As a whole, public medical facilities in Uganda have been in the gutter for quite some time. In Kampala, the government attempted to shield us from this fact when it ambushed and took over the two new hospitals built under Jennifer Musisi’s tenure as Executive Director of Kampala City Council Authority. The city already had a number of health centres inherited from Kampala District; it was some of these that were to be transformed to branches of the National Referral Hospital.
Kiruddu and Kawempe hospitals are big, flashy and captivating at first sight but reality sets in once you enter them. They have essentially become the hospitals for the have-nots while the newly renovated Mulago has more or less been transformed into a private hospital catering to a different market.
The process was gradual, not based on consultation, and the changes were communicated in public announcements. Chiefly, that maternity care at Mulago Hospital, once free of charge, is now a chargeable service. Considerably higher rates were listed alongside the new charges in order to make them more palatable.
“Services will be classified as standard, VIP and VVIP; clinical services offered to all patients at all levels irrespective of pay. (Dr R. Aceng, Minister of Health). Charges at the Mulago Specialised Women and Neonatal Hospital begin at Shs.50,000 or US$ 13.57 for consultation, a sum equivalent to one-third of the minimum monthly wage and way above the actual average daily earnings of between US$1 and US$2. The upper limit for specialised treatment is Shs. million or US$ 814, which is twenty months’ pay at minimum wage. Accommodation alone costs Shs.80,000 per day. A Caesarian section goes for Shs.2 million ($542), with an extra Shs.200,000 for tubal ligation.
For neonates requiring surgery, charges are between Shs.1.5 and Shs.3.5 million. To clear a newborn baby’s airways costs Shs.300,000 (two months’ minimum wages) daily and to keep the baby on a ventilator (once the airways are cleared) costs Shs.1 million or US$271 per day. We shall return to the care of neonates later.
This arrangement was aimed at reducing maternal mortality, which is 336 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births compared to the global rate of 216 per 100,000 live births. The new Women’s Hospital built on the campus was meant to decongest Mulago National Specialised (formerly Referral) Hospital and enable women with complicated reproductive health problems to be treated and to reduce referrals abroad (Ministry of Health). However, since the launch of the privatised Mulago Hospital, the government has continued to fly public officials abroad for treatment, notably the Speaker of Parliament who was treated in Kenya for exhaustion.
Where the introduction of charges at Mulago has been successful is in decongesting it by driving women to the understaffed, under-equipped and overcrowded “national referral hospitals” at Kawempe and Kiruddu where between 80 and 100 babies are delivered daily.
This arrangement was aimed at reducing maternal mortality, which is 336 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births compared to the global rate of 216 per 100,000 live births.
Who are these displaced women? In 2003 the Health Sector Strategy review showed only about 20 per cent of women use government maternity facilities. These women are predominantly the poor without options, meaning that those displaced from Mulago are not the ones who would otherwise have opted for private domestic healthcare or care abroad. They are not in the market for in vitro fertilization and the other specialised treatments now offered at Mulago but primary health seekers. Their issues cannot be transferred out of existence. The rest of the birthing population who use hospital maternity services – say 80% if the statistic still holds – will continue to use private services and may or may not use Mulago or go abroad. A large number of women (25%) of those giving birth are simply not attended to by qualified birth attendants (2016, World Bank databank).
Kampala City Council Authority did not design Kiruddu and Kawempe Hospitals to take the spillover from Mulago, which explains the current crisis at Kawempe. Truth be told the situation has been dire for a while now. By the time the photograph of neonates stacked on beds and plastic chairs in nappies and nothing else except cannulas and nasal tubes caused a public outcry, medics who have been complaining about this for ages had grown weary and moved on. Following the outcry, the babies were transferred to Mulago Hospital and offered free services. Even then, there were complaints about the unaffordability of the meals, which remained chargeable.
The Ministry’s initial reaction was to deny the crisis and then raid Komamboga Health Centre III for cots, which did nothing to reassure the public and reportedly caused Komamboga staff to down their tools. When they finally bought cots it begged the question: if the money was available why were cots not bought in the first place?
It is hard to blame hospital management; since the hospitals opened, the directors and staff have strenuously reported their grievances to the Ministry of Health and other relevant authorities to no avail. That one photo has in many ways been a blessing in disguise; it has held a steady spotlight for longer than is usual on the state of health services.
