFAR, Power Africa), private foundations (Gates, Soros, Aga Khan), and others.

[16]Many criticised the termination of full-time coverage of parliamentary sessions as undemocratic.

[17]This definition has been used by Transparency International, the World Bank, and many other international development agencies for the past two decades.

[18]http://www.sundaytimes.lk/090712/International/sundaytimesinternational-03.html

[19]See Policy Forum 2016. ‘Tanzania Governance Review 2014: the Year of Escrow’, July, Chapter 1.

[20] Some committee members abused their oversight role and accepted or demanded bribes. Rosina John 2016. ‘3 MPs arraigned over Tsh30m bribe request’, Citizen, Dar es Salaam, 1 April.

[21]Nyerere thought Mkapa was the least bad of a rather mediocre group of candidates. Kikwete was bent on preventing his former prime minister from replacing him, preferring his minister of foreign affairs, Bernard Membe, for the job. Kikwete had to sacrifice Membe in order to block Lowassa.

[22]JPM’s accession to the CCM Chairmanship in July took place without incident.

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Mr Sarokin is an independent researcher based in Arusha, Tanzania.

Politics

Borders versus People: Part III – Games within a Game

17 min read. In this final part of a three-part series, KALUNDI SERUMAGA explains why illegitimate power cannot rule legitimately, and remains permanently insecure in crisis or near failure. As a remedy, it seeks to clothe itself with the garments of legitimacy.

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Borders versus People: Part III – Games within a Game
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The peeping game

In 2017, some sharp-eyed IT managers at the African Union (AU) realised that bugging devices had been planted in the computer servers and conference rooms of the shiny new headquarters building. It was only inevitable that the Chinese were to be seen as prime suspects, given that it was them that had so kindly met the cost and physical labour of putting up the building.

In the ensuing debates, only then incoming AU chairperson, Rwanda’s president Paul Kagame, was unbothered.

“I don’t think spying is the specialty of the Chinese. We have spies all over the place in this world,” the chairman said. His only concern was that Africa had not got its act together. “We should have been able to build our own building.” Then, he mused, “If you bring people to build for you, they may still spy on you.”

Such candour was refreshing, and brings another context about the mutual accusations of spying, subterfuge and intrigue being exchanged between the regimes of Rwanda and Uganda.

Mid-August regional media reports – to the extent that they can be relied upon, given the greatly partisan atmosphere – tell us that the mounting tension in the Uganda-Congo-Rwanda border region may have finally spilled over into open fighting, with Rwanda seeking to eliminate what it has been saying is an armed threat from a Uganda-backed rebel group based in the Democratic Republic of Congo (again), and led by former Kigali insiders.

A source close to the Kigali regime recently assured me that reports of the Rwanda Special Forces decimating a significant encampment of Rwandan National Congress (RNC) rebel forces are completely true. His assertion is based on photographic evidence he claims to have seen.

Since then, a frosty diplomatic process facilitated by the state of Angola has sought to de-escalate tensions by coaxing the presidents of the two countries into signing a 21st August Memorandum of Understanding. Its key points are: respecting mutual sovereignty; no acts of subversion in the territory of the other party, as well as third countries (read Congo); do nothing to create the impression of an interest in such destabilisation, thereby eliminating all factors that may create such perception; and respecting the civic rights and freedoms of each other’s visiting citizens.

A source close to the Kigali regime recently assured me that reports of the Rwanda Special Forces decimating a significant encampment of Rwandan National Congress (RNC) rebel forces are completely true. His assertion is based on photographic evidence he claims to have seen.

The last clause is critical here. It clearly refers to the many Rwandan citizens that Kigali says are and have been held for long periods of time (some for up to two years) by Ugandan intelligence operatives, and subjected to inhuman treatment. The Rwandan state and its regional media allies point the finger squarely at Uganda’s historically notorious Chieftaincy of Military Intelligence (CMI).

The facts are that the CMI acquired this fearsome reputation way back in the early days of President Yoweri Museveni’s National Resistance Army (NRA) 1986 ascension to power. Known then as the Directorate of Military Intelligence (as its Rwandan counterpart is now called), it was the grinding stone against which many a rebellion, coup attempt and even simple civilian political agitation was ground to dust by very brutally efficient methods of murder, torture, deception, intrusion, and intimidation.

This accusation comes weighed down with a most striking irony: in those early days, the Directorate’s Deputy Director was one Paul Kagame, still incarnate as an officer of the NRA.

All this tells us quite a few things.

First, that the accusation that CMI is illegally apprehending and then torturing Rwandans is entirely credible, given its history, particularly of the early days of basically physically crushing the armed resistance that had sprung up in northern Uganda. These episodes are not particularly well-known, as the global human rights NGO police, the rising Ugandan corporate feminist movement, and the Western diplomatic community seemed to see many opportunities in the freshly-minted NRA regime, and chose to simply “not see” what was going on.

Borders versus People - Part I: The Tribe Conundrum

Read Also: Borders versus People – Part I: The Tribe Conundrum

In addition, in the subsequent decade, many of the regime insiders in Uganda who were to become leading opposition voices after the falling out, also seem to have difficulty in making specific references to this foundational period of the regime. This could well be because they were in positions where they were much better informed than others back then to now claim ignorance.

This focus on Rwandans could even be considered an act of inclusivity, given that CMI stood accused of torturing everyone else in the days when it was heavily staffed by Rwandans of various citizenship.

Secondly, it is entirely possible, and in fact quite logical, that Rwanda’s government would seek to maintain an information-gathering network inside Uganda. Given President Kagame’s reaction to the AU scandal, it would be naïve to assume that he did not see a need to also build a Rwandan “back door” in the Ugandan intelligence outfit he helped to build. This, as the AU chairman pointed out in that context, is how the spying game works.

By the same token, it would be entirely logical and natural to assume that if the Rwandan regime is in fact deploying its spies to Uganda that the Ugandan regime’s security apparatus would endeavor to seek out and apprehend any such person.

Naturally, it would also be quite logical that the human resource of any such network would comprise Rwanda nationals, Uganda nationals of Rwandan descent, and of course even other Uganda nationals seeking pecuniary or other gain.

So, for any Rwanda national to now find themselves captive of a Ugandan organisation designed in part by his or her president, this is a very ironical kind of homecoming indeed, as clearly, those institutional habits did not begin only after (now President) Paul Kagame left.

Thirdly, given the long public record established by President Museveni in reneging on agreements – and also President Kagame’s knowledge of this from his time as a high-level enforcer of Museveni’s will during his own time as a Uganda regime apparatchik – observers would be wise to see the Luanda MOU as the latest stage in a continuing feud, as opposed to the beginning of its end.

The intelligence, combat and diplomatic shenanigans are, therefore, neither a cause nor a solution to this game; they are merely details in a game still being played out. We need to look deeper.

The labelling game

Since the difference between Ugandans and Rwandans – from throne to commoner – have never really been as real as the current Kigali-Kampala stand-off have made it, there can be perhaps no greater illustration of the appearance of birds fighting their reflection in a window pane. If anything, the dispute is a critical example of how similar the two political cultures (old and new) are.

The concept of Rwandan immigration to Uganda is a rather fluid one. Rwanda existed long before Uganda ever did, and before either colony was created. In some sense, anyone in south-western Uganda could be considered Rwandan just as anyone in northern Rwanda could be considered Ugandan.

And Rwandan indigenous communities are organised along lines followed also by communities in south and south-western Uganda, not to mention Burundi, right down to often having the same clans. There are families (some now quite prominent) in what is now south-western Uganda, whose ancestry can be traced to migration from Rwanda as far back as the 16th century.

Perhaps we should therefore see the colonial project, and this neo-colonial one now being held together by these bickering presidents, as an interruption and distortion to those historical relations.

The concept of Rwandan immigration to Uganda is a rather fluid one. Rwanda existed long before Uganda ever did, and before either colony was created. In some sense, anyone in south-western Uganda could be considered Rwandan just as anyone in northern Rwanda could be considered Ugandan.

