On the morning of 1 September 2017, Kenya entered the annals of history as only the fourth country in the world to annul a presidential election. Before that, courts in only Ukraine, the Maldives and Austria had annulled presidential elections. No opposition party in Africa had ever successfully petitioned a court to overturn an election, and the decision was praised globally as striking a blow for democracy and the rule of law. “Look, in view of all that evidence, and in good conscience, what other decision would I have made and how would I have looked?” the Chief Justice remarked.
Outside the courtroom later, as the majority decision and the two dissenting opinions were read out and broadcast live, the crowds erupted into celebration. From inside the building, it felt as if a bomb had gone off.
The judiciary had finally come of age, judicial independence had been attained. In the days that followed, judicial officers discussed on their social media pages how they were retaking their oaths of office. Erstwhile critics in the Internet fever swamps were suddenly gushing with praise for the judiciary.
President Uhuru Kenyatta was visibly angry. He had expected the court challenge on his victory to suffer the same fate as the challenge to his 2013 election victory and plans for his swearing in were already in top gear. The day before the Supreme Court decision Kenyatta had even made disparaging remarks about waiting for what some six people would decide regarding the election, and a false news alert on the Kenyatta family-owned K24 TV had implied that the petitioners had lost the case even before the judgment had come in. The 2017 petition was expected to go the same way. Then it all went horribly wrong.
Kenyatta had waged many battles in courts both at home and abroad and he had prevailed each and every time. He had defeated petitions seeking to stop his candidacy for president, neutered efforts to invalidate his shocking 2013 presidential election victory, and watched with amusement as a crimes against humanity case against him at the International Criminal Court (ICC) floundered, with witnesses withdrawing or recanting their testimony. He had won every court battle that mattered – until then.
Just what had changed in four short years? The answers would become clear from the actions undertaken in response to the petition decision.
Kenyatta’s first response to the Supreme Court’s decision annulling the election was to make a televised address from State House pledging adherence to the rule of law (sic). Later on the same day, he let rip at a rally of his supporters at Burma Market in Nairobi, calling the judges crooks and warning the Chief Justice that now that his victory had been invalidated, he, the Chief Justice, would be dealing with a President and not a mere president-elect.
Still smarting, Kenyatta told a State House meeting the following day that the country had a problem in the judiciary and vowed he would fix it.
Maraga thinks he can overturn the will of the people,” Kenyatta said. “We shall show you in 60 days that the will of the people cannot be overturned by one or two individuals. Tutarudi na tukishamaliza tuta-revisit hii mambo yenu …Tunafanya kazi hii, unakuja unablock, unaweka injunction. Kwani unafikiria wewe umechaguliwa na nani? [After we return from the repeat election, we shall revisit your issues. We cannot be working only for you to frustrate us with injunctions. Who do you think elected you?]
The tirade signalled the beginning of a political onslaught that would manifestly challenge the judiciary’s claim to independence.
Among Kenyatta’s supporters, the anger was palpable. And it quickly turned into action – Member of Parliament for Nyeri Town Ngunjiri Wambugu petitioned the Judicial Service Commission (JSC) to remove Chief Justice Maraga from office for alleged gross misconduct. He accused the Chief Justice of instituting a “judicial coup” with a view to seizing political power. The petition to the JSC came only a day after Members of Parliament from Kenyatta’s Jubilee Party announced during a Senate debate that they planned to pass a series of laws to limit the powers of the judiciary on elections. Kenyatta prevailed on Ngunjiri to withdraw the petition.
Within a week, a loud demonstration by Jubilee Party supporters was accompanying Derrick Malika Ngumu to the Supreme Court as he lodged a petition with the JSC to remove Justices Mwilu and Lenaola from office. The petition accused the two judges of gross misconduct and breach of the judicial code of conduct for allegedly being in contact with the petitioner’s lawyers during the hearing of the 8 August presidential election petition. As it turned out, cell data showed that some of the judges lived within the same radius as a bar popular with politicians. The JSC dismissed the petition for lack of merit.
In contrast, when the decision to annul the election results came in, Raila Odinga and Kalonzo Musyoka were in court. From the court steps, Odinga declared that the decision had vindicated him and he pressed his advantage by demanding resignations at the electoral commission as well as irreducible minimum reforms to guarantee a free fresh election. He would later withdraw from the fresh election and call on his supporters to boycott it.