The Ministry’s initial reaction was to deny the crisis and then raid Komamboga Health Centre III for cots, which did nothing to reassure the public and reportedly caused Komamboga staff to down their tools.
The Labour Suite at Kawempe is unbelievably busy, having essentially inherited all the clientele that used to go to Mulago; most health centres (such as Komamboga and Kisenyi) refer their patients there. It is not uncommon for Caesarian section kits to run out, with expectant mothers still in the queue. Consequently, we are always overwhelmed by the huge numbers in the nursery/Special Care Unit/Neonatal Units.
The inevitable result is that try as we might, even with triaging [prioritising the most serious cases], the general delays in patients’ seeking healthcare and the modes of transport of expectant mothers to hospital mean many babies are born with birth asphyxia. Birth asphyxia is basically poor oxygenation of the foetus occurring mostly during the period of delivery (parturition). Depending on its extent, the outcomes can range from Hypoxic Ischaemic Encephalopathy (HIE) Grade II which may leave the child with some deficits and conditions like epilepsy. In the worst cases, referred to as HIE Grade 3, if the neonate survives, the baby will develop cerebral palsy (CP). CP involves loss of muscle control which can affect mobility, speech, swallowing, bladder control etc. and is often accompanied by epilepsy. In our setting, in which support services are fewer than elsewhere, its impact on parents, whole families, not to mention the economy is devastating. While CP can be caused by diseases such as meningitis, cerebral malaria, encephalitis and even traumatic brain injury, in Uganda birth asphyxia is the main cause. One of the busiest children’s clinics at Mulago is the neurology clinic that sees children with CP.
It is hard to blame hospital management; since the hospitals opened, the directors and staff have strenuously reported their grievances to the Ministry of Health and other relevant authorities to no avail.
Many babies are born prematurely due to dangerous diseases like preeclampsia. These and other neonates at Kawempe Hospital require delicate care: daily antibiotics, two-hourly feeds, and the cannulas through which they are medicated (seen in the photo) may need to be changed. Emergency cases need nasogastric tubes, which help breathing, along with respirator bags and resuscitation.
Impact on staff
All this often falls on the shoulders of just three nurses. Understaffing at Kawempe is exacerbated by the return of some midwives to the Women’s Hospital at Mulago. In fact there is a national shortage of midwives
On International Midwives Day 2019, the plight of the midwife in the current environment was revealed. A midwife at Bwizibwera Health Centre IV, which delivers an average of 150 babies a month, described their predicament. They face constant shortages of gloves and mama kits. Sometimes there is no fuel for the ambulance. All these are shortages to which the staff frequently contribute out of their own pockets and ask those mothers who can to pay, often leading to accusations of corruption.
“We need to be helped, I have worked for 15 years and what I have witnessed in health facilities is not good for us. They are always blaming midwives for charging money which in those cases it is unavoidable.” – T. Atukunda (New Vision)
The adverse effect on staffing levels is that many medics, specialists in particular, spend more time in private practice and research.
“I rotated through that place last year and it was horrible. I can’t say I enjoyed it because most of what we were doing was a charade. The morale of those that remain is low.” – (Doctor whose name has been withheld)
The Medical School has also been adversely impacted. While training used to take place at Mulago (close to the student accommodation), Obs/Gyn students must now make the trip to Kawempe and Internal Medicine students must travel to Kiruddu at a substantial cost.
Had there been adequate consultation and planning, Mulago would not have been fully shut down for renovation, certainly not for five years. Or at least a whole new private structure like the Women’s Hospital would have been built alongside it. Government has secured the US$350 million to build such a structure – Lubowa Hospital – while the renovations at Mulago only require US$9 million to complete. It is claimed that the Lubowa Hospital budget could have enabled the renovation and equipment of all Uganda’s regional hospitals as well as Mulago. As it is, US$35,874,800 has already gone missing from the Lubowa funds and is the subject of an inquiry.
In theory the Health Insurance Bill tabled in August 2019 will address most of these issues by making the cost of treatment affordable to government. A first attempt with a pilot scheme under the District Health Project ended without success in 2003, principally because of issues internal to the project i.e. an unrealistic timetable that led to the abandonment of the pilot and unsuccessful roll-out of untried interventions. There was also a lack of a monitoring and evaluation component. In the event, none of the health insurance schemes turned out to be appropriate.