Subsequent to colonisation, there were groups of people who migrated to Uganda, who were now being called Rwandan. The first known such group was a group of embattled aristocrats from the Rwandan royal court, who had to leave following an internal political upheaval. The eventually settled in Namutamba in mid-western Buganda.

There followed a few waves of economic migration due to the growth of Uganda’s colonial economy. It should be noted that it was the district authorities in Western Uganda that first passed laws restricting migration from Rwanda, followed eventually by the colonial government as a whole. The migrations culminated in the almost exclusively Tutsi influx that followed the 1959 Hutu “revolution” mentioned in Part II of this series. Many prominent Ugandans can be traced to all these developments.

The actor-playwright Deborah Asiimwe, the proprietor of the Kampala International Theatre Festival, once told me of her grandmother whose speaks very fluent Luganda as a result of having lived in the Buganda royal court in the 1930s, where she had been expected to become a wife to then Kabaka Daudi Cwa, whose reign ended in 1939.

The late Dede Majoro (d. 1995), perhaps the most gifted guitarist this region has ever seen, also lived for a while in the Buganda royal court in the reign of Kabaka Edward Muteesa (1939-1966), along with many of his siblings. Kabaka Muteesa provided them sanctuary after their father Silas Majoro (and former schoolmate at Buddo), a senior advisor to the deposed Rwandan King Kigeli (1936-2016), who had been assassinated by Belgian agents in their process of actively supporting the Hutu “revolution”. Dede’s sister, Grace Kaboyo, was until recently one of President Museveni’s district commissioners.

Robert Kalumba is a very visible public relations officer at Kampala City Council Authority, whose grandfather was granted a tidy parcel of land in Buganda by the sister of Edward Muteesa. Another member of the Rwanda royal family who also fled to Uganda and married a Ugandan woman. They were to have a son who went on to marry one of Edward Muteesa’s daughters. He went on to become a very senior immigration officer. I went to school with him.

The deposed King Kigeli himself took refuge in Uganda for a while. As a child, I recall our mother pointing out to us his very tall frame walking along the street as she drove us past the apartment block where he lived near the city centre.

In short, the problem has never been the presence of Rwandans in Uganda as such, since there have always been Rwandans in Uganda even before Uganda became Uganda (and then took parts of what was independent north Rwanda with it). The problem is the political culture that comes with that presence, given the historical record that continues to show that the biggest single persecutors and killers of Rwandans have always been other Rwandans.

In his play A Time of Fire, the Ugandan writer Charles Mulekwa reflects on the common failing of political peoples fleeing war and persecution to actually bringing the causes of the war with them. It is a case of a refugee and migrant community that has “learned nothing, and forgotten nothing”, as was said of the early 1800s French Bourbon dynasty exile who, having taken back power in France, then proceeded to replicate all the political mistakes that had caused them to lose power in the first place.

It is a challenge of the political culture of Rwanda. Of the stubbornness of old habits, which, as is said, die hard.

But where did it start?

The imposter game

In the biblical tale of Naboth’s vineyard, an unwitting king finds himself in possession of a vineyard he has coveted for a long time. It belonged to his neighbour Naboth, who had declined to sell it, as it was part of his own inheritance from his father, and according to Jewish custom, could not be disposed of in such a way.

His wife Jezebel had her own plan to cheer up the frustrated monarch. She had Naboth framed, murdered, and his property seized. The king learns of this only when confronted by the judges of his kingdom. For them the real sacrilege is that beyond the murder, the perpetrator then assumes the place of the victim in the form of claiming to be the rightful owner of his inheritance. This is the true meaning of the verse: “Have you killed and also taken possession?” (Kings 21:19), now colloquially known as the syndrome of “Naboth’s vineyard”.

In his play A Time of Fire, the Ugandan writer Charles Mulekwa reflects on the common failing of political peoples fleeing war and persecution to actually bring the causes of the war with them. It is a case of a refugee and migrant community that has “learned nothing, and forgotten nothing”…

In the biblical story, the king repents and atones. In the real world of African politics, many a murderous usurper has simply soldiered on regardless with this disastrous game.

But now, the moment of truth is fast arriving, and we are all about to be found out.

With Uganda, the fraudulent nature of the three-decade-old government is better known and a lot more explicit.

In the case of Rwanda, we must begin with a similar usurpation, by one Kanjogera, dowager in the Royal House of Rwanda in 1896, who conspires with the encroaching Germans to have the then monarch murdered in favour of Musinga, her own biological son. This is an event replete with the kinds of abominations that shocked the judges in Naboth’s case.

One Muhumuza, mother of the murdered monarch, led the initial resistance to this usurpation. Despite it having been seen as a movement among very ordinary people, Muhumuza became an adherent of the Nyabinghi movement. Nyabinghi was the sovereign of the 16th century kingdom of Karagwe, a name which now lives on as a district in northern Tanzania.

She was murdered by her husband Ruhinda, king of the Mpororo just to the north, in his attempt to take over her throne. Her spirit was to haunt him and his accomplices for years afterwards, and became the foundation of a “cult” that passed it down the generations through initiating young women into its priesthood.

The Nyabinghi belief-system soon spread to neighbouring regions, and was taken up by persons nursing deep grievances against existing authority, making it a target for state repression. This became a particularly acute problem in pre-colonised Rwanda (which included what is now parts of south-western Uganda) where the various kings had tried to stamp it out.

She could be said to be the African patron saint of the betrayed.

Naturally enough, the anti-colonial sentiments in Rwanda, sparked by Kanjogera’s allegedly German-backed coup, found a home among the Nyabinghi movement.

Having been inducted into the Nyabinghi priesthood, Muhumuza became the incarnation of the spirit of the long-dead queen. This set the stage for the showdown that sucked in the German, British and later Belgian colonial authorities.

“These fanatical women are a curse to the country,” one colonial official reportedly complained.

This was nothing unusual, except for the times it was dealing with. It is something of a tradition here to literally channel a long-passed on leader’s spirit when faced with an extreme leadership challenge.

During the 1953-1955 British exiling of Kabaka Muteesa, a man called Kiganira declared himself the reincarnation of Kibuuka, Buganda’s Achilles-like war-spirit, and began agitations that led to his arrest and execution.

The spirit of a long-dead Shona monarch Nehanda also inspired the initial resistance to the British colonising mission. It has been handed down to possess generations of women in particular family lines. At the time of the colonising invasions, it was held by Charwe Nyakasikana, whose invocation of it was instrumental in the initial anti-colonial resistance until she and her companion were captured by the British and hanged in 1898.

The colony of Rwanda comes into existence and is later inherited by Belgium. In that success, these imposed imposter states show that illegitimacy can be made to work. Kogonjera’s usurpation becomes an understanding of politics, and produces a form of white Pan-Africanism.

Muhumuza is captured by the colonisers and exiled to be held captive in colonial Kampala until her passing in 1944.

The history game

The past matters. And this is why those in the present always seek to control it.

With the rise of later African nationalism, old tales of the initial German conquest, as well as recent experiences of the apartheid system, were mined to design a toxic mix of hate, and racist anthropology-history, which become an official mantra of PARMEHUTU, a party led by one Gregoire Kayibanda, a man until recently the private secretary to the Belgian head of the Roman Catholic Church in Rwanda. This Hate History lays the foundation of the Hutu “revolution” of 1959 that created the mass exodus of Tutsis into neighboring countries. Kayibanda becomes president, and Hate History remained taught.

His victory is cut short when his army chief of staff, Juvenal Habyarimana, overthrows him and then allegedly has him and his wife starved to death while in detention (thus taking possession and then killing, in his case).

Similar betrayals dogged the rebellion organised from exile against this new set of imposters, and vicious, internecine conflict seemed to have characterised its journey all the way to victory over the Habyarimana regime.

With the rise of later African nationalism, old tales of the initial German conquest, as well as recent experiences of the apartheid system, were mined to design a toxic mix of hate, and racist anthropology-history, which become an official mantra of PARMEHUTU, a party led by one Gregoire Kayibanda, a man until recently the private secretary to the Belgian head of the Roman Catholic Church in Rwanda.

