Elections are supposed to flip power relations. During an electoral process, a country’s political elites remember their fundamental jobs and are – more than ever – the servants of the people. While campaigns are ongoing, the elites need voters’ support, their attention…and most importantly, their votes. During this time, it is voters who can sit back and evaluate their leaders, deciding whether or not their actions are deserving of another term in office. Over the years and around the world, however, this power structure has often been reversed. In the quest to win and/or retain power, political elites have managed to shape the electoral process to their advantage, creating loopholes and amending laws that dilute public power.
PUBLIC CONFIDENCE IN THE KENYAN ELECTORAL PROCESS
Kenya is no exception to this rule, and voters have taken note. Over the past fifteen years, the Kenyan public’s confidence in elections has dropped precipitously. In fact, between 2005 and 2015, the proportion of Kenyans who strongly agreed that elections were the best way to choose leaders decreased by more than ten percentage points. Unsurprisingly, faith in the credibility of elections has also suffered. In fact, there has never been a time over the last three election cycles (including the current one) when a majority of Kenyans has felt that the last election was completely free and fair.
With the next general election in Kenya scheduled to take place in less than three months, it is critical to think about how to urgently address this marked dearth in voter confidence. An important first step is the assessment of potential vulnerabilities. Reflection about what went wrong last time and what is at risk of going wrong again is useful, not only for policymakers but also for voters, who can and should take time to critically assess whether or not their electoral processes prioritize their roles and voices.
There are, of course, many issues to consider. These include poorly enforced electoral laws, delayed timelines, the lack of intra-party democracy, incidents of pre-election violence, and shrinking space for vigorous public debate on the most contentious and timely election-related issues. At this stage in the electoral cycle, however, it is most urgent to focus attention on the factors that most significantly impacted the credibility of the last election and which continue to haunt this election cycle. Together, unresolved questions regarding leadership and integrity, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC), voter registration and the process of counting and tallying threaten the credibility of the upcoming elections.
LEADERSHIP AND INTEGRITY
To begin, the 2013 election was the first to take place under the guiding principles of the country’s new, internationally lauded constitution, itself the result of a decades-long struggle. The constitution included many new provisions that would have a bearing on elections, but one of the most fundamental, overarching issues concerned the qualifications for and conduct expected of state officers. Indeed, Chapter Six of the constitution, devoted to leadership and integrity, is groundbreaking in the context of Kenyan political history, confronting, as it does, some of the most longstanding and deeply embedded obstacles to good governance.
Over the past fifteen years, the Kenyan public’s confidence in elections has dropped precipitously. In fact, between 2005 and 2015, the proportion of Kenyans who strongly agreed that elections were the best way to choose leaders decreased by more than ten percentage points.
Chapter Six fundamentally shifted the relationship between state officers and the people, requiring the former to selflessly serve the latter. Despite the dramatic weakness of the Leadership and Integrity Act that was passed to operationalize Chapter Six provisions, the lead-up to election day in 2013 did include bold efforts to test the letter and spirit of the law. The most notable of these was a lawsuit filed by the International Center for Policy and Conflict and five others, which asked a deeply controversial question: were Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto in violation of Chapter Six standards, and therefore ineligible to run for office, based on the International Criminal Court’s indictments against them for their alleged commission of crimes against humanity in the aftermath of the 2007 election?
The High Court’s judgment was disappointing, leaving the public doubting that state institutions were in fact committed to the standards of the constitution. Although the Court claimed that it lacked jurisdiction on matters related to the presidential election, its judgment did define the standard of integrity required by a person seeking public office. According to the Court, such an office-seeker should be beyond reproach and should not have unresolved questions about his/her character and commitment to the national values in the constitution. On the other hand, however, it also ruled that there is a distinction between appointive and elective positions. For the latter, the Court was of the opinion that it is up to the voters to decide who to choose, based on candidates’ “honesty, rectitude, uprightness and scrupulousness.” After the judgment was handed down, a lawyer for the petitioners remarked, “Today marks the official death of one of the chapters in the constitution. That is Chapter Six.”
Uhuru and Ruto were thus free to run for office, and Kenyans were told that questions about their character related to the indictments against them were “a personal issue.”
More importantly, since the substantive issues of the case were never appealed to the Supreme Court, Kenyans were left with an electoral context that was marked by the severe limitations of the candidate pool. After all, the Court had not considered that by attempting to leave it up to voters to decide how strictly candidates should be judged with regard to factors of integrity, it could well be that voters ended up with little substantive choice. With no enforcement of Chapter Six provisions for elective office-seekers, voters could well be faced with a slate of candidates, all of whose characters were tainted by integrity-related problems. The ruling also made it clear that there was little political will to apply the leadership and integrity laws across the board, thus cementing the status quo of elite impunity.
Unsurprisingly, unresolved leadership and integrity issues continue to plague this electoral cycle. In 2016, PricewaterhouseCoopers conducted a survey on the prevalence of economic crimes in the world and found that Kenya topped the list of 78 countries in the study. A shocking one percent of the country’s national budget had been properly accounted for in the previous year. Theft and misappropriation was the most common type of crime. As of 2016, there were 17 MPs who had been charged in court for committing serious criminal offenses, including fraud, forgery, hate speech, rape, corruption and incitement to violence. At least 90 others were under suspicion for graft.
The public has noticed. When asked how much they trusted the ruling party, the opposition and MPs, Kenyans reported significantly low levels of confidence.
Table 1: Trust in Parliament, the Ruling Party and Opposition Parties
|Not at All||Just a Little||Somewhat||A Lot||Don’t Know|
Source: Afrobarometer R6 2014/2015
Such findings are telling, and they are especially relevant in the context of upcoming elections. Given the lack of political will to seriously implement and enforce constitutional standards of integrity, the public has little reason to put its trust in the state, or in the electoral process. Without proper enforcement of Chapter Six provisions, voters’ choices are always restricted. Over time, such an environment can lead to increasingly low levels of public confidence. In the long run, this endangers democratic resilience.
In an attempt to address the gaps in Chapter Six enforcement, the IEBC recently convened what is known as the Chapter Six Working Group on Election Preparedness. The group, which includes several state institutions, plans to vet parties’ lists of nominated candidates to ensure that they adhere to the Attorney General’s recently published guidelines. It is unclear, however, what authority this group has to carry out its stated purpose, especially given that the Court’s ruling in the case against Uhuru and Ruto made it clear that the presumption of innocence holds until cases are concluded.
