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WHEN THE CENTRE NO LONGER HOLDS: Kenya’s Post-2017 Economic Prospects

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Nyani haoni

While the elections that took place in Kenya this month have played out like the latest episode in a familiar political drama series, the global and regional backdrop has continued to change. The pace of transformation is increasing, the big picture is blurred, and although the 2013 cocktail of ethnic alliances remained unchanged in 2017, the winners of the contest will be governing in a world that is significantly different from the one in 2013.

There was a time when Kenya’s developmental partners presented a united front when dealing with the government of the day, especially during ruptures like the 2007-2008 post-electoral violence. Now the Western donor frontline is fragmented and China’s growing influence is based on a different geopolitical optic. The Chinese are providing a financial alternative to the hegemony of the Bretton-Woods institutions, but with a different local cost-and-benefit equation.

The Donald Trump disengagement factor should be a significant concern for a country like Kenya, but it is not likely to materialise on the scale initially anticipated. Two-thirds of the American public still supports foreign assistance even though they think their largesse is much larger than it actually is. Renewed growth and the Merkel-Macron axis are now stabilising forces of populism that were never absent but less visible within European Union nations. While the UK sorts out the Brexit problem that induced Theresa May’s awkward flirtation with Donald Trump and his proposed special trade relationship, the EU will provide a useful counterbalance.

Otherwise, all is quiet on the Western donor front, at least for the time being, as the host of international election observers in Kenya have just confirmed. In any case, Kenya’s foreign policy wonks have been adjusting to the transition to a multipolar international order for over two decades. This process remains on course, while Kenya’s geopolitical location reinforces the multilateral status quo that includes reducing levels of external donor support. That this foreign policy did not feature prominently in the campaigns is indicative of its relative priority in the larger scheme of things.

There are still important issues waiting to be addressed, as David Mondo pointed out in a recent article on the subject, including the rebalancing of relations with China. Saudi Arabia’s militant activism demands vigilance in respect to relations across the Horn of Africa region and its direct ramifications for the situation in Somalia. But most of the challenges are closer to home.

Multiple developments, from the security threats posed by non-state insurgents to the parochial influence of social media, the emergence of highly contagious disease vectors, the spread of ethnic and regional nationalism and the implications of new technologies, are driving the overall pattern of change across the world.

Multiple developments, from the security threats posed by non-state insurgents to the parochial influence of social media, the emergence of highly contagious disease vectors, the spread of ethnic and regional nationalism and the implications of new technologies, are driving the overall pattern of change across the world. The organisational structure of governance is in flux, but this has been the case in Africa since the 1970s. African states have for the most part successfully resisted and selectively curbed the international pressures from above while conceding influence to the ethnic forces from below. The only news here is the resurgence of tribal identity across other world regions.

So maybe things are not so different after all?

Think again.

Although the day-to-day realities appear to be the same, over time both forces have reduced the political space that the traditional nation-state carved out over the last five hundred years, while liberalisation has further eroded the state’s control over the economy. Supra-national organisations and transnational networks are flattening the top-down hierarchical world order from above. The influence of new and old tribes are doing the same from below; free-scale networks are spreading, and all of these changes are reducing the economic primacy the state has long enjoyed.

The import of these shifts for the landscape of eastern Africa highlights the quest to achieve a flexible balance of national governance, economic integration, and enhanced cooperation among and across local and international system scales. Somalia and other areas of cross-border turbulence are regional problems that demand regional solutions. The dynamic is the same in respect to devolution; the counties are now the focal points of local development.

The required adjustments by the state in both instances serve the national interest; the problem is that the required concessions entail conceding a degree of national-level sovereignty. This is easier said than done in a world where the nation-state and the economic agents of centralisation appear to be driving globalisation. Bigger is better is still assumed to be the policy default. The corollary assumption presumes that material progress is a function of strong leadership at the top. Imperialism was one of the more draconian examples of how this principle actually works. The nation-state has long been the repository of global power, but in today’s world the influence of political leaders at the apex of the planet’s food chain is more a mirage than reality.

History shows that authority concentrated at the centre can be very effective in the beginning, but typically ends badly. A similar hegemonic model worked for a while in Somalia, but we saw how that turned out.

That China is the reigning contemporary exemplar highlights the economic strength of the command economy, but so was Stalin’s Soviet Union once upon a time. History shows that authority concentrated at the centre can be very effective in the beginning, but typically ends badly. A similar hegemonic model worked for a while in Somalia, but we saw how that turned out. On the neoliberal side of the ideological divide, Whitehall’s entrenched control of the British homeland may result in the break-up of the United Kingdom during the coming years.

These comparisons demonstrate the limits of sustained centralisation. The predicament facing governments across the globe is how to manage the directionality of political change in a milieu where small has gone from beautiful to powerful. This is not easy in countries like Kenya where the state has long enjoyed supremacy as the only game in town.

The Jubilee Party may have gained ground, but the inevitable partisan hangover and the problems of promoting progress in a deeply polarised nation are not going away.

The morning after

Nairobi dwarfs the rest of the country economically and across most other categories. Ninety-three per cent of its households fall within the top two quintiles of the country’s wealth index and only two per cent fall within the bottom twenty per cent, according to the 2014 Demographic and Health Survey.

Contemporary Kenya presents a distinctively problematic socio-economic equation. Its relatively sophisticated private sector is offset by problems of extreme poverty, endemic corruption, declining agricultural productivity, increasing seasonal water shortages in high rainfall areas, vulnerability to the effects of climate change, undiminished security challenges, and a perverse combination of reduced funding for civil society and sustained support for an ineffective military counterterrorism strategy.

Urban areas across the world are by definition more prosperous than the rural hinterland. But in this case the wealth concentrated in the capital translates into shortfalls elsewhere. No other city in Kenya really qualifies as a sectoral hub in comparison, and even though Mombasa and Nakuru formerly enjoyed this status due to the port and agricultural processing industries, both cities’ position has eroded relative to the capital.

Nairobi disproportionally benefits from the wealth generated in the countryside even though its contribution to the national economy in the form of industrial production is stagnant. Ownership of mobile phones and radios are the only exception to the pattern of material consumption for rural Kenya.

The concentration of wealth and power in the world’s capital cities fuel growing local demands for redistributed decision-making authority, secessionist movements, and the rise of militancy on the peripheries of the state-centric system. In Kenya, extending the national infrastructure is only part of the formula for alleviating the disparities between urban centers and the hinterland. It is a routine function that governments everywhere undertake, although this has been a major selling point for the current government.

In Kenya, the country’s spatial and regional socio-economic inequality is one major divide; the other is demographic. Kenya’s population is now approaching 50 million, and has doubled since 1992. The median age is 19, and three-quarters of the population is under 30. The fertility rate has abated from the apex of 3.9 per cent per annum in 1989, but at 2.7 per cent the decline remains higher than the decrease predicted by demographic transition models.

In Africa, two decades of colonial intervention effectively redirected Africa’s historical trajectory—accelerating socio-economic change in some areas while effectively ensuring that wide expanses would sink into a state of malaise and stagnation. It will take much longer to restore the natural equilibrium turned upside down by imperial intervention.

