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Somaliland’s Quiet Revolution

12 min read.

Denied international recognition for nearly three decades, the breakaway republic has built a hybrid political system that some scholars term the first modern African democracy

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Somaliland's Quiet Revolution
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“Never dress a deep wound superficially.” – Somali proverb

At the recent London conference on Somalia, representatives from Somaliland were conspicuously absent, as they have been at all conferences on Somalia that have been taking place over the past two decades. Somaliland even boycotted the recent elections in Somalia, “even if it means stopping or destroying vehicles carrying ballot papers across the border,” as one Somalilander put it. This is because Somaliland does not consider itself as being part of Somalia; it views itself as a sovereign state, even though the international community has stubbornly failed to recognise it as such since it broke away from Somalia in 1991.

Most Somalilanders are still haunted by the memories of May 1988, when President Siad Barre’s generals bombed northwestern Somalia, a stronghold of the opposition Somali National Movement, and killed thousands of people, mainly from the Isaaq clan. Memories of this massacre are the glue that holds Somalilanders together, like Jews whose memories of the Holocaust are never allowed to fade.

A Mig Fighter Jet in Hargeisa That Says: Never Forget

Somalilanders will never let it get that bad again. That is why a Mig-15 fighter jet that was shot down during Barre’s carpet-bombing attacks has been permanently mounted as a public monument in a prominent square in Somaliland’s capital Hargeisa, a physical reminder of the atrocities committed, and a symbol of Somalilanders’ defiance.

Yet, Somaliland offers important lessons on the governance models that can work in a strife-torn society divided along clan lines and where radical Islamist factions have taken root. Since it separated from Somalia, Somaliland has remained relatively peaceful, unlike its southern neighbours, and has its own government and institutions that have brought a semblance of normality to this troubled region.

When Somaliland gained independence from Britain in 1960, it opted to unite with the newly independent Somali Republic (which after the Second World War had become a UN trusteeship under Italian administration). In 1991, it decided to forge its own path and disassociate from the dysfunction that marked both the latter part of Barre’s regime and the warlordism that replaced it. (Somaliland claims that since no legislation was passed to officially unite this former British protectorate with Somalia, it has every right to reclaim its territory.) It adopted a unique hybrid system of governance that incorporates elements of traditional customary law (known as xeer), Sharia law and modern secular institutions, including a parliament, a judiciary, an army and a police force. The Guurti, the upper House of Somaliland’s legislature, comprises traditional clan elders, religious leaders and ordinary citizens from various professions who are selected by their respective clans.

Hargeisa adopted a unique hybrid system of governance that incorporates elements of traditional customary law (known as xeer), Sharia law and modern secular institutions, including a parliament, a judiciary, an army and a police force

The Guurti wields enormous decision-making powers and is considered one of the stabilising factors in Somaliland’s inclusive governance model. Michael Walls, the author of A Somali Nation-State: History, Culture and Somaliland’s Political Transition, has described Somaliland’s governance model as “the first indigenous modern African form of government” that fuses traditional forms of organisation with those of representative democracy.

Incumbent President Ahmed Silanyo came to power in 2010 following elections that were considered free and fair by international observers. In 2001, 97% of Somalilanders voted for a Constitution that declared Somaliland an independent nation. Unlike Somalia, Somaliland also has a well-resourced security apparatus, one that has successfully warded off Al Shabaab, the terrorist organisation that lays claim to much of southern and central Somalia, and which in recent weeks has carried out several suicide bombings in Mogadishu and attacked Kenya Defence Force bases in areas along the Kenya-Somalia border.

Somaliland’s road to nation-building has been long and messy, and has witnessed many of the clan divisions and feuds that characterise Somali politics, albeit on a lesser scale than those in Somalia, as the dominant Isaaq clan has remained fairly united. As Walls, notes, voting systems, such as the open lists used in elections, tend to exacerbate these divisions, but they are only a small part of Somaliland’s discursive politics.

Somaliland’s governance model is based on a system that is prevalent in many parts of Somalia, but which has been dismissed as undemocratic by proponents of Western-style democracy. The reality is that much of Somalia since the fall of Barre has been self-governing using a mix of clan-based systems, Sharia law and customary xeer administered by traditional elders. As public institutions collapsed or became dysfunctional, traditional governance systems, such as xeer and Sharia law, became more important. According to Ken Menkhaus, a professor of political science at Davidson College in North Carolina, these informal governance systems filled a governance vacuum after the collapse of the Somali state in 1991 and some, such as those adopted in Somaliland, have incorporated some elements of Western-style democracy, including independent secular institutions. By adapting governance to local cultures and traditions, Somaliland may just provide a sustainable governance model that could be replicated throughout Somalia.

What Is the Alternative?