THE INDEPENDENT ELECTORAL AND BOUNDARIES COMMISSION
Closely linked to public confidence in elected leaders is trust in the body charged with administering elections, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). In fact, one study found that public confidence in a country’s electoral management body (EMB) is tied to public faith in the credibility of the election. Specifically, in a paper on Nigerian elections, Nicholas Kerr found,
The strongest correlate of citizen’s perceptions of election quality is the performance of [Nigeria’s Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC)]…when citizens are highly satisfied with the performance of INEC, they are thirty-eight percent more likely to consider the 2007 elections free and fair… But even more importantly, it highlights that ordinary Nigerians associate their evaluations of EMB performance more with their assessments of election quality, despite how strong their partisan attachments may be.
In Kenya, public confidence in the IEBC has fluctuated dramatically over the last five years. At the end of 2012, surveys showed that 70 percent of Kenyans had faith that the IEBC was carrying out its work impartially and 72 percent believed in the Commission’s independence. One month before election day in 2013, 91 percent of respondents said that they had faith in the IEBC’s competence to manage the election and 89 percent believed in the Commission’s impartiality. 91 percent of respondents also said they believed the IEBC was independent enough to conduct the election in a free and fair manner.
These pre-2013 election levels of confidence were a high point for the Commission, which suffered from plummeting levels of public faith after the 2013 election. The drop in confidence was due to a combination of factors, the most notable of which included procurement delays and irregularities in the lead-up to election day, problems with technology during voter registration and on election day, the failure of the electronic results verification system and the subsequent delay in announcing the result. The Supreme Court case challenging the integrity of the entire process, filed by the Africa Centre for Open Governance (AfriCOG) and the Kenyan Asian Forum, also publicly highlighted the multiple technical and administrative problems throughout the process. Indeed, post-election polls revealed a precipitous drop in public confidence in the Commission. In the immediate aftermath of the election, 44 percent of Kenyans reported that they were confident in the IEBC. In Nyanza, only 8 percent of respondents felt this way. By 2015, the figures had not changed dramatically, with 43 percent of Kenyans reporting confidence in the IEBC. Among opposition supporters, 71 percent reported that they did not have confidence in the Commission.
After the judgment was handed down, a lawyer for the petitioners remarked, “Today marks the official death of one of the chapters in the constitution. That is Chapter Six.”
The IEBC has experienced significant changes since the 2013 election. Senior members of the Commission were implicated in a corruption scandal, and a series of opposition protests against the IEBC eventually resulted in the dismissal of all the commissioners. New commissioners assumed office in late December 2016.
The changes seem to have made some difference. A recent poll shows that 72 percent of respondents feel that the IEBC is prepared to conduct a free and fair election. On the other hand, Kenyans are also extremely cautious in their outlooks. In fact, in four of Kenya’s former provinces, more than 20 percent of the population is not sure that the Commission will be able to administer a credible election.
While the high level of public confidence is encouraging, the new IEBC stands at an important crossroads. In order to maintain public faith, the Commission will have to work to show Kenyans that it is serious about avoiding the mistakes that marred the last process and that it is willing to fight to maintain its independence. The signs so far are mixed. The Commission’s decision to cancel the tender process for election technology and engage in a direct award of the contract to the same firm that was partially responsible for the previous set of botched technology raises questions about how well the IEBC has learned from past mistakes. This is compounded by a more recent announcement that the IEBC may proceed with a direct award to a ballot-printing firm. Moreover, recent analysis of the last mass voter registration exercise has revealed serious administrative and technical irregularities. On the other hand, the Commission’s stated commitment to enforcing gender parity in party lists and to enforcing leadership and integrity standards in the vetting of candidates is admirable.
The IEBC is making certain attempts to keep the public updated. It does hold press conferences, and it regularly updates its website with relevant press releases. This information is useful, but the Commission must go further with regard to transparency if it wishes to maintain public confidence. There are several outstanding questions at this stage of the electoral process, the most urgent of which are related to procurement, voter registration, the ongoing audit of the voters’ register, the use of technology, and counting of results. If the IEBC begins to address some of these concerns, it could go a long way in preserving public faith, especially as it is likely that problems will continue to arise as election day gets closer. No election is perfect, but the IEBC’s honest evaluations of its strengths and weaknesses related to current concerns are critical.
In 2013, much of the public’s dissatisfaction with the IEBC was rooted in problems with the voters’ register. The register was shrouded in a certain amount of mystery, with the total number of registered voters in Kenya shifting throughout the electoral cycle. The first sign of the problems to come appeared in February 2013, when it became clear that the final, gazetted register differed significantly from the provisional register released in December 2012. Overall, the register had grown by 12,500 voters.
Without proper enforcement of Chapter Six provisions, voters’ choices are always restricted. Over time, such an environment can lead to increasingly low levels of public confidence. In the long run, this endangers democratic resilience.
While a decrease in the number of registered voters was expected (because the verification and cleaning process would expunge dead voters, multiple registrations, etc), it was unclear how the register grew in size between December 2012 and February 2013. Moreover, there were significant regional changes in the numbers between December and February. These are detailed in the table below.
Table 2: Internal Changes to the Register of Voters
|Region||Changes between December 2012 and February 2013|
Source: AfriCOG/KPTJ. 2013. “Voter Registration for the 2013 General Elections in Kenya.”
These changes became more worrying when the IEBC could not commit to one total number of registered voters. In fact, there were at least six different totals announced during various parts of the electoral cycle.
Table 3: Shifting Totals of Registered Voters in Kenya
|Provisional Register (December 2012)||14,340,036|
|Principle Register (February 2013)||14,352,545|
|Special Register (March 2, 2013)||36,236|
|Election Results Total (March 9, 2013)||14,352,533|
|Green Book Total||14,388,793|
|Post-Election Register (July 2013)||14,388,781|
Source: AfriCOG/KPTJ. 2013. “Voter Registration for the 2013 General Elections in Kenya.”
This shifting total, in addition to the IEBC’s assertion that what was known as the “green book” (A green book is an unregulated, manually-recorded list of registered voters. It had been severely criticized by experts.) was being used for purposes of registration, severely compromised public confidence in the integrity of the register. Indeed, the lack of a single, verifiable register breeds suspicion about political influence at worst and basic incompetence of the electoral management body at best.
