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THE NEW LUNATIC EXPRESS: Lessons not learned from the East African Railway

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THE NEW LUNATIC EXPRESS: Lessons not learned from the East African Railway

“The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress.”
-Frederick Douglass

The building of standard gauge (SGR) railways in both Uganda and Kenya and the predictable sagas that have ensued are reminiscent of the controversies surrounding the building of the Uganda and Rhodesian Railways in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Both present a framework within which it is possible finally to understand the limited achievements in development in all sectors (and frankly, underdevelopment in many) and regression in Uganda’s primary education, copper mining and agricultural sectors. Both SGR projects are tainted with suspicion of shady procurement which, if taken together with the track records of the implementers, points to corruption. It would be irresponsible to say otherwise.

The route, design, level of service and all other decisions of the Uganda Railway of 1990 were dictated by potential profits for foreign investors (both public and private) and their local agents, and not by notions of public service and the common good of those who would bear the ultimate cost. Return on investment is not a bad thing but the Imperial government also claimed to be acting in the interests of the indigenous populations.

The difference now is that there is no pretence about whether the railways are serving the interests of the general population. The different financial implications presented by the procurement process itself, the selection of routes and the relative cost of engineering in the different terrains, plus the cost of compensating displaced landowners, provide scope for long-running, energy-depleting corruption scandals. From the outset, there has been a lack of confidence that procurement processes for the necessary services would prioritise the interests of the public over the interests of the contractor and would actively exclude the personal interests of the public servants commissioning the works. This is what is triggering the anxiety surrounding the SGRs.

The different financial implications presented by the procurement process itself, the selection of routes and the relative cost of engineering in the different terrains, plus the cost of compensating displaced landowners, provide scope for long-running, energy-depleting corruption scandals.

Moreover, the choice over whether to upgrade the old railway or to start afresh was not adequately debated publicly. Ditto the options on financing. For the Kenyan SGR, the most costly of the potential routes were reportedly selectively chosen. Several cheaper routes on land allegedly already in possession of the government are said to have been rejected.

There are also questions surrounding passenger service. Do the railways only serve trade or are passengers entitled to this alternative to dangerous road transport? In areas where passengers and not commodities, who will be the primary user of the railway?

Uganda owns one half of the old East African Railway. Together with the Kenyan leg, it was put under a 25-year management contract. The new owners renamed their new toy Rift Valley Railways (RVR). In 2017, after only twelve years, the governments cancelled the contracts in a move the RVR called an illegal takeover. On the Ugandan end, there were allegations of asset-stripping by previous European concessionaires as well as unpaid concession fees and massive salary arrears caused by RVR. If RVR were to successfully sue the government for cancellation of the contract, their compensation would be the first budget overrun.

The government of Uganda then signed a Memorandum of Understanding in 2014 with the China Civil Engineering Construction Corporation (CCECC), which had submitted a study. It abandoned those negotiations in favour of a second Chinese entity, the China Harbour Engineering Company. In justifying its action, the government questioned the quality of the CCECC’s study, which it said was cut and pasted from pre-existing feasibility studies (something that could have been avoided by following proper procurement procedures). CCECC insists it was a pre-feasibility study requiring less detail than a full-blown feasibility study. Whatever the case, if CCECC had followed through with its suit for US$8 million in compensation, which would have been another massive blow to the budget at inception. Whatever compensation they have agreed to has not been made public but as matters stand, the budget for the eastern leg of the SGR has gone up from CCECC’s proposed US$4.2 billion to CHEC’s US$6.7 billion.

What stands out – apart from the incompetence, squabbling and eventual compensation claims that accompany nearly every major Ugandan development project – is that the President of the Republic is front and centre in the flouting of procurement procedures by issuing personal invitations to foreign firms and individuals to participate in projects. He has done the same with investors from the United Arab Emirates who have been promised land. The results are often disastrous: the country is in debt to the Kenya-based Bidco company after it fell short of 10,000 hectares of land it had promised the company for a vegetable oil project. As a result, Bidco received tax waivers worth US$3.1 million in 2016 alone, according to the Auditor General.