Those who argue that Somaliland is a spoiler in Somalia’s dream of a united country fail to recognise that the government in Mogadishu doesn’t offer much of an alternative – and lacks credibility in the eyes of many Somalis, particularly Somalilanders. Current President Mohamed Abdullahi “Farmajo” and his predecessors were not elected through a nation-wide referendum or general election but through a highly corrupt system that allowed selected clan elders to form “electoral colleges” that cast the vote. Besides, Farmajo’s authority, like his predecessors’, does not extend much beyond Mogadishu since most of the country is still controlled by clan-based fiefdoms or Al Shabaab. His and his predecessors’ governments have been viewed by many Somalis as Western-backed processes established to please the international community and to create the illusion of a Western-style democracy in Somalia.

A former diplomat believes the rain started beating Somalia when ‘urban, corrupt, treacherous, power hungry, selfish, unpatriotic and unscrupulous’ faction leaders replaced ‘rural, apolitical, straightforward, morally upright’ traditional elders

The bitter truth is that the majority of Somalia’s people have not experienced the benefits of a strong government or democratic institutions for more than 20 years; the concept of a state that delivers services to the people has remained a mirage for most residents living outside Mogadishu, especially in remote areas where the only system of government is customary law or Sharia. Services, such as health and education, are provided by various foreign foundations and non-governmental organisations or the private sector. (For example, Mogadishu University is funded by a Qatari foundation. Many hospitals and schools are similarly funded by foreign, mostly Arab, governments or religious organisations. State institutions, such as the Central Bank and revenue collection authorities, are non-existent or dysfunctional. It is believed that most of the revenue collected by past governments, for example, from the port of Mogadishu, was regularly diverted by senior government officials for personal use.

Ironically, with its strict codes and hold over populations through systems of “tax collection” or “protection fees” combined with service delivery, Al Shabaab offers a semblance of “governance” that the government in Mogadishu has been unable to provide.

Even when African Union (Amisom) forces liberate regions from the clutches of Al Shabaab, they essentially leave behind a governance vacuum that neither the Federal Government of Somalia nor the emerging regional administrations can fill. This has made these regions more prone to clan-based conflicts, which are apparent already in Jubbaland, where some members of the marginalised Bantu/Wagosha minority group have taken up arms in response to what they perceive to be a form of “ethnic cleansing” by both Al Shabaab and the new Ogaden-dominated Jubbaland administration of the Kenya-backed Ahmed Madobe (who was once a member of Al Shabaab) and the radical Islamic militia Hizbul Islam led by Sheikh Hassan Dahir Aweys). Kenya brought Madobe into its fold when it joined forces with the latter’s Ras Kamboni militia to invade Somalia in October 2011; it is believed that this merger was prompted by Nairobi’s desire to have a proxy Kenya-friendly administration in Jubbaland and by Madobe’s desire to reclaim the lucrative port of Kismayo.

A Cabinet of Rogues

All of Somalia’s post-Barre governments have thus failed to re-establish state institutions that were destroyed during the civil war or to deliver services to the Somali people, though President Farmajo has promised to reverse this trend. In its entire eight-year tenure, from October 2004 to August 2012, the Transitional Federal Government (TFG) did not have the capacity to become a fully functioning government, with a fully fledged revenue collecting authority and robust ministries. Ministers had no portfolios and ministries had skeletal staff. The national army was weak and underfunded, and since 2007, the government has relied almost exclusively on African Union soldiers for security, though there have been attempts to revive the Somali National Army. The various TFG leaderships often gave former warlords ministerial positions on the assumption that political power would placate them. This resulted in what the former Somali diplomat Ismail Ali Ismail calls “a Cabinet of rogues”.

Ismail believes that the rain started beating Somalia when “urban, corrupt, treacherous, power hungry, selfish, unpatriotic and unscrupulous” faction leaders replaced “rural, apolitical, straightforward, morally upright” traditional elders. The former remained immune to the destruction and displacement that conflict unleashed on the Somali people, who lived as internally displaced persons in their own country or as refugees in neighbouring countries.

Farmajo’s attempts to build a strong and united Somalia may not bear much fruit as much of Somalia still suffers from a “trust deficit”; the country is still plagued by clan conflicts and many people do not want to risk having the kind of highly centralised government that was prevalent during Siad Barre’s regime. The Qatar-based Somali analyst Afyare Elmi proposes a “decentralised unitary system,” rather than what he calls the “clan-federalism” proposed and supported by the international community. In this system, sovereignty and constitutional powers would remain within the central government, while administrative, political and fiscal powers would devolve to different entities and regions. This would lead to a “de-concentration of authority” that is more responsive to local needs.