Doubts around the register have not faded. In fact, the IEBC’s two mass voter registration exercises in the current cycle were rife with problems. These included widespread problems obtaining IDs, problems with dysfunctional and nonfunctional biometric voter registration (BVR) kits, unexplained use of the green book, disorganized registration centres and poorly trained IEBC staff, registration bribery, coercive registration practices and massive amounts of transfers. At the end of these processes, the IEBC announced that the total number of registered voters had grown to 19,749,310, representing a 37 percent increase since 2013.
In the immediate aftermath of the election, 44 percent of Kenyans reported that they were confident in the IEBC. In Nyanza, only 8 percent of respondents felt this way. By 2015, the figures had not changed dramatically, with 43 percent of Kenyans reporting confidence in the IEBC. Among opposition supporters, 71 percent reported that they did not have confidence in the Commission.
The elections law also allows the IEBC to engage a professional firm to conduct an audit of the voters’ register. The stated purposes of such an audit are to verify the accuracy of the register, recommend mechanisms to enhance its accuracy and to update it. While an audit may go a long way in promoting public confidence in the register, the process has thus far been controversial. In addition to allegations that there were irregularities related to the decision to hire KPMG, there is mistrust because of the firm’s lack of expertise in conducting such audits. Indeed, KPMG’s proposed methodology does not reflect internationally accepted best practice for the audits of voters’ registers, and there has thus far been a lack of transparency with regard to KPMG’s progress and therefore its eventual findings.
In addition to these technical problems with registration, the legitimacy of the entire process was cast in doubt when it emerged that the IEBC had cancelled a public tender process for the acquisition of an integrated elections management system in order to give a direct award to a company known as Morpho, the same company that provided the problematic BVR kits in 2013.
The doubts that have arisen as a result of the above issues have been compounded by the IEBC’s refusal to make the register publicly accessible. In fact, the IEBC did not even provide the updated register to political parties during their primaries. The lack of the register made it impossible for parties to confirm that voters were in fact registered, and this contributed to the chaos that characterized the primary processes. The IEBC has also refused to give the data to civil society on the grounds that it cannot release it until after the audit is complete. Without access to the pre- and post-audit data, however, it is impossible for the public to conduct its own analyses and understand the changes.
A related issue is that of the integrated election management system (IEMS) itself. According to the IEBC, the system is meant to be wholly integrated, such that voter registration, voter identification and results transmission are linked. Since the IEMS technology did not arrive until well after the conclusion of registration, however, it is unclear how all the components will be linked, if at all.
ELECTION DAY, COUNTING AND TALLYING
Confidence is also, of course, based on the credibility of results announcements. In 2013, the IEBC used an electronic results transmission system, which was designed to allow polling station officers to transmit results to regional tallying centres and to IEBC headquarters in Nairobi via a secure, digital connection. This system was meant to protect the credibility of the count and prevent the kind of manipulation that had been seen in past elections, which often occurred during the time when tally sheets were being physically transported from polling stations around the country to Nairobi. Unfortunately, however, the system was a spectacular failure. Midway through the counting process, Kenyans watched the stream of live results freeze on television screens. Journalists based at the Bomas of Kenya, which was the national elections centre, referred to it as the Bomas screen saver.
When the electronic system failed, the IEBC again relied on the paper forms, which had to be ferried from all over the country to Nairobi. As expected, the paper forms were highly problematic. Issues with the polling station-level tallying forms (Forms 34) included:
- Many Form 34s showed that there were more votes cast than registered voters. In Turbo constituency, Polling Station 69, Stream 2, there were 784 votes cast but only 755 registered voters. In Polling Station 71, Stream 2, there were 741 votes cast but only 716 registered voters. In Kacheliba, Polling Station 112, there were 215 votes cast but only 214 registered voters.
- In some Form 34s, only some presidential candidates were listed. For example, in Baringo South, Polling Station 91, Stream 1, it was only the names of Uhuru Kenyatta, Raila Odinga and Paul Muite that appeared. Some candidates were also missing from Form 34 in Baringo South, Polling Station 68, Stream 1.
- Many of the figures on the form did not add up. For instance, one of the most glaring discrepancies occurred in Kacheliba constituency, Polling Station 102. Here, the votes cast are recorded as 0, while there are 170 rejected votes and 170 valid votes. In Baringo South, Polling Station 117, Stream 1, there were 133 valid votes and 0 rejected votes, which should total 133 votes cast. The figure for votes cast, however, was 134. In Cherangany, Polling Station 2, Stream 5, the number of valid votes is 332 and the number of rejected votes is 4, which adds up to 336 total votes cast. The number of votes cast, however, was 340. In Turkana North, Polling Station 12, the number of votes cast (340) did not equal the number of valid votes (340) plus the number of rejected votes (5).
- There were several instances of changes having been made to various figures on the form, with no authorizing signature next to the change. Such alterations affected individual candidates’ results, the total number of votes cast, the number of rejected votes, the number of valid votes and the number of registered voters. This change had the potential to affect other numbers on the form. For instance, a change to the number of rejected votes would necessarily change the number of total votes cast.
- In some forms, there was no figure indicating the number of registered voters. There was no official Form 34 for Polling Station 19 in Turkana Central. Instead, the results were reported on an ordinary piece of paper, which did not include the number of registered voters.
- Many Form 34s were missing. There was no Form 34 for Polling Station 84 or for Polling Station 99 in Turkana North. Polling Station 99 did not appear on the list of polling stations published on the IEBC website on February 24, 2013, but it did appear in the paper gazette. Forms 34 for Polling Stations 92 and 113 in Turkana Central were missing.
- Some forms did not include results for certain candidates. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 55, there were no results listed for Muite and Kenneth. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 65, there were no results listed for Kiyiapi, Karua, Dida, Muite and Mudavadi.
- There were non-identical duplicates of certain forms. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 89, there are 4 nearly identical copies of Form 34. It is unclear whether the numbers on these forms were counted multiple times. In Kacheliba, Polling Station 2, there were two forms with different entries. There were also multiple copies of perfectly identical forms, and it was unclear whether or not these figures were counted more than once.
- There were many forms in which it was extremely difficult to determine the exact value of the written figure, either because of the handwriting or because the original figure had been written over with another number. There were an overwhelming number of such cases, and the choice of which number to report was subjective.
The most worrying issues called the very accuracy of the count into question.