Nairobi dwarfs the rest of the country economically and across most other categories. Ninety-three per cent of its households fall within the top two quintiles of the country’s wealth index and only two per cent fall within the bottom twenty per cent, according to the 2014 Demographic and Health Survey.

Kenya’s ongoing transition entails a gradual unwinding of the old order and the incremental redistribution of administrative decision-making and political power across local and regional system scales. The process of reconfiguration has just begun, and over time it should produce far greater benefits than the agrarian capitalism introduced by the colonial administration. Rectifying the structural inequalities it created is a prerequisite for this to happen, and this cannot occur in isolation. Overlapping economic unions like IGAD and the East African Community mark the commitment of the region’s governments to regional integration. Convergence will eventually create a more balanced and robust regional political economy. This, perhaps more than the efforts of individual governments, may prove to be the key that unlocks prosperity for this region’s surging populations. The problem is that although some of the national economies may achieve lift-off over the next decade, integration will probably take much longer. In the meantime, the new Kenyan government will inherit a politically, economically, spatially, and demographically divided land of contrasts.

Contemporary Kenya presents a distinctively problematic socio-economic equation. Its relatively sophisticated private sector is offset by problems of extreme poverty, endemic corruption, declining agricultural productivity, increasing seasonal water shortages in high rainfall areas, vulnerability to the effects of climate change, undiminished security challenges, and a perverse combination of reduced funding for civil society and sustained support for an ineffective military counterterrorism strategy.

All of these issues feed the stark realities that the new Kenyan government will have to confront once the political noise and legal controversies stirred up by the polling season subside. In a country where the recent crisis in Laikipia is only the most recent indicator of the intensifying competition over land and natural resources, Kenya’s pursuit of transformation is a race against time. The prospects for winning the race are not exactly sanguine at this juncture.

Devolution and the Vision thing

Many Kenyans retain an entrenched mentality about the developmental capacity of the central government. Despite the new constitution’s provisions for addressing structural inequalities, the ethnic power map still holds sway and manifests in the foot-dragging, revisionism, and state elites’ reluctance to embrace constitutionalism—even while devolution is opening up new pathways for problem solving, citizen participation in governance, and formerly inert communities’ developmental horizons.

In his influential work on economic history, Capitalism in the 21st Century, Thomas Picketty documents how a country’s rate of population growth translates over time into an equivalent percentage of economic growth. The corollary observation is that the government’s contribution to Kenya’s economy is actually considerably less than what the growth rates associated with the conventional indicators suggest.

The 70 per cent of Kenya’s citizens who think the country is not on the right track may discern a glimmer of hope in the technology-driven future. Innovations, like the blockchain, for example, can deliver results where previous attempts to reform the system have hit the wall of impunity and public apathy.

Vision 2030 is the latest top-down iteration of the five-year development plan. The technically well-informed document is still the grandchild of a century-old strategy that overestimates the capacity of the state relative to the pressures building up on the ground. In reality, government policy makers are banking on the prospects that an oil export boom and other extractive industries will provide an economic lifeline.

There’s nothing wrong with thinking big when conditions and resources favour implementation of visionary schemes. China became an industrial power over the course of a generation and the Americans took less time to land a man on the moon.

But historically, this region’s conditions have not been conducive to large-scale project interventions. The Lamu Port and South Sudan Ethiopia Transport (LAPSSET) project, the latest product of this set piece way of thinking, is doomed to fail in its present form. Its planning was predicated on incorrect economic and political assumptions, including the value of the untapped crude oil justifying its US$24 billion price tag. Irrational initiatives, like the aborted plan to transport oil from Turkana in lorries, are indicative of the desperation to cash in on the fading demand for carbon energy resources. Even though it is now in limbo, the project is generating deep frictions among the communities in the areas it traverses.

The majority of Kenyans elsewhere, however, are reluctant to discriminate between the illusions spun by such “vision” statements and practical policies parlaying demographic-driven growth into economic transformation. The success of a given political party in these circumstances should not be seen as uncritical support for conventional development planning from above. Very few people bothered to read, much less debate, the Jubilee and NASA party manifestos, and Kenya’s developmental monoculture no longer holds sway in many areas.

Biological monocultures, like the fir forests in Scandinavia and the waves of amber grains spanning the American heartland, dominate in resource-rich environments. Biodiversity thrives in landscapes where climatic variation and the uneven distribution of ecological resources prevail. These initial conditions shaped the region’s cultural ecologies. Kenya’s cultural and linguistic diversity is the by-product of multiple niche adaptations. Clans served as the basic unit of economic production that merged into larger fuzzy-edged collectives that the colonials defined as tribes.

The Lamu Port and South Sudan Ethiopia Transport (LAPSSET) project, the latest product of this set piece way of thinking, is doomed to fail in its present form. Its planning was predicated on incorrect economic and political assumptions, including the value of the untapped crude oil justifying its US$24 billion price tag.

The edges became sharp and less permeable under the influence of the modern state. Three decades of reforms may have diminished the Leviathan but have left the motivations of the political class intact. The influence of neoliberal economic policies in Africa has converted the developmental focus of the post-independence era into a more transactional political economy over time. Liberalisation has also reactivated the environmental and spatial dynamics held in check by decades of centralised governance.

Infrastructure is a basic prerequisite for economic progress, as discussed in an insightful essay by Kenya’s Harvard-based Calestous Juma. Governments everywhere since antiquity have developed roads and ports. Fostering economic inclusivity is the real big project in the present Kenyan context. Enhancing the developmental capacity of county governments and empowering local aspirations to benefit from their natural resource endowments will go a long ways toward this goal.

It is not a simple matter of sharing some revenue with the counties. It follows that the current budget allocation formula favouring areas that benefitted from Kenya’s Sessional Paper No. 10 should be reviewed and adjusted as a matter of procedure. Although the county governments have issues of their own, in general they have displayed better problem-solving skills and have been more responsive to feedback and complaints than the monolithic central government.

After twenty years of failed sectoral reforms, the governor of Nyeri broke the stranglehold of the coffee barons. Now the county’s farmers are producing some of the best specialty coffees in the world. Mandera has raised water development to an unprecedented level. Kwale led the country in fiscal management, and there are many other feel-good county stories.

Despite problems of revenue generation and the duplication of services, in general devolution has been a success. And this is just the beginning. The government overseeing the second phase of the roll-out process will require a more creative mindset than what was on display during the just concluded elections if it wants to harness the energies generated and create new synergies.

Unfortunately, the winners of Kenya’s contested national elections will probably treat their victory as a mandate to conduct business as usual. This is a dilemma for counties on the margins who will continue to fight for their share of the spoils while state compradors cut deals with foreign investors. The constraints facing the counties in general reflect a yet bigger problem. Until proven otherwise, the transformational language of the victorious party’s manifesto will be seen as a smokescreen for the unrelenting appetite to eat at the centre. The violent suppression of protest and bellicose responses to criticism in general are also not consistent with a government confident of its performance and political legitimacy.

