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TAMING THE INTERNET: The good, the bad and the ugly parts of the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act 2018

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TAMING THE INTERNET: The good, the bad and the ugly parts of the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act 2018
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Imagine a world without the Internet.

Now imagine a world where you are not free to say what you want to and where your social media posts could land you in jail. There are those who would love this world. To them, the Internet is encumbered with bigoted, sadistic and misogynistic speech that must be reined in.

Conversely, there are those who see any attempts to regulate online conduct as impinging on their freedom of speech. They believe that once you open the gates for government control, you risk political control and ultimately the death of online democracy.

A third school of thought is that you can never tame the Internet. John Gilmore’s famous mantra comes to mind: “The net interprets censorship as damage and routes around it.” No matter the laws and policies put in place, bad actors will always find a way to be there.

Regulation of online conduct has now hit close to home. This week, President Uhuru Kenyatta signed into law the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act 2018. Here is what it provides.

The expected

There are offences that are standard in cybercrime legislation across the globe. In Kenya’s case, this legislation was way overdue considering that Kenyans were relying on outdated statutes contained in the 1948 Penal Code and the 1998 Kenya Information and Communication Act to try digital crimes.

What most would simply refer to as “hacking” is now covered by the offences of unauthorised access, access with intent to commit a further offence, unauthorised interference and unauthorised interception. Hacking critical information infrastructure (very important public facilities) amounts to cyber espionage, which carries a hefty penalty – 20 years in prison and/or up to Sh10 million in fines.

Spying for Kenya’s enemies is also covered under cyber espionage. Each of these offences requires different prerequisites and carry a different sentence. Other variations of these offences are covered under computer fraud and computer forgery. It is laudable that the Act has included the use of social engineering in the list of offences.

Trading in hacking tools, password crackers and social engineering tools is now an offence. Possession of such tools with the intent to use them to commit an offence can earn one a fine of Sh10 million or ten years in jail. Nevertheless, the Act protects “white hat” hackers (computer security specialists who deliberately break into protected systems or networks to assess their security).

Disclosure of a password or access code without permission could lead to a three-year stint in jail, a Sh5 million fine or both. If any of these offences are committed on a protected computer system (government, banks, telecommunications or witness protection systems), the perpetrator gets an enhanced penalty. He or she may be imprisoned for two decades, pay a Sh25 million fine or both.

Sections on mutual assistance and international cooperation in the investigation of cybercrime are commonplace yet necessary given the borderless nature of the Internet. What the Act lacks is an express condition that requests for investigation from other countries that will be subjected to the same legal procedures as local investigations.

Disclosure of a password or access code without permission could lead to a three-year stint in jail, a Sh5 million fine or both. If any of these offences are committed on a protected computer system (government, banks, telecommunications or witness protection systems), the perpetrator gets an enhanced penalty. He or she may be imprisoned for two decades, pay a Sh25 million fine or both.

Finally, it wouldn’t be a complete Kenyan law without the establishment of yet another government body, so the National Computer and Cybercrimes Coordination Committee and its secretariat were created. The Committee has heavy representation by national government agencies. However, the absence of county government representation in the Committee is worrying as it is assumed that counties have no role to play in cybersecurity.

The progressive

The Internet comes with its own share of ills, which, if unchecked, can affect vulnerable groups in society. The natural reaction by legislatures the world over is to over-legislate on online conduct in the hope that the law could re-engineer social order to counter the ever increasing incidents of anarchy. However, a balance needs to be maintained between laws that could restore this order and laws that would have a chilling effect on online freedom. Here are some of the enacted offences that could be considered progressive.

Cyber harassment

The definition of this offence is wide enough to cover cyber stalking, cyber bullying, doxing, trolling and dogpiling. The determining factor is conduct that causes apprehension, detrimentally affects a person, or is indecent and gross. This offence carries with it a Sh20 million fine, a ten-year prison term or both.

Victims of ongoing cyber harassment will now be able to obtain court orders to put an end to the harassment. This order can be obtained at any time of the day, even outside court working hours. Since cyber harassment is often carried out by trolls hiding behind pseudo accounts, a court may order online service providers to provide the perpetrators’ subscriber information, including their name, address, location, email address and phone number.