The last top-level contact with a foreign investor whose details are known resulted in the arrest in New York of Patrick Chi Ping Ho in late 2017 on charges of paying bribes to the Ugandan president and the foreign minister through an American bank. The Ho-Kutesa bribery case casts more shade on the procurement arrangements for the SGR. Without a satisfactory resolution of the matter and with the same people still in situ, citizens would be foolhardy to expect value for money from the SGR.

By the beginning of 2018, owing to cash flow difficulties, less than half of the land required for the 273-kilometre eastern section of the SGR had been acquired. Not surprisingly, as Uganda slithers into insolvency, the government has resorted to domestic and foreign borrowing to fund ordinary recurrent expenditure like payroll. Commodity prices are significantly lower and the shilling worth much less than when the SGR was first contemplated. So bad is the situation that the police force announced that police work in 2018 is to be carried out on a rotational basis among the regions as there are insufficient funds to enforce the law across the whole country at once.

The Uganda Railway, 1900

The Uganda Railway initially ran from Mombasa to the Kenyan side of Lake Victoria, where the journey was completed by steamer to Port Bell in Kampala. The main purpose of the railway was to make Uganda colonisable.

Under the hinterland principle introduced by the Treaty of Berlin of 1885, colonial powers had the first option on the ownership of the hinterland abutting on their coastal possessions. To claim possession of the hinterland, a power had to show that it had effectively occupied the coast.

Having secured the Kenyan coast, Britain was not required to effectively occupy the East African hinterland – Uganda – but was determined to do so, fronting the objective of stopping the slave trade under the Brussels Anti–Slavery Act of 1890, which also required it to “improve the moral and material conditions of existence of the native races”. The argument ran as follows: To stop the slave trade, the region had to be governed by Britain and to govern, soldiers, ammunition, civil servants and their supplies had to be transported to the region, for which a railway was essential.

Only after the annexation of Uganda did references to the slave trade fade out as the overriding objective and the need to grow cotton to feed Britain’s textile industry and reduce unemployment came in to sharper focus.

Having secured the Kenyan coast, Britain was not required to effectively occupy the East African hinterland – Uganda – but was determined to do so, fronting the objective of stopping the slave trade under the Brussels Anti–Slavery Act of 1890, which also required it to “improve the moral and material conditions of existence of the native races”.

There was competition for the hinterland from the western coast of Africa, whose Congolese hinterland Belgium owned. Belgium was interested in north-western Uganda. In the north, the French had had a military confrontation with the British in Fashoda over supremacy in the Sudan. Time was, therefore, of the essence and the proposal was tabled in Parliament without a thorough survey.

We have had a large sum of money voted, but I observe that in recent documents the survey has disappeared and it has become a ‘reconnaissance survey’. We want to know whether we are making an estimate of the cost of a railway upon a reconnaissance survey. Major Macdonald was at the head of that survey, and when he arrived at the mountains he did not survey any further but put upon his survey ‘mountains’, and so there was practically no survey” (Henry Labouchère, MP, Uganda Railway debate, April 1900)

 The expenditure necessary was minimised in presentations to Parliament,

The estimates of cost have been falsified from the very commencement. They began with an estimate of £1,700,000; then it jumped up to £3,000,000, and year after year when the vote for Uganda came on for discussion, we were told that that would not be exceeded. And now the right hon. Gentleman comes here and, pluming himself on having carried out his own estimates, asks us to vote almost two million additional; and he shows us in no sort of way that the last estimate of £5,000,000 is based on solid ground any more than the £3,000,000 estimate, or the £1,700,000 estimate […] We ought not to vote any more money until we have had a full practical businesslike survey. (Labouchère 1900)

Also distorted were facts about the purpose of the railway. The benefit to the British cotton industry, one of the country’s leading employers, was minimised while advantages to the inhabitants of British East Africa were magnified to overshadow any criticisms of the railway’s implementation. One argument was that Britain would eliminate the high cost of the squadron needed as a barrier to slave ships off the East African coast by transporting soldiers overland to quash the last remaining slave caravans.

Labouchère questioned the government in 1900 as to whether the partially complete railway had had any impact on the size of the British squadron. The answer was no, it hadn’t. In fact, as he noted “it has not prevented one single slave being carried away”. Apart from anything else, slavery was tolerated in Zanzibar and Zanzibari slaves were being used as porters by British officials even in 1900.