Are the nation’s political leaders capable of seeing the shape of things to come? This may not be the right question in light of the state’s tendency to shun opportunities to offset the inequities of the past.

The 70 per cent of Kenya’s citizens who think the country is not on the right track may discern a glimmer of hope in the technology-driven future. Innovations, like the blockchain, for example, can deliver results where previous attempts to reform the system have hit the wall of impunity and public apathy.

The state’s role as an agent of development may be antiquated, but its function as a vehicle for governance is likely to become even more critical as it is the one public institution with a democratically approved mandate to negotiate the relationship between society and technology-driven capitalism.

Blockchains are a peer-based accounting mechanism that gained fame for enabling the rise of crypto-currencies, such as Bitcoin and Etherium. Tech analysts believe their role in the management of commercial ledgers and financial flows also has revolutionary implications for the problems of corruption and mismanagement of public assets. Technological forces are also reconfiguring the prospects for more productive livelihoods. Data-based applications and machine-learning algorithms originally designed for large-scale technologies are now catalysing transformative efficiencies in areas such as precision agriculture, resource management, and a range of small-scale enterprises.

As Malcolm X declared, “The future belongs to those who prepare for it.” Governments that do not see the need to keep pace with these developments risk becoming irrelevant. It will be hard for policy makers to choose one set of technological innovations that improve economic productivity while rejecting others that enhance transparency and improve the management of public resources.

More devolution or the building of a Konza techcity will not alter the challenges on this front. Rather, as Professor Juma states, “new approaches will need to be pursued to ensure that the past failures of industrial policies are not repeated.” This imperative to facilitate what he describes as “adaptive open competitive and collaborative innovation ecosystems” is complicated by the looming scenario the good professor does not refer to: the fast approaching economic singularity and attendant loss of employment.

A recent article in Quartz magazine opined that Africa could suffer a forty per cent loss of it formal sector jobs to the machine economy over the next two decades. We still do not know how these fast-moving developments will impact society, but based on present evidence, I personally think the current pace of automation makes this prediction look optimistic.

The state’s role as an agent of development may be antiquated, but its function as a vehicle for governance is likely to become even more critical as it is the one public institution with a democratically approved mandate to negotiate the relationship between society and technology-driven capitalism. The implications of this remind us that despite its shortcomings, the nation-state is still the world’s most successful form of multicultural organisation.

Deep neural networks cannot replicate our uniquely human traditions of collective leadership and consultation or replace the role of a vibrant civil society. In his seminal treatise on the emergence of a distinctively African capitalism, John Illife addresses this quandary by concluding that “political skills on both sides of the state-society divide will determine whether or not African capitalism can establish itself as a creative force”.

The regime of capitalism in Kenya presently favours rent-seeking elites. Most of the key decision makers are neither creative nor visionary. After decades of accumulation where are the Kenyan Dangotes, where is the noblesse oblige?

The regime of capitalism in Kenya presently favours rent-seeking elites. Most of the key decision makers are neither creative nor visionary.

It is naive to expect that the latest government of the day will exchange its legacy of patrimonial governance for the kind of forward-looking leadership Kenya’s youth demographic deserves. But we can anticipate that the nation’s youth will assert themselves within the mix of new and existing selective forces that will begin to sort things during the run-up to the 2022 elections.

An oft-cited tech sector rule observes that just as we tend to overestimate what can be accomplished over the short term, we can also underestimate the scope of change that can occur over the longer term. In the case of Kenya, reversing the political status quo will begin with small steps. Ditching the Vision 2030 blueprint would be a good place to start. This will allow the executive to impart substance to its rhetoric of transformation by involving individual leaders from different sectors in tandem with the county governments to formulate a new vision for 2040.

Kenyans, as the 2017 World Athletic Championship once again demonstrated, may not be very competitive in the sprints, but they excel in the long distance race.

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Mr. Goldsmith is an American researcher and writer who has lived in Kenya for over 40 years.

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A DARK TRUTH: The racist dynamic at the heart of Kenya’s conservation practices and policies

MORDECAI OGADA explains why black Africans are almost completely absent in the field of conservation in Kenya, which has been hijacked by whites and foreigners who pander to prejudices that have been cultivated by romantic or colonial notions about Africa and its wildlife.

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A DARK TRUTH: The racist dynamic at the heart of Kenya’s conservation practices and policies

The practice of conservation and the narrative around African wildlife is a kingdom, albeit without a single monarch. The monarchy and nobility consist of an eclectic mix of royalty, commoners, idlers, misfits, scientists, killers (who refer to themselves as “hunters”) across a very broad spectrum of backgrounds. We have youthful cowboys in their 20s, and we have octogenarians. There are also wealthy lords and scruffy backpackers. The one thread that links them is the fact that they are all white.

Their race is also what confers upon them a unity of purpose and mutual sympathy in lands where the indigenous majority are black. This kingdom is absolute and doesn’t tolerate dissent from its subjects. Those who serve the kingdom faithfully are rewarded with senior positions in the technical (not policy) arena and international awards and are showered with praise and backhanded compliments in descriptions like “being switched on”, “a good chap”, and best of all, “a reformed poacher”. This praise also manifests itself in the form of the Tusk Conservation Award, which is conferred annually by the Duke of Cambridge, HRH Prince William, on the local conservationist who best serves as an implementer or enforcer of the kingdom’s conservation goals.

Structured conservation practice in East Africa began largely when demobilised World War II soldiers started looking for a field where they could apply one of the few skills they had gained in the war (shooting) without harming people. The rise of the conservation officer or protector was actually preceded by the establishment of the first hunting reserves at the turn of the century a few decades earlier.

However, there was a new recognition that the resource was finite and needed to be preserved for the exclusive use of the colonial nobility that was necessarily defined by race; hence the need for enforcement. Exploitation of African wildlife by Western consumers began in the early 1900s with hunting safaris, which were basically tests of resilience and skill with the target of harvesting the biggest and largest number from this bounty under pretty harsh and rustic conditions. It was closely followed in the 1960s by the photographic safari and cinematography that cemented the romanticism of these adventures in the African wild. This led to a spurt in tourist interest, which no doubt pleased the foreign exchange-hungry newly independent states.

Intellectual desert

Two major pitfalls arose from the romantic age between 1950 and1970 – pitfalls that continue to determine how wildlife conservation is practised today. The first major pitfall was the illogical link and valuation of wildlife based on tourists’ appreciation and (where hunting was allowed) consumption. The second pitfall was the firm placement of black Africans as “props” who were destined never to be equal intellectual participants in the management of and discourse around African wildlife. Thus my compulsion to describe Kenya (rather harshly, in some of my readers’ estimation) as an “intellectual desert” as far as wildlife conservation is concerned.

Two major pitfalls arose from the romantic age between 1950 and1970 – pitfalls that continue to determine how wildlife conservation is practised today. The first major pitfall was the illogical link and valuation of wildlife based on tourists’ appreciation and (where hunting was allowed) consumption. The second pitfall was the firm placement of black Africans as “props” who were destined never to be equal intellectual participants in the management of and discourse around African wildlife.