The framing of the offence, however, presents ambiguity. It is not clear what amounts to “detrimentally affects a person” and “indecent and gross”. These are subjective judgements and could be used to undermine freedom of expression.

Child pornography

Children need overzealous protection online from perverts and sometimes from themselves. It is an offence to produce child pornography and publish it. Further, downloading, distributing, exhibiting, selling and “making child pornography available in any way” or simply having it on one’s device also amounts to an offence calling for a Sh20 million fine, 25 years in jail or both. Any material showing a child engaging in sexual conduct or a similarly poor depiction amounts to child pornography. An example of this would be the photos recently shared under the #IfikieWazazi trend.

The ambiguous

Clarity in the letter of the law is key. It is equally important that laws prescribing the elements of an offence do so objectively using conduct-specific words. This not only gives a clear guide to the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions as to when they should bring a criminal charge but also reduces the risk of such a law being declared unconstitutional. Precision is one of the areas where the Act falls short. There is a likelihood that most charges brought under it will be terminated prematurely.

The offence of identity theft and impersonation forbids the fraudulent and dishonest use of the password or unique identification feature of another person. However, the Act offers no definition of what constitutes “unique identification features”. And what amounts to “dishonest” use? Is it possible that opening a social media account in the name of another person could now be considered impersonation? Parody accounts, which are used for social commentary, may be at risk.

Clarity in the letter of the law is key. It is equally important that laws prescribing the elements of an offence do so objectively using conduct-specific words. This not only gives a clear guide to the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions as to when they should bring a criminal charge but also reduces the risk of such a law being declared unconstitutional. Precision is one of the areas where the Act falls short. There is a likelihood that most charges brought under it will be terminated prematurely.

It is now an offence to hide information that was delivered to you by mistake. Take an email for example. The content of the email may not be relevant to you. However, it is impossible to tell that you were not the intended recipient. The intention of such a provision is unclear.

Unlawfully destroying messages is also an offence. However, the Act does not spell out what amounts to unlawful destruction, which makes the provision baffling.

Section 37 makes it an offence to distribute obscene or intimate images of another person. Use of general words such as “obscene” and “intimate” in laws that limit freedom of expression is unconstitutional. The intention may have been to ban revenge pornography or posting of personal photographs without the subject’s consent. Regrettably, we may not realise this protection due to the ambiguous language used in the Act. Failure to restrict this offence to instances where photos are uploaded without consent means that it is generally illegal to post pornographic material online in Kenya, unless the subject of the material posts it.

In a surprising twist, the section on child pornography makes it illegal to download, distribute and disseminate pornographic material or making it available in any way. Could this mean that it is now illegal to watch pornographic material in Kenya even where the actors are adults? Will search engines such as Google be held culpable for “making available” pornographic material? As this is a section on child pornography, is it safer to assume that this was an error in drafting or was this deliberate?

The borderline unconstitutional

There are some sections in the Act that not only make good fodder for public debate but also raise constitutional issues.

Fake news

Any law banning certain types of speech finds itself in conflict with the constitutionally guaranteed freedoms of opinion and expression and of the press. While freedom of expression is not absolute, its limitation can only be to the extent allowed by the Constitution.

The Act has been nicknamed the “Fake News Law”. Two sections in the Act have earned it this moniker. One criminalises “false publications” and the other outlaws “publication of false information”. Is this a calculated ploy or a play on semantics? In both cases, the Act offers no definition of the word “publish”. It will be interesting to see the interpretation adopted by the courts.

The first of these, Section 22, makes it an offence to publish fake news with the intention to deceive people who may treat it as authentic. This offence carries with it a Sh5 million fine, two years in the slammer or both. An obvious dilemma is how the prosecutors will prove that the information was published with the intention to deceive.