As a final nail in the coffin, the government failed to top up the US$45 million loan with the US$17.5 million co-financing required. The co-financing shortfall is exactly half the amount that has now vanished from the Lubowa Hospital construction account. If anything indicates the lack of political will to deliver services, it is the failure of the District Health Services Scheme brought about by the failure of government to finance it.
There has been criticism of the public response to the crisis. True it should have come earlier, for example when the health insurance scheme failed to materialise fifteen years ago, or more recently in mid-2017 when the Auditor General reported, “Health facilities were experiencing persistent stock-outs of the 11 sampled Tracer drugs. […] Noticeably, Mama [safe delivery] Kits were out of stock for 320 days.” The very few medics who have commented on social media confessed boredom at the (short-term) public outrage coming decades into the problem.
Given the graphic view of the impact of haphazard and under-funded health services afforded by the Kawempe Hospital babies, the new Health Insurance Bill should be scrutinised very carefully by medics and laypeople alike working together to ensure that the interventions proposed have been rigorously pilot-tested and that the design faults that existed in the unsuccessful District Health Project proposals have been adequately addressed in the current ones.
This article is based on conversations with a Ugandan doctor about his experience as a clinician in public health in Kampala. Mary Serumaga takes responsibility for the statistical and archival material incorporated and any errors.
Religious Charlatans and Why Christians Fall for Them
12 min read. In a continent with crippled medical facilities, claims of divine healing and miracles by duplicitous evangelical/Pentecostal ministers have abounded, with disastrous effects. These fake pastors take advantage of the broken healthcare system and the helplessness of poor people to enrich themselves and to project a God-like image.
The country has just gone through a population census conducted by the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS) that was conducted in the last week of August 2019. The results of that census are yet to be analysed, but in 2009, the census found that more than 80 per cent of Kenyans identified themselves as Christians. The same proportion of Kenyans also indicated that faith was a central cog in their everyday life, that faith and prayers, not only ruled their daily lives, but also influenced their decisions and shaped their moral values.
In Kenya, as indeed is the case elsewhere in Africa, religious leaders enjoy high levels of public trust and respect, more than politicians, government bureaucrats, judges, magistrates, and even corporate leaders. This is not the case in the developed countries of the West especially (except in America) where religion is considered a private affair.
In the 1970s, through to the 1980s, till the beginning of this millennium, a crop of religious leaders in Kenya identified themselves as the “conscience of the nation” and the “moral voice of the voiceless”. They were regarded by the public as the “epitome of integrity”. Dubbed as “firebrands”, religious leaders, such as Bishop John Henry Okullu, at one time the provost of All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi, Bishop Alexander Muge, the soldier-turned-cleric, Archbishop David Gitari, all from the Anglican Church, plus Timothy Njoya of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA) and Archbishop Ndingi Mwana ‘a Zeki of the Catholic Church, who served for long as the archbishop in Nakuru diocese, not only spoke truth to power, but also held to account former dictator President Daniel arap Moi and the ruling Kanu party hawks.
These architects of social justice condemned rampant institutional state corruption, abuse of human rights, the instigators of ethnic land clashes and faced Moi and Kanu’s monolithic one-party rule head-on, without fear. The constant harassment and death of some of these icons of democracy and pillars of social justice coincided with the explosion of evangelical/Pentecostal Christianity in the country. This type of Christianity prides itself in the democratisation of charisma, in which any charlatan, without any theological education or training whatsoever, simply emerges, starts a one-man church, ordains himself and thereafter, creates a business empire run solely by his family members.
This calibre of evangelical/Pentecostal leaders usually frown upon theological training and are impervious to any institutional systems of control because they would like to remain accountable only to themselves. This is not to state that there is indeed evangelical/Pentecostal clergy that is composed of men and women of integrity.
Social scientists theorise that this kind of behaviour by some of these religious charlatans is encouraged by the moral decadence of the political class and a corrupt state. The Kenyan state, as currently constituted, is characterised by wanton corruption, theft of public coffers, exclusion of minorities and certain regions of the country, rampant tribalism in the government, all of which have impoverished the masses and left them extremely vulnerable to these religious charlatans who have spawned a multi-million shilling industry.