Both Kenyatta’s and Odinga’s reactions to the nullification appeared to be knee-jerk and tactical rather than strategic. The nullification appears to have surprised both protagonists, with the result that they were grappling with how to deal with loss and victory, respectively. As the court drank in the praise for its courage and independence, the attacks against some of its judges began to crystallise. The opposition began to expect more decisions along the same lines, and the angry government saw the court as a stalking horse for the opposition that might well issue more damaging decisions if not checked.
The decision to annul the election results was a huge rebuke to the electoral commission’s conduct, but it stopped short of finding the commissioners and staff culpable
The majority judges had not thought that they were in any danger. They were convinced of the soundness of their decisions and how they had arrived at them; they felt that they could defend them. After all, they had not cited Kenyatta for anything untoward. Although the judges understood the President’s anger for what it was — a normal human reaction, they took comfort in the public support that they received. Yet, that public goodwill lulled them into underestimating the hostility they were going to face.
The decision to annul the election results was a huge rebuke to the electoral commission’s conduct, but it stopped short of finding the commissioners and staff culpable. The commission’s chairman invited the director of public prosecutions to investigate any of his staff suspected of wrongdoing. Save for a few low-level officials at the polling station and constituency level who allegedly tampered with the elections, no charges have been preferred for illegal acts committed in the 8 August 2017 polls.
Because the judges had not faulted the President or any individuals at the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC) despite acknowledging the existence of “irregularities and illegalities”, they felt safe since they had not crossed the invisible line of power.
Still, there was a surge of attacks on the judiciary. Public demonstrations against the Supreme Court judges took place in Nyeri, Eldoret and Nairobi. The demonstrations targeted the Chief Justice in particular, with some protestors burning his effigy. Within the public sphere, an explosion of coordinated fake news, hash tags, videos and social media postings targeted the judges and the courts. Kenyatta’s reference to the judges as wakora [crooks] spawned the hash tag #WakoraNetwork.
On 19 September 2017, a day before the judges were due to deliver the reasons for the determination in the petition, the Chief Justice stood on the steps of the Supreme Court flanked by members of the Judicial Service Commission.
He pointedly criticised the Inspector General of Police, who he said was not taking judges’ calls. Judges had requested increased security but they were being ignored. “If leaders are tired of having a strong and independent judiciary, they should call a referendum and abolish it altogether. Before that happens the judiciary will continue to discharge its mandate in accordance with the Constitution and individual oaths of office,” he said.
The judges had never faced as much pressure as they did in the aftermath of the decision; they had no experience in dealing with the executive at close range, and nothing could have prepared them for the backlash.
It was a sobering moment as the Chief Justice said that he was willing to pay the ultimate price to protect the Constitution. Maraga was considered an insider, beloved by entrenched interests who hoped that he would apply the brakes on the reforms train, but he had little experience in playing the long game with the executive and the legislature.
The constant attacks were eroding whatever social capital the Supreme Court had built up with the decision of the 1st of September. As public support for the Supreme Court grew lukewarm, dampened by politicians’ criticism of the judges as having gone rogue, so too did the spirit that had imbued the court before the election nullification begin to wither.
By the 1st of October, when Supplementary Budget Estimates were published to accommodate the costs of the fresh presidential election, the budget of the judiciary had been slashed by Sh1.95 billion or 11.1 per cent.
At the height of emotions over the Supreme Court’s annulment decision, the ruling coalition demanded that changes be made to the Judicial Service Act to modify the procedures concerning the appointment of judges. The National Assembly passed amendments to the Election Act barring the courts from opening ballot boxes to scrutinise voting tallies
The judiciary’s budget had previously been increasing progressively from Sh3 billion in 2009/10 to Sh7.5 billion in 2011/12 before reaching a high of Sh16 billion in 2015/16. As other sectors continued to receive increased budgetary allocations, the judiciary’s projected budget of Sh31 billion was slashed to Sh17.3 billion.
At the height of emotions over the Supreme Court’s annulment decision, the ruling coalition demanded that changes be made to the Judicial Service Act to modify the procedures concerning the appointment of judges. The National Assembly passed amendments to the Election Act barring the courts from opening ballot boxes to scrutinise voting tallies.