The Act has been nicknamed the “Fake News Law”. Two sections in the Act have earned it this moniker. One criminalises “false publications” and the other outlaws “publication of false information”. Is this a calculated ploy or a play on semantics? In both cases, the Act offers no definition of the word “publish”. It will be interesting to see the interpretation adopted by the courts.

There is, however, a rider in Section 22(2) that states that freedom of expression does not extend to speech that amounts to propaganda for war, incitement to violence, hate speech, advocacy for ethnic hatred or discrimination, or fake news that negatively affects the rights and reputations of others. These are the exceptions allowed under Article 33 of the Constitution. Such a qualification is necessary for any law that purports to limit a constitutional freedom. The import of this is that any law restricting speech that does not fall into these categories is unconstitutional.

What this means, therefore, is that fake news is only an offence if it amounts to propaganda for war, incitement to violence, hate speech, advocacy for ethnic hatred, advocacy for discrimination, or if it negatively affects the rights and reputations of others. A person charged with the offence of false publication has the right to challenge the charge before a constitutional court if their speech does not fall under the forbidden categories.

The second fake news offence, Section 23, criminalises fake news that is calculated to cause or results in panic, chaos or violence. It also condemns fake news that is likely to discredit the reputation of a person. This offence attracts a Sh5 million fine, a ten-year sentence or both. This section runs afoul of the Constitution. For one, public order is no longer an acceptable limitation to the freedom of expression. This is because words such as panic and chaos are subjective. How do you determine panic or chaos? In addition, the High Court decided last year that an offence prescribing criminal defamation is unconstitutional. This section is likely to suffer a similar fate.

Government surveillance

Every person has the constitutional right to privacy, which means that they have the right not to have their person, home or property searched, to not to have information relating to their family or private affairs unnecessarily revealed and to not to have the privacy of their communications infringed.

However, it is sometimes necessary to impeach the right to privacy, especially to allow for investigation of criminal activity. What the Constitution requires is that such invasion of privacy be carried out according to clear procedures set out in law. The law that allows invasion of privacy by the government must be clear as to the extent of the limitation of the right to privacy. The investigation procedures in the Act feature some questionable provisions.

If a police officer wants to search or seize a computer in the investigation of an offence, they must obtain a search warrant from a court of law. The police officers will then make a list of all the information seized and allow one to copy the contents of the computer before taking it away.

ISPs to surrender subscriber information

As part of the investigative procedures, Internet service providers (ISPs) may be directed to submit information on any of its subscribers. This includes the name, address, location, email address and phone number. Further, they may be directed to either collect traffic data (identity of the sender and recipient of an email, its subject lines and size, titles of any attachments, websites visited by a user and the time spent at each website etc.) on behalf of the police or allow the police to tap into the ISP system in order to do so. Finally, ISPs may be directed to record the content of a subscriber’s communication and surrender it to the police or, alternatively, allow police officers to dock into the ISP’s system and collect the content data.

All these require court orders. This intermediate step of requiring judicial approval is a necessary check on police power. However, there is a catch. Where police officers consider an investigation “urgent”, they are allowed to bypass the courts and directly issue a notice to the ISP to surrender information concerning any of its subscribers. This is a worrying exception that is prone to abuse. It is possible for police officers to cunningly term all their investigations as urgent and go straight to the ISPs without involving the courts.

ISPs must comply with any police directives as failure to do so would amount to an offence. This is a blatant disregard of the right to privacy, and could be used as a form of retaliation against anti-government entities or individuals. The Act bestows too much authority on investigators/police officers, leaving Internet users vulnerable to the whims of the state or powerful individuals.

Where police officers consider an investigation “urgent”, they are allowed to bypass the courts and directly issue a notice to the ISP to surrender information concerning any of its subscribers. This is a worrying exception that is prone to abuse. It is possible for police officers to cunningly term all their investigations as urgent and go straight to the ISPs without involving the courts.

The unnecessary

 The approach taken by this Act is to criminalise all unpleasant online conduct, so much so that it has encroached on the preserve of civil law, which will lead to the overburdening of an already under-resourced Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions. Worse still, the drafting language in many of the sections is vague, which could lead to the dismissal of cases brought under the Act.