“Sir G. Portal’s expedition [sent to effectively occupy Buganda] was one which had numerous slaves in its ranks. The whole territory of the East Africa Company now was swarming with slaves. What hypocrisy would be charged against this country, if their real motive being financial greed and territorial aggrandisement, they put forward the sacred cause of slave emancipation, while at the same time their own territories were swarming with slaves, and were actually impressing these poor creatures in large numbers to carry Sir G. Portal himself on this expedition. (Robert Reid, Uganda debate, March 1893).

(This is the same G. Portal who was sent by the Crown to implement the treaty extracted from Kabaka Mwanga and who exceeded its boundaries by marching through Buganda, setting up a fort in the Kingdom of Toro from where the Kingdom of Bunyoro was annexed.)

In the interests of speed and economy, a non-standard gauge was used. This partially explains why in the 21st century Kenya and Uganda are embarking on their first SGRs rather than extending existing lines. Apologists for incompetence should take note: there will be railways but whether they are the most cost-effective, robust (extensible) option is another matter.

In their rush, the Foreign Office formed a Works Committee to build the railway, which wound up costing significantly more per mile than comparable railways in India. It was referred to as a light or small-gauge railway. The cost of two comparable light railways in India was £6,500 and £6,400 per mile, respectively. The Kenya-Uganda light railway was being built in 1900 at £8,500 per mile. (Ugandans may recall that the price tag for the new thirty-mile Kampala-Entebbe Highway was double that of a comparable highway in Ethiopia.)

Railway finance

Contrary to popular belief, railways were not a gift to the colonies; they were financed by loans paid from tax revenues collected by the local colonial administrations and, therefore, any waste and losses in the construction were borne by the taxpayers in the colonies. Even where the Imperial government made the initial expenditure, ultimately it was the citizens of the colonies who paid.

For example, Palestine was charged £1 million for a railway built to facilitate the movement of British troops during the First World War (Palestine and East Africa Loans Act 1926). The retroactive payment was engineered by guaranteeing a loan taken by Palestine the proceeds of which then went to the British treasury while Palestine (then under British administration) made the repayments. For an idea of the magnitude of a million pounds in those days, the exact same amount was provided three years later in total development grants for the entire empire, then numbering over 40 territories.

Contrary to popular belief, railways were not a gift to the colonies; they were financed by loans paid from tax revenues collected by the local colonial administrations and, therefore, any waste and losses in the construction were borne by the taxpayers in the colonies. Even where the Imperial government made the initial expenditure, ultimately it was the citizens of the colonies who paid.

The £1 million provided in 1929 would not have covered Uganda’s total budget for one year. Even without a full set of Protectorate accounts, it is still possible to see that Uganda’s budget balanced at approximately £2 million between 1931 and 1935. In those years there was an excess of assets over liabilities of between £700,000 and £1 million. The Uganda Protectorate was even able to maintain the reserve fund required by the Imperial government. It stood at over £400,000 in the 1930s.

“The Reserve Fund is really required for three purposes: (a) as a kind of insurance against a definite national emergency, such as a famine or locust invasion involving very exceptional expenditure; (b) to meet a possible deficit in case of an exceptional shortfall in revenue; and (c) to enable the normal programme of capital expenditure to be carried out from year to year unimpeded by fluctuations in revenue. It will thus be seen that a considerable sum should be kept available, and it is hoped that it will be possible to accumulate £l,000,000 in the course of time.” (A.E. Forrest, Acting Treasurer, Uganda Protectorate)

 The Imperial Loan, the earliest loan record available to this writer, was made in 1915. It was followed by development loans between 1921 and 1924 and then further loans in 1932 and 1933. Total unused balances on these loans ranged from between £3,300 and £95,727 in the years 1931 to 1935; £588 was paid towards the Kampala-Jinja Railway in 1933. Total loan servicing that year was £144,718 for the 1932 and 1933 loans. The only grant received during the same period was £841. (This is not a typo.)