The failure of the electronic system was not a complete surprise. In the month before the 2013 election, tests of the electronic systems revealed significant problems. In fact, Sarah Elderkin detailed how a test of the system “had gone horribly wrong.” After one hour, only one of five mock polling stations could successfully transmit results. In this election cycle, the IEBC again plans to use an electronic system. The IEMS, mentioned above, includes results transmission. It is unclear, however, if and when the IEBC will publicly test the kits and publicly explain its plans for the kits’ dysfunction or failure. In fact, one of the most pressing unanswered questions in this cycle is related to proposed back up systems. New amendments to the electoral law allow for the use of complementary registration, identification and results transmission mechanisms, to be used in the event that the technology fails. To date, however, the election regulations only provide vague provisions about using the printed out register for voter identification in cases where voters cannot be found in the biometric list. The regulations do not clarify what, if any, complementary systems will be used in case the electronic results transmission system fails.
The lack of a clear definition of these complementary mechanisms is highly problematic, especially given Kenya’s political history and context. During mass voter registration, the IEBC used the green book in conjunction with the BVR kits. Does this mean that the green book was the complementary mechanism with regard to voter registration? Will the green book be used in addition to the printed out register to identify voters on election day?
Midway through the counting process, Kenyans watched the stream of live results freeze on television screens. Journalists based at the Bomas of Kenya, which was the national elections centre, referred to it as the Bomas screen saver.
There is one significant difference with regard to the law in the current election cycle. The High Court recently ruled that constituency level results for all elections are final and can only be appealed through a court process. The decision nullified Section 83(4) of the General Elections Regulations, which empowers the IEBC to “confirm” results before announcing them as final. The IEBC filed an appeal to the decision, with IEBC Chair Wafula Chebukati stating that constituency level officers could “make mistakes.” The IEBC’s decision to appeal has sparked some controversy, with the opposition threatening that there will be no election if the IEBC does not abandon its appeal and alleging that it means the Commission wants the power to unfairly change results. Civil society has also expressed its reservations about the appeal, suggesting that it erodes public confidence in the IEBC’s commitment to upholding the law.
Given the extreme controversy and suspicion surrounding the announcement of results in 2013 and in other past elections, the IEBC should acknowledge that there is significant public concern around the potential use of manual systems. To promote public faith, the IEBC should explain its rationale regarding the appeal. If constituency level results are erroneous, as Chebukati fears, a court process to address such problems would allow the public to see and understand the issues at hand. It would promote transparency. Surely, this option is better than a closed process in which the IEBC changes constituency results at the national tallying centre.
As it currently stands, it is unclear whether the IEBC and other stakeholders have learned from past elections. If public confidence is a priority, these stakeholders must immediately respond – at minimum – to the above public concerns in an honest and open way, remembering that it is voters who hold the power at this stage of the game, and it is voters who will ultimately decide the credibility of the election. The legitimacy of the upcoming election now hangs in the balance, but there is still time to save it…if only we are willing to learn from the past.
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Stealth Game: “Community” Conservancies and Dispossession in Northern Kenya
The fortress conservation model, created with support from some of the world’s biggest environmental groups and western donors, has led to land dispossession, militarization, and widespread human rights abuses.
With its vast expanses and diversity of wildlife, Kenya – Africa’s original safari destination – attracts over two million foreign visitors annually. The development of wildlife tourism and conservation, a major economic resource for the country, has however been at the cost of local communities who have been fenced off from their ancestral lands. Indigenous communities have been evicted from their territories and excluded from the tourist dollars that flow into high-end lodges and safari companies.
Protected areas with wildlife are patrolled and guarded by anti-poaching rangers and are accessible only to tourists who can afford to stay in the luxury safari lodges and resorts. This model of “fortress conservation” – one that militarizes and privatizes the commons – has come under severe criticism for its exclusionary practices and for being less effective than the models where local communities lead and manage conservation activities.
One such controversial model of conservation in Kenya is the Northern Rangelands Trust (NRT). Set up in 2004, the NRT’s stated goal is “changing the game” on conservation by supporting communities to govern their lands through the establishment of community conservancies.
Created by Ian Craig, whose family was part of the elite white minority during British colonialism, the NRT’s origins date back to the 1980s when his family-owned 62,000-acre cattle ranch was transformed into the Lewa Wildlife Conservancy. Since its founding, the NRT has set up 39 conservancies on 42,000 square kilometres (10,378,426 acres) of land in northern and coastal Kenya – nearly 8 per cent of the country’s total land area.
The communities that live on these lands are predominantly pastoralists who raise livestock for their livelihoods and have faced decades of marginalization by successive Kenyan governments. The NRT claims that its goal is to “transform people’s lives, secure peace and conserve natural resources.”
However, where the NRT is active, local communities allege that the organization has dispossessed them of their lands and deployed armed security units that have been responsible for serious human rights abuses. Whereas the NRT employs around 870 uniformed scouts, the organization’s anti-poaching mobile units, called ‘9’ teams, face allegations of extrajudicial killings and disappearances, among other abuses. These rangers are equipped with military weapons and receive paramilitary training from the Kenyan Wildlife Service Law Enforcement Academy and from 51 Degrees, a private security company run by Ian Craig’s son, Batian Craig, as well as from other private security firms. Whereas the mandate of NRT’s rangers is supposed to be anti-poaching, they are routinely involved in policing matters that go beyond that remit.
Locals allege that the NRT compels communities to set aside their best lands for the exclusive use of wildlife.
Locals have alleged the NRT’s direct involvement in conflicts between different ethnic groups, related to territorial issues and/or cattle raids. Multiple sources within the impacted communities, including members of councils of community elders, informed the Oakland Institute that as many as 76 people were killed in the Biliqo Bulesa Conservancy during inter-ethnic clashes, allegedly with the involvement of the NRT. Interviews conducted by the Institute established that 11 people have been killed in circumstances involving the conservation body. Dozens more appear to have been killed by the Kenya Wildlife Services (KWS) and other government agencies, which have been accused of abducting, disappearing, and torturing people in the name of conservation.
Over the years, conflicts over land and resources in Kenya have been exacerbated by the establishment of large ranches and conservation areas. For instance, 40 per cent of Laikipia County’s land is occupied by large ranches, controlled by just 48 individuals – most of them white landowners who own tens of thousands of acres for ranching or wildlife conservancies, which attract tourism business as well as conservation funding from international organizations.