The aim of criminal law should be to protect the general interests of the public, not to serve private interests. Where personal loss is occasioned, civil law offers perfect remedies. To go a step further and provide for compensation orders, as Section 45 does, is to usurp the role of civil courts, which are best placed to award damages. Try as we might, it is impossible to restore moral virtue via criminal legislation.

The aim of criminal law should be to protect the general interests of the public, not to serve private interests. Where personal loss is occasioned, civil law offers perfect remedies.

Cybersquatting

Cybersquatting – the practice of registering domain names, especially of well-known companies, in the hope of re-selling them at a profit – is an offence punishable by a Sh200,000 fine, a two-year imprisonment or both. This would have been best handled under civil law as it raises concerns related to intellectual property and personality rights.

Reversing erroneous payments

More often than not, mobile money users make payments to the wrong recipient. Failure to reverse such erroneous payments is now an offence with a Sh200,000 fine, a two-year imprisonment or both. This is an example of criminalising conduct arising out of private affairs. It would have been more prudent to require a refund policy from the platforms that operate the mobile money service.

Reporting cyber attacks

Every computer user must now report every cyber attack to the National Computer and Cybercrimes Coordination Committee. Failure to do so is an offence. In fighting cybercrime, cooperation is key. Cooperation is achieved by reporting cyber attacks. This alerts other users of impeding attacks and makes it possible to crowd-source solutions. However, making failure to report such attacks a crime is extreme. In other jurisdictions, only large organisations dealing in large amounts of data and monetary transactions are required to report. Failure to do so is not criminal but attracts administrative fines.

Failure to surrender passwords after employment

This is yet another superfluous offence. At the end of a contract of employment, one should surrender passwords to company computers and access codes. Failure to do so constitutes an offence. This would ordinarily give rise to a civil claim for breach of contract, which makes criminalising of the offence needless. The law is thus encroaching on a matter that is already handled by employers through contracts with their employees.

This is what the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act, 2018 provides. I hope that this equips you adequately to participate in public discourse on the Act.

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Mercy Mutemi is an Advocate of the High Court of Kenya

Politics

Who Won Kenya’s “Nominations”?

Being nominated rather than selected by party members may undermine grass-roots legitimacy but it is hard not to suspect that some of the losers in the nominations process might feel a little bit relieved at this out-turn.

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Who Won Kenya’s “Nominations”?
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Who won Kenya’s “nominations”, the tense and often unpredictable political process through which parties select which candidates they want to represent them in the general election scheduled for 9 August? That may sound like a silly question. Social media is full of photographs of smiling candidate clutching their certificates of nomination—surely we need to look no further for the winners?

But maybe we do. Beyond the individual candidates in the contests for nominations, there are other winners. One may be obvious: it seems the general feeling is that Deputy President William Ruto came out better from the nominations than did his principal rival in the presidential race, former opposition leader Raila Odinga—about which more below. However, for some, coming out on top in the nominations may prove a poisoned chalice. Where nominations are seen to have been illegitimate, candidates are likely to find that losing rivals who stand as independents may be locally popular and may gain sympathy votes, making it harder for party candidates to win the general election. This means that there are often some less obvious winners and losers.

One reason for this is that nominations shape how voters think about the parties and who they want to give their vote to, come the general election. Research that we conducted in 2017, including a nationally representative survey of public opinion on these issues, found that citizens who felt that their party’s nomination process had not been legitimate were less likely to say that they would vote in the general election. In other words, disputed and controversial nomination processes can encourage voters to stay away from the general election, making it harder for leaders to get their vote out. In 2017, this appeared to disadvantage Odinga and his Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), whose nomination process was generally seen to have been more problematic—although whether this is because they were, or rather because this is how they were depicted by the media, is hard to say.

In the context of a tight election in 2022, popular perceptions of how the nominations were managed may therefore be as significant for who “wins” and “loses” as the question of which individuals secured the party ticket.

Why do parties dread nominations?