Indeed, photographic and hunting safaris have since then included a very obvious but unspoken element of domination over black Africans – we can see it in the nameless black faces in white hunters’ photographs and in the postures of servile African staff attending to white tourists in the advertising brochures. Black Africans are totally absent as clients in all the media and advertising materials and campaigns. When hunting was legal in Kenya, it was normal for a photograph of a hunter with his guides, porters and gun bearer to be captioned: “Major F. Foggybottom and a fine leopard bagged in the Maasai Mara region of Kenya, September, 1936.” Fast forward 80 years or so. Black Africans are prominent in their absence from the reams and hours of literature and footage on Africa’s spectacular wildlife. The uniformity of this anomaly is startling across the board, whether one is watching the Discovery channel, BBC, or National Geographic.

With the advance of neoliberalism, market forces have become important drivers of both tacit and explicit policies all over the world. In African conservation policy and practice, the black African has become like an insidious impurity that sometimes leaks into the final product but should ideally be absent in anything considered “premium”. This is not to say that media houses and marketing firms are deliberately engaging in racial discrimination; however, they are, sadly, pandering to prejudices that have been cultivated by romantic or colonial notions about Africa and its wildlife.

The colour bar

Blatant racism becomes much more evident in the conservation field, which in Kenya is dominated by whites. From a strictly academic standpoint, the open discrimination and obvious colour bar evident in the conservation sector in Kenya is fascinating for two major reasons: one is its longevity – business, agriculture, banking, education and all other fields have changed beyond recognition in the last few decades, but conservation remains firmly in the “Victorian gamekeeper” mode, where conservation is basically about protecting wildlife from the proletariat so that the nobles can consume the same for luxury/ recreational purposes.

The second is the acceptance of this status quo by senior indigenous state officials and technical experts across the board. Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly-qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience. Indeed, some of the supervisors are American or Europeans relatively new to Kenya and with very rudimentary knowledge (if any) of Kenyan wildlife and ecosystems. Examples that come to mind are the appointment of one Peter Hetz (MSc, American) as Executive Director of the Laikipia Wildlife Forum in 2011 to supervise one Mordecai Ogada (PhD, Kenyan) who was appointed as Deputy Director. The recent appointment of Mr. Jochen Zeitz to the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) board is another case in point. Here I have used very pointed racial references because it is quite simply a racial divide. We simply do not find non-Caucasian foreigners in wildlife leadership positions in Kenya, nor do we find Latin Americans or Asians. We also don’t find Kenyans of European descent in any of the subordinate roles.

Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly-qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience. Indeed, some of the supervisors are American or Europeans relatively new to Kenya and with very rudimentary knowledge (if any) of Kenyan wildlife and ecosystems.

How, an observer might ask, is this hierarchy maintained without any disruption by the growing number of indigenous Kenyans pursuing advanced studies in the conservation field? How do the academic exertions of all these technicians fail to moisten the intellectual desert in Kenyan conservation?

One reason is because, just like water never produces vegetation on seedless ground, the intellectual barrenness of indigenous Kenyans has been built into the training facilities and curricula. It goes without saying that Kenya’s ecological diversity and abundant wildlife are key pillars in the country’s economic, social and cultural identity, but Moi University, the de facto leading local institution in this field, only offers a degree course in “wildlife management”, which basically equips local wildlife practitioners to be technicians or foot soldiers for conservation, not to be fully engaged with any of the intellectual challenges that exist in the sector. Those who are better trained and experienced in this field are a small minority who seldom find acceptance in the sector because they inherently threaten the existing hierarchy.

KWS itself has two training facilities: the Manyani field school and a well-resourced training institute in Naivasha. Manyani is a proven centre of excellence in tactical field training necessary for wildlife rangers. The Naivasha training institute, which was established in 1985 to develop the “soft skills” and policy thinking around conservation and fisheries, changed in 2009 when it began offering rudimentary naturalist and paraecologist courses more geared towards serving the tourism industry than the cause of conservation. As one would expect, the academic contribution of this institution to tourism falls so short of the standards required by Kenya’s highly developed tourism industry that in the final analysis, it is a lost investment. One of its more recent distinctions is the levels of academic performance advertised on its website as requirements for admission, which are far below what an institution training custodians of any country’s most valuable resource should be.

Closer analysis of these institutions and their low intellectual ceilings reveals a far subtler, but important, perspective on the colour bar in Kenyan conservation. The people being trained in these institutions are replacing the gun bearers and gamekeepers of feudal England and colonial Kenya.

Kenya as a nation still struggles with this colour bar and our public arena is replete with the symptoms of it. One that stands out is the dropping of charges against the late Tom Cholmondeley for the killing of Samson Ole Sisina, a KWS officer, at the scene of an industrial bushmeat harvesting and processing operation on the former’s Soysambu ranch. Those familiar with Kenyan society know that the killing of a security officer on duty is a (judicial or extrajudicial) death sentence in Kenya 99.99% of the time. The truth is that there were absolutely no mitigating circumstances here, other than the victim’s race. Barely a year later, in May 2006, Cholmondeley shot and killed Robert Njoya, a stonemason who lived in a village that borders his 50,000-acre estate, a crime for which he was jailed in 2009 following public uproar.

Closer analysis of these institutions and their low intellectual ceilings reveals a far subtler, but important, perspective on the colour bar in Kenyan conservation. The people being trained in these institutions are replacing the gun bearers and gamekeepers of feudal England and colonial Kenya.

More recently, in January 2018, there was a memorial service for the late Gilfrid Powys, a renowned rancher, conservationist, and KWS honorary warden. The service was attended by a plethora of top brass from KWS in full uniform, as well as several government leaders, as befitted his status in society. I suspect many in the congregation were taken aback when one of the eulogisers, Mr. Willy Potgieter, read a long and touching tribute where he detailed how the departed wasn’t a particularly religious man but would indulge his spirituality by hunting buffalo every Sunday morning. The discomfiture of the uniformed staff and company gathered was palpable and would have been amusing had it not been such a stark testament to the existence of conservation apartheid in our country and our society’s acceptance thereof.

Sanitised terminology

Apartheid in conservation matters. The duplicity that exists within many people and institutions purported to be dedicated to conservation may seem bizarre to those unfamiliar with the sector. Here is how it works: Basic psychological examination of wildlife hunting reveals that it is a uniquely complex aspect of human endeavour because it occurs at both ends of the spectrum of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Subsistence hunting is firmly at the bottom of the hierarchy as it fulfils physiological needs while sport hunting is at the top, within the realm of self-actualisation. This is illustrated by the celebrated blood sports of falconry and fox hunting pursued by royalty in the Middle East and Britain, respectively.

The highly sanitised terminology is also in striking contrast to the derogatory terms like “bushmeat poaching” used in reference to subsistence hunting. This highlights the role of the media in cultivating the racial divide because in Africa the term “poacher” or “bushmeat” is never applied to the activities or diets of people of European descent, regardless of legality.