Although Barre is credited with many progressive reforms, such as expanding literacy and women’s rights, he failed to bring about democracy in Somalia, and is also blamed for pitting clans against each other through favouritism, political patronage and persecution of certain clans

There has been some debate on which type of governance model is most suitable for a country that is not just divided along clan/regional lines, but where political/militant Islam and lack of functioning secular institutions threaten nation-building. Federalism, or regional autonomy within a single political system, has been proposed by the international community as the most suitable system for Somalia as it caters for deep clan divisions by allocating the major clans semi-autonomous regional territories. But so far, it doesn’t look like it is working because Somalia remains fragmented at so many levels that even federal states cannot offer much-needed unity. The 4.5 political arrangement used for parliamentary and government allocation of seats, which gives power to the four largest clans (Darod, Hawiye, Dir and Rahanweyne), and (0.5) minorities does acknowledge the reality of a clan-based society, but as Somalia’s recent history has shown, clan can be, and has been, manipulated for personal gain by politicians. As dominant clans seek to gain power in a federated Somalia, there is a danger that the new federal states will mimic the corruption and clannism that has prevailed at the centre, which will lead to more competition for territories among rival clans and, therefore, to more conflict. This is one among many reasons why Somaliland is not keen to be part of Somalia.

Besides, the various federal states that are emerging in Somalia under the new Constitution may end up as clan enclaves that are disconnected from the centre, and which actually work to undermine the central government in Mogadishu. Fears that entrenched clan interests will dominate the future political landscape in Somalia have generated heated debates about whether a unitary system is more suited to a country that is so divided and where minority groups have been denied a say in national politics for decades. Thus the vision of a united Somalia under one strong central government that dispenses security and services and distributes national resources equitably across the country, remains a dream.

A Patchwork of Semi-Autonomous Territories

Several experts have also proposed a “building block approach,” whereby the country would be divided into six “local administrative structures” that would eventually “resemble a patchwork of semi-autonomous territories defined in whole or in part by clan affiliation.”. In one such proposed model, the Isaaq clan would dominate the former British Somaliland in the northwest; the Majerteen in present-day Puntland would dominate the northeast; the Jubbaland and Gedo regions bordering Kenya would have a mixture of clans (though there are now fears that the Ogaden, who are politically influential along the Kenya border, would eventually control the region); a Hawiye-dominated polity would dominate central Somalia; the Digil-Mirifle would centre around Bay and Bakol; and Mogadishu would remain a cosmopolitan administrative centre.

Some analysts argue that the proposed federalism will eventually lead to the balkanisation of Somalia as clan-based fiefdoms start competing for more resources and territories. Other critics, such as the US-based Somali scholar Abdi Samatar, have argued that federalism would lead to “institutionalised discrimination” against minority clans and groups, which would undermine national unity, citizenship and meritocracy. There is also a concern that the larger (armed) clans would manipulate the system, entrench corruption and pursue their political elites’ agendas at the expense of the Somali people. Observers say that one of the biggest dangers of an exclusionary political system is that rent-seeking and the grabbing of the spoils of war that have dominated Somali politics for so long may be replicated at the federal state level.

Half-Baked Democratic Culture

Many people, including Somalis, believe that Somalia will take years before it has a functioning government because the country has little experience in representative democracy and because recent attempts to revive a democratic culture are coming a little too late. Somalia’s relatively peaceful and democratic first decade after Independence was abruptly ended by the assassination of President Abdirashid Sharmarke in 1969, just two years after he had taken over from the first post-Independence president, Adan Abdulle Osman (also known as Adan Adde). Barely a week later, Siad Barre gained control over Somalia through a bloodless military coup. Barre suspended the constitution, dissolved parliament, banned political parties and nationalised the economy. Parliament was replaced by the Supreme Revolutionary Council, the ultimate decision-making authority in the country.

Although Barre is credited with many progressive reforms, such as expanding literacy and women’s rights, he failed to bring about democracy in Somalia, and is also blamed for pitting clans against each other through favouritism, political patronage and persecution of certain clans. His failures and weaknesses set the stage for his ouster in 1991 by the United Somali Congress led by Mohammed Farah Aideed and Ali Mahdi, who, depending on whom you ask, are either seen as heroes who liberated Somalia from the clutches of a dictator, or brutal warlords who unleashed violence and lawlessness in the country.

Some argue that state-building efforts in Somalia have been hampered by a “pastoral ethos” characterised by competition, inter-clan rivalry, disdain for authority (except for traditional elders and religious leaders) and a deep mistrust and suspicion of outsiders. In his seminal book A Pastoral Democracy, first published in 1961, I.M. Lewis claimed that Somali society lacked “the judicial, administrative, and political procedures that lie at the heart of the Western conception of government.”

I.M Lewis and other Western anthropologists fail to recognise that other pastoralist societies have successfully adopted modernisation and democracy and that blaming pastoralism for Somalia’s woes is to assume that Somali society is static and incapable of reinventing itself

While acknowledging the importance of kinship and clan loyalty in the political organisation of traditional Somali society, Lewis was pessimistic about whether these could deliver Western-style democracy to Somalia. In Somalia’s lineage politics, he argued, “The assumption that might is right has overwhelming authority and personal rights… even if they are not obtained by force, can only be defended against usurpation by force of arms.” Critics of this “Somali exceptionalism” thesis argue that Lewis and other Western anthropologists fail to recognise that other pastoralist societies have successfully adopted modernisation and democracy and that blaming pastoralism for Somalia’s woes is to assume that Somali society is static and incapable of reinventing itself.