The major parties dreaded the nominations process—dreaded it so much, in fact, that despite all their bold words early on about democracy and the popular choice (and despite investments in digital technology and polling staff), most of the parties tried pretty hard to avoid primary elections as a way of deciding on their candidates. In some cases that avoidance was complete: the Jubilee party gave direct nominations to all those who will stand in its name. Other parties held some primaries—Ruto’s United Democratic Alliance (UDA) seems to have managed most—but in many cases they turned to other methods.

That is because of a complicated thing about parties and elections in Kenya. It is widely assumed—and a recent opinion poll commissioned by South Consulting confirms this—that when it comes to 9 August most voters will decide how to cast their ballot on the basis of individual candidates and not which party they are standing for. Political parties in Kenya are often ephemeral, and people readily move from one to another. But that does not mean that political parties are irrelevant. They are symbolic markers with emotive associations – sometimes to particular ideas, sometimes to a particular regional base. ODM, for example, has been linked both with a commitment to constitutional reform and with the Luo community, most notably in Nyanza. So the local politician who wants to be a member of a county assembly will be relying mostly on their personal influence and popularity—but they know that if they get a nomination for a party which has that kind of emotive association, it will smoothen their path.

Disputed and controversial nomination processes can encourage voters to stay away from the general election, making it harder for leaders to get their vote out.

This means that multiple candidates vie for each possible nomination slot. In the past, that competition has always been expensive, as rival aspirants wooed voters with gifts. It occasionally turned violent, and often involved cheating. Primary elections in 2013 and 2017 were messy and chaotic, and were not certain to result in the selection of the candidate most likely to win the general election. From the point of view of the presidential candidates, there are real risks to the primary elections their parties or coalitions oversee: the reputational damage due to chaos and the awareness that local support might be lost if a disgruntled aspirant turns against the party.

This helps to explain why in 2022 many parties made use of direct nominations—variously dressed up as the operation of consensus or the result of mysterious “opinion polls” to identify the strongest candidate. What that really meant was an intensive process of promise-making and/or pressure to persuade some candidates to stand down. Where that did not work, and primaries still took place, the promise-making and bullying came afterwards—to stop disappointed aspirants from turning against the party and standing as independents. The consequence of all that top-down management was that the nominations saw much less open violence than in previous years.

So who won, and who lost, at the national level?

Despite all the back-room deal-making, top-down political management was not especially successful in soothing the feelings of those who did not come out holding certificates. That brings us to the big national winners and losers of the process. Odinga—and his ODM party—have come out rather bruised. They have been accused of nepotism, bribery and of ignoring local wishes. This is a particularly dangerous accusation for Odinga, as it plays into popular concerns that, following his “handshake” with President Kenyatta and his adoption as the candidate of the “establishment”, he is a “project” of wealthy and powerful individuals who wish to retain power through the backdoor after Kenyatta stands down having served two-terms in office. In the face of well-publicised claims that Odinga would be a “remote controlled president” doing the bidding of the Kenyatta family and their allies, the impression that the nominations were stage-managed from on high in an undemocratic process was the last thing Azimio needed.

Moreover, perhaps because Odinga seems to have been less active than his rival in personally intervening to mollify aggrieved local politicians, the ODM nominations process seems to have left more of a mess. That was compounded by complications in the Azimio la Umoja/One Kenya Alliance Coalition Party (we’ll call it Azimio from now on, for convenience). Where Azimio “zoned”—that is, agreed on a single candidate from all its constituent parties—disappointed aspirants complained. Where it did not zone, and agreed to let each party nominate its own candidate for governor, MP and so on, then smaller parties in the coalition complained that they would face unfair competition come the general election. That is why the leaders of some of these smaller groups such as Machakos Governor Alfred Mutua made dramatic (or theatrical, depending on your view) announcements of their decision to leave Azimio and support Ruto.

Despite all the back-room deal-making, top-down political management was not especially successful in soothing the feelings of those who did not come out holding certificates.