Historically, the monarchy had seemed to be the focal point around which all Rwandans within its ambit organised their various identities. There seemed to have been a push within the rebellion to put the monarchy question back on the table.

The standing accusation, best documented by the writer Timothy Kalyegira, is that those now in power in Kigali first hijacked the initial rebellion, and the formation of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) was in itself a usurpation of an earlier initiative organised by Rwandan exiles not embedded in the Uganda state against the Rwandan Habyarimana regime that the current leadership of the RPF suppressed using their then high positions within the Ugandan NRA security apparatus. This initial initiative may have been known as inkotanyi.

This can be framed as a continuation of Kanjogera’s coup: usurpation upon usurpation, and a legacy of illegitimate political inheritances.

The most prominent example of this, of course, would be the assassination of (former NRA bush war veteran, and Uganda government deputy minister of defence) Col. Fred Rwigyema who, as first field commander of the RPF invasion, suffered the ignominy of being shot dead within 24 hours of crossing into his country.

Illegitimate power cannot rule legitimately, and remains permanently insecure in crisis or near failure. It is often aware of this, and as a remedy, seeks to clothe itself with the garments of legitimacy.

Kanjogera commits regicide, but then seeks refuge in a “neo-traditionalist” gambit of continuing the same monarchy in the form of her son, so as to hide behind the legitimacy of a throne, despite having just desecrated it.

And given the chance, imperial power will always seek to enter a society, and tilt the balance of power away from the most legitimate in favour of the least legitimate, which must then depend on it to one extent or another. This remains the story of Africa’s domination.

Nearly every historic victory of rebel organisations on our continent holds a record of being tempted by Western powers to reach for absolute power, where a peace-making coalition may have worked more in the masses interest instead.

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In Ethiopia, Meles Zenawi’s minority Tigrayan People’s’ Liberation Front was able to militarily dominate the broader anti-Mengistu resistance and subsequent regime through the significant logistical resources delivered to it under the cover of Western famine relief once the West realised that Mengistu’s days were numbered.

Museveni’s NRA dragged out the 1985 Nairobi Peace Talks for months on end while using material support channeled by the West through the notorious LONRHO corporation to increase the size of the army nearly ten-fold before storming the capital.

All Africans are advised: look again at your resident liberators; how exactly did they come to power?

This is essentially a crisis of legitimacy. Neither side can rule legitimately, and remain in need of self-validation.

Yoweri Museveni’s National Resistance Army brought an exceptional level of illegitimacy to our politics in the way it seized power in 1986 through series of opportunistic exploitations of every old and current political grievance it could harness, and has held on to it. As mentioned in Part II, it came carrying the seeds of the Rwanda Patriotic Front in its womb.

The 1993 wholesale invasion of Rwanda by the RPF was, therefore, amongst other things, the exportation of that habit of illegitimacy to another country. As said, this was to be the fate of the DRC even later.

The strategic resources game

This long and twisted story continues. It will create new approaches to known facts, and then bring unknown facts into creation.

I insist that this remains a struggle to be the principal conduit-broker, even through which to channel the latest generation of strategic minerals to Western corporations.

This is not just an African story. In the history of the conflicts of the modern world, certain zones stand out as having suffered from the accident of being located where strategic resources were to be found. Before the DRC, there was Western Europe and the Middle East.

Underneath the usual romanticisation of European conflict lies the story of coal and iron. Until perhaps the 1960s, the Alsace-Lorraine region, which lies where the lands of France and Germany meet, held the largest known deposits of iron ore in the world. Together with the abundant supplies of coal in the neighbouring regions, this created the opportunity for the bulk production of perhaps the most significant material to the emergent industrial revolution: steel.

Three significant wars linked to this region have been fought in Western Europe: the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-1871, which ended with a German occupation; the 1914-1918 British-German war in France; and the 1939-1945 British-French-American-Russian war against Germany and Japan that left much of the continent and beyond devastated.

This is not just an African story. In the history of the conflicts of the modern world, certain zones stand out as having suffered from the accident of being located where strategic resources were to be found. Before the DRC, there was Western Europe and the Middle East.

This recurrent conflict was only suspended for the last eighty years with the creation of a trade mechanism that enabled countries from all parts of the continent to access those and later other resources for their domestic industries, without having to also physically control the territory.

This mechanism was named the European Coal and Steel Commission, which became the European Economic Commission, which became the European Commission, and which is now known today as the European Union. Its core function is to prevent the build-up of the economic pressures that lead to war.

From the 1890s, the military forces of Western Europe, and increasingly the United States, underwent an extensive debate regarding the relative advantages of continuing to rely on steam-powered engines fueled by the burning of coal over the emergent liquid fuels. By 1912, the liquid fuels camp had won the debate: oil was easier to excavate, transport, store and deliver. It was scalable, yielded more energy per unit, and did not require the maintenance of a global network of “coaling stations” dependent of a small fleet of labour-intensive “coaling ships” supplying their navies.

It did, however, require the establishment of a guaranteed supply. This is how the entire Middle East, with its vast, accessible oilfields, increasingly became the focus of rival empires seeking to gain a foothold on this strategic reserve. The British navy, for example, decided to strategically switch from coal in the period just before the 1914-1918 war.

The subsequent dismantling of the Turkish Ottoman empire, leading to the carving up of its Arab dominions into the unstable oil-producing region known today, is one visible result.

Then came the dawn of nuclear energy, particularly its use in warfare, heralded by the 1945 American destruction of the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Atomic weapons were being developed by all sides during that war. They came as the logical outcome of the war’s increasing dependence on widespread destruction of cities and the civilian hinterland as a way of hampering the physical capacity of the enemy to maintain war. An atomic bomb offered the opportunity to impose strategic paralysis on an enemy through wiping out an entire city with one devastating operation.

A person no less than Albert Einstein, a refugee from Hitler’s Germany, as well as a pioneer of nuclear science, was among the voices that advised the then US President to ensure it got and stayed ahead in the coming nuclear arms race by developing the first bomb before Germany or anyone else did. For this, they advised that the US was going to need a reliable supply of good quality uranium.

“The United States has only very poor ores of uranium in moderate quantities,” they warned in a 1939 letter. “There is some good ore in Canada and the former Czechoslovakia, while the most important source of uranium is Belgian Congo.”

This is where the fate of what we now know as the DRC was sealed. In retrospect, it was clear that Patrice Lumumba barely stood a chance. As early as 1947, the newly formed US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) had already dispatched agents to establish the viability of uranium supply from Congo, and how to work with Belgian mining corporations there to secure it. A truly independent Congo was seen as a threat to that objective, with US president Eisenhower even developing something of a personal obsession with Lumumba.

“The Shinkolobwe stockpile was about 200 times purer than average uranium sources at the time,” notes Kenyan journalist Parselelo Kantai, who has researched this subject extensively.

What followed is not just known history, but a continuing story.

Western capitalism still holds a vision for the future: a fully automated world in which goods and services are made, sorted and delivered by unmanned machinery, and paid for electronically.

This means an administrative layer of control and co-ordination. The vision, therefore, is for a fully wired world, centralised around digital, online control, tracking everything from production levels to individual consumer preferences.

This is the essence of the 5G “fourth industrial revolution”: digital technology stepping up to a level of broad-span interconnectivity primed to a speed and versatility previously unseen.

We are encouraged to think of a “cloud”, but this whole information infrastructure is not ephemeral. It requires physical warehousing and relies on earth-bound space technologies: wires, server farms hosting acres of capacity, routing stations, transmitters, communication devices and the like.

Three materials, among many, are absolutely critical to all of this: copper, coltan and fibreglass. Of the three, coltan is the most valuable; it is used to make heat-resistant circuits in all digital devices. Its global trade is expected to expand exponentially as the 5G revolution takes root.

And once again, the unfortunate Democratic Republic of Congo finds itself as the primary future source for all this bounty. DRC may hold the single largest known reserves (estimated by some to be up 60 per cent of the global supply) of the mineral.