Secretive Deals: The Oil Factor

There are fears that the secretive contracts between the Somali government and foreign oil companies could further sabotage Somalia’s institution-building efforts. There is widespread suspicion that oil looms large in Britain’s dealings with the Somali government, and that the former may be willing to overlook corruption and bad governance in the latter in order to preserve its economic interests.

Somaliland and the semi-autonomous Puntland, have also been granting licences to oil companies without any reference to the central government in Mogadishu. Already, competition over an oil block that stretches across Somaliland and Puntland has increased tensions in these regions. These tensions indicate that in the absence of agreed-upon legal frameworks, the oil factor is likely to be a source of conflict in Somalia’s oil-producing regions in the near future. If Somaliland and its arch-enemy Somalia do not handle these oil deals in a transparent manner, there is a risk that peace in the Horn of Africa’s most fragmented region may remain elusive for many more years.

However, Somaliland’s governance system, which tends to be consensual and inclusive, rather than prescriptive, may avoid the “resource curse” that has afflicted so many African countries. There are many more checks and balances in Somaliland’s hybrid system of tri-party democracy and traditional clan-based governance than in the governance model adopted by the Federal Government of Somalia.

Which is not to say that Somaliland’s governance model is perfect; fear of conflict emerging from clan rivalries has led to the repression of the media and the consensual clan-based politics has hindered issue-based politics, eroded individual rights and led to the perception that some clans, such as the dominant Isaaq clan, are favoured over others. Tensions across its eastern border with Puntland also threaten the future stability of Somaliland. Somaliland’s strong economic ties with Ethiopia are also viewed with suspicion by the Somalia government, though it is no secret that the TFG often invited Ethiopia to quell insurgencies and to oust the Islamic Courts Union (some remnants of which morphed into Al Shabaab) from Mogadishu in 2006.

There are fears that if recognised as an independent nation, Somaliland, like South Sudan, may experience clan-based conflicts that will undermine peace and democracy. However, Somaliland is unlikely to repeat the mistakes made by South Sudan’s myopic leaders

Nonetheless, Somalilanders are unlikely to put their faith in a Mogadishu-based leadership, even if it is at the expense of not gaining international recognition as an independent state. The pan-Somali vision of a “Greater Somalia” that prompted this former British protectorate to unite with the newly independent Somali Republic in 1960, and which saw Siad Barre go to war with Ethiopia to claim the Ogaden region in 1977, vanished long ago.

There are fears that if recognised as an independent nation, Somaliland, like South Sudan, may experience clan-based conflicts that will undermine peace and democracy. However, Somaliland is unlikely to repeat the mistakes made by South Sudan’s myopic leaders because, as Walls, points out, “The attributes that have served Somaliland so well until now are likely to continue to do so in the future – these are pragmatism and flexibility, coupled with an understanding of the past and an eye on the desired goals of the future.” International recognition of Somaliland could go a long way in achieving some of these goals.

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Rasna Warah is a Kenyan writer and journalist. In a previous incarnation, she was an editor at the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-Habitat). She has published two books on Somalia – War Crimes (2014) and Mogadishu Then and Now (2012) – and is the author UNsilenced (2016), and Triple Heritage (1998).

Politics

Asylum Pact: Rwanda Must Do Some Political Housecleaning

Rwandans are welcoming, but the government’s priority must be to solve the internal political problems which produce refugees.

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Asylum Pact: Rwanda Must Do Some Political Housecleaning
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The governments of the United Kingdom and Rwanda have signed an agreement to move asylum seekers from the UK to Rwanda for processing. This partnership has been heavily criticized and has been referred to as unethical and inhumane. It has also been opposed by the United Nations Refugee Agency on the grounds that it is contrary to the spirit of the Refugee Convention.

Here in Rwanda, we heard the news of the partnership on the day it was signed. The subject has never been debated in the Rwandan parliament and neither had it been canvassed in the local media prior to the announcement.

According to the government’s official press release, the partnership reflects Rwanda’s commitment to protect vulnerable people around the world. It is argued that by relocating migrants to Rwanda, their dignity and rights will be respected and they will be provided with a range of opportunities, including for personal development and employment, in a country that has consistently been ranked among the safest in the world.

A considerable number of Rwandans have been refugees and therefore understand the struggle that comes with being an asylum seeker and what it means to receive help from host countries to rebuild lives. Therefore, most Rwandans are sensitive to the plight of those forced to leave their home countries and would be more than willing to make them feel welcome. However, the decision to relocate the migrants to Rwanda raises a number of questions.