A shaken IEBC was so uncertain of itself that it filed a petition seeking the Supreme Court’s advice on its role in verifying election results. The court ruled in its 17 October advisory opinion on what it had said in its September judgment, that the IEBC chairman could not correct errors on the vote tallying forms.
As the year wound down, the Kenyan Section of the International Commission of Jurists named CJ Maraga as 2017 Jurist of the Year, celebrating his courage in leading the Supreme Court to the majority decision to annul the presidential election result.
In the aftermath of the fresh election, the dismantling of the president’s legal team would give an indication of the depth of Kenyatta’s disappointment in those handling his legal affairs. Solicitor General Njee Muturi was demoted to Deputy Chief of Staff at State House; AG Githu Muigai would suddenly resign in January 2019, and the president’s advisor on constitutional affairs, Abdikadir Mohamed, would decline a posting to South Korea as ambassador. The president also accepted the resignation of Keriako Tobiko as Director of Public Prosecutions and offered him the position of Cabinet Secretary for the Environment.
Within the judiciary, there was a collective sigh of relief that the institution’s prestige and honour had been restored. The joyous mood at the Supreme Court contrasted sharply with the ugly scenes in the aftermath of the 2013 decision on the presidential election petition. As soon as Chief Justice Willy Mutunga had read out the 30 March 2013 decision, each judge swiftly left the building under the escort of the paramilitary General Service Unit (GSU) and the crowds in the streets were dispersed with teargas. What had begun as a globally watched court battle ended in silent ignominy. Much hope had been placed on the Supreme Court in 2013 and the disappointment in its decision significantly injured the public standing of the judiciary.
Just what had happened to change the Supreme Court in the four years between 2013 and 2017?
The 60-day period the Supreme Court gave for a fresh election provided a snapshot of the judiciary’s highest moment as an independent institution. The judiciary had for years been engaged in a struggle to claim its independence within a volatile political environment. The interplay of internal institutional politics – involving appointments, personality clashes, conflicts of interest and opposing judicial philosophies – and the external politics around how those wielding political power related with the institution is likely to have influenced how the court decided the presidential election petitions in 2013 and 2017.
Court in A New Mould
Kenya’s first Supreme Court was cobbled together from the old judiciary, academia, and civil society and it is instructive that the Court of Appeal contributed only one judge to the new apex court that would topple it in the judicial hierarchy. It was a clean break with the insularity of the Court of Appeal, its arrogance and slavish loyalty to rules.
Until 2013, presidential election petitions in Kenya had never gotten off the ground. Petitions challenging the election of the president in the 1992 and 1997 contests did not go beyond the preliminary stage and were dismissed on technicalities at the Court of Appeal – the highest court at that time. The requirements the petitioners needed to fulfil – such as the requirement to personally serve a sitting president with court papers – were so onerous as to make litigation moot. Opposition politicians refused to take the dispute over the 2007 presidential election to the courts, arguing that their opponent controlled the judiciary, leading to a 60-day violent crisis that only ended with the international mediation that brokered the formation of a coalition government.
This history made part of the case for establishing the Supreme Court as a special forum to hear and determine presidential election petitions, which had to be decided within 14 days of the announcement of the result. A president-elect could only be sworn into office if there was no court challenge. The change was first introduced into the September 2002 draft constitution prepared by the Constitution of Kenya Review Commission. This draft was the basis of successive proposed constitutions that culminated in the adoption of a new constitution in 2010.
On the surface, the first Supreme Court seemed to have the right mix of insider experience and outsider mavericks. More significantly, the court was a subconscious assembly of the country’s so-called Big Five, the largest ethnic groups; the Kamba, Kalenjin, Luo, Luhya, and Kikuyu, were represented.
At the helm as Chief Justice and Supreme Court President was Dr Willy Mutunga, who had taught law at the University of Nairobi, had been a political detainee, had pioneered the establishment of Kenya’s vibrant civil society movement, and had been part of the push for a new constitution. He had also been in charge of the East Africa regional office of the Ford Foundation. After the return of multi-party politics in 1991, he became one of the public faces demanding constitutional change. In early 2002, he successfully mediated between opposition leaders Mwai Kibaki, Charity Ngilu and Michael Kijana Wamalwa to form a political alliance and support a single candidate for the presidency in the 2002 elections following which Kibaki was elected president.