My point is simple: once a strategic resource of the future has been identified, then the region that has them is in for decades, if not centuries, the site of war and destabilisation. Control the DRC (or at least part of it), and you control the oils and uraniums of the future. Welcome back to the new Alsace-Lorraine or Middle East. Or the old Congo.

As I said in Part II of this series, no place deserves a break from this relentless plunder as does the DRC.

Key government figures in Uganda and Rwanda have long been accused of orchestrating this plunder. First directly, during their respective armies’ invasions and occupations there, and then indirectly, through the proxy militias they propped up and left behind.

Three materials, among many, are absolutely critical to all of this: copper, coltan and fibreglass. Of the three, coltan is the most valuable; it is used to make heat-resistant circuits in all digital devices. Its global trade is expected to expand exponentially as the 5G revolution takes root.

Despite furious denials, these accusations have been given substance by both the United Nations, as well as a whole host of campaigning organisations. And the fact remains that hundreds of thousands of Congolese, including children, are now living and dying as exploited artisanal miners of the ore of these and other precious minerals.

But once dug up and loaded, this valuable cargo has to go somewhere. Who talks to whom? Who gets to be the middleman? Whose borders will have to be crossed – or closed – to settle those questions?

The answer lies in the answers to those questions.

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Religious Charlatans and Why Christians Fall for Them

12 min read. In a continent with crippled medical facilities, claims of divine healing and miracles by duplicitous evangelical/Pentecostal ministers have abounded, with disastrous effects. These fake pastors take advantage of the broken healthcare system and the helplessness of poor people to enrich themselves and to project a God-like image.

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Religious Charlatans and Why Christians Fall for Them
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The country has just gone through a population census conducted by the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS) that was conducted in the last week of August 2019. The results of that census are yet to be analysed, but in 2009, the census found that more than 80 per cent of Kenyans identified themselves as Christians. The same proportion of Kenyans also indicated that faith was a central cog in their everyday life, that faith and prayers, not only ruled their daily lives, but also influenced their decisions and shaped their moral values.

In Kenya, as indeed is the case elsewhere in Africa, religious leaders enjoy high levels of public trust and respect, more than politicians, government bureaucrats, judges, magistrates, and even corporate leaders. This is not the case in the developed countries of the West especially (except in America) where religion is considered a private affair.

In the 1970s, through to the 1980s, till the beginning of this millennium, a crop of religious leaders in Kenya identified themselves as the “conscience of the nation” and the “moral voice of the voiceless”. They were regarded by the public as the “epitome of integrity”. Dubbed as “firebrands”, religious leaders, such as Bishop John Henry Okullu, at one time the provost of All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi, Bishop Alexander Muge, the soldier-turned-cleric, Archbishop David Gitari, all from the Anglican Church, plus Timothy Njoya of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA) and Archbishop Ndingi Mwana ‘a Zeki of the Catholic Church, who served for long as the archbishop in Nakuru diocese, not only spoke truth to power, but also held to account former dictator President Daniel arap Moi and the ruling Kanu party hawks.

These architects of social justice condemned rampant institutional state corruption, abuse of human rights, the instigators of ethnic land clashes and faced Moi and Kanu’s monolithic one-party rule head-on, without fear. The constant harassment and death of some of these icons of democracy and pillars of social justice coincided with the explosion of evangelical/Pentecostal Christianity in the country. This type of Christianity prides itself in the democratisation of charisma, in which any charlatan, without any theological education or training whatsoever, simply emerges, starts a one-man church, ordains himself and thereafter, creates a business empire run solely by his family members.

This calibre of evangelical/Pentecostal leaders usually frown upon theological training and are impervious to any institutional systems of control because they would like to remain accountable only to themselves. This is not to state that there is indeed evangelical/Pentecostal clergy that is composed of men and women of integrity.

Social scientists theorise that this kind of behaviour by some of these religious charlatans is encouraged by the moral decadence of the political class and a corrupt state. The Kenyan state, as currently constituted, is characterised by wanton corruption, theft of public coffers, exclusion of minorities and certain regions of the country, rampant tribalism in the government, all of which have impoverished the masses and left them extremely vulnerable to these religious charlatans who have spawned a multi-million shilling industry.

Kenyan politicians are some of the highest paid public servants in the world, whose sole concern, it seems, is self-aggrandisement and primitive accumulation of riches. It is no wonder that religious leaders seem to gain trust in situations where the population is highly susceptible to political and socio-economic vulnerabilities. This, today, is the stark reality of many Kenyans. Unemployment is rife among the youth, the healthcare facilities across the country are wanting and cancer, among other life-threatening diseases, are claiming scores of Kenyans, while the government has yet to come up with effective policies that can mitigate these problems.

In situations like this, people become desperate and look to supernatural powers to find meaning and solace, hoping for divine answers to their pain and frustrations. Research in the global South points to similar scenarios, especially in Latin America where evangelical creed has been spreading like the Amazon forest fires that have been wreaking havoc in Brazil and Bolivia in the past several weeks.

SAPs and the proliferation of Pentecostal Christianity

The infamous structural adjustments programmes (SAPs) of the late 1970s and 1980s led to the collapse of social infrastructure, particularly in the education and health sectors, which put tremendous strain on public service delivery. The impact of SAPs was felt across the African continent. It also, in a manner of speaking, heralded the proliferation of evangelical/Pentecostal and charismatic churches that many politico-economy observers have directly linked to the SAPs crisis. Impoverished by the debilitating effects of SAPs, many Kenyans and Africans in general turned to the deliverance and faith healing ministries to cater for their daily existential problems and to dull their socio-economic sufferings.

Kenyan politicians are some of the highest paid public servants in the world, whose sole concern, it seems, is self-aggrandisement and primitive accumulation of riches. It is no wonder that religious leaders seem to gain trust in situations where the population is highly susceptible to political and socio-economic vulnerabilities.

Since then, Pentecostalism has become a thriving business and the shortest route to wealth accumulation and influence in a continent teeming with a population explosion, environmental degradation, climate change, ethnic conflicts and internecine wars, disease, massive unemployment and grinding poverty.

Evangelical pastors turned to employing all manner of tricks and techniques to exhort money from their gullible flock. They built costly magnificent churches, bought luxurious cars and houses, and generally continue to live opulent lives while their church members languish and wallow in grim poverty, misery and squalor.

The pastors tell the faithful to give money to God so that God can bless them in return. They dupe the flock by telling them that divine favours come to those who pay their tithes and offerings regularly. Often, they use the biblical injunctions such as “givers never lack” to squeeze money out of people. Pentecostal pastors also claim to have healing powers that can make the deaf hear, the blind see and the lame walk. Self-styled archbishop Gilbert Deya (of the babies’ disappearance scam saga) has been one such pastor.

In a continent with crippled medical facilities, often plagued by lack of medicine and medical equipment, claims of divine healing and miracles by some of the duplicitous evangelical/Pentecostal ministers have abounded, with disastrous effects. These pastors have always preyed on the impoverished masses that cannot afford proper medical care. They take advantage of the broken healthcare system and the helplessness of poor people. They offer ineffective prayers and supposed healing crusades to enrich themselves. The healthcare crisis in Africa has bred desperation and fomented the desire for miracles, faith healing and deliverance sessions in the hope of getting cured.

At prayer healing services in some Pentecostal churches, pastors invite people infected with HIV/AIDS to the pulpit for public healing prayers. After the dramatic prayers, the infected people are asked to throw away their antiretroviral medications and consider themselves healed.

The presumed healing prayers of the pastors are not free, and many desperate people spend a fortune paying for those prayers. These prayers continue to be administered, even as the believers’ conditions worsen and some eventually die. Desperation, stigma, family rejection and fear of witchcraft drives people into a never-ending search for miracles and cure from healing crusades and prayer rallies.

Moral failure of leadership

The growing rise of political influence and power among the Pentecostals has made them almost untouchable. Many have weaved their way into politics, becoming political influencers who shape debates and drive policy. Hence, anybody critical of the Pentecostal pastors is faced with their wrath, resistance, and condemnation from their enthusiastic members who are in government and politics.