Kenyan politicians are some of the highest paid public servants in the world, whose sole concern, it seems, is self-aggrandisement and primitive accumulation of riches. It is no wonder that religious leaders seem to gain trust in situations where the population is highly susceptible to political and socio-economic vulnerabilities. This, today, is the stark reality of many Kenyans. Unemployment is rife among the youth, the healthcare facilities across the country are wanting and cancer, among other life-threatening diseases, are claiming scores of Kenyans, while the government has yet to come up with effective policies that can mitigate these problems.
In situations like this, people become desperate and look to supernatural powers to find meaning and solace, hoping for divine answers to their pain and frustrations. Research in the global South points to similar scenarios, especially in Latin America where evangelical creed has been spreading like the Amazon forest fires that have been wreaking havoc in Brazil and Bolivia in the past several weeks.
SAPs and the proliferation of Pentecostal Christianity
The infamous structural adjustments programmes (SAPs) of the late 1970s and 1980s led to the collapse of social infrastructure, particularly in the education and health sectors, which put tremendous strain on public service delivery. The impact of SAPs was felt across the African continent. It also, in a manner of speaking, heralded the proliferation of evangelical/Pentecostal and charismatic churches that many politico-economy observers have directly linked to the SAPs crisis. Impoverished by the debilitating effects of SAPs, many Kenyans and Africans in general turned to the deliverance and faith healing ministries to cater for their daily existential problems and to dull their socio-economic sufferings.
Kenyan politicians are some of the highest paid public servants in the world, whose sole concern, it seems, is self-aggrandisement and primitive accumulation of riches. It is no wonder that religious leaders seem to gain trust in situations where the population is highly susceptible to political and socio-economic vulnerabilities.
Since then, Pentecostalism has become a thriving business and the shortest route to wealth accumulation and influence in a continent teeming with a population explosion, environmental degradation, climate change, ethnic conflicts and internecine wars, disease, massive unemployment and grinding poverty.
Evangelical pastors turned to employing all manner of tricks and techniques to exhort money from their gullible flock. They built costly magnificent churches, bought luxurious cars and houses, and generally continue to live opulent lives while their church members languish and wallow in grim poverty, misery and squalor.
The pastors tell the faithful to give money to God so that God can bless them in return. They dupe the flock by telling them that divine favours come to those who pay their tithes and offerings regularly. Often, they use the biblical injunctions such as “givers never lack” to squeeze money out of people. Pentecostal pastors also claim to have healing powers that can make the deaf hear, the blind see and the lame walk. Self-styled archbishop Gilbert Deya (of the babies’ disappearance scam saga) has been one such pastor.
In a continent with crippled medical facilities, often plagued by lack of medicine and medical equipment, claims of divine healing and miracles by some of the duplicitous evangelical/Pentecostal ministers have abounded, with disastrous effects. These pastors have always preyed on the impoverished masses that cannot afford proper medical care. They take advantage of the broken healthcare system and the helplessness of poor people. They offer ineffective prayers and supposed healing crusades to enrich themselves. The healthcare crisis in Africa has bred desperation and fomented the desire for miracles, faith healing and deliverance sessions in the hope of getting cured.
At prayer healing services in some Pentecostal churches, pastors invite people infected with HIV/AIDS to the pulpit for public healing prayers. After the dramatic prayers, the infected people are asked to throw away their antiretroviral medications and consider themselves healed.
The presumed healing prayers of the pastors are not free, and many desperate people spend a fortune paying for those prayers. These prayers continue to be administered, even as the believers’ conditions worsen and some eventually die. Desperation, stigma, family rejection and fear of witchcraft drives people into a never-ending search for miracles and cure from healing crusades and prayer rallies.
Moral failure of leadership
The growing rise of political influence and power among the Pentecostals has made them almost untouchable. Many have weaved their way into politics, becoming political influencers who shape debates and drive policy. Hence, anybody critical of the Pentecostal pastors is faced with their wrath, resistance, and condemnation from their enthusiastic members who are in government and politics.
When the former Attorney General Prof Githu Mugai published a proposed regulatory framework to control rogue clergy and religious organisations in Kenya, certain politicians, both from the ruling Jubilee party and the opposition, claimed that the government wanted to muzzle freedom of worship. The Religious Societies Rule published by the Attorney General Office in 2016 required, among other things, religious bodies to have a constitution that explicitly showed their doctrinal belief. It also required these bodies to be registered by the government, to be open to scrutiny, and above all, that pastors to have as a minimum a theology certificate from a credible and recognised institution of higher learning. Yet, the truth of the matter is that many Kenyans are still opposed and reluctant to see religious bodies regulated by the government, their public outcry about the pastors’ waywardness notwithstanding.