Although the Imperial development grant budget was increased to £5 million in 1940 to cover an even larger number of colonies, the target could not be reached during the Second World War when funds were low. During the war, the colonies had to divert their resources to aid Britain’s war effort. Uganda and most other colonies each donated £100,000, the equivalent of Uganda’s entire development budget for 1939. Kenya raised approximately £17,000. Men from both countries volunteered to serve; there were 77,000 from Uganda and more from Kenya. (The British government finally sent pensions to Ugandan ex–servicemen in 2011 after a long, increasingly hoarse campaign. Over 2,000 British ex-servicemen and thousands of others were rewarded with land in Kenya and Rhodesia).

The people of Buganda gave an additional £10,000 and the Ankole gave £1,000 from taxes collected from their populations. Additionally, the Buganda Lukiiko and the Native Administrations of the Eastern and Western Provinces pledged to give £5,000, £7,000 and £5,000 a year, respectively, for the duration of the war and for one year after its end towards the expenditure of the Protectorate.

Gifts in kind included an airplane (from Mauritius), patrol boats (Singapore Harbour Authority), cocoa, coffee and foodstuffs of all kinds. Farmers’ savings in the cotton and coffee funds were diverted to feed and clothe Allied troops. Only the Oron tribe in Nigeria was spared – their gift of two hundred pounds was returned on the grounds of their financial standing.

Colonies also made interest-free loans to Britain: in 1940 the Kenya-Uganda Railway and Harbour Administration loaned His Majesty’s Government £100,000 for as long as the war lasted. In 1946, Uganda made an interest-free loan to His Majesty’s government of £650,000. Total loans from the colonies amounted to £1,156,983 (See: Accounts of the Uganda Protectorate, 1946 Statement of Balances, Statement XIV, at 31st December, 1946).

It is incredible that in spite of the evidence, Ugandans and other ex-colonials continue to believe that they are being “helped” first by Britain, then by the World Bank and the Chinese. It is this misreading of the facts that prevents any meaningful negotiations for better terms of development cooperation. It is the capacity to negotiate that today’s bribe-taking leaders sell for their thirty pieces of silver.

Secondly, railways transported cotton belonging to the British Cotton Growing Association (a voluntary body comprising Lancashire growers, mill owners, textile workers, shippers and workers in ancillary trades such as dyers) for free in Sierra Leone, Lagos, and Southern Nigeria in return for seeds and professional advice (Secretary of State for the Colonies, Cotton Supply debate, 1905.) Third, once built, railways were used to leverage further loans. The East African Railways and Harbours Authority, being a viable operation, was used to guarantee loans taken out by the East African High Commission (the colonial administration).

By 1961 Uganda’s indebtedness had soared. The public debt was £16,933,000 and was being reliably serviced. Guarantees of interest alone stood at £58 million and a further £3.5 million for interest on a loan from the World Bank (presumably for Nalubaale Hydro-electric Dam). (See: Statement of Contingent Liabilities of the Protectorate Government as at 30 June 1961, Statement 12)

Construction and labour management

Due to the need to build the railway as quickly as possible, “gigantic errors” were made. An attempt was made to cover up escalating costs by saying that the materials had to be upgraded from wood to steel until an examination of the original plans showed provision had been made for steel from the very beginning. Accounts were submitted late for audit.

We have to pay £2,000,000 extra as the result of putting the work into the hands of men who have no practical experience of the work they have undertaken. I, for one, decidedly protest against the reckless and careless way in which the management of the railway has been conducted up to the present time.” (Thomas Bayley, M.P., 1900)

The management of the labour makes it even clearer that the railway was not for the primary benefit of the inhabitants of the region. Much in the same way as Chinese contractors do in Uganda today, the British shipped in foreign manual labourers to carry out the work; 14,000 of the 16,000 labourers employed were expatriates from India. There was a famine in Kenya shortly after.

We ought in my opinion, instead of importing so many thousands of Indian[s], to have employed a good deal more African labour, because natives have been dying by thousands of starvation in the neighbourhood of this railway. It has been most distressing to see the natives dying in the ditches by the side of the railway, and when trains have gone up the line little starving and dying children have come and begged for food, for a little rice, or anything from those on the train. That is not the sort of thing that ought to occur where the British Government are building a railway, and they ought to have engaged labour to a much larger extent from the neighbourhood. (Robert Perks, M.P., Uganda Railway debate 1900)

Much in the same way as Chinese contractors do in Uganda today, the British shipped in foreign manual labourers to carry out the work; 14,000 of the 16,000 labourers employed were expatriates from India.