When the former Attorney General Prof Githu Mugai published a proposed regulatory framework to control rogue clergy and religious organisations in Kenya, certain politicians, both from the ruling Jubilee party and the opposition, claimed that the government wanted to muzzle freedom of worship. The Religious Societies Rule published by the Attorney General Office in 2016 required, among other things, religious bodies to have a constitution that explicitly showed their doctrinal belief. It also required these bodies to be registered by the government, to be open to scrutiny, and above all, that pastors to have as a minimum a theology certificate from a credible and recognised institution of higher learning. Yet, the truth of the matter is that many Kenyans are still opposed and reluctant to see religious bodies regulated by the government, their public outcry about the pastors’ waywardness notwithstanding.

At prayer healing services in some Pentecostal churches, pastors invite people infected with HIV/AIDS to the pulpit for public healing prayers. After the dramatic prayers, the infected people are asked to throw away their antiretroviral medications and consider themselves healed.

The question of the day then has always been: are our Christians that gullible or are they just desperate? There is no doubt that many Christians are searching for a moral vocabulary when grappling with social and economic hard times. This is what makes them gullible. For many, church is a space to be in community with one another – a space for healing – both emotional and physically. It is a space for spiritual fellowship, for easing pain and negotiating identities and relationships. Peoples’ involvement in these type of churches cannot be exactly pinned on any particular issues. Instead, it is a function of a complexity of issues that are not just spiritual, but that are also personal and communal. During times of crisis, people turn to the church to be in community.

In many parts of Africa, the majority of the people are perpetually living in moments of one crisis after another. They feel lost, alone and in need of moral guidance. They look up to their clergy to provide a moral universe and leadership and space for healing. Indubitably, some rogue clergy have taken advantage of this perilous situation to speak the language that the gullible Christian wants to hear.

It is a challenge that many African governments grapple with every day. In 2004, the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission (NBC) banned the broadcasting of “miracles” on national television. Faith healing happens to be the greatest threat to scientific medical advancement and healthcare delivery in Africa. President Paul Kagame of Rwanda deregistered nearly 8,000 churches and demanded that the clergy get theological education before they open a church.

The greatest threat of Pentecostalism is its unregulated clergy and the moral failure of its leadership. Although other Christian denominations also suffer from this moral crisis, Pentecostalism seems to have been affected the most. Deeply embedded within the Pentecostalism’s ethos is a personality cult. Evangelical charismatic leaders are often virtually worshipped by many of their followers. Averse to proper theological education, they instead claim to have the power of the Holy Spirit as their sole teacher. Oftentimes, supported by their fanatical followers, these leaders, become small gods who cannot be questioned. In a “Christian” country like Kenya, these type of church leaders become very powerful and attractive to influential political elites.

In 2004, the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission (NBC) banned the broadcasting of “miracles” on national television. Faith healing happens to be the greatest threat to scientific medical advancement and healthcare delivery in Africa.

It is this power and godlike behaviour that leads many of the Pentecostal pastors to deal with the churches’ coffers as their personal money and church properties as their family business. While there are Pentecostal churches, such as Christ Is The Answer Ministries (CITAM), that have instituted structures and policies to handle cases of financial and pastoral misconduct, ineptitude and impropriety, many of these “personalised” evangelical churches find it hard to work within systems.

In Kenya, evangelical/Pentecostal and charismatic churches are under the Evangelical Alliance of Kenya (EAK), but it is not clear whether they have a system of checks and balances to regulate their churches. To the best of my knowledge, there is no body that regulates the so-called independent churches in Kenya and their ministers. A favourite Bible verse favoured by these pastors that says, “touch not my anointed” (Psalms 105:15) is always flashed by these ministers to fend off and stifle criticism of any kind.

Pastors Kanyari and Ng’ang’a are a power unto themselves. Many well-meaning Christians have decried such rogue religious leaders in Kenya, prompting observers to ask if religion is indeed the bane of Kenyan society. This is because of their recklessness, waywardness, lack of moral rectitude and their nefarious activities, not to mention the source of their wealth, which they always flaunt with abandon.

Kenya and Nigeria, comprise some of the most highly religious societies in Africa, but they are at the same time two of the most corrupt countries in Africa, if not in the world, according to Transparency International (TI)’s Corruption Perceptions Index. Since it was launched in 1995, Kenya has always been ranked in the bottom half of the countries surveyed – a paradox but one that we have to contend with.

The same is the case with South Africa, Uganda and Zimbabwe. An authentic church leadership has been always critical in fighting political and socio-economic ills in society. Yet, once it is co-opted by the state, it ceases to identify itself with the people and their societal struggles and finds itself silent in the face of wanton corruption perpetrated by the state’s aficionados.

The making of cult leaders

Ever since he burst into the public limelight in 2004, Prophet Owuor of the Repentance and Holiness ministry travels like the President of Kenya, his “presidential-like” motorcade complete with sirens, chase cars and top-of-the-range fuel guzzlers. Meanwhile, his fanatical followers clean the roads he is passing on with soap and detergent. Never mind that his members have never engaged in a public drive to clean the environment, even as a religious corporate responsibility.

In fact, Owuor’s rallies leave heaps of garbage at crusade venues, where tree branches are cut in celebration of purported miracles performed by the “Lord of the mightiest…mightiest of prophets,” of Yehovah, as Owuor is referred to by his followers. He is always received on a red carpet and his podium is decorated like that of a president, complete with a “presidential chair” called the “Lord’s Chair” that is always carried around wherever he goes. Prophet Owuor is clearly a man obsessed with temporal powers, even as he apparently flaunts his supposedly spiritual powers.

Ever since he burst into the public limelight in 2004, Prophet Owuor of the Repentance and Holiness ministry travels like the President of Kenya, his “presidential-like” motorcade complete with sirens, chase cars and top-of-the-range fuel guzzlers.

His retinue of security people (some of whom are believed to be from the disciplined forces) provide him with state-like security. A body count of his security detail revealed up to 24 armed men. Prophet Owuor’s religious high-handedness has led observers to wonder about the “securitisation of religion” and “religionisation of the state” in Kenya. His motorcade often causes a stir as ordinary motorists are forced off the road to make room for Kenya’s spiritual president.

The reasons for such overt displays of extravagance, opulence and power by these religious charlatans are ostensibly to pump up their egos and prove to ordinary mortals that they are extraordinary. This show of imagined “spiritual” power is obviously manufactured by people suffering from megalomania and a false sense of deep personal importance and self-love that implicitly suggests that they would like to be treated as demigods.

The tragedy of this crude display of raw power and ostentatious wealth is that it is all derived from manipulation, and very often through excessive and unsustainable debt. Followers who question the profligate lifestyle of Prophet Owuor have been known to be intimated and threatened with the curse of catching terminal ailments such as cancer and being involved in freak fatal car accidents.

The other cultish manifestation is the tendency towards the supernatural and the spectacular. The signs and wonders of “miracles” include healing, raising people from the dead, prophesying, and sharing of visions. Never mind that the majority of these miracles are frequently stage-managed using actors and actresses, psychological tools or modern technologies. Owuor has often circulated tens of images of him being transfigured, doubled and tripled. Similarly, he has circulated images of the sun clapping at him, the glory shining on him and other such theatrics. All these serve to attract and keep his members intact, and to maintain the hierarchical power structure. There is no mistaking that Owuor considers himself as the only “true” prophet.

His ministry was recently been embroiled in a sex scandal, in which his most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man was accused by several church women of cunningly sleeping with them. The women described Owuor’s acolyte and bishop of Kasarani area as a deceitful man who lured female worshippers to his house in Nairobi, oftentimes in the ungodly dark hours, to have carnal knowledge with them. The excuse he would use to entrap them was always prayers to cast out the demons that were hiding in their bodies. Why those demons needed to be chased away in the dead of the night and when the women were completely nude, only the bishop can explain. Until, the exposé in the last week of August 2019, the issue of sex pests within Owuor’s closely-knit inner circle was the worst kept secret.