Similarly, several game reserves and conservancies occupy over a million acres of land in the nearby Isiolo County. Land pressure was especially evident in 2017 when clashes broke out between private, mostly white ranchers, and Samburu and Pokot herders over pasture during a particularly dry spell.
But as demonstrated in the Oakland Institute’s report Stealth Game, the events of 2017 highlighted a situation that has been rampant for many years. Local communities report paying a high price for the NRT’s privatized, neo-colonial conservation model in Kenya. The loss of grazing land for pastoralists is a major challenge caused by the creation of community conservancies. Locals allege that the NRT compels communities to set aside their best lands for the exclusive use of wildlife in the name of community conservancies, and to subsequently lease it to set up tourist facilities.
Although terms like “community-driven”, “participatory”, and “local empowerment” are extensively used by the NRT and its partners, the conservancies have been allegedly set up by outside parties rather than the pastoralists themselves, who have a very limited role in negotiating the terms of these partnerships. According to several testimonies, leverage over communities occurs through corruption and co-optation of local leaders and personalities as well as the local administration.
A number of interviewees allege intimidation, including arrests and interrogation of local community members and leaders, as tactics routinely used by the NRT security personnel. Furthermore, the NRT is involved not just in conservation but also in security, management of pastureland, and livestock marketing, which according to the local communities, gives it a level of control over the region that surpasses even that of the Kenyan government. The NRT claims that these activities support communities, development projects, and help build sustainable economies, but its role is criticized by local communities and leaders.
In recent years, hundreds of locals have held protests and signed petitions against the presence of the NRT. The Turkana County Government expelled the NRT from Turkana in 2016; Isiolo’s Borana Council of Elders (BCE) and communities in Isiolo County and in Chari Ward in the Biliqo Bulesa Conservancy continue to challenge the NRT. In January 2021, the community of Gafarsa protested the NRT’s expansion into the Gafarsa rangelands of Garbatulla sub-county. And in April 2021, the Samburu Council of Elders Association, a registered institution representing the Samburu Community in four counties (Isiolo, Laikipia, Marsabit and Samburu), wrote to international NGOs and donors asking them to cease further funding and to audit the NRT’s donor-funded programmes.
A number of interviewees allege intimidation, including arrests and interrogation of local community members and leaders, as tactics routinely used by the NRT security personnel.
At the time of the writing of the report, the Oakland Institute reported that protests against the NRT were growing across the region. The organization works closely with the KWS, a state corporation under the Ministry of Wildlife and Tourism whose mandate is to conserve and manage wildlife in Kenya. In July 2018, Tourism and Wildlife Cabinet Secretary Najib Balala, appointed Ian Craig and Jochen Zeitz to the KWS Board of Trustees. The inclusion of Zeitz and Craig, who actively lobby for the privatization of wildlife reserves, has been met with consternation by local environmentalists. In the case of the NRT, the relationship is mutually beneficial – several high-ranking members of the KWS have served on the NRT’s Board of Trustees.
Both the NRT and the KWS receive substantial funding from donors such as USAID, the European Union, and other Western agencies, and champion corporate partnerships in conservation. The KWS and the NRT also partner with some of the largest environmental NGOs, including The Nature Conservancy (TNC), whose corporate associates have included major polluters and firms known for their negative human rights and environmental records, such as Shell, Ford, BP, and Monsanto among others. In turn, TNC’s Regional Managing Director for Africa, Matt Brown, enjoys a seat at the table of the NRT’s Board of Directors.
Stealth Game also reveals how the NRT has allegedly participated in the exploitation of fossil fuels in Kenya. In 2015, the NRT formed a five-year, US$12 million agreement with two oil companies active in the country – British Tullow Oil and Canadian Africa Oil Corp – to establish and operate six community conservancies in Turkana and West Pokot Counties.
The NRT’s stated goal was to “help communities to understand and benefit” from the “commercialisation of oil resources”. Local communities allege that it put a positive spin on the activities of these companies to mask concerns and outstanding questions over their environmental and human rights records.
The NRT, in collaboration with big environmental organizations, epitomizes a Western-led approach to conservation that creates a profitable business but marginalizes local communities who have lived on these lands for centuries.
Despite its claims to the contrary, the NRT is yet another example of how fortress conservation, under the guise of “community-based conservation”, is dispossessing the very pastoralist communities it claims to be helping – destroying their traditional grazing patterns, their autonomy, and their lives.
The Constitution of Kenyan 2010 and the 2016 Community Land Act recognize community land as a category of land holding and pastoralism as a legitimate livelihood system. The Act enables communities to legally register, own, and manage their communal lands. For the first three years, however, not a single community in Kenya was able to apply to have their land rights legally recognized. On 24 July 2019, over 50 representatives from 11 communities in Isiolo, Kajiado, Laikipia, Tana River, and Turkana counties were the first to attempt to register their land with the government on the basis of the Community Land Act. The communities were promised by the Ministry of Land that their applications would be processed within four months. In late 2020, the Ministry of Lands registered the land titles of II Ngwesi and Musul communities in Laikipia.
The others are still waiting to have their land registered. In October 2020, the Lands Cabinet Secretary was reported saying that only 12 counties have submitted inventories of their respective unregistered community lands in readiness for the registration process as enshrined in the law.
Community members interviewed by the Oakland Institute in the course of its research repeatedly asked for justice after years of being ignored by the Kenyan government and by the police when reporting human rights abuses and even killings of family members. The findings reported in Stealth Game require an independent investigation into the land-related grievances around all of the NRT’s community conservancies, the allegations of involvement of the NRT’s rapid response units in inter-ethnic conflict, as well as the alleged abuses and extrajudicial killings.
Pastoralists have been the custodians of wildlife for centuries – long before any NGO or conservation professionals came along. While this report focuses on the plight of the Indigenous communities in Northern Kenya, it is a reality that is all too familiar to indigenous communities the world over. In far too many places, national governments, private corporations, and large conservation groups collude in the name of conservation, not just to force Indigenous groups off their land, but to force them out of existence altogether.
Pastoralists have been the custodians of wildlife for centuries – long before any NGO or conservation professionals came along.
The latest threat comes from the so-called “30×30 initiative”, a plan under the UN’s Convention on Biological Diversity that calls for 30 per cent of the planet to be placed in protected areas – or for other effective area-based conservation measures (OECMs) – by 2030.