At prayer healing services in some Pentecostal churches, pastors invite people infected with HIV/AIDS to the pulpit for public healing prayers. After the dramatic prayers, the infected people are asked to throw away their antiretroviral medications and consider themselves healed.
The question of the day then has always been: are our Christians that gullible or are they just desperate? There is no doubt that many Christians are searching for a moral vocabulary when grappling with social and economic hard times. This is what makes them gullible. For many, church is a space to be in community with one another – a space for healing – both emotional and physically. It is a space for spiritual fellowship, for easing pain and negotiating identities and relationships. Peoples’ involvement in these type of churches cannot be exactly pinned on any particular issues. Instead, it is a function of a complexity of issues that are not just spiritual, but that are also personal and communal. During times of crisis, people turn to the church to be in community.
In many parts of Africa, the majority of the people are perpetually living in moments of one crisis after another. They feel lost, alone and in need of moral guidance. They look up to their clergy to provide a moral universe and leadership and space for healing. Indubitably, some rogue clergy have taken advantage of this perilous situation to speak the language that the gullible Christian wants to hear.
It is a challenge that many African governments grapple with every day. In 2004, the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission (NBC) banned the broadcasting of “miracles” on national television. Faith healing happens to be the greatest threat to scientific medical advancement and healthcare delivery in Africa. President Paul Kagame of Rwanda deregistered nearly 8,000 churches and demanded that the clergy get theological education before they open a church.
The greatest threat of Pentecostalism is its unregulated clergy and the moral failure of its leadership. Although other Christian denominations also suffer from this moral crisis, Pentecostalism seems to have been affected the most. Deeply embedded within the Pentecostalism’s ethos is a personality cult. Evangelical charismatic leaders are often virtually worshipped by many of their followers. Averse to proper theological education, they instead claim to have the power of the Holy Spirit as their sole teacher. Oftentimes, supported by their fanatical followers, these leaders, become small gods who cannot be questioned. In a “Christian” country like Kenya, these type of church leaders become very powerful and attractive to influential political elites.
In 2004, the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission (NBC) banned the broadcasting of “miracles” on national television. Faith healing happens to be the greatest threat to scientific medical advancement and healthcare delivery in Africa.
It is this power and godlike behaviour that leads many of the Pentecostal pastors to deal with the churches’ coffers as their personal money and church properties as their family business. While there are Pentecostal churches, such as Christ Is The Answer Ministries (CITAM), that have instituted structures and policies to handle cases of financial and pastoral misconduct, ineptitude and impropriety, many of these “personalised” evangelical churches find it hard to work within systems.
In Kenya, evangelical/Pentecostal and charismatic churches are under the Evangelical Alliance of Kenya (EAK), but it is not clear whether they have a system of checks and balances to regulate their churches. To the best of my knowledge, there is no body that regulates the so-called independent churches in Kenya and their ministers. A favourite Bible verse favoured by these pastors that says, “touch not my anointed” (Psalms 105:15) is always flashed by these ministers to fend off and stifle criticism of any kind.
Pastors Kanyari and Ng’ang’a are a power unto themselves. Many well-meaning Christians have decried such rogue religious leaders in Kenya, prompting observers to ask if religion is indeed the bane of Kenyan society. This is because of their recklessness, waywardness, lack of moral rectitude and their nefarious activities, not to mention the source of their wealth, which they always flaunt with abandon.
Kenya and Nigeria, comprise some of the most highly religious societies in Africa, but they are at the same time two of the most corrupt countries in Africa, if not in the world, according to Transparency International (TI)’s Corruption Perceptions Index. Since it was launched in 1995, Kenya has always been ranked in the bottom half of the countries surveyed – a paradox but one that we have to contend with.
The same is the case with South Africa, Uganda and Zimbabwe. An authentic church leadership has been always critical in fighting political and socio-economic ills in society. Yet, once it is co-opted by the state, it ceases to identify itself with the people and their societal struggles and finds itself silent in the face of wanton corruption perpetrated by the state’s aficionados.