Although each of the Supreme Court judges – there are seven – had been through public interviews and those already serving on the bench had additionally been vetted for suitability to continue serving, there were questions about whether they were up to the task of adjudicating a political dispute purely on the basis of evidence and facts. Only three judges had judicial experience; the other three came from academia and civil society.
Dr Mutunga had had no role in interviewing or selecting any of the first Supreme Court justices. He and Deputy Chief Justice Baraza were awaiting parliamentary vetting and approval at the time. The JSC thus gazetted the names of five judges without his input. A court challenge seeking to have the Supreme Court conform to the principle that no institution should have more than two thirds of one gender failed.
The other judges who would make up the bench for the 2013 presidential election petition were Justices Philip Kiptoo Tunoi; Jackton Boma Ojwang; Mohamed Khadar Ibrahim; Smokin Charles Wanjala; and Njoki Susanna Ndung’u. By pure coincidence, they had all been Dr Mutunga’s students at the University of Nairobi. Deputy Chief Justice Nancy Makokha Baraza, however, would leave office after serving for only six months following a public furore over her altercation with a female security guard performing checks at a Nairobi shopping mall. A tribunal found Baraza unsuitable to serve on Kenya’s apex court and she later withdrew her appeal at the Supreme Court. The vacancy created by her departure was not filled until after the 2013 election petition had been decided.
In the run-up to the 2013 presidential election petition Dr Mutunga’s stint as a political prisoner and history as a pro-democracy activist had fed fears that he would be in the tank for Prime Minister Raila Odinga, who had also been a political prisoner and was contesting the presidency a third time. Yet, ahead of the 2013 presidential election petition, the Supreme Court had cultivated the habit of dodging legal bullets and its excessive caution was sometimes seen as bordering on cowardice. For example, when the IEBC sought an advisory opinion on the election date under the new Constitution, the Supreme Court sent the matter down to the High Court whose decision was subsequently affirmed by a five-judge bench of the Court of Appeal by a majority of four to one.
The Supreme Court’s aloofness discouraged litigants from approaching it to settle the question of Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto’s eligibility to contest the 2013 elections given their indictment at the (ICC for crimes against humanity. “Any question on the qualification or disqualification of a person who has been duly nominated to run for president can only be dealt [with] by the Supreme Court,” said Judge Helen Omondi, reading out the decision of a five-judge High Court bench, 17 days to the March 4, 2013, General Election. To date, the Supreme Court has not made any determination on the leadership and integrity standards a candidate for president should satisfy in order to qualify to run.
By the time the 2013 presidential election petition arrived at the Supreme Court, police were dispersing the petitioners’ supporters with teargas. Once the petition was filed the court opened up the proceedings to live broadcasting and web streaming on its website, with 157 law schools following the feed. Six senior jurists from the Commonwealth Judges Association were on hand to watch the hearing The pre-trial conferencing - an innovation of the new Supreme Court – was fascinating, giving the public a rare inside view of how the wheels of justice turn.
The judges declined an audit of the IEBC’s Information and Communication Technology (ICT) system, saying that the petitioners had not indicated who should conduct it, and expressing fears that the exercise might go beyond the constitutional deadline for determining the petition.
Remarkably, a report published by the Carter Center after the election put the failure of the ICT system at 41 per cent of all biometric identification kits.
Another application sought leave for Odinga’s lawyers to formally file an 839-page bundle of affidavits and other evidence — necessitated by the IEBC’s own filing in response to the petition. However, citing the deadline imposed upon it by the Constitution, the court ordered that the material be expunged from the record.
Civil society activists Gladwell Otieno and Zahid Rajan filed a separate petition seeking to argue that the IEBC did not maintain a constant voter register, with the result that the number of people who voted was higher than the number of those who were registered. The petitioners claimed that it was unclear which register had been used to confirm the identities of voters at polling stations across Kenya.
A third set of petitioners, Moses Kiarie Kuria, Dennis Njue Itumbi and Florence Jematia Sergon filed their petition before the March 16, 2013 deadline seeking a declaration that spoilt votes should not be taken into account when computing the valid votes cast.