So Ruto looks like a nomination winner. But his success comes with a big price tag. His interventions to placate disgruntled aspirants involved more than soothing words. A new government will have lots of goodies to distribute to supporters—positions in the civil service and parastatals, diplomatic roles, not to mention business opportunities of many kinds. But the bag of goodies is not bottomless, and it seems likely that a lot of promises have been made. Ruto’s undoubted talents as an organizer and deal-maker have been useful to him through the nominations—but those deals may prove expensive for him, and for Kenya, if he wins the presidential poll.

Money, politics, and the cost of campaigns

Those who “won” by being directly nominated to their desired positions may also come to see this process as something of a double-edged sword. In the short term, many of them will have saved considerable money: depending on exactly when the deal was done, they will have been spared some days of campaign expenses—no need to fuel cars, buy airtime for bloggers, pay for t-shirts and posters, and hand out cash. But that will be a brief respite. The disappointed rivals who have gone independent will make the campaigns harder for them—and likely more expensive. The belief that they were favoured by the party machinery may mean that voter expectations are higher when it comes to handouts and donations on the campaign trail. And the fact they were nominated rather than selected by party members may undermine their grass-roots legitimacy.

Others may experience a similar delayed effect. Among the short-term losers of the nominations will have been some of the “goons” who have played a prominent physical role in previous nominations: their muscular services were largely not required (although there were exceptions). The printers of posters and t-shirts will similarly have seen a disappointing nominations period (although surely they will have received enough early orders to keep them happy, especially where uncertainty over the nomination was very prolonged). The providers of billboard advertising may have seen a little less demand than they had hoped for, although they too seem to have done quite well from selling space to aspirants who—willingly or not—did not make it to the primaries. But where the general election will be fiercely contested, entrepreneurs will likely make up any lost ground as the campaigns get going. In these cases, competition has been postponed, not avoided.

Those in less competitive wards, constituencies or counties—the kind in which one party tends to dominate in the general election—are unlikely to be able to make up for lost time. These “one-party” areas may be in shorter supply in 2022 than in the past, due to the way that the control of specific leaders and alliances over the country’s former provinces has fragmented, but there will still be some races in which it is obvious who will win, and so the campaigns will be less heated.

Those who “won” by being directly nominated to their desired positions may also come to see this process as something of a double-edged sword.

More definite losers are the parties themselves. In some ways, we could say they did well as institutions, because they were spared the embarrassment of violent primaries. But the settling of many nominations without primaries meant not collecting nomination fees from aspirants in some cases, and refunding them in others. That will have cost parties a chunk of money, which they won’t get back. That may not affect the campaigns much—the money for campaigns flows in opaque and complex ways that may not touch the parties themselves. But it will affect the finances of the parties as organizations, which are often more than a little fragile.

Are the losers actually the biggest winners?

Some losers, however, are really big winners. Think about those candidates who would not have won competitive primaries but were strong enough to be able to credibly complain that they had been hard done by due to the decision to select a rival in a direct process. In many cases, these individuals were able to extract considerable concessions in return for the promise not to contest as independents, and so disrupt their coalition’s best laid plans. This means that many of the losers—who may well have been defeated anyway—walked away with the promise of a post-election reward without the expense and bother of having to campaign up until the polls.

It is hard not to suspect that some of them might feel a little bit relieved at this out-turn. In fact, some of them may have been aiming at this all along. For those with limited resources and uncertain prospects at the ballot, the opportunity to stand down in favour of another candidate may have been pretty welcome. Instead of spending the next three months in an exhausting round of funerals, fund-raisers and rallies, constantly worrying about whether they have enough fifty (or larger) shilling notes to hand out and avoiding answering their phones, they can sit back and wait for their parastatal appointment, ambassadorship, or business opportunity.

For those with limited resources and uncertain prospects at the ballot, the opportunity to stand down in favour of another candidate may have been pretty welcome.

For these individuals, the biggest worry now is not their popularity or campaign, but simply the risk that their coalition might not win the presidential election, rendering the promises they have received worthless. Those whose wishes come true will be considerably more fortunate—and financially better off—than their colleagues who made it through the nominations but fall at the final hurdle of the general election.

Separating the winners of the nominations process from the losers may therefore be harder than it seems.

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