Those Africans that were employed were paid four pence a day while the Indian skilled labourers were paid 14 pence a day. (Indians had experience in building the Indian railways.)

“That seems to be pretty nearly the same thing as slave labour. I should like to know what would be said in this country if any man were induced by the Government to work for four pence a day. [Several HON. MEMBERS: Oh, oh!] Hon. Members say oh, oh! I know their views. Working men in England have votes, and working men in Africa have not.” (Labouchère, 1900).

But Labouchère himself gave the standard racist reason for the low wages, a sentiment he expressed in defence of his own arguments that investment in Uganda was a waste of time: “What about the Ugandese themselves? They are without exception the very laziest of that laziest race in the whole world, the African negro.”

John Dillon, the Irish nationalist, demonstrated an understanding of the difference between the then African way of life and the grubbing and jostling necessary in over-populated, capitalist European countries,

“[…] where African labourers were employed the earthworks cost 10d. per cubic yard, while with the Indian labourers at the higher wage they cost but 6d., so that by employing the Indian labourer at higher wages you reduced the cost of the work. […] Very often, particularly in railway work, it is much cheaper to employ a better class of men at higher wages than men who do not understand the work at lower wages.

“One argument is that the labourers being free men, with no rent to pay, and with gardens round their huts, are not compelled to labour for the [low] wages offered by contractors and mine-owners; they can ask their own terms. What settles the price of labour in this country is the fact that a man cannot retire to his garden and his house and wait until the employer must have him at his own price; he would starve; therefore he must make the best terms he can. But in Africa the labourer is comparatively a free man, unless you have forced labour, as is so often advocated. (John Dillon, 1900)

However, it was later revealed that in addition to racialist considerations, there was a profit to be made on importing labour. Greek contractors had been awarded contracts to import the Indian labour and their commissions inflated labour costs. The point was not exhaustively argued in Parliament but there were suggestions that Sir Clement Hill, a public servant, received between £10,000 and 70,000 in commissions on materials ordered.

It was argued in Parliament that the amount of money required for the Uganda Railway was sufficient to build a full network of the light railways required in Britain. If anything speaks to the necessity of transparency it is this. Less extravagant profits assured by the government to private investors, contractors and commission agents would have ensured more was available for the common good of ordinary people in both countries, and a measure of dignity for the workers.

In contrast, before building permanent churches, schools and clinics in Uganda, Catholic missionaries in Uganda established technical schools and other training facilities in order to train the craftsmen that would be required for the work. They took the necessary time to maximise skills transference. They specialised in brick-making, architecture, glass-making and other building crafts, as well as tailoring, teaching and nursing. These facilities are still in service today, run by Africans.

For their part, indigenous communities using their own traditional model for infrastructural development known as bulungi bwa nsi (the good of the nation). They continued to contribute most of the locally available material inputs and, of course, all of the land and labour for community infrastructural development.

The character of development changed when the Imperial government commandeered the education sector in 1921 in order to “re-organise” it. After that, records show, the administration was able to manipulate communities by promising schools and other amenities to those communities that agreed to plant cash crops and do other things required of them. Voluntary communal labour was transformed into compulsory labour and extracted through corporal punishment and the dreaded poll tax.

Contracts for technical assistance these days require hired expatriate consultants to transfer skills to the indigenous staff. However, the fact that certain positions remain “expatriate” positions speaks volumes. These days African labourers on foreign-managed project sites are treated no better than the colonialists treated labourers. Ugandans at foreign-owned building sites have made numerous complaints about underpayment, lack of access to safety gear, harassment, sexual exploitation and even violence. In Uganda and elsewhere, some have been served lunch on their shovels. In the 1990s, Ugandans were made to squat in a line, one man between the legs of another. The reason given was that they kept losing/stealing the plates provided.

Chinese abuse of African workers’ rights, importation of labour, disregard for Ugandan environmental preservation and disdain for the communities among which they work is a repetition of the first invasion of capital and demonstrates the extremes to which it goes when left unfettered.