The adoration and veneration of these so-called “men of God” is another distinguishing characteristic of cultism. The “Apostle,” “prophet” and “messiah”, is imaged as the chosen one, God’s messenger, the dispenser of blessings and curses, grace, health and even wealth. In the case of Owuor, he is the beholder of the golden keys to heaven, and he alone has the powers to bless people to eternity or lock them out completely. These spiritual elites also supposedly have one-to-one conversations with God, not once, but sometimes several times in a day. For Owuor, Jesus Christ actually comes down from his throne to lie and sleep on his feet.

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In seeking to display their cult-like tendencies, these type of leaders catastrophically end up dividing and isolating church members from their family, friends and even their community. Some of the Prophet Owuor’s followers that I spoke to recounted harrowing experiences and heart-wrenching stories of isolation of members who were portrayed as evil and sinful. Stringent control of church women on what they should wear, how they should wear it and even how to comport themselves are some of the control measures that afflict Owuor’s followers. One time as he held his crusade in Nakuru, I asked one of his adherents why some men and women were wrapped in curtains and he told me, “They are not to engage in sexual intercourse before and during the crusade. The Prophet demands that they abstain from connubial activities until he is done with the crusade.” Some of Prophet Owuor’s members have resorted to not shaking hands with non-church members.

Owuor’s ministry has a long list of do’s and don’ts for his followers, which include among other things, what to wear, how to speak and who to speak to. This exclusionism of members in his church has generated tremendous interest from a bewildered public. Testimonies of families breaking up are common in the church.

Another tell-tale sign of a cultist movement is the craze about possessing high-sounding titles. Owuor has more titles than any other religious charlatan I know of. Yet, followers of such leaders, educated or not, are always awed by such grandiose titles. They always seem to be intrigued by religious power and sometimes some just want to have a new religious experience.

Prophet Owuor has attracted a significant number of academics, civil servants and professionals who legitimise his cult-like image. Apparently, they are attracted by their leader’s lofty education status. It is through such obeisance of deep faith and trust, a great need to belong, sincerity, spiritual manipulation and vulnerability and isolation that gives rise to this kind of spiritual abuse.

Rogue clergy and religious charlatans are increasingly becoming a national crisis in Kenya. There has been pressure from the public for the government to tame this wayward “Christian industry” by introducing stiff regulations. Yet, the question of the people’s apparent gullibility cannot be wished away.

Why is it that they do not seem to learn from past experiences of busted rogue pastors? The Kenya government is, therefore, caught in between protecting freedoms of expression and putting a stop to religious malevolence. The government regulating the religious organisations is one thing, it is another for these faith-based organisations to also put their houses in order and regulate themselves as well if they hope to reclaim their integrity and respect.

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The ‘Othering’ of Somalis and How This Impacts Kenya’s War on Terror

15 min read. IBRAHIM MAGARA argues that instead of exploring opportunities to heal wounds, and mending ties in pursuit of the national interest, specifically national security, the Kenyan state has adopted counterterrorism approaches and strategies that are deeply divisive and historically and contextually insensitive.

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The ‘Othering’ of Somalis and How This Impacts Kenya’s War on Terror
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Since September 11, 2001, the war on terror and associated programmes, such as countering violent extremism (CVE), have been a major focus of attention among experts drawn from a multiplicity of sectors and disciplines. The “war on terror” has been an evolving yet controversial realm of academic inquiry and policy discourse whose implementation is characterised by controversial conceptual contours and dramatic practical turns, with important challenges both in the United States (its origins) and abroad. It is a war that remains as elusive in actuality as it is contested as a concept.

So far one cannot confidently point at any known example of a society that has waged and won this war and indeed there is scepticism as to whether any will for the simple reason that that the said war is unconventional. Perhaps the best-known way to win the war on terror is not to start one. But Kenya has, over the years, positioned itself as an unswerving ally of the West, particularly the US, in this war and as such the country is already deeply engaged in one.

This then raises the question about what we know about better ways, if any, of going about the war on terror and CVE. A lot of commentators on this subject have consistently argued for the need to focus on “winning hearts and minds”, particularly of members of the affected society – the so-called “at risk” groups – as a better approach to CVE programmes and addressing the menace of terrorism broadly understood. This entails, among others, the ability to create and diligently transact on a counter-narrative to sentiments of violent extremism with the aim of winning the confidence of the most affected communities in view of (i) dissuading those already engaged in this barbarism; (ii) reducing and hopefully eventually eliminating new recruitments and; (iii) recruiting and deploying the concerned and/or “at risk” community as an ally in the fight against the vice.

In the case of Kenya, and following the said logic, therefore, the Kenyan Somali community, given its strong national and cultural ties with Somalia (the base of Al Shabaab), is a major player which must be constructively and meaningfully engaged if the country is to make any significant gains in as far as the so-called war on terror and CVE programmes are concerned. However, I argue that there is a little problem here given the fact that the Kenyan state and the Somali community have historically not enjoyed good relations, hence raising the question about how such antagonism negatively impacts Kenya’s CVE programmes and its approach to the war on terror in general.

The cost of terror

Having suffered numerous attacks, stretching from the 7 August 1998 bombing of the US embassy in Nairobi by elements linked to Al Qaeda to this year’s attack on the dusitD2 hotel complex in upmarket Nairobi, Kenya has undoubtedly paid a huge price with regard to terrorism, just as it has had its share of challenges related to CVE. Even as the country marks the 21st anniversary of the 1998 bombing that claimed over 200 lives, the risk of terror lurks, its smell lingers with its dangers obviously palpable as are its scars.

In the case of Kenya, and following the said logic, therefore, the Kenyan Somali community, given its strong national and cultural ties with Somalia (the base of Al Shabaab), is a major player which must be constructively and meaningfully engaged if the country is to make any significant gains in as far as the so-called war on terror and CVE programmes are concerned.

The impact of Al Shabaab’s reinvention and sophistication was first felt in Kenya and indeed the world during the Westgate mall attack on 21 September 2013 that left 68 dead and more than 200 wounded. Before this incident, Al Shabaab was associated with arguably low-level attacks, such as hurling grenades and/or improvised explosive devices (IEDs) at groups of people in public spaces, such as churches, mosques, markets and bus stops, coupled with incidents of hijackings and kidnappings, especially in the north-eastern and coastal regions of the country.

After Westgate, two other complex attacks have been executed by Al Shabaab that not only led to loss of life, but also caused untold pain to Kenya and Kenyans. These were the Garissa University attack on April 2, 2015 in which 147 people, most of them students, were killed and the dusitD2 hotel complex attack on 15 January this year that left 21 dead. Such attacks have raised questions about Kenya’s preparedness, its ability to deter such attacks and/or deal with them, and most importantly, whether there are assurances of non-recurrence.

The number of Kenyans who have since died as a result of Al Shabaab attacks is certainly staggering. While this is the case, the Kenyan government has arguably not put in place measures to ensure and assure its public and the world that such horrifying attacks will not happen again. Furthermore, the number and frequency of low-level attacks, especially targeting security personnel in the north-eastern region, is worrisome. Even more disturbing is what I call the “kawaidaness” (near normalisation) with which a section of Kenyan society is increasingly greeting the news of the latter kind of attacks.

It is no secret that Al Shabaab still remains a huge threat to Kenya and the region. The terror group appears to have been able to manipulate religion and other historical dynamics, such as Kenya’s troubled internal divisions and worsening political and economic fragmentation along regional and ethnic lines, to further its cause, making it a resilient monster and most importantly an enemy from within whose rise can be seen, in part, as a direct result of the Kenyan state’s (in collaboration with foreign allies) approach to CVE and the war on terror.