The Oakland Institute’s report, Stealth Game, makes it clear that fortress conservation must be replaced by Indigenous-led conservation efforts in order to preserve the remaining biodiversity of the planet while respecting the interests, rights, and dignity of the local communities.
Nashulai – A Community Conservancy With a Difference
Before Nashulai, Maasai communities around the Mara triangle were selling off their rights to live and work on their land, becoming “conservation refugees”.
The Sekenani River underwent a mammoth cleanup in May 2020, undertaken by over 100 women living in the Nashulai Conservancy area. Ten of the 18 kilometres of fresh water were cleaned of plastic waste, clothing, organic material and other rubbish that presented a real threat to the health of this life source for the community and wildlife. The river forms part of the Mara Basin and goes on to flow into Lake Victoria, which in turn feeds the River Nile.
The initiative was spearheaded by the Nashulai Conservancy — the first community-owned conservancy in the Maasai Mara that was founded in 2015 — which also provided a daily stipend to all participants and introduced them to better waste management and regeneration practices. After the cleanup, bamboo trees were planted along the banks of the river to curb soil erosion.
You could call it a classic case of “nature healing” that only the forced stillness caused by a global pandemic could bring about. Livelihoods dependent on tourism and raising cattle had all but come to a standstill and people now had the time to ponder how unpredictable life can be.
“I worry that when tourism picks up again many people will forget about all the conservation efforts of the past year,” says project officer Evelyn Kamau. “That’s why we put a focus on working with the youth in the community on the various projects and education. They’ll be the key to continuation.”
Continuation in the broader sense is what Nashulai and several other community-focused projects in Kenya are working towards — a shift away from conservation practices that push indigenous people further and further out of their homelands for profit in the name of protecting and celebrating the very nature for which these communities have provided stewardship over generations.
Given the past year’s global and regional conversations about racial injustice, and the pandemic that has left tourism everywhere on its knees, ordinary people in countries like Kenya have had the chance to learn, to speak out and to act on changes.
Players in the tourism industry in the country that have in the past privileged foreign visitors over Kenyans have been challenged. In mid-2020, a poorly worded social media post stating that a bucket-list boutique hotel in Nairobi was “now open to Kenyans” set off a backlash from fed-up Kenyans online.
The post referred to the easing of COVID-19 regulations that allowed the hotel to re-open to anyone already in the country. Although the hotel tried to undertake damage control, the harm was already done and the wounds reopened. Kenyans recounted stories of discrimination experienced at this particular hotel including multiple instances of the booking office responding to enquiries from Kenyan guests that rooms were fully booked, only for their European or American companions to call minutes later and miraculously find there were in fact vacancies. Many observed how rare it was to see non-white faces in the marketing of certain establishments, except in service roles.
Another conversation that has gained traction is the question of who is really benefiting from the conservation business and why the beneficiaries are generally not the local communities.
Kenyan conservationist and author Dr Mordecai Ogada has been vocal about this issue, both in his work and on social media, frequently calling out institutions and individuals who perpetuate the profit-driven system that has proven to be detrimental to local communities. In The Big Conservation Lie, his searing 2016 book co-authored with conservation journalist John Mbaria, Ogada observes, “The importance of wildlife to Kenya and the communities here has been reduced to the dollar value that foreign tourists will pay to see it.” Ogada details the use of coercion tactics to push communities to divide up or vacate their lands and abandon their identities and lifestyles for little more than donor subsidies that are not always paid in full or within the agreed time.
A colonial hangover
It is important to note that these attitudes, organizations and by extension the structure of safari tourism, did not spring up out of nowhere. At the origin of wildlife safaris on the savannahs of East Africa were the colonial-era hunting parties organised for European aristocracy and royalty and the odd American president or Hollywood actor.
Theodore Roosevelt’s year-long hunting expedition in 1909 resulted in over 500 animals being shot by his party in Kenya, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Sudan, many of which were taken back to be displayed at the Smithsonian Institute and in various other natural history museums across the US. Roosevelt later recounted his experiences in a book and a series of lectures, not without mentioning the “savage” native people he had encountered and expressing support for the European colonization project throughout Africa.
Much of this private entertaining was made possible through “gifts” of large parcels of Kenyan land by the colonial power to high-ranking military officials for their service in the other British colonies, without much regard as to the ancestral ownership of the confiscated lands.
At the origin of wildlife safaris on the savannahs of East Africa were the colonial-era hunting parties organised for European aristocracy and royalty.
On the foundation of national parks in the country by the colonial government in the 1940s, Ogada points out the similarities with the Yellowstone National Park, “which was created by violence and disenfranchisement, but is still used as a template for fortress conservation over a century later.” In the case of Kenya, just add trophy hunting to the original model.
Today, when it isn’t the descendants of those settlers who own and run the many private nature reserves in the country, it is a party with much economic or political power tying local communities down with unfair leases and sectioning them off from their ancestral land, harsh penalties being applied when they graze their cattle on the confiscated land.
This history must be acknowledged and the facts recognised so that the real work of establishing a sustainable future for the affected communities can begin. A future that does not disenfranchise entire communities and exclude them or leave their economies dangerously dependent on tourism.
The work it will take to achieve this in both the conservation and the wider travel industry involves everyone, from the service providers to the media to the very people deciding where and how to spend their tourism money and their time.
Here’s who’s doing the work
There are many who are leading initiatives that place local communities at the centre of their efforts to curb environmental degradation and to secure a future in which these communities are not excluded. Some, like Dr Ogada, spread the word about the holes in the model adopted by the global conservation industry. Others are training and educating tourism businesses in sustainable practices.
There are many who are leading initiatives that place local communities at the centre of their efforts to curb environmental degradation.
The Sustainable Travel and Tourism Agenda, or STTA, is a leading Kenyan-owned consultancy that works with tourism businesses and associations to provide training and strategies for sustainability in the sector in East Africa and beyond. Team leader Judy Kepher Gona expresses her optimism in the organization’s position as the local experts in the field, evidenced by the industry players’ uptake of the STTA’s training programmes and services to learn how best to manage their tourism businesses responsibly.
Gona notes, “Today there are almost 100 community-owned private conservancies in Kenya which has increased the inclusion of communities in conservation and in tourism” — which is a step in the right direction.