The making of cult leaders
Ever since he burst into the public limelight in 2004, Prophet Owuor of the Repentance and Holiness ministry travels like the President of Kenya, his “presidential-like” motorcade complete with sirens, chase cars and top-of-the-range fuel guzzlers. Meanwhile, his fanatical followers clean the roads he is passing on with soap and detergent. Never mind that his members have never engaged in a public drive to clean the environment, even as a religious corporate responsibility.
In fact, Owuor’s rallies leave heaps of garbage at crusade venues, where tree branches are cut in celebration of purported miracles performed by the “Lord of the mightiest…mightiest of prophets,” of Yehovah, as Owuor is referred to by his followers. He is always received on a red carpet and his podium is decorated like that of a president, complete with a “presidential chair” called the “Lord’s Chair” that is always carried around wherever he goes. Prophet Owuor is clearly a man obsessed with temporal powers, even as he apparently flaunts his supposedly spiritual powers.
Ever since he burst into the public limelight in 2004, Prophet Owuor of the Repentance and Holiness ministry travels like the President of Kenya, his “presidential-like” motorcade complete with sirens, chase cars and top-of-the-range fuel guzzlers.
His retinue of security people (some of whom are believed to be from the disciplined forces) provide him with state-like security. A body count of his security detail revealed up to 24 armed men. Prophet Owuor’s religious high-handedness has led observers to wonder about the “securitisation of religion” and “religionisation of the state” in Kenya. His motorcade often causes a stir as ordinary motorists are forced off the road to make room for Kenya’s spiritual president.
The reasons for such overt displays of extravagance, opulence and power by these religious charlatans are ostensibly to pump up their egos and prove to ordinary mortals that they are extraordinary. This show of imagined “spiritual” power is obviously manufactured by people suffering from megalomania and a false sense of deep personal importance and self-love that implicitly suggests that they would like to be treated as demigods.
The tragedy of this crude display of raw power and ostentatious wealth is that it is all derived from manipulation, and very often through excessive and unsustainable debt. Followers who question the profligate lifestyle of Prophet Owuor have been known to be intimated and threatened with the curse of catching terminal ailments such as cancer and being involved in freak fatal car accidents.
The other cultish manifestation is the tendency towards the supernatural and the spectacular. The signs and wonders of “miracles” include healing, raising people from the dead, prophesying, and sharing of visions. Never mind that the majority of these miracles are frequently stage-managed using actors and actresses, psychological tools or modern technologies. Owuor has often circulated tens of images of him being transfigured, doubled and tripled. Similarly, he has circulated images of the sun clapping at him, the glory shining on him and other such theatrics. All these serve to attract and keep his members intact, and to maintain the hierarchical power structure. There is no mistaking that Owuor considers himself as the only “true” prophet.
His ministry was recently been embroiled in a sex scandal, in which his most trusted lieutenant and right-hand man was accused by several church women of cunningly sleeping with them. The women described Owuor’s acolyte and bishop of Kasarani area as a deceitful man who lured female worshippers to his house in Nairobi, oftentimes in the ungodly dark hours, to have carnal knowledge with them. The excuse he would use to entrap them was always prayers to cast out the demons that were hiding in their bodies. Why those demons needed to be chased away in the dead of the night and when the women were completely nude, only the bishop can explain. Until, the exposé in the last week of August 2019, the issue of sex pests within Owuor’s closely-knit inner circle was the worst kept secret.
The adoration and veneration of these so-called “men of God” is another distinguishing characteristic of cultism. The “Apostle,” “prophet” and “messiah”, is imaged as the chosen one, God’s messenger, the dispenser of blessings and curses, grace, health and even wealth. In the case of Owuor, he is the beholder of the golden keys to heaven, and he alone has the powers to bless people to eternity or lock them out completely. These spiritual elites also supposedly have one-to-one conversations with God, not once, but sometimes several times in a day. For Owuor, Jesus Christ actually comes down from his throne to lie and sleep on his feet.
In seeking to display their cult-like tendencies, these type of leaders catastrophically end up dividing and isolating church members from their family, friends and even their community. Some of the Prophet Owuor’s followers that I spoke to recounted harrowing experiences and heart-wrenching stories of isolation of members who were portrayed as evil and sinful. Stringent control of church women on what they should wear, how they should wear it and even how to comport themselves are some of the control measures that afflict Owuor’s followers. One time as he held his crusade in Nakuru, I asked one of his adherents why some men and women were wrapped in curtains and he told me, “They are not to engage in sexual intercourse before and during the crusade. The Prophet demands that they abstain from connubial activities until he is done with the crusade.” Some of Prophet Owuor’s members have resorted to not shaking hands with non-church members.