Likewise, the term “hunter” is never applied to the activities of black people. These three degrees of separation in the hierarchy of needs are the basis of the colour bar. They are the reasons behind the flawed belief that we can allow white people to kill (not poach) wildlife and shoot black people suspected of being “poachers”. This is also the basis of the ongoing nonsensical scheme of a “task force” going around Kenya trying to gather support for proposed “consumptive use” of wildlife, an activity de facto delineated by race. It stands to even casual examination that the practice of structured legal hunting of wildlife in Kenya (and much of Africa) is an activity controlled by, and indulged in, by people of Caucasian extraction.

The highly sanitised terminology is also in striking contrast to the derogatory terms like “bushmeat poaching” used in reference to subsistence hunting. This highlights the role of the media in cultivating the racial divide because in Africa the term “poacher” or “bushmeat” is never applied to the activities or diets of people of European descent, regardless of legality.

It also goes without saying that the colour bar we live with in Kenyan conservation is an anachronism that we should have escaped from in the mid-20th century. But before we can achieve that freedom, we must squarely face up to the problem and appreciate its full extent. It is systemic.

When the board chairmanship of KWS fell vacant about four years ago, our government turned, almost reflexively, to the ageing Dr Richard Leakey, who is no longer at his physical or intellectual best, and who, in my view, is not even the best candidate for the job. The spectacular failure, frantic inactivity, and deafening silence on conservation issues that characterised Dr Leakey’s last tenure at KWS came as no surprise to those of us familiar with the man’s capabilities. The most poignant memory of this is a photo of Leakey posing with the black board members holding tusks beside him – an image that evoked memories of the “great white hunter” of yore. The photo itself was taken during the torching of 105 tonnes of ivory in 2016, a fairly logical conservation activity, but the carefully structured pose shows a board composed of people who have no knowledge or reading of the history and culture around wildlife conservation in Kenya. If they had even rudimentary knowledge of the history of conservation practice in Kenya, they would have recognised that their photo was misplaced in space and time. There is little doubt that Leakey (and possibly Brian Heath, in the back left, distancing himself from the ivory) were aware of this nuance and were the only intellectual participants in this photo – and therein lies a snapshot of our enduring tragedy.

The intellectual desert that is Kenya’s conservation sector remains as barren as ever in 2018. The sporadic and disjointed efforts to moisten it with sprinklers will all come to nought unless we concurrently plant the seeds of indigenous knowledge and expertise.

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Bobi Wine and the Politics of Revolution

ISAAC OTIDI AMUKE documents the rise of the “Ghetto President” who has become a person of particular interest to the Ugandan state. By ISAAC OTIDI AMUKE

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Bobi Wine and the Politics of Revolution

‘‘I believe in the politics of friendship. Without the politics of friendship there can be no radical movement.’’ – Srecko Horvat

‘‘…struggles, incarcerations and whistle blowing bring people together through friendship to try and do something. Will we succeed? Who knows! Who cares! What matters is the actual process of trying to do it… the chances may not be good. But we have the moral obligation to try’’

– Yanis Varoufakis

It came as a huge relief to many – especially to his wife Barbara and their four children – to learn that the highly popular Ugandan musician and MP for Kyaddondo East, Robert Kyagulanyi Ssentamu – popularly known as Bobi Wine – was still alive following his dramatic night arrest on August 13, 2018 in Arua town, Northern Uganda. The country’s political machinery – including President Yoweri Kaguta Museveni of the ruling National Resistance Movement (NRM) and Dr. Kizza Besigye Kifefe of the opposition’s Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) – had descended on Arua Municipality to drum up support for their respective candidates in a hotly contested by-election necessitated by the June 8, 2018 shooting to death of the incumbent MP, Ibrahim Abiriga, a Museveni loyalist who was killed alongside his bodyguard by hitmen riding on a motorcycle.

Kyagulanyi, who some say appears to have been flirting with the idea of establishing a people’s movement – a third force of sorts away from the Museveni-Besigye historical antagonism – arrived in Arua with clarity of purpose. Lately, he had been preaching that Uganda’s problems would not be solved through adherence to political party positions, and had been urging his supporters to think of broader formations, a proposition which sounded a little vague and amorphous.

On arriving in Arua, Kyagulanyi chose to back a different candidate from those backed by the big boys, Besigye and Museveni. Addressing a packed rally, he acknowledged that the divided opposition risked losing the seat to Museveni’s NRM, seeing that the crowded field of contestants had five individuals who passed for progressives. The way out, he suggested, was if the opposition overwhelmingly voted for the most suitable candidate out of the five. He endorsed Kassiano Wadri, a onetime MP and parliamentary whip in Besigye’s FDC, who ran as an independent. On August 15, Wadri won the seat from his prison cell.

Two notable events happened during the final round of campaigns in Arua. The first was when Kyagulanyi led a huge procession of cheering supporters – him riding atop a vehicle and urging his followers on – past a relatively well-attended Besigye rally, forcing the former army colonel to cut short his speech and wait for the noise to subside, seeing that the uninvited guests had overpowered the strength of his microphone. The whole episode had a somewhat humiliating effect on Besigye, the long-time undisputed symbol of opposition politics in Uganda. He nevertheless maintained a straight face, eventually succumbing to a group dance once the music started playing, seeing that the only way to ignore the intruders was by getting busy.

The second incident took place when President Museveni’s convoy was driving out of Arua and passed a group of supposed Kyagulanyi supporters who jeered the head of state. However, according to Museveni’s version of events, as posted on his Facebook page, his convoy was stoned, resulting in the shattering of the rear window of his official vehicle. It was this second event that resulted in Kyagulanyi’s troubles.

In a hurried tweet sent on the fateful August 13 night, Kyagulanyi released a photo of the lifeless body of his driver, Yasiin Kawuma, shot inside the MP’s vehicle. “Police has shot my driver dead thinking they’ve shot me. My hotel is cordoned of…” read part of the tweet. The message was perturbing. Kyagulanyi’s followers expected more updates from him but none came.

The following day, news broke that the MP had been arrested, alongside 33 of his colleagues on the Arua campaign trail, their whereabouts remaining a mystery. It was alleged that Kyagulanyi had been found in possession of a gun in his hotel room, and was being charged with treason before a military court. There were fears that he and his colleagues had been heavily tortured.

In a hurried tweet sent on the fateful August 13 night, Kyagulanyi released a photo of the lifeless body of his driver, Yasiin Kawuma, shot inside the MP’s vehicle. “Police has shot my driver dead thinking they’ve shot me. My hotel is cordoned of…” read part of the tweet. The message was perturbing. Kyagulanyi’s followers expected more updates from him but none came.

***

Kyagulanyi became a person of particular interest to the Ugandan state following his June 29, 2017 victory in a parliamentary by-election in Kampala. Running as an independent against Museveni’s NRM and Besigye’s FDC, the new kid on the block seemed to have brought with him the multitude of supporters accumulated through his music career, merging showbiz with the new business of commandeering an insurrection in Uganda, shifting from artist to politician and vice versa.