The community conservancy
Back to Nashulai, a strong example of a community-owned conservancy. Director and co-founder Nelson Ole Reiya who grew up in the area began to notice the rate at which Maasai communities around the Mara triangle were selling or leasing off their land and often their rights to live and work on it as they did before, becoming what he refers to as “conservation refugees”.
In 2016, Ole Reiya set out to bring together his community in an effort to eliminate poverty, regenerate the ecosystems and preserve the indigenous culture of the Maasai by employing a commons model on the 5,000 acres on which the conservancy sits. Families here could have sold their ancestral land and moved away, but they have instead come together and in a few short years have done away with the fencing separating their homesteads from the open savannah. They keep smaller herds of indigenous cattle and they have seen the return of wildlife such as zebras, giraffes and wildebeest to this part of their ancient migratory route. Elephants have returned to an old elephant nursery site.
In contrast to many other nature reserves and conservancies that offer employment to the locals as hotel staff, safari guides or dancers and singers, Nashulai’s way of empowering the community goes further to diversify the economy by providing skills and education to the residents, as well as preserving the culture by passing on knowledge about environmental awareness. This can be seen in the bee-keeping project that is producing honey for sale, the kitchen gardens outside the family homes, a ranger training programme and even a storytelling project to record and preserve all the knowledge and history passed down by the elders.
They keep smaller herds of indigenous cattle and they have seen the return of wildlife such as zebras, giraffes and wildebeest to this part of their ancient migratory route.
The conservancy only hires people from within the community for its various projects, and all plans must be submitted to a community liaison officer for discussion and a vote before any work can begin.
Tourism activities within the conservancy such as stays at Oldarpoi (the conservancy’s first tented camp; more are planned), game drives and day visits to the conservation and community projects are still an important part of the story. The revenue generated by tourists and the awareness created regarding this model of conservation are key in securing Nashulai’s future. Volunteer travellers are even welcomed to participate in the less technical projects such as tree planting and river clean-ups.
Expressing his hopes for a paradigm shift in the tourism industry, Ole Reiya stresses, “I would encourage visitors to go beyond the superficial and experience the nuances of a people beyond being seen as artefacts and naked children to be photographed, [but] rather as communities whose connection to the land and wildlife has been key to their survival over time.”
Battery Arms Race: Global Capital and the Scramble for Cobalt in the Congo
In the context of the climate emergency and the need for renewable energy sources, competition over the supply of cobalt is growing. This competition is most intense in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Nick Bernards argues that the scramble for cobalt is a capitalist scramble, and that there can be no ‘just’ transition without overthrowing capitalism on a global scale.
With growing attention to climate breakdown and the need for expanded use of renewable energy sources, the mineral resources needed to make batteries are emerging as a key site of conflict. In this context, cobalt – traditionally mined as a by-product of copper and nickel – has become a subject of major interest in its own right.
Competition over supplies of cobalt is intensifying. Some reports suggest that demand for cobalt is likely to exceed known reserves if projected shifts to renewable energy sources are realized. Much of this competition is playing out in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). The south-eastern regions of the DRC hold about half of proven global cobalt reserves, and account for an even higher proportion of global cobalt production (roughly 70 percent) because known reserves in the DRC are relatively shallow and easier to extract.
Recent high profile articles in outlets including the New York Times and the Guardian have highlighted a growing ‘battery arms race’ supposedly playing out between the West (mostly the US) and China over battery metals, especially cobalt.
These pieces suggest, with some alarm, that China is ‘winning’ this race. They highlight how Chinese dominance in battery supply chains might inhibit energy transitions in the West. They also link growing Chinese mining operations to a range of labour and environmental abuses in the DRC, where the vast majority of the world’s available cobalt reserves are located.
Both articles are right that the hazards and costs of the cobalt boom have been disproportionately borne by Congolese people and landscapes, while few of the benefits have reached them. But by subsuming these problems into narratives of geopolitical competition between the US and China and zooming in on the supposedly pernicious effects of Chinese-owned operations in particular, the ‘arms race’ narrative ultimately obscures more than it reveals.
There is unquestionably a scramble for cobalt going on. It is centered in the DRC but spans much of the globe, working through tangled transnational networks of production and finance that link mines in the South-Eastern DRC to refiners and battery manufacturers scattered across China’s industrializing cities, to financiers in London, Toronto, and Hong Kong, to vast transnational corporations ranging from mineral rentiers (Glencore), to automotive companies (Volkswagen, Ford), to electronics and tech firms (Apple). This loose network is governed primarily through an increasingly amorphous and uneven patchwork of public and private ‘sustainability’ standards. And, it plays out against the backdrop of both long-running depredations of imperialism and the more recent devastation of structural adjustment.
In a word, the scramble for cobalt is a thoroughly capitalist scramble.
Chinese firms do unquestionably play a major role in global battery production in general and in cobalt extraction and refining in particular. Roughly 50 percent of global cobalt refining now takes place in China. The considerable majority of DRC cobalt exports do go to China, and Chinese firms have expanded interests in mining and trading ventures in the DRC.
However, although the Chinese state has certainly fostered the development of cobalt and other battery minerals, there is as much a scramble for control over cobalt going on within China as between China and the ‘west’. There has, notably, been a wave of concentration and consolidation among Chinese cobalt refiners since about 2010. The Chinese firms operating in the DRC are capitalist firms competing with each other in important ways. They often have radically different business models. Jinchuan Group Co. Ltd and China Molybdenum, for instance, are Hong Kong Stock Exchange-listed firms with ownership shares in scattered global refining and mining operations. Jinchuan’s major mine holdings in the DRC were acquired from South African miner Metorex in 2012; China Molybdenum recently acquired the DRC mines owned by US-based Freeport-McMoRan (as the New York Times article linked above notes with concern). A significant portion of both Jinchuan Group and China Molybdenum’s revenues, though, come from speculative metals trading rather than from production. Yantai Cash, on the other hand, is a specialized refiner which does not own mining operations. Yantai is likely the destination for a good deal of ‘artisanal’ mined cobalt via an elaborate network of traders and brokers.
These large Chinese firms also are thoroughly plugged in to global networks of battery production ultimately destined, in many cases, for widely known consumer brands. They are also able to take advantage of links to global marketing and financing operations. The four largest Chinese refiners, for instance, are all listed brands on the London Metal Exchange (LME).