The court, on its own motion, ordered the scrutiny of all votes cast in all the 33,400 polling stations to gain insight into whether the winning candidate had indeed met the threshold of garnering a majority of all votes cast. But it soon became clear that notwithstanding the availability and use of nearly 50 legal researchers, the court was woefully unprepared to manage the scrutiny or to understand how the Sh10 billion ICT infrastructure had helped or undermined the election.
Dr Mutunga and Dr Wanjala were convinced that a scrutiny would provide a snapshot of the election but the Supreme Court’s lack of experience in managing an election scrutiny would prove to be its undoing as it ceded control to the court administrators who actively sabotaged it through administrative delays and systems failure. In the event, although the team completed the scrutiny, they misled the judges that they had only examined 18,000 polling stations and that the data was inconclusive.
Without acknowledging that the scrutiny it ordered was only partially undertaken and inconclusive, the court upheld the election for lack of evidence of rigging. The decision provoked brutal criticism, including open accusations of bribery. Dr Mutunga resorted to publishing an agonised post on Facebook asking that if anyone knew of judges accepting bribes, he or she should come forward with the evidence.
Long before it gave its final decision, the manner in which the court had handled a number of applications made during the hearing was a clear indication of the decision that the court would make. The final judgment was brief on matters such as the failure of the polling kits (worth only seven paragraphs) while lengthy on far less important ones such as why rejected votes should not be considered in the final tally (27 paragraphs).
Although there were recriminations about the inadequate preparations by advocates for the petitioners – who declined offers of help from the United States at the time – the Supreme Court came in for severe criticism for its proceduralist reading of the rules and this may have influenced its approach in 2017.
In their book on the 2013 General Election, New Constitution Same Old Challenges, James Gondi and Iqbal Basant point out that public confidence in the Supreme Court declined after the decision, which was roundly criticised in academic and legal circles. A Judiciary Perception Survey in 2015 found that the approval rating of the judiciary plummeted from a stratospheric 78 per cent to just under 50 per cent in the year after the ruling.
So harsh was the backlash from the decision that when interviewing for the Chief Justice’s position in 2016, Justice Smokin Wanjala – who had been on the Supreme Court bench since its establishment – said he would not be happy to be part of another presidential election petition, if only to avoid unfair criticism.
In the event, he was one of the four judges that formed the Supreme Court majority that annulled the 8 August 2017 presidential election and he also sat on the petition challenging the validity of the fresh election held on 26 October 2017.
Odinga issued a statement shortly after the March 2013 Supreme Court decision and before the judges had given their detailed reasoning, saying that he and his running mate, Kalonzo Musyoka, disagreed with some of the court’s findings and pointing at anomalies in the way the hearings were conducted but also adding that: “Our belief in constitutionalism remains supreme.”
“Casting doubt on the judgment of the court could lead to higher political and economic uncertainty and make it difficult for our country to move forward,” Odinga said.
There would be an inchoate attempt to reform the Supreme Court through a proposed referendum on the constitution in 2015, but it did not materialize. Still, attempts to bring the judiciary to heel had begun as early as when Dr Mutunga was Chief Justice. Decisions by the High Court striking down various laws and executive actions as unconstitutional or illegal had grown into a source of regular annoyance. The executive oscillated between quailing impotence and blinding anger in response to court decisions around corruption, the amendment of security laws to deal with terrorism, and the president’s desire to participate in the appointment of judges.
This article is the first of a three-part series adapted from the recently launched report: 60 Days of Independence: Kenya’s judiciary through three presidential election petitions
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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.
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.
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.
“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 debt, unfair trade and financial agreements, military subjugation, vaccine apartheid, labour 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.
The Murang’a Factor in the Upcoming Presidential Elections
The Murang’a people are really yet to decide who they are going to vote for as a president. If they have, they are keeping the secret to themselves. Are the Murang’a people prepping themselves this time to vote for one of their own? Can Jimi Wanjigi re-ignite the Murang’a/Matiba popular passion among the GEMA community and re-influence it to vote in a different direction?