Owuor’s ministry has a long list of do’s and don’ts for his followers, which include among other things, what to wear, how to speak and who to speak to. This exclusionism of members in his church has generated tremendous interest from a bewildered public. Testimonies of families breaking up are common in the church.
Another tell-tale sign of a cultist movement is the craze about possessing high-sounding titles. Owuor has more titles than any other religious charlatan I know of. Yet, followers of such leaders, educated or not, are always awed by such grandiose titles. They always seem to be intrigued by religious power and sometimes some just want to have a new religious experience.
Prophet Owuor has attracted a significant number of academics, civil servants and professionals who legitimise his cult-like image. Apparently, they are attracted by their leader’s lofty education status. It is through such obeisance of deep faith and trust, a great need to belong, sincerity, spiritual manipulation and vulnerability and isolation that gives rise to this kind of spiritual abuse.
Rogue clergy and religious charlatans are increasingly becoming a national crisis in Kenya. There has been pressure from the public for the government to tame this wayward “Christian industry” by introducing stiff regulations. Yet, the question of the people’s apparent gullibility cannot be wished away.
Why is it that they do not seem to learn from past experiences of busted rogue pastors? The Kenya government is, therefore, caught in between protecting freedoms of expression and putting a stop to religious malevolence. The government regulating the religious organisations is one thing, it is another for these faith-based organisations to also put their houses in order and regulate themselves as well if they hope to reclaim their integrity and respect.
The ‘Othering’ of Somalis and How This Impacts Kenya’s War on Terror
15 min read. IBRAHIM MAGARA argues that instead of exploring opportunities to heal wounds, and mending ties in pursuit of the national interest, specifically national security, the Kenyan state has adopted counterterrorism approaches and strategies that are deeply divisive and historically and contextually insensitive.
Since September 11, 2001, the war on terror and associated programmes, such as countering violent extremism (CVE), have been a major focus of attention among experts drawn from a multiplicity of sectors and disciplines. The “war on terror” has been an evolving yet controversial realm of academic inquiry and policy discourse whose implementation is characterised by controversial conceptual contours and dramatic practical turns, with important challenges both in the United States (its origins) and abroad. It is a war that remains as elusive in actuality as it is contested as a concept.
So far one cannot confidently point at any known example of a society that has waged and won this war and indeed there is scepticism as to whether any will for the simple reason that that the said war is unconventional. Perhaps the best-known way to win the war on terror is not to start one. But Kenya has, over the years, positioned itself as an unswerving ally of the West, particularly the US, in this war and as such the country is already deeply engaged in one.
This then raises the question about what we know about better ways, if any, of going about the war on terror and CVE. A lot of commentators on this subject have consistently argued for the need to focus on “winning hearts and minds”, particularly of members of the affected society – the so-called “at risk” groups – as a better approach to CVE programmes and addressing the menace of terrorism broadly understood. This entails, among others, the ability to create and diligently transact on a counter-narrative to sentiments of violent extremism with the aim of winning the confidence of the most affected communities in view of (i) dissuading those already engaged in this barbarism; (ii) reducing and hopefully eventually eliminating new recruitments and; (iii) recruiting and deploying the concerned and/or “at risk” community as an ally in the fight against the vice.
In the case of Kenya, and following the said logic, therefore, the Kenyan Somali community, given its strong national and cultural ties with Somalia (the base of Al Shabaab), is a major player which must be constructively and meaningfully engaged if the country is to make any significant gains in as far as the so-called war on terror and CVE programmes are concerned. However, I argue that there is a little problem here given the fact that the Kenyan state and the Somali community have historically not enjoyed good relations, hence raising the question about how such antagonism negatively impacts Kenya’s CVE programmes and its approach to the war on terror in general.
The cost of terror
Having suffered numerous attacks, stretching from the 7 August 1998 bombing of the US embassy in Nairobi by elements linked to Al Qaeda to this year’s attack on the dusitD2 hotel complex in upmarket Nairobi, Kenya has undoubtedly paid a huge price with regard to terrorism, just as it has had its share of challenges related to CVE. Even as the country marks the 21st anniversary of the 1998 bombing that claimed over 200 lives, the risk of terror lurks, its smell lingers with its dangers obviously palpable as are its scars.