The problematic framing of CVE

Following the recent wave of white supremacist attacks in the US, some minority groups, particularly Muslims, including those from Somalia, have continued to express their displeasure with the profiling that is associated with the US’s CVE programmes. Such programmes have been criticised as being vehicles for profiling and criminalising Muslims and other marginalised communities. Similar programmes in the UK under “Prevent” among others, requires all public workers (for example, every public school teacher) to report on radicalisation, solidifying what can be seen as a new channel of “the school-to-prison pipeline” largely affecting immigrants, especially from countries that are predominantly Muslim and Arab.

These kinds of skewed CVE and war on terror programmes and approaches are certainly deeply problematic since they not only create resentment but also provide a clear path through which the targeted communities’ vulnerability to violent radicalisation may actually increase, hence ultimately becoming counter-productive. These kinds of programmes, disguised as security measures, are not by any means new in the world. For example, in the US, there has been the so-called Black Identity Extremist (BIE) programme that has historically been used by the FBI to portray black activists as terrorists and a violent threat to law enforcement, thus creating a dangerous nexus of CVE and BIE with black Muslims as the target of close monitoring and containment.

Some commentators have argued that BIE, Prevent and similar CVE programmes, particularly in the West, are never designed to counter-violence. On the contrary, they are directed at suppressing dissent from marginalised communities, hence their focus is on individual acts rather than the systemic roots of violence. As such CVE programmes are not only ineffective but actually possible avenues of breeding and exacerbating different types and levels of violence, including what is conceived as violent extremism, radicalisation and terrorism in many jurisdictions, including both in the global North and the global South, including Kenya.

Another problem that is closely related to these constructs and approaches is the “othering” associated with how the states in question decide who is “at risk” or who are the “concerned communities”. For example, looking at one of the CVE programmes in Boston, it is interesting to note that it outlines and documents social and economic trauma faced by the Somali community. Then it proceeds to lay out as one of the key solutions to such a social problem the establishment of opportunities and platforms through which the local police spend time with Somali youth aged between 13 and 17 years. It becomes difficult to ascertain if and how this is less humiliating and insulting than other programmes that, for instance, target similar sections of society with mental health support. This is for the simple reason that such programming has already judged and, in most cases, condemned, albeit covertly, a certain group of people as being dangerous, hence in need of help; otherwise they are terrorists, at least in potency.

Some commentators have argued that BIE, Prevent and similar CVE programmes, particularly in the West, are never designed to counter-violence. On the contrary, they are directed at suppressing dissent from marginalised communities, hence their focus is on individual acts rather than the systemic roots of violence.

In short, what runs across such conceptions and praxis is a thoroughgoing governmentality with a long history of criminalisation of marginalised communities, which unfortunately is not an answer to violence but a tool to constantly exclude and then justify the suppression of official state-sanctioned oppression on the grounds of those groups being potential producers of insecurity and/or disruptors of peace and harmony. This is exactly what is happening in Kenya with the securitisation and militarisation of the Somali territories operating within a complex context of historical marginalisation based on contested Somali identity.

The history of the problem

As pastoralists scattered across the vast “wastelands” in the north-eastern part of Kenya, Somalis have historically largely survived in immense isolation, often under deplorable social and economic conditions away from the public domain and far from the centre, neither contributing much to national development nor sufficiently benefitting from economic and political gains that the country has been making since independence. This is, however, changing significantly, given the Somalis’ current ventures into and gains from business and trade.

Somalis have equally been victims of state-led violence of atrocious nature committed across the years, including during the irredentist Shifta War and a number of massacres, such as the Wagalla and Garissa massacres, which collectively saw the killing of over 8,000 Somalis

Somali territories have historically remained highly securitised and militarised. It only takes a road trip from Garissa – just across the Tana River – to Mandera and you will easily appreciate this fact. I recall that during my frequent travels to the region between 2016 and 2018, my driver often jokingly said that “sasa tumevuka mpaka wa Kenya” once we crossed the security check, which is curiously right on top of the Garissa Bridge.

As pastoralists scattered across the vast “wastelands” in the north-eastern part of Kenya, Somalis have historically largely survived in immense isolation, often under deplorable social and economic conditions away from the public domain and far from the centre, neither contributing much to national development nor sufficiently benefitting from economic and political gains that the country has been making since independence.

There are numerous accounts by experts tracing the history of the rise of Somali nationalism in the 1950-60s, the subsequent Kenya-Somalia border controversy and the associated cessation ideology and Shifta War. The systematic historical and contemporaneous alienation of the Somalis is traceable to the rise of Somali nationalism beginning towards the end of the 19th century into early 20th century. This was around the time of the advent of European colonisation and the partitioning of Somali-inhabited territories between Western powers.

The partitioning of the Somali nation between the British, the French, the Italians, and the Ethiopians was a critical moment in the political history of Somalis in the Horn of Africa. The permanent fragmentation of the Somali key grazing areas, which occurred when the British handed over the Somali-dominated, and still contested, Ogaden in 1948 and Hawd areas in 1954 to Ethiopians, was to follow. This set in motion not only one of the most disputed border areas in the Horn of Africa that renewed Somali resistance regionally, but also lay the foundation for Somalis’ later notions of “ambiguous citizenship in Kenya

The years leading to independence for both Somalia and Kenya were epitomised by intensified Somali political disturbances, which were repeatedly echoed in various means. The growth of nationalistic ideology led to the establishment of political parties, such as the Somaliland National League (SNL) and the Somali Youth League (SYL), with goals of furthering Somali nationalism

The quest for Somali unity does not fall too far from Al Shabaab’s dubious claims to unite the Somali people, especially the youth, and guard them against external (particularly Western) corruption, which resonates well with ideologies of Boko Haram in Nigeria and ISIS in the Middle East.

We should not forget that before undergoing the two dramatic transformations that have led to the lethal terror group that Al Shabaab has become, the group was originally a youth militia associated with the relatively moderate Islamic Courts Union (ICU) that rose to power in Somalia in early 2006 with the aim of establishing an Islamist state in Somalia.

Perhaps the only nuance in the historical clamour for a Pan-Somali ideology is an emphasis on the need for the said Greater Somalia to be an Islamic state, which was always a factor anyway, although it was not as heavily pronounced back then as it has been in recent years. It is an ideology that Al Shabaab has continued to exploit and package in religious propaganda in furtherance of its terror activities. To this end, I think, we cannot dissociate the historical clamour for Somali unity with Kenya’s current challenges with the war on terror for the simple reason that the search for an all-inclusive Somali state was an unwelcome idea for the Kenyan authorities and had to be quashed at all costs and by adoption of all means, as was witnessed during the Shifta War.

The Kenya-Somalia border dispute was one of the earliest post-colonial border controversies and one that presented unprecedented challenges for the newly independent state, with Kenya adopting a militaristic pacification approach to quash the ideology. Revisiting such history is important, especially at a time when Kenya is again locked in an escalating territorial dispute with Somalia

While Somali leaders believed in the unity of the Somali people irrespective of the flags under which they lived, the Kenyan leadership, on the other hand, perceived the demands by the Somali population as an outright act of aggression on its territorial integrity. However, this is not a creation of the governments of independent Kenya since, in many significant ways, the strained relations between the Kenyan state and the Somali community is an inheritance from the colonial state’s blunders, including a referendum held in 1962 in the Northern Frontier District (NFD) regarding the political future of the inhabitants of the area, whose results the colonial government did not follow through, particularly due to opposition by Kenyan leaders who were serving in the colonial government, notably Jomo Kenyatta and Ronald Ngala

Expectedly, under Kenyatta, who had argued that no inch of Kenyan territory should cede, the newly-established post-colonial Kenyan state threw a cordon sanitaire around Somali territories of the country the same way the colonial government did. This meant that social, economic, cultural, and political activities of Somalis were seriously curtailed and human rights abuses against them intensified, marking the beginning of a bitter resistance (the Shifta War) whose consequences were historically disastrous and whose scars, particularly among the Somalis populations, remain to date. This became a major turning point in the “othering” of Somalis in Kenya, with far-reaching implications, especially as regards current CVE and war on terror. 