The government argues that relocating migrants to Rwanda will address the inequalities in opportunity that push economic migrants to leave their homes. It is not clear how this will work considering that Rwanda is already the most unequal country in the East African region. And while it is indeed seen as among the safest countries in the world, it was however ranked among the bottom five globally in the recently released 2022 World Happiness Index. How would migrants, who may have suffered psychological trauma fare in such an environment, and in a country that is still rebuilding itself?

A considerable number of Rwandans have been refugees and therefore understand the struggle that comes with being an asylum seeker and what it means to receive help from host countries to rebuild lives.

What opportunities can Rwanda provide to the migrants? Between 2018—the year the index was first published—and 2020, Rwanda’s ranking on the Human Capital Index (HCI) has been consistently low. Published by the World Bank, HCI measures which countries are best at mobilising the economic and professional potential of their citizens. Rwanda’s score is lower than the average for sub-Saharan Africa and it is partly due to this that the government had found it difficult to attract private investment that would create significant levels of employment prior to the COVID-19 pandemic. Unemployment, particularly among the youth, has since worsened.

Despite the accolades Rwanda has received internationally for its development record, Rwanda’s economy has never been driven by a dynamic private or trade sector; it has been driven by aid. The country’s debt reached 73 per cent of GDP in 2021 while its economy has not developed the key areas needed to achieve and secure genuine social and economic transformation for its entire population. In addition to human capital development, these include social capital development, especially mutual trust among citizens considering the country’s unfortunate historical past, establishing good relations with neighbouring states, respect for human rights, and guaranteeing the accountability of public officials.

Rwanda aspires to become an upper middle-income country by 2035 and a high-income country by 2050. In 2000, the country launched a development plan that aimed to transform it into a middle-income country by 2020 on the back on a knowledge economy. That development plan, which has received financial support from various development partners including the UK which contributed over £1 billion, did not deliver the anticipated outcomes. Today the country remains stuck in the category of low-income states. Its structural constraints as a small land-locked country with few natural resources are often cited as an obstacle to development. However, this is exacerbated by current governance in Rwanda, which limits the political space, lacks separation of powers, impedes freedom of expression and represses government critics, making it even harder for Rwanda to reach the desired developmental goals.

Rwanda’s structural constraints as a small land-locked country with no natural resources are often viewed as an obstacle to achieving the anticipated development.

As a result of the foregoing, Rwanda has been producing its own share of refugees, who have sought political and economic asylum in other countries. The UK alone took in 250 Rwandese last year. There are others around the world, the majority of whom have found refuge in different countries in Africa, including countries neighbouring Rwanda. The presence of these refugees has been a source of tension in the region with Kigali accusing neighbouring states of supporting those who want to overthrow the government by force. Some Rwandans have indeed taken up armed struggle, a situation that, if not resolved, threatens long-term security in Rwanda and the Great Lakes region. In fact, the UK government’s advice on travel to Rwanda has consistently warned of the unstable security situation near the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and Burundi.

While Rwanda’s intention to help address the global imbalance of opportunity that fuels illegal immigration is laudable, I would recommend that charity start at home. As host of the 26th Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting scheduled for June 2022, and Commonwealth Chair-in-Office for the next two years, the government should seize the opportunity to implement the core values and principles of the Commonwealth, particularly the promotion of democracy, the rule of law, freedom of expression, political and civil rights, and a vibrant civil society. This would enable Rwanda to address its internal social, economic and political challenges, creating a conducive environment for long-term economic development, and durable peace that will not only stop Rwanda from producing refugees but will also render the country ready and capable of economically and socially integrating refugees from less fortunate countries in the future.

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Politics

Beyond Borders: Why We Need a Truly Internationalist Climate Justice Movement

The elite’s ‘solution’ to the climate crisis is to turn the displaced into exploitable migrant labour. We need a truly internationalist alternative.

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“We are not drowning, we are fighting” has become the rallying call for the Pacific Climate Warriors. From UN climate meetings to blockades of Australian coal ports, these young Indigenous defenders from twenty Pacific Island states are raising the alarm of global warming for low-lying atoll nations. Rejecting the narrative of victimisation – “you don’t need my pain or tears to know that we’re in a crisis,” as Samoan Brianna Fruean puts it – they are challenging the fossil fuel industry and colonial giants such as Australia, responsible for the world’s highest per-capita carbon emissions.

Around the world, climate disasters displace around 25.3 million people annually – one person every one to two seconds. In 2016, new displacements caused by climate disasters outnumbered new displacements as a result of persecution by a ratio of three to one. By 2050, an estimated 143 million people will be displaced in just three regions: Africa, South Asia, and Latin America. Some projections for global climate displacement are as high as one billion people.

Mapping who is most vulnerable to displacement reveals the fault lines between rich and poor, between the global North and South, and between whiteness and its Black, Indigenous and racialised others.

Globalised asymmetries of power create migration but constrict mobility. Displaced people – the least responsible for global warming – face militarised borders. While climate change is itself ignored by the political elite, climate migration is presented as a border security issue and the latest excuse for wealthy states to fortify their borders. In 2019, the Australian Defence Forces announced military patrols around Australia’s waters to intercept climate refugees.

The burgeoning terrain of “climate security” prioritises militarised borders, dovetailing perfectly into eco-apartheid. “Borders are the environment’s greatest ally; it is through them that we will save the planet,” declares the party of French far-Right politician Marine Le Pen. A US Pentagon-commissioned report on the security implications of climate change encapsulates the hostility to climate refugees: “Borders will be strengthened around the country to hold back unwanted starving immigrants from the Caribbean islands (an especially severe problem), Mexico, and South America.” The US has now launched Operation Vigilant Sentry off the Florida coast and created Homeland Security Task Force Southeast to enforce marine interdiction and deportation in the aftermath of disasters in the Caribbean.

Labour migration as climate mitigation

you broke the ocean in
half to be here.
only to meet nothing that wants you
– Nayyirah Waheed

Parallel to increasing border controls, temporary labour migration is increasingly touted as a climate adaptation strategy. As part of the ‘Nansen Initiative’, a multilateral, state-led project to address climate-induced displacement, the Australian government has put forward its temporary seasonal worker program as a key solution to building climate resilience in the Pacific region. The Australian statement to the Nansen Initiative Intergovernmental Global Consultation was, in fact, delivered not by the environment minister but by the Department of Immigration and Border Protection.

Beginning in April 2022, the new Pacific Australia Labour Mobility scheme will make it easier for Australian businesses to temporarily insource low-wage workers (what the scheme calls “low-skilled” and “unskilled” workers) from small Pacific island countries including Nauru, Papua New Guinea, Kiribati, Samoa, Tonga, and Tuvalu. Not coincidentally, many of these countries’ ecologies and economies have already been ravaged by Australian colonialism for over one hundred years.

It is not an anomaly that Australia is turning displaced climate refugees into a funnel of temporary labour migration. With growing ungovernable and irregular migration, including climate migration, temporary labour migration programs have become the worldwide template for “well-managed migration.” Elites present labour migration as a double win because high-income countries fill their labour shortage needs without providing job security or citizenship, while low-income countries alleviate structural impoverishment through migrants’ remittances.

Dangerous, low-wage jobs like farm, domestic, and service work that cannot be outsourced are now almost entirely insourced in this way. Insourcing and outsourcing represent two sides of the same neoliberal coin: deliberately deflated labour and political power. Not to be confused with free mobility, temporary labour migration represents an extreme neoliberal approach to the quartet of foreign, climate, immigration, and labour policy, all structured to expand networks of capital accumulation through the creation and disciplining of surplus populations.

The International Labour Organization recognises that temporary migrant workers face forced labour, low wages, poor working conditions, virtual absence of social protection, denial of freedom association and union rights, discrimination and xenophobia, as well as social exclusion. Under these state-sanctioned programs of indentureship, workers are legally tied to an employer and deportable. Temporary migrant workers are kept compliant through the threats of both termination and deportation, revealing the crucial connection between immigration status and precarious labour.

Through temporary labour migration programs, workers’ labour power is first captured by the border and this pliable labour is then exploited by the employer. Denying migrant workers permanent immigration status ensures a steady supply of cheapened labour. Borders are not intended to exclude all people, but to create conditions of ‘deportability’, which increases social and labour precarity. These workers are labelled as ‘foreign’ workers, furthering racist xenophobia against them, including by other workers. While migrant workers are temporary, temporary migration is becoming the permanent neoliberal, state-led model of migration.

Reparations include No Borders

“It’s immoral for the rich to talk about their future children and grandchildren when the children of the Global South are dying now.” – Asad Rehman

Discussions about building fairer and more sustainable political-economic systems have coalesced around a Green New Deal. Most public policy proposals for a Green New Deal in the US, Canada, UK and the EU articulate the need to simultaneously tackle economic inequality, social injustice, and the climate crisis by transforming our extractive and exploitative system towards a low-carbon, feminist, worker and community-controlled care-based society. While a Green New Deal necessarily understands the climate crisis and the crisis of capitalism as interconnected — and not a dichotomy of ‘the environment versus the economy’ — one of its main shortcomings is its bordered scope. As Harpreet Kaur Paul and Dalia Gebrial write: “the Green New Deal has largely been trapped in national imaginations.”

Any Green New Deal that is not internationalist runs the risk of perpetuating climate apartheid and imperialist domination in our warming world. Rich countries must redress the global and asymmetrical dimensions of climate debtunfair trade and financial agreements, military subjugation, vaccine apartheidlabour exploitation, and border securitisation.

It is impossible to think about borders outside the modern nation-state and its entanglements with empire, capitalism, race, caste, gender, sexuality, and ability. Borders are not even fixed lines demarcating territory. Bordering regimes are increasingly layered with drone surveillance, interception of migrant boats, and security controls far beyond states’ territorial limits. From Australia offshoring migrant detention around Oceania to Fortress Europe outsourcing surveillance and interdiction to the Sahel and Middle East, shifting cartographies demarcate our colonial present.

Perhaps most offensively, when colonial countries panic about ‘border crises’ they position themselves as victims. But the genocide, displacement, and movement of millions of people were unequally structured by colonialism for three centuries, with European settlers in the Americas and Oceania, the transatlantic slave trade from Africa, and imported indentured labourers from Asia. Empire, enslavement, and indentureship are the bedrock of global apartheid today, determining who can live where and under what conditions. Borders are structured to uphold this apartheid.

The freedom to stay and the freedom to move, which is to say no borders, is decolonial reparations and redistribution long due.

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Politics

The Murang’a Factor in the Upcoming Presidential Elections

The Murang’a people are really yet to decide who they are going to vote for as a president. If they have, they are keeping the secret to themselves. Are the Murang’a people prepping themselves this time to vote for one of their own? Can Jimi Wanjigi re-ignite the Murang’a/Matiba popular passion among the GEMA community and re-influence it to vote in a different direction?

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The Murang’a Factor in the Upcoming Presidential Elections
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In the last quarter of 2021, I visited Murang’a County twice: In September, we were in Kandiri in Kigumo constituency. We had gone for a church fundraiser and were hosted by the Anglican Church of Kenya’s (ACK), Kahariro parish, Murang’a South diocese. A month later, I was back, this time to Ihi-gaini deep in Kangema constituency for a burial.

The church function attracted politicians: it had to; they know how to sniff such occasions and if not officially invited, they gate-crash them. Church functions, just like funerals, are perfect platforms for politicians to exhibit their presumed piousness, generosity and their closeness to the respective clergy and the bereaved family.

Well, the other reason they were there, is because they had been invited by the Church leadership. During the electioneering period, the Church is not shy to exploit the politicians’ ambitions: they “blackmail” them for money, because they can mobilise ready audiences for the competing politicians. The politicians on the other hand, are very ready to part with cash. This quid pro quo arrangement is usually an unstated agreement between the Church leadership and the politicians.

The church, which was being fund raised for, being in Kigumo constituency, the area MP Ruth Wangari Mwaniki, promptly showed up. Likewise, the area Member of the County Assembly (MCA) and of course several aspirants for the MP and MCA seats, also showed up.

Church and secular politics often sit cheek by jowl and so, on this day, local politics was the order of the day. I couldn’t have speculated on which side of the political divide Murang’a people were, until the young man Zack Kinuthia Chief Administrative Secretary (CAS) for Sports, Culture and Heritage, took to the rostrum to speak.

A local boy and an Uhuru Kenyatta loyalist, he completely avoided mentioning his name and his “development track record” in central Kenya. Kinuthia has a habit of over-extolling President Uhuru’s virtues whenever and wherever he mounts any platform. By the time he was done speaking, I quickly deduced he was angling to unseat Wangari. I wasn’t wrong; five months later in February 2022, Kinuthia resigned his CAS position to vie for Kigumo on a Party of the National Unity (PNU) ticket.

He spoke briefly, feigned some meeting that was awaiting him elsewhere and left hurriedly, but not before giving his KSh50,000 donation. Apparently, I later learnt that he had been forewarned, ahead of time, that the people were not in a mood to listen to his panegyrics on President Uhuru, Jubilee Party, or anything associated to the two. Kinuthia couldn’t dare run on President Uhuru’s Jubilee Party. His patron-boss’s party is not wanted in Murang’a.

I spent the whole day in Kandiri, talking to people, young and old, men and women and by the time I was leaving, I was certain about one thing; The Murang’a folks didn’t want anything to do with President Uhuru. What I wasn’t sure of is, where their political sympathies lay.

I returned to Murang’a the following month, in the expansive Kangema – it is still huge – even after Mathioya was hived off from the larger Kangema constituency. Funerals provide a good barometer that captures peoples’ political sentiments and even though this burial was not attended by politicians – a few senior government officials were present though; political talk was very much on the peoples’ lips.

What I gathered from the crowd was that President Uhuru had destroyed their livelihood, remember many of the Nairobi city trading, hawking, big downtown real estate and restaurants are run and owned largely by Murang’a people. The famous Nyamakima trading area of downtown Nairobi has been run by Murang’a Kikuyus.

In 2018, their goods were confiscated and declared contrabrand by the government. Many of their businesses went under, this, despite the merchants not only, whole heartedly throwing their support to President Uhuru’s controversial re-election, but contributing handsomely to the presidential kitty. They couldn’t believe what was happening to them: “We voted for him to safeguard our businesses, instead, he destroyed them. So much for supporting him.”

We voted for him to safeguard our businesses, instead, he destroyed them. So much for supporting him

Last week, I attended a Murang’a County caucus group that was meeting somewhere in Gatundu, in Kiambu County. One of the clearest messages that I got from this group is that the GEMA vote in the August 9, 2022, presidential elections is certainly anti-Uhuru Kenyatta and not necessarily pro-William Ruto.

“The Murang’a people are really yet to decide, (if they have, they are keeping the secret to themselves) on who they are going to vote for as a president. And that’s why you see Uhuru is craftily courting us with all manner of promises, seductions and prophetic messages.” Two weeks ago, President Uhuru was in Murang’a attending an African Independent Pentecostal Church of Africa (AIPCA) church function in Kandara constituency.

At the church, the president yet again threatened to “tell you what’s in my heart and what I believe and why so.” These prophecy-laced threats by the President, to the GEMA nation, in which he has been threatening to show them the sign, have become the butt of crude jokes among Kikuyus.

Corollary, President Uhuru once again has plucked Polycarp Igathe away from his corporate perch as Equity Bank’s Chief Commercial Officer back to Nairobi’s tumultuous governor seat politics. The first time the bespectacled Igathe was thrown into the deep end of the Nairobi murky politics was in 2017, as Mike Sonko’s deputy governor. After six months, he threw in the towel, lamenting that Sonko couldn’t let him even breathe.

Uhuru has a tendency of (mis)using Murang’a people

“Igathe is from Wanjerere in Kigumo, Murang’a, but grew up in Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County,” one of the Mzees told me. “He’s not interested in politics; much less know how it’s played. I’ve spent time with him and confided in me as much. Uhuru has a tendency of (mis)using Murang’a people. President Uhuru wants to use Igathe to control Nairobi. The sad thing is that Igathe doesn’t have the guts to tell Uhuru the brutal fact: I’m really not interested in all these shenanigans, leave me alone. The president is hoping, once again, to hopefully placate the Murang’a people, by pretending to front Igathe. I foresee another terrible disaster ultimately befalling both Igathe and Uhuru.”

Be that as it may, what I got away with from this caucus, after an entire day’s deliberations, is that its keeping it presidential choice close to its chest. My attempts to goad some of the men and women present were fruitless.

Murang’a people like reminding everyone that it’s only they, who have yet to produce a president from the GEMA stable, despite being the wealthiest. Kiambu has produced two presidents from the same family, Nyeri one, President Mwai Kibaki, who died on April 22. The closest Murang’a came to giving the country a president was during Ken Matiba’s time in the 1990s. “But Matiba had suffered a debilitating stroke that incapacitated him,” said one of the mzees. “It was tragic, but there was nothing we could do.”

Murang’a people like reminding everyone that it’s only they, who have yet to produce a president from the GEMA stable, despite being the wealthiest

It is interesting to note that Jimi Wanjigi, the Safina party presidential flagbearer is from Murang’a County. His family hails from Wahundura, in Mathioya constituency. Him and Mwangi wa Iria, the Murang’a County governor are the other two Murang’a prominent persons who have tossed themselves into the presidential race. Wa Iria’s bid which was announced at the beginning of 2022, seems to have stagnated, while Jimi’s seems to be gathering storm.

Are the Murang’a people prepping themselves this time to vote for one of their own? Jimi’s campaign team has crafted a two-pronged strategy that it hopes will endear Kenyans to his presidency. One, a generational, paradigm shift, especially among the youth, targeting mostly post-secondary, tertiary college and university students.

“We believe this group of voters who are basically between the ages of 18–27 years and who comprise more than 65 per cent of total registered voters are the key to turning this election,” said one of his presidential campaign team members. “It matters most how you craft the political message to capture their attention.” So, branding his key message as itwika, it is meant to orchestrate a break from past electoral behaviour that is pegged on traditional ethnic voting patterns.

The other plunk of Jimi’s campaign theme is economic emancipation, quite pointedly as it talks directly to the GEMA nation, especially the Murang’a Kikuyus, who are reputed for their business acumen and entrepreneurial skills. “What Kikuyus cherish most,” said the team member “is someone who will create an enabling business environment and leave the Kikuyus to do their thing. You know, Kikuyus live off business, if you interfere with it, that’s the end of your friendship, it doesn’t matter who you are.”

Can Jimi re-ignite the Murang’a/Matiba popular passion among the GEMA community and re-influence it to vote in a different direction? As all the presidential candidates gear-up this week on who they will eventually pick as their running mates, the GEMA community once more shifts the spotlight on itself, as the most sought-after vote basket.

Both Raila Odinga and William Ruto coalitions – Azimio la Umoja-One Kenya and Kenya Kwanza Alliance – must seek to impress and woe Mt Kenya region by appointing a running mate from one of its ranks. If not, the coalitions fear losing the vote-rich area either to each other, or perhaps to a third party. Murang’a County, may as well, become the conundrum, with which the August 9, presidential race may yet to be unravelled and decided.

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