In the case of Kenya, and following the said logic, therefore, the Kenyan Somali community, given its strong national and cultural ties with Somalia (the base of Al Shabaab), is a major player which must be constructively and meaningfully engaged if the country is to make any significant gains in as far as the so-called war on terror and CVE programmes are concerned.
The impact of Al Shabaab’s reinvention and sophistication was first felt in Kenya and indeed the world during the Westgate mall attack on 21 September 2013 that left 68 dead and more than 200 wounded. Before this incident, Al Shabaab was associated with arguably low-level attacks, such as hurling grenades and/or improvised explosive devices (IEDs) at groups of people in public spaces, such as churches, mosques, markets and bus stops, coupled with incidents of hijackings and kidnappings, especially in the north-eastern and coastal regions of the country.
After Westgate, two other complex attacks have been executed by Al Shabaab that not only led to loss of life, but also caused untold pain to Kenya and Kenyans. These were the Garissa University attack on April 2, 2015 in which 147 people, most of them students, were killed and the dusitD2 hotel complex attack on 15 January this year that left 21 dead. Such attacks have raised questions about Kenya’s preparedness, its ability to deter such attacks and/or deal with them, and most importantly, whether there are assurances of non-recurrence.
The number of Kenyans who have since died as a result of Al Shabaab attacks is certainly staggering. While this is the case, the Kenyan government has arguably not put in place measures to ensure and assure its public and the world that such horrifying attacks will not happen again. Furthermore, the number and frequency of low-level attacks, especially targeting security personnel in the north-eastern region, is worrisome. Even more disturbing is what I call the “kawaidaness” (near normalisation) with which a section of Kenyan society is increasingly greeting the news of the latter kind of attacks.
It is no secret that Al Shabaab still remains a huge threat to Kenya and the region. The terror group appears to have been able to manipulate religion and other historical dynamics, such as Kenya’s troubled internal divisions and worsening political and economic fragmentation along regional and ethnic lines, to further its cause, making it a resilient monster and most importantly an enemy from within whose rise can be seen, in part, as a direct result of the Kenyan state’s (in collaboration with foreign allies) approach to CVE and the war on terror.
The problematic framing of CVE
Following the recent wave of white supremacist attacks in the US, some minority groups, particularly Muslims, including those from Somalia, have continued to express their displeasure with the profiling that is associated with the US’s CVE programmes. Such programmes have been criticised as being vehicles for profiling and criminalising Muslims and other marginalised communities. Similar programmes in the UK under “Prevent” among others, requires all public workers (for example, every public school teacher) to report on radicalisation, solidifying what can be seen as a new channel of “the school-to-prison pipeline” largely affecting immigrants, especially from countries that are predominantly Muslim and Arab.
These kinds of skewed CVE and war on terror programmes and approaches are certainly deeply problematic since they not only create resentment but also provide a clear path through which the targeted communities’ vulnerability to violent radicalisation may actually increase, hence ultimately becoming counter-productive. These kinds of programmes, disguised as security measures, are not by any means new in the world. For example, in the US, there has been the so-called Black Identity Extremist (BIE) programme that has historically been used by the FBI to portray black activists as terrorists and a violent threat to law enforcement, thus creating a dangerous nexus of CVE and BIE with black Muslims as the target of close monitoring and containment.
Some commentators have argued that BIE, Prevent and similar CVE programmes, particularly in the West, are never designed to counter-violence. On the contrary, they are directed at suppressing dissent from marginalised communities, hence their focus is on individual acts rather than the systemic roots of violence. As such CVE programmes are not only ineffective but actually possible avenues of breeding and exacerbating different types and levels of violence, including what is conceived as violent extremism, radicalisation and terrorism in many jurisdictions, including both in the global North and the global South, including Kenya.
Another problem that is closely related to these constructs and approaches is the “othering” associated with how the states in question decide who is “at risk” or who are the “concerned communities”. For example, looking at one of the CVE programmes in Boston, it is interesting to note that it outlines and documents social and economic trauma faced by the Somali community. Then it proceeds to lay out as one of the key solutions to such a social problem the establishment of opportunities and