The othering of Kenyan Somalis

The othering of the Somali community in Kenya is perhaps one of the single most important factors fanning the historical marginalisation and current identity contestation. This othering is characterised by stereotyping, with symbolically fixed boundaries including popular narratives about the Somali community’s inability to integrate. It takes a simple observation of the patterns of the Somali lifestyle in urban set-ups like Nairobi to determine that they indeed live in same and specific locations, do business in specific spaces etc.

The historical disavowal of Kenya’s Somalis is based on several fetishes of differences relating to their language, culture and religion, but also with its own poetics, deeply invested in power as a product of discursive and hegemonic practices well theorised in mainstream discourse analyses. Under colonial rule, Somalis were stereotyped as “hostile”, “warlike” or “warriors”, concepts that the Kenyan government and the non-Somali Kenyan public seem to have easily accepted without question; they are assumed and adopted as true representations of Somali identity. This has come with a huge cost, as experienced through the so-called “violence of decolonisation” and indeed current struggle with homegrown extremist violence, which the majority of the Somali youth are perceived as highly exposed to.

The othering of the Somali community in Kenya is perhaps one of the single most important factors fanning the historical marginalisation and current identity contestation. This othering is characterised by stereotyping, with symbolically fixed boundaries including popular narratives about the Somali community’s inability to integrate.

The lack of integration of the Somali community and lack of interaction between them and the non-Somali populations in Kenya exist in and furthers relations of mutual suspicion. But since the government is seen as controlled by the non-Somali communities, the Somalis are simply victims of asymmetric relations in which they are viewed by the rest as troublesome. It takes a little attentiveness to the public mood and you will tell that such sentiments are heavily pronounced every time there is a terror attack. In such times, suspicion of the Somalis seems to surge and a lot of ordinary non-Somali Kenyans create a narrative that is openly aggressive to Somalis but somehow, with the help of the posture and conduct of the state, such aggressiveness is normalised.

It reminds me of an incident in 2015 after the Garissa attack when I attended a function in Nairobi in the company of a Somali driver who was wearing a kanzu. At some point after midday, he wanted to go for prayers in a mosque across the road and so he came to where I was to inform me about it. As he walked away, someone remarked, albeit jokingly, if “we were safe”, a statement that I found offensive, not only to my colleague but to Somalis and any reasonable person really. Of course, I raised my concern over the same, to which the said person casually apologised. This was especially annoying given the stature of the person in question and the nature of the event. It goes to show that as a society there is a prevalent perception about Somalis that we have been reluctant to interrogate in relation to the bigger discourse on terrorism.

The othering narrative discursively accentuates the distorted imagery of the Somalis as “warlike” or as the “enemy of the Kenyan state” and even birthed the derogatorily yet normalised stereotype of “wariah”, which is a rather unconscious continuation of the colonial representation of their identity as “warriors” by the public. This stereotype of Somalis has undoubtedly influenced the Kenyan government’s perceptions and handling of the Somalis but also positions the wider public against the Somali community.

It should not be lost on us that by the time the NFD was handed over to the post-independent Kenyan government, stereotypes of “warlike” Somalis contributed to the beginning of anti-Somali sentiments, with an emergence of more derogatory repertoires mutating and normalised over time, ranging from “shiftas”, “wariah”, “bandits’,jangili”, “Al Shabab”, “Al Shabaab sympathisers”, and most recently, “cash points”. Such images, real or imaginary, have continued to influence the Kenyan authorities’ behaviour towards the Somalis, leading to gross violations of human rights, for instance as was witnessed during Operation Usalama Watch that followed the Westgate attack. The historical othering was discursively articulated by portraying the Somali quest for independence as “secessionist” and its people as being anti the Kenyan state.

It is simply the nuanced formulation of such configuration that justifies the current narrative that associates Somalis with terrorism, or at least as sympathisers of Al Shabaab, and hence collectively perceived and dealt with as a threat to national security. Regardless of the political rhetoric of unity, the actions of the government and the mood of the general public regarding the place of Somalis in the wider scheme of CVE and the war on terror are that the community is a “problem to be fixed” – the same logic employed by the CVE programmes in the West, particularly in the US and the UK.

The relationship of antagonism between the state and the Somali community causes anxiety and uncertainty, especially at this critical moment when the state desperately needs genuine input from the Somali community if its CVE programme and the wider war on terror is to “succeed”. While there is a need for a sense of national unity and pride (patriotism) in the campaign against terrorism and extremist violence, the Somali othering obstinately negates the sense of that value by revealing the ambivalences of the Kenyan state as a stable unified entity, which creates fault lines that continue to be exploited to the advantage of terrorists, particularly Al Shabaab.

It should not be lost on us that by the time the NFD was handed over to the post-independent Kenyan government, stereotypes of “warlike” Somalis contributed to the beginning of anti-Somali sentiments, with an emergence of more derogatory repertoires mutating and normalised over time, ranging from “shiftas”, “wariah”, “bandits’,jangili”, “Al Shabab”, “Al Shabaab sympathisers”, and most recently, “cash points”.

Furthermore, this othering continues to be reinvented and redeployed as a tool for Kenya’s own precarious constitution as a “nation” but also as a justification for the perceived Somali revolt against their own country, including their indifference to the war on terror and government’s CVE programmes.

Which way now for CVE and war on terror?

Now that Kenya is already deep in the problematic war on terror, it is imperative to keep up the tempo of counterterrorism operations in order to eliminate threats and degrade the capabilities of militants, particularly Al Shabaab. Indeed, nothing can justify terrorism and violent extremism, but we must also acknowledge that they do not arise in a vacuum. As the United Nations Secretary-General (UN-SG) rightly notes, “actual or perceived injustice and promised empowerment become attractive wherever human rights are being violated, good governance is being ignored and aspirations are being crushed.” He particularly singles out state violence and abuse of power as “tipping point” for terror.

If the Kenyan state is to make and/or consolidate its gains, if any, on the war on terror, it must deeply reflect on its positionality in regard to the conception and approaches that it has since adopted and experimented on. This includes, but is not limited to, a genuine appraisal of how the state’s perception and handling of the Somali community undermine the country’s own efforts against extremist violence.

To address any type of violence, society must focus on the structures that disadvantage certain groups, including historically marginalised communities – not just obvious physical violence, but also structural violence, such as that related to and sustained by inequities. This is for the simple reason that violence, including terrorism, emerges and survives in environments of identity contestation, hence ultimately insurgencies are best defeated by political legitimacy.

In its attempts to tackle the drivers and enablers of extreme violence, Kenya needs to open a political conversation on the county’s painful history and create a platform through which to forge a future that promises opportunities for all its people. This is one of the pathways to enacting in its people the sense of patriotism and national unity that are vital ingredients in the struggle against insurgency and the ever-changing terrain of security challenges. This calls for re-imagination of ingenious and pragmatic approaches in forging solidarity in addressing the pressing security concerns of our time.

Unfortunately, instead of exploring opportunities to heal wounds, as suggested by the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC), and mending ties in pursuit of the national interest, specifically national security, it appears that the war on terror and approaches to CVE that the Kenyan state continues to adopt are deeply Western and historically and contextually insensitive. Hence they actually contribute to reproducing and deepening antagonism between the state and a section of its own society, thereby significantly undermining the former’s security objectives.

One then wonders if and how Kenya’s current CVE programme and counterterrorism strategies, tilted to Western framings and laden with American bias, will succeed. It certainly is a problematic issue area, especially when the CVE within the purview of the war on terror is perceived as nothing other than a violent return of the colonial past, with its split geographies of “us” and “them”; “civilization” and “barbarism”; and “good” and “evil”.

Without any intention whatsoever to validate such grave claims and conspiracies, one would want to seriously consider the implication of certain narratives that are prevalent in Kenyan society, especially during and around terror attacks. Issues, such as claims of Al Shabaab discrimination during attacks and/or conspiracy theories such as that there was word among Somalis about the impending attack at the Garissa University College, calls on experts to reflect deeply on such matters and place them in their historical-political context as they wrestle with the process of meaning-making of Kenya’s prospects as far as the war on terror is concerned and the positionality of the Somali community in these complex dynamics.

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