In the midst of increased concentration at the refining stage and concerns over supplies, several major end users including Apple, Volkswagen, and BMW have sought to establish long-term contracts directly with mining operations since early 2018. Tesla signed a major agreement with Glencore to supply cobalt for its new battery ‘gigafactories’ in 2020. Not unrelatedly, they have also developed integrated supply chain tracing systems, often dressed up in the language of ‘sustainability’ and transparency. One notable example is the Responsible Sourcing Blockchain Initiative (RSBI). This initiative between the blockchain division of tech giant IBM, supply chain audit firm RCS Global, and several mining houses, mineral traders, and automotive end users of battery materials including Ford, Volvo, Volkswagen Group, and Fiat-Chrysler Automotive Group was announced in 2019. RSBI conducted a pilot test tracing 1.5 tons of Congolese cobalt across three different continents over five months of refinement.
Major end users including automotive and electronics brands have, in short, developed increasingly direct contacts extending across the whole battery production network.
There are also a range of financial actors trying to get in on the scramble (though, as both Jinchuan and China Molybdenum demonstrate, the line between ‘productive’ and ‘financial’ capital here can be blurry). Since 2010, benchmark cobalt prices are set through speculative trading on the LME. A number of specialized trading funds have been established in the last five years, seeking to profit from volatile prices for cobalt. One of the largest global stockpiles of cobalt in 2017, for instance, was held by Cobalt 27, a Canadian firm established expressly to buy and hold physical cobalt stocks. Cobalt 27 raised CAD 200 million through a public listing on the Toronto Stock Exchange in June of 2017, and subsequently purchased 2160.9 metric tons of cobalt held in LME warehouses. There are also a growing number of exchange traded funds (ETF) targeting cobalt. Most of these ETFs seek ‘exposure’ to cobalt and battery components more generally, for instance, through holding shares in mining houses or what are called ‘royalty bearing interests’ in specific mining operations rather than trading in physical cobalt or futures. Indeed, by mid-2019, Cobalt-27 was forced to sell off its cobalt stockpile at a loss. It was subsequently bought out by its largest shareholder (a Swiss-registered investment firm) and restructured into ‘Conic’, an investment fund holding a portfolio of royalty-bearing interests in battery metals operations rather than physical metals.
Or, to put it another way, there is as much competition going on within ‘China’ and the ‘West’ between different firms to establish control over limited supplies of cobalt, and to capture a share of the profits, as between China and the ‘West’ as unitary entities.
Thus far, workers and communities in the Congolese Copperbelt have suffered the consequences of this scramble. They have seen few of the benefits. Indeed, this is reflective of much longer-run processes, documented in ROAPE, wherein local capital formation and local development in Congolese mining have been systematically repressed on behalf of transnational capital for decades.
The current boom takes place against the backdrop of the collapse, and subsequent privatization, of the copper mining industry in the 1990s and 2000s. In 1988, state-owned copper mining firm Gécamines produced roughly 450 000 tons of copper, and employed 30 000 people, by 2003, production had fallen to 8 000 tons and workers were owed up to 36 months of back pay. As part of the restructuring and privatization of the company, more than 10 000 workers were offered severance payments financed by the World Bank, the company was privatized, and mining rights were increasingly marketized. By most measures, mining communities in the Congolese Copperbelt are marked by widespread poverty. A 2017 survey found mean and median monthly household incomes of $USD 34.50 and $USD 14, respectively, in the region.
In the context of widespread dispossession, the DRC’s relatively shallow cobalt deposits have been an important source of livelihood activities. Estimates based on survey research suggest that roughly 60 percent of households in the region derived some income from mining, of which 90 percent worked in some form of artisanal mining. Recent research has linked the rise of industrial mining installations owned by multinational conglomerates to deepening inequality, driven in no small part by those firms’ preference for expatriate workers in higher paid roles. Where Congolese workers are employed, this is often through abusive systems of outsourcing through labour brokers.
Cobalt mining has also been linked to substantial forms of social and ecological degradation in surrounding areas, including significant health risks from breathing dust (not only to miners but also to local communities), ecological disruption and pollution from acid, dust, and tailings, and violent displacement of local communities.
The limited benefits and high costs of the cobalt boom for local people in the Congolese copperbelt, in short, are linked to conditions of widespread dispossession predating the arrival of Chinese firms and are certainly not limited to Chinese firms.
To be clear, none of this is to deny that Chinese firms have been implicated in abuses of labour rights and ecologically destructive practices in the DRC, nor that the Chinese state has clearly made strategic priorities of cobalt mining, refining, and battery manufacturing. It does not excuse the very real abuses linked to Chinese firms that European-owned ones have done many of the same things. Nor does the fact that those Chinese firms are often ultimately vendors to major US and European auto and electronic brands.
However, all of this does suggest that any diagnosis of the developmental ills, violence, ecological damage and labour abuses surrounding cobalt in the DRC that focuses specifically on the character of Chinese firms or on inter-state competition is limited at best. It gets Glencore, Apple, Tesla, and myriad financial speculators, to say nothing of capitalist relations of production generally, off the hook.
If we want to get to grips with the unfolding scramble for cobalt and its consequences for the people in the south-east DRC, we need to keep in view how the present-day scramble reflects wider patterns of uneven development under capitalist relations of production.
We should note that such narratives of a ‘new scramble for Africa’ prompted by a rapacious Chinese appetite for natural resources are not new. As Alison Ayers argued nearly a decade ago of narratives about the role of China in a ‘new scramble for Africa’, a focus on Chinese abuses means that ‘the West’s relations with Africa are construed as essentially beneficent, in contrast to the putatively opportunistic, exploitative and deleterious role of the emerging powers, thereby obfuscating the West’s ongoing neocolonial relationship with Africa’. Likewise, such accounts neglect ‘profound changes in the global political economy within which the “new scramble for Africa” is to be more adequately located’. These interventions are profoundly political, providing important forms of ideological cover for both neoliberal capitalism and for longer-run structures of imperialism.
In short, the barrier to a just transition to sustainable energy sources is not a unitary ‘China’ bent on the domination of emerging industries as a means to global hegemony. It is capitalism. Or, more precisely, it is the fact that responses to the climate crisis have thus far worked through and exacerbated the contradictions of existing imperialism and capitalist relations of production. The scramble for cobalt is a capitalist scramble, and one of many signs that there can be no ‘just’ transition without overturning capitalism and imperialism on a global scale.
This article was published in the Review of African political Economy (ROAPE).
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