In the last quarter of 2021, I visited Murang’a County twice: In September, we were in Kandiri in Kigumo constituency. We had gone for a church fundraiser and were hosted by the Anglican Church of Kenya’s (ACK), Kahariro parish, Murang’a South diocese. A month later, I was back, this time to Ihi-gaini deep in Kangema constituency for a burial.
The church function attracted politicians: it had to; they know how to sniff such occasions and if not officially invited, they gate-crash them. Church functions, just like funerals, are perfect platforms for politicians to exhibit their presumed piousness, generosity and their closeness to the respective clergy and the bereaved family.
Well, the other reason they were there, is because they had been invited by the Church leadership. During the electioneering period, the Church is not shy to exploit the politicians’ ambitions: they “blackmail” them for money, because they can mobilise ready audiences for the competing politicians. The politicians on the other hand, are very ready to part with cash. This quid pro quo arrangement is usually an unstated agreement between the Church leadership and the politicians.
The church, which was being fund raised for, being in Kigumo constituency, the area MP Ruth Wangari Mwaniki, promptly showed up. Likewise, the area Member of the County Assembly (MCA) and of course several aspirants for the MP and MCA seats, also showed up.
Church and secular politics often sit cheek by jowl and so, on this day, local politics was the order of the day. I couldn’t have speculated on which side of the political divide Murang’a people were, until the young man Zack Kinuthia Chief Administrative Secretary (CAS) for Sports, Culture and Heritage, took to the rostrum to speak.
A local boy and an Uhuru Kenyatta loyalist, he completely avoided mentioning his name and his “development track record” in central Kenya. Kinuthia has a habit of over-extolling President Uhuru’s virtues whenever and wherever he mounts any platform. By the time he was done speaking, I quickly deduced he was angling to unseat Wangari. I wasn’t wrong; five months later in February 2022, Kinuthia resigned his CAS position to vie for Kigumo on a Party of the National Unity (PNU) ticket.
He spoke briefly, feigned some meeting that was awaiting him elsewhere and left hurriedly, but not before giving his KSh50,000 donation. Apparently, I later learnt that he had been forewarned, ahead of time, that the people were not in a mood to listen to his panegyrics on President Uhuru, Jubilee Party, or anything associated to the two. Kinuthia couldn’t dare run on President Uhuru’s Jubilee Party. His patron-boss’s party is not wanted in Murang’a.
I spent the whole day in Kandiri, talking to people, young and old, men and women and by the time I was leaving, I was certain about one thing; The Murang’a folks didn’t want anything to do with President Uhuru. What I wasn’t sure of is, where their political sympathies lay.
I returned to Murang’a the following month, in the expansive Kangema – it is still huge – even after Mathioya was hived off from the larger Kangema constituency. Funerals provide a good barometer that captures peoples’ political sentiments and even though this burial was not attended by politicians – a few senior government officials were present though; political talk was very much on the peoples’ lips.
What I gathered from the crowd was that President Uhuru had destroyed their livelihood, remember many of the Nairobi city trading, hawking, big downtown real estate and restaurants are run and owned largely by Murang’a people. The famous Nyamakima trading area of downtown Nairobi has been run by Murang’a Kikuyus.
In 2018, their goods were confiscated and declared contrabrand by the government. Many of their businesses went under, this, despite the merchants not only, whole heartedly throwing their support to President Uhuru’s controversial re-election, but contributing handsomely to the presidential kitty. They couldn’t believe what was happening to them: “We voted for him to safeguard our businesses, instead, he destroyed them. So much for supporting him.”
We voted for him to safeguard our businesses, instead, he destroyed them. So much for supporting him
Last week, I attended a Murang’a County caucus group that was meeting somewhere in Gatundu, in Kiambu County. One of the clearest messages that I got from this group is that the GEMA vote in the August 9, 2022, presidential elections is certainly anti-Uhuru Kenyatta and not necessarily pro-William Ruto.
“The Murang’a people are really yet to decide, (if they have, they are keeping the secret to themselves) on who they are going to vote for as a president. And that’s why you see Uhuru is craftily courting us with all manner of promises, seductions and prophetic messages.” Two weeks ago, President Uhuru was in Murang’a attending an African Independent Pentecostal Church of Africa (AIPCA) church function in Kandara constituency.