The Ghetto President – Kyagulanyi’s other moniker – had taken Uganda’s political establishment by storm, and possibly by surprise, some having imagined that the satirical (or not) ghetto presidency had no tangible political implication. However, the residents of Kyaddondo East – the real and proverbial ghetto Kyagulanyi governed – showed through the ballot that his “presidency” was real.

One of the early signs that Kyagulanyi would prove troublesome to the Museveni regime was his defiant and confrontational conduct during the debate to abolish the presidential age limit, a sneaky NRM-driven amendment that sought to scrap a constitutional provision barring anyone beyond 75 years of age from contesting for the country’s presidency. For the NRM, it was necessary to leave a window of possibility open for Museveni were he to entertain thoughts of participating in future elections. Kyagulanyi, as part of the opposition’s Red Beret movement, became a star attraction when violence broke out, turning parliament’s debating chamber into a boxing ring.

Photographed and filmed physically facing off with overzealous state security agents who breached parliamentary protocol and sneaked in to manhandle opposition MPs, Kyagulanyi engaged in fist fights with Museveni’s henchmen, who seemed to have marked him as a prime target. When the same series of events were repeated a second time, Kyagulanyi uprooted a microphone stand and used it as a weapon against the security men, proving that when push came to shove, he was willing to use his fists in defending the things he believed in. Museveni took note.

***

Kyagulanyi had only been an MP for a year when a new group of pundits began comparing him to the FDC’s Besigye. The young MP was holding massive rallies wherever he went in Uganda, a spectacle previously seen as a preserve of the consummate FDC leader. Suddenly, Besigye appeared to have a challenger for the opposition’s throne.

Before Arua, there had been a number of other by-elections in Jinja East, Bugiri, then Rukungiri, Besigye’s home district. In an interesting turn of events, Besigye’s FDC candidate won Jinja East, with Bugiri going to Kyagulanyi’s candidate. However, when it was Rukungiri’s turn, Besigye and Kyagulanyi combined forces and campaigned together for the victory of the FDC candidate. In his party’s acceptance speech in Rukungiri, Besigye said that the election was won not because they had the numbers but because of defiance, and thanked Kyagulanyi for his support, a clear acknowledgement that the veteran appreciated the capabilities of the rookie. It is through these successive by-elections that Kyagulanyi got an early chance to test his support outside of Kampala.

Kyagulanyi had only been an MP for a year when a new group of pundits began comparing him to the FDC’s Besigye. The young MP was holding massive rallies wherever he went in Uganda, a spectacle previously seen as a preserve of the consummate FDC leader. Suddenly, Besigye appeared to have a challenger for the opposition’s throne.

Upon Kyagulanyi’s arrest in Arua on the night of August 13, among those who demanded for his immediate release were Besigye and other leading FDC figures, including Kampala’s Mayor Erias Lukwago, who was acting as one of Kyagulanyi’s attorneys, and the former head of Uganda’s military and FDC stalwart Major General Mugisha Muntu, who stood front and centre in his defense.

Yet the Besigye-Kyagulanyi comparisons wouldn’t go away, even at this dicey time. On leaving Kampala’s Lubaga Cathedral on August 22, where prayers were being held for Kyagulanyi, a journalist asked Besigye if he might be a stumbling block to the young MP’s political project for Uganda. ‘‘People have to get this clear,’’ Besigye said. “I am not contesting for any seat and there is no leadership contest between Kyagulanyi and I.”

From the cathedral, Besigye headed for a night radio interview, where he furthered the gospel of freeing Kyagulanyi. The following morning, on August 23, Besigye took to social media to post familiar photos of police vehicles barricading the road leading to his home in Kampala’s Kasangati area in an effort to block him from standing in solidarity with Kyagulanyi, who was being presented before court. The residences of Mayor Erias Lukwago and Ingrid Turinawe, the head of the FDC’s Women’s League, were also cordoned-off. Coincidentally, a 2016 video of a defiant Turinawe confronting policemen and throwing open roadblock spikes placed outside the road to Besigye’s home had been trending.

***

In reading Ugandan journalist Daniel Kalinaki’s book Kizza Besigye and Uganda’s Unfinished Revolution, one realises that fighting Museveni is not a walk in the park. Detailing the early days of the National Resistance Army (NRA) – later NRM – bush war, Kalinaki takes one on the long journey Besigye travelled as a comrade of Museveni before the two fell out. Besigye had come to realise that Museveni had gone rogue and had started to shop around for comrades who were courageous enough to stand up to the latter’s fast growing dictatorship.

In an interesting turn of events, Besigye even asked his wife, Oxfam’s executive director, Winnie Byanyima, if she thought she could lead the onslaught. When everyone else thought they weren’t ready yet to lead the revolt, Besigye grudgingly decided to be the man of the moment, starting a journey that would take him to prison, exile and back, which cost him broken limbs and more.

There is no doubt that Kyagulanyi has become a political sensation in Uganda. It also has to be said that depending on how things go – considering factors within and outside his control – he may have a truly bright future as an important leader in the struggle for the liberation of Uganda.

However, throughout this period of his detention, and looking back at his meteoric rise as one of Uganda’s most visible opposition figures, one wonders what this moment portends for Kyagulanyi, since, as many had predicted, it was only a question of when – and not if – Museveni would strike back with the might of his state security apparatus. It is in looking at individuals like Besigye – on whose shoulders Kyagulanyi must stand, one way or another – where some answers, certainly not all, will arise. It is the likes of Besigye, who have travelled this road before and who refused to compromise, who may offer Kyagulanyi some clarity. It is through such associations that Kyagulanyi may learn how to navigate certain difficult terrains. Kalinaki’s book shows how a youthful Besigye was forced to make tough choices the moment he chose to oppose Museveni, lessons that Kyagulanyi can benefit from.

There is no doubt that Kyagulanyi has become a political sensation in Uganda. It also has to be said that depending on how things go – considering factors within and outside his control – he may have a truly bright future as an important leader in the struggle for the liberation of Uganda.

***

In “wanting to stress that we live in dangerous times in which everyone opposed to the political and financial powers might soon become targets”, a unique series of events held in July 2016 titled ‘‘First They Came for Assange’’ happened simultaneously across 14 cities, marking four years since WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange sought refuge at the Ecuadorian Embassy in London. It was during such an event in Brussels that Greece’s former Finance Minister, Yanis Varoufakis, while in conversation with the Croatian philosopher Srecko Horvat – both of whom are Assange’s close friends and regular visitors to his place of isolation – said the following:

“We talk about brave people like Julian… all those people that are putting themselves in the line of fire on behalf of that which is good and proper. But there is a lot of cowardice today, friends, ladies and gentlemen. Julian Assange has a problem with his shoulder. Do you know that it is impossible to get a shoulder specialist to come into the embassy and take a look at him? Because they fear they will lose their clientele. We have to remember that human beings are capable of the best and the worst. Our job as a movement is to cultivate the former against the latter.”