Route and service politics

The original plan had been for the railway to serve farming areas. Tax revenues from the crops would cover the cost of the construction. Introducing cotton and providing a fast means of exporting it was supposed to lead to development. Once the settlers came to know the route, the influential among them lobbied to have the railway diverted to serve their plantations.

The question of whose interests the SGR serves, as raised by Rasna Warah in a recent article published in the eReview, was as valid in the 1890s as it is today. In Kenya, the lack of “native”-directed development meant that there were insufficient railway stations between Mombasa and Lake Victoria for African requirements. It goes without saying that the interests of indigenous populations were not included in the plan. As a result, indigenous farmers had to carry their cotton long distances to the tracks – often in five shifts of one 60-pound bag at a time – and had to spend one or a few nights along the track, sleeping in the open air while waiting for the train.

Because in the beginning there were insufficient carriages and the few available were segregated, the Africans travelled in wagons. They were locked in for the safety and comfort of the first class travellers. Often, as some members of Westminster’s parliament were scandalised to learn, African passengers were unable to alight on arrival at their intended destinations despite banging on the wagon doors and were carried all the way to the next stop or to the Coast.

It goes without saying that the interests of indigenous populations were not included in the plan. As a result, indigenous farmers had to carry their cotton long distances to the tracks – often in five shifts of one 60-pound bag at a time – and had to spend one or a few nights along the track, sleeping in the open air while waiting for the train.

During the debate of the East Africa Commission Report in 1925, Henry Snell articulated the role of capital in distorting the higher development goals of bringing development to Africa,

“The land through which these railways pass [belonging to Settlers] should be taxed to help bear the cost that is involved. In the matter of transport it has been the case, unfortunately, that the Europeans have acquired the idea that railways should be built solely for their benefit, and that money granted as loans or in any other form should be entirely devoted to the white races. If by any chance a railway passes through native reserves, the cry is immediately raised that the land contiguous to the railway is too good for native use, and the native is therefore driven away, or it is urged that he should be removed to some less accessible position. It was on such a plea as that the Maasai were robbed of their country, and plots of land varying from 5,000 to 300,000 acres were given to Europeans for no other reason than that they were covetous of it and that it was in close touch with the railways.

“These extra facilities for transport can only be justified if at the same time the native interests are completely safeguarded. At the present time the difficulties are immense. The native has to raise from 10s. to 16s. per annum for hut tax, and he has to pay this almost entirely out of the material he is able to sell. That involves him in carrying a load of 60 lbs. for 40 miles. To pay this tax he may have to go as many as five journeys of 40 miles, with the 60 lb. load on his head, making for the return journey a distance of 400 miles. That is economic slavery of a most indefensible kind, and of a kind worse than was ever known in the Southern States of America. The roads are very frequently impassable because of bad weather.” (Henry Snell, M.P. East Africa Commission Debate, 1925)

Land grabbing and the Rhodesian Railway

Planning, finance, procurement, labour – what more could go wrong? Answer: speculation. The major and most lucrative railway scam was the use of the railway as a vehicle for displacement of populations and acquisition of their land by speculators. The land was acquired by those who had already been given free or cheap land by the Imperial government and were in a position to leave it idle.

“One syndicate got 500 square miles from the Foreign Office, over the head of the then Governor of Kenya. That is a fairly extensive slice of territory to be handed away. Then there was a grazing land syndicate, called the East African Syndicate, which applied for 320,000 acres, and Lord Delamere, a notorious figure in these parts, applied for 100,000 acres. If one syndicate gets 500 square miles, another gets 320,000 acres, and another applies for 100,000 acres, there is some prima facie evidence of speculators in Kenya.” (Thomas Johnston, Kenya debate, December 1926.)

In Rhodesia, as in Kenya, this resulted in large tracts of land being bought on either side of the proposed track by investors. In both territories the value shot up exponentially as the railway approached. Once the route for the Rhodesian railway was set out, a strip measuring twelve miles wide was carved out alongside taking in parts of Native Reserves. Meanwhile, the Msoro tribe of over 2,000 was displaced in favour of three settlers.

By 1920, Rhodesians had already been corralled in Native Reserves. The 48,000 white settlers had been allocated 48 million acres while the 800,000 Africans had the “right” to reside in (but not own any part of) reserves measuring 8 million acres. Most of the rest of the territory still belonged to the British South African Chartered Company (BSAC) that had deposed both the Mashona and Matabele kings and seized their territory.