At the church, the president yet again threatened to “tell you what’s in my heart and what I believe and why so.” These prophecy-laced threats by the President, to the GEMA nation, in which he has been threatening to show them the sign, have become the butt of crude jokes among Kikuyus.
Corollary, President Uhuru once again has plucked Polycarp Igathe away from his corporate perch as Equity Bank’s Chief Commercial Officer back to Nairobi’s tumultuous governor seat politics. The first time the bespectacled Igathe was thrown into the deep end of the Nairobi murky politics was in 2017, as Mike Sonko’s deputy governor. After six months, he threw in the towel, lamenting that Sonko couldn’t let him even breathe.
Uhuru has a tendency of (mis)using Murang’a people
“Igathe is from Wanjerere in Kigumo, Murang’a, but grew up in Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County,” one of the Mzees told me. “He’s not interested in politics; much less know how it’s played. I’ve spent time with him and confided in me as much. Uhuru has a tendency of (mis)using Murang’a people. President Uhuru wants to use Igathe to control Nairobi. The sad thing is that Igathe doesn’t have the guts to tell Uhuru the brutal fact: I’m really not interested in all these shenanigans, leave me alone. The president is hoping, once again, to hopefully placate the Murang’a people, by pretending to front Igathe. I foresee another terrible disaster ultimately befalling both Igathe and Uhuru.”
Be that as it may, what I got away with from this caucus, after an entire day’s deliberations, is that its keeping it presidential choice close to its chest. My attempts to goad some of the men and women present were fruitless.
Murang’a people like reminding everyone that it’s only they, who have yet to produce a president from the GEMA stable, despite being the wealthiest. Kiambu has produced two presidents from the same family, Nyeri one, President Mwai Kibaki, who died on April 22. The closest Murang’a came to giving the country a president was during Ken Matiba’s time in the 1990s. “But Matiba had suffered a debilitating stroke that incapacitated him,” said one of the mzees. “It was tragic, but there was nothing we could do.”
Murang’a people like reminding everyone that it’s only they, who have yet to produce a president from the GEMA stable, despite being the wealthiest
It is interesting to note that Jimi Wanjigi, the Safina party presidential flagbearer is from Murang’a County. His family hails from Wahundura, in Mathioya constituency. Him and Mwangi wa Iria, the Murang’a County governor are the other two Murang’a prominent persons who have tossed themselves into the presidential race. Wa Iria’s bid which was announced at the beginning of 2022, seems to have stagnated, while Jimi’s seems to be gathering storm.
Are the Murang’a people prepping themselves this time to vote for one of their own? Jimi’s campaign team has crafted a two-pronged strategy that it hopes will endear Kenyans to his presidency. One, a generational, paradigm shift, especially among the youth, targeting mostly post-secondary, tertiary college and university students.
“We believe this group of voters who are basically between the ages of 18–27 years and who comprise more than 65 per cent of total registered voters are the key to turning this election,” said one of his presidential campaign team members. “It matters most how you craft the political message to capture their attention.” So, branding his key message as itwika, it is meant to orchestrate a break from past electoral behaviour that is pegged on traditional ethnic voting patterns.
The other plunk of Jimi’s campaign theme is economic emancipation, quite pointedly as it talks directly to the GEMA nation, especially the Murang’a Kikuyus, who are reputed for their business acumen and entrepreneurial skills. “What Kikuyus cherish most,” said the team member “is someone who will create an enabling business environment and leave the Kikuyus to do their thing. You know, Kikuyus live off business, if you interfere with it, that’s the end of your friendship, it doesn’t matter who you are.”
Can Jimi re-ignite the Murang’a/Matiba popular passion among the GEMA community and re-influence it to vote in a different direction? As all the presidential candidates gear-up this week on who they will eventually pick as their running mates, the GEMA community once more shifts the spotlight on itself, as the most sought-after vote basket.
Both Raila Odinga and William Ruto coalitions – Azimio la Umoja-One Kenya and Kenya Kwanza Alliance – must seek to impress and woe Mt Kenya region by appointing a running mate from one of its ranks. If not, the coalitions fear losing the vote-rich area either to each other, or perhaps to a third party. Murang’a County, may as well, become the conundrum, with which the August 9, presidential race may yet to be unravelled and decided.
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