Julian Assange may or may not be some people’s ideal example of a freedom fighter, but there is no denying the fact that through his continued isolation at the Ecuadorian Embassy in London, he has become a contemporary example of how persecution can be meted out on an individual for reasons directly or indirectly linked to their revolutionary actions and beliefs.

Importantly, the words by Varoufakis underline one truism that is apparent as we witness the overwhelming outpouring of support for Kyagulanyi. With hundreds, if not thousands, using his silhouette as their profile picture on social media, we must come to the conclusion that there can be no successful revolution in these times we live in – where everyday struggles push us into little survival cocoons – without the politics of revolution embracing the politics of friendship. Even a retweet or an M-Pesa contribution can trickle into a massive pot of support that may just turn the tide.

The journey will be long and tedious – especially after Kyagulanyi’s release.

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BATTLE FOR THE PEARL: Bobi Wine, Museveni and the future of Uganda

President Museveni successfully thwarted political opposition until Bobi Wine came along and posed a formidable challenge to the ageing leader’s ambitions. By ERIASA SSERUNJOGI

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BATTLE FOR THE PEARL: Bobi Wine, Museveni and the future of Uganda

Thirty-six years ago, in 1982, the year Bobi Wine was born, Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni was busy commanding the war that eventually led him to power. At 36, Museveni had run for president in 1980 as a rabble-rouser representing the new Uganda Patriotic Movement (UPM).

His party did not even stand an outside chance of winning the election, with Milton Obote’s Uganda People’s Congress (UPC) and Paul Ssemogerere’s Democratic Party (DP) being the hot favourites. In the end, Museveni even failed to win his own parliamentary seat. During the campaigns, he had warned that he would start a war should the election be rigged, and he did indeed start a war after UPC controversially claimed the election for itself amidst claims that DP had won.

Paulo Muwanga, who was the head of the interim Military Commission government on which Museveni served as Deputy Minister for Defence, had arrogated himself the powers that were entrusted in the Electoral Commission to announce election results, returning UPC as the winner, with Obote proceeding to form a government for the second time, having been earlier deposed by Idi Amin in 1971.

Museveni had watched the intrigue and power play and how the gun had emerged as the decisive factor in Ugandan politics since 1966. He had decided early in life that his route to power would be through the barrel of the gun. His determination to employ the gun became manifest when he launched a war against Amin’s new government in the early 1970s.

Museveni’s Fronasa fighters were part of the combined force that was backed by the Tanzanian army to flush out Amin in 1979. Also among the fighting forces was a group that was loyal to Obote. Museveni’s and Obote’s forces and other groups were looking for ways to outsmart one another as they fought the war. It was a time when Bobi Wine was not yet born.

Bobi Wine (real name Robert Kyagulanyi), who has been a Member of Parliament for just a year, has followed a different path. He is one of those Ugandans who believe that Museveni should be the last Ugandan leader to access power through the barrel of the gun. He wants future leaders to work their way into the hearts of Ugandans and convince them that they can take the country forward.

Bobi Wine first rose to popularity through music. Even though the popstar is new to Ugandan politics, he has for over a decade been disseminating political messages through his songs, in which he positions himself as a poor man’s freedom fighter.

Bobi Wine (real name Robert Kyagulanyi), who has been a Member of Parliament for just a year, has followed a different path. He is one of those Ugandans who believe that Museveni should be the last Ugandan leader to access power through the barrel of the gun.

Through his music, he has criticised the government when he felt it sold the people short; he has castigated the Kampala City authorities over throwing vendors and other poor people off the streets; and he has sought to encourage Ugandans, especially the youth, to take charge of their destiny.

“When freedom of expression becomes the target of oppression,” Bobi Wine said in one of his songs, “opposition becomes our position.” That was before he joined active politics.

When he married in 2011, he made sure that the marriage was celebrated by the Archbishop of the Catholic Church in the capital. When he was incarcerated recently, there were prayers for him at Rubaga Cathedral, the seat of the Catholic Church in Uganda. Catholics are the biggest religious grouping in the country.

Bobi Wine was born in Gomba, one of the counties of Buganda, the biggest ethnic group in Uganda. He has worked his way into the Buganda king’s heart, dubbing himself “Omubanda wa Kabaka” (the King’s Rasta man).

In Uganda’s music industry, Bobi Wine and his “Fire Base Crew” rose to the very top in their category, with Bobi Wine calling himself the “Ghetto President”, whose retinue included a “Vice President”, a cabinet and other members. He also has a security detail. His chief personal bodyguard – Eddie Sebuufu, aka Eddie Mutwe – was picked up at night by suspected military operatives on August 24, 2018.

Bobi Wine has over the past decade traversed the country where he has been performing as an artiste. Then, shortly after his election to Parliament, he travelled to many places within the country to introduce himself this time as a politician. He enjoys name recognition across the country that no Ugandan politician of his age and experience can command.

Battle for the youth

Bobi Wine plays the music that many Ugandan youth want to listen to, but he also preaches the gospel of change and prosperity in a way that is attracting crowds to him. He was born in rural central Uganda but he moved into a shanty neighbourhood of Kampala early in life, struggling through what most young people in the city experience. Although he went school up to university level, he went through all the hassles that young Ugandans go through. He speaks their language.

The Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) projects that at the mid-point of this year, Uganda had 39,041,200 people. Of these, only 648,000 people were projected to be 70-years-old or older. This means that Museveni, at 74 years of age, is among a lucky 1.7 per cent of Ugandans who are alive at the age of 70 or above. In fact, only 450,500 people, or 1.2 per cent of Ugandans, according to the UBOS projection, are as old as Museveni or older.

Reliable numbers on employment in Uganda are hard to come by but it is generally agreed that the country has one of the highest youth unemployment rates in the world. Museveni’s opponents often cite his age to make the point to the youth that their future is not safe with a 74-year-old leader who has been in power for 32 years.

The Uganda Bureau of Statistics (UBOS) projects that at the mid-point of this year, Uganda had 39,041,200 people. Of these, only 648,000 people were projected to be 70-years-old or older. This means that Museveni, at 74 years of age, is among a lucky 1.7 per cent of Ugandans who are alive at the age of 70 or above.

Museveni being Museveni – the Maradona of Uganda’s politics – has tried to tilt the debate on age to his advantage. He has, for instance, distinguished between “biological age” and “ideological age”, saying that many Ugandans are young biologically but very old ideologically. He has identified “ideological disorientation” as one of Uganda’s “strategic bottlenecks”, positioning his “ideological youth” as the solution. For one to be “ideologically young”, Museveni says, one needs to have the right ideas and mindset on how to transform society. He regards himself as a master in that. He says biological age is of no consequence in politics.

In his State of the Nation address last year, the Ugandan president said staying in power for long – and therefore being old – is a good thing because the leader gains immense experience along the way. In the wake of the recent arrest of Bobi Wine and 32 others who were charged with treason after allegations of stoning the president’s motorcade, Museveni wrote at least six messages on social media addressed to “fellow countrymen, countrywomen and bazzukulu (grandchildren)”. He now takes comfort in addressing many of his voters and opponents as grandchildren.