After 1919, the British South African Company transferred what was left over from sales of this territory to the British Crown in return for a much disputed bail-out. The bail-out was controversial because under its agreement with the Crown, the BSAC was allowed to reimburse itself for work it did on behalf of the Crown by engaging in business. The Company had earned an income from the sale of millions of acres of land and mining concessions and had exported ivory and minerals, all under the protection of the British flag and therefore the British military. This was supposed to be their “compensation”. However, breaking the rules of the charter, the Company inter-mingled its own private accounts with those of the administration of the colony, making it difficult to separate the cost of government work and BSAC business. Just as with the British East African Company when it was leaving the area, the BSAC was further “compensated” with taxpayers’ money.

By 1920, Rhodesians had already been corralled in Native Reserves. The 48,000 white settlers had been allocated 48 million acres while the 800,000 Africans had the “right” to reside in (but not own any part of) reserves measuring 8 million acres. Most of the rest of the territory still belonged to the British South African Chartered Company (BSAC) that had deposed both the Mashona and Matabele kings and seized their territory.

During the controversy, a secret agreement between the BSAC and the British government came to light under which the government had agreed to reimburse the BSAC if it deposed King Lobengula. BSAC recruited European settlers, promising each a lease of a 6,000-acre farm at 30 shillings a year. They were also offered the option of buying the farm outright at the cost of 3 pounds sterling per 20 acres or 900 pounds for 6,000 acres.

After the successful campaign, the British government paid the lease and purchase costs for the recruits. Those not wishing to purchase were reimbursed for improvements they had made on the properties. In total, £7 million was demanded, half for the recruits and half for the shareholders. All opposition in Parliament was silenced by the Colonial Secretary, public eugenicist Lord Amery, when he revealed that a Commission of Inquiry had exonerated the BSAC and its recruits of any wrong-doing in massacring the Matabele and deposing their King. They eventually settled for £4 million pounds in 1922, a sum roughly equivalent to the Colonial Office’s budget for four years.

The need for public oversight

In his essay “Mexico proved that debt can be repudiated”, published on 24 March 2017, Eric Toussaint devotes a section on showing the links between commodity extraction, railways for transporting the commodities, and loans required to finance the extraction and transport of the commodities. He demonstrates the impact these had on land ownership, the displacement of peoples, the national debt, and a clique of investors.

It is interesting to note that in South America, as on the African continent, railways did not serve to connect communities and countries but rather led straight from the point of extraction of commodities to the point of export. The entire operation was eventually paid for from the indigenous public purse.

Like chartered companies, 21st century local agents for foreign investors enjoy political and military protection by the foreign countries they serve. This phenomenon was most evident in Mexico where various debt repudiations resulted in military invasions and threats of invasion by the United States, Britain and France. Most interestingly, Mexican citizens who had lent to their government were granted European nationality after which their new countries included them among those whose rights were being defended by the invasions. They came to be known as vende patrias – sellers of their country. Then, as now, bail-outs came from taxpayers’ money.

In modern times, attempts to repudiate illegitimate debt or to choose other paths that do not profit financiers still lead to regime change. Today they take the form of grants and NGO funding, which attempt to fill the holes left by diversion of national resources. What a bail-out means is that when an investor makes a profit, it all belongs to the investor. Where s/he makes a loss, it is spread among taxpayers. As Noam Chomsky famously stated, “A basic principle of modern state capitalism is that cost and risk are socialised, while profit is privatised.”

What a bail-out means is that when an investor makes a profit, it all belongs to the investor. Where s/he makes a loss, it is spread among taxpayers. As Noam Chomsky said, “A basic principle of modern state capitalism is that cost and risk are socialised, while profit is privatised.”

There can be no real progress until a critical mass of the electorate makes the connection between foreign capital, its local agents and underdevelopment. As Frederick Douglass put it, “If there is no struggle there is no progress[.…] Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

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Mary Serumaga is a Ugandan essayist, graduated in Law from King's College, London, and attained an Msc in Intelligent Management Systems from the Southbank. Her work in civil service reform in East Africa lead to an interest in the nature of public service in Africa and the political influences under which it is delivered.

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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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