The choice of social media (especially Facebook and Twitter) as the preferred way of transmitting the president’s messages also raised debate. From July 1, social media users had a daily tax imposed on them because the president said people used the platforms for rumour-mongering. Many social media users have avoided the tax by installing virtual private networks (VPNs) on their handsets and so the “rumour-mongering” on social media continues. Since younger people spend a lot of time on social media, their septuagenarian president has decided to follow them there. Whenever he has addressed them as “grandchildren”, there have been hilarious responses in the comments section.

Beyond the debates, Museveni has in past election campaigns come up with a number of things to attract the youth, including recording something akin to a rap song in the lead-up the 2011 elections. But if it is about music, Museveni now faces Bobi Wine, a man less than half his age who has spent all his adult life as a popular musician.

Museveni’s government has tried one thing after another in an attempt to provide the jobs that young people badly need, with initiatives ranging from setting up a heavily financed, but highly ineffectual, youth fund in the ministry of Gender, Labour and Social Development. After the 2016 elections, in which Museveni suffered the heaviest defeat in Kampala City and its environs, he set out to dish out cash to youth groups to promote their businesses. Not much has come out of this initiative.

When he shot to power in 1986, Museveni rebuked leaders who overstayed their welcome, saying that the vice was at the root of Africa’s problems. As time went by, and with him still in power, he changed his views. He now says that he actually prefers leaders who stay in power for long periods. Museveni’s opponents latch onto such contradictions as they keep piling up.

Is it Bobi Wine’s turn?

Over the last 32 years that he has been around, Museveni has had a number of challengers and Bobi Wine is now threatening to storm the stage as the new kid on the block.

When he shot to power in 1986, Museveni rebuked leaders who overstayed their welcome, saying that the vice was at the root of Africa’s problems. As time went by, and with him still in power, he changed his views. He now says that he actually prefers leaders who stay in power for long periods.

Many of the people who were in the trenches with Museveni in the earlier years and who dreamt of picking the baton of leadership from him have dropped their ambitions because age and/or other circumstances have come into play as Museveni stayed put. Former ministers who once nursed presidential ambitions, like Bidandi Ssali, Amanya Mushega, Prof George Kanyeihamba and even the younger Mike Mukula, for instance, have since retreated to private lives. Others, like Eriya Kategaya and James Wapakhabulo, have passed on.

Of the Bush War comrades who harboured ambitions of taking over from Museveni, only four-time challenger Kizza Besigye and former army commander Mugisha Muntu remain standing, with the largely silent former prime minister Amama Mbabazi thought to be lying in wait for a possible opening.

By staying in power for so long – since January 1986 – Museveni has worn out his ambitious former comrades and perhaps even ensured that the chance to rule the country passes their generation by, a reality that has made it more likely that he will face a challenger who is younger than his own children.

But Museveni will not allow this generation of youth to win. The ruling party consistently stifles the emergence of younger leaders. In the lead-up to the 2016 election, for instance, Museveni’s National Resistance Movement party saw a rare surge in activity championed by younger people. One of Museveni’s in-laws, Odrek Rwabwogo, was among them. Rwabwogo had resorted to penning a string of articles in the partly state-owned New Vision newspaper about how the ruling party’s ideology could be sharpened to take care of the new Uganda. A number of other younger leaders within the party vied for space and expressed their visions in what was interpreted by some as a jostle for a front row seat as Museveni was expected to be standing for his last term in preparation for retirement in 2021.

Then, shortly after returning to power in 2016, Museveni engineered the removal from the Constitution the 75-year cap for presidential candidates, which would make him eligible to run again for as many times as he would be physically able to handle. This was a sure sign that Museveni was not willing to hand over power to a more youthful generation.

Repression heightens

The move to remove the age limit for presidential candidates from the Constitution inevitably invited stiff opposition from those who for decades have worked towards removing Museveni from power. In September last year, army men invaded Parliament and beat up and arrested Members of Parliament who were trying to filibuster the debate and perhaps derail the introduction of the bill to remove the age limit. Two MPs were beaten to a pulp and one of them, Betty Nambooze, has been in and out of hospitals in Kampala and India over broken or dislocated discs in her back.

This unfortunate incident, however, did not stop the State from bringing charges against her when after the shooting to death in June of an MP, Ibrahim Abiriga – who was one of the keenest supporters of the removal of age limits – Nambooze made comments on social media that the State interpreted as illegal. This week she had to report to the police over the matter, but she was informed that the officers were ready to have her charged in court, where she was delivered in an ambulance. She was carted into the courtroom on a wheelchair for the charges to be read out to her before the magistrate granted her bail. She sobbed all the way and afterwards wrote on Facebook that while in court she was “crying for my country”.

Francis Zaake, the other MP who was also was beaten, had to be taken to the US for treatment. He is now being treated again and is set to be fly out of the country due to injuries he sustained during the violence in Arua in which Bobi Wine was also attacked by soldiers of the Special Forces Command that guards the president.

Bobi Wine and 32 others have since been charged with treason but Zaake hasn’t yet – though Museveni has said in one of his statements posted on social media that Zaake escaped from police custody. When he is supposed to have escaped, Zaake was unconscious and could not move or talk. He was reportedly just dropped and dumped at the hospital by unidentified people. The head of the hospital has said that Zaake is at risk of permanent disability because of the damage he suffered to his spinal cord. The authorities say they are waiting for Zaake to recuperate so that he can face charges related to the violence in Arua.

By these callous actions, Museveni has demonstrated how ruthless he can get when his power is challenged. He has referred to the injured MPs as “indisciplined” and has not extended any sympathy towards them.

Those who have dared to challenge Museveni, especially Besigye, have been here before. The new opposition politicians currently in the line of fire, including Bobi Wine, have been served with a dose of what to expect if they push Museveni hard. The decision on how far they are willing to go is now in their court.

It seems that Museveni plans to apply to Bobi Wine the script he has used on Besigye over the past two decades. Apart from being targeted for physical assaults, Bobi Wine will be – and it is already happening – isolated from members of his inner circle, especially those who provide him with physical cover. They will be arrested, intimidated, or offered money to start businesses, a ploy to get them to abandon him. Some, like his driver Yasin Kawuma, who was buried a few weeks ago, will die.

It seems that Museveni plans to apply to Bobi Wine the script he has used on Besigye over the past two decades. Apart from being targeted for physical assaults, Bobi Wine will be – and it is already happening – isolated from members of his inner circle, especially those who provide him with physical cover.

Another thing the Museveni machine will do, and which it has done in the past, is plant fifth columnists around him – men and women who will show immense eagerness to work with Bobi Wine to remove Museveni from power but whose real assignment will be to get him to make mistakes and to spy on him.

It is also to be expected that Museveni will reach out to Bobi Wine with some kind of deal – he seems to offer all his credible opponents proposals for an amicable settlement so that they can drop their political ambitions. It is hard to say whether Museveni has already approached Bobi Wine or not, but there are rumours to that effect.

Ultimately, it will be up to Bobi Wine to decide what he wants to do going forward, but with him fighting for his life in hospital, we dare not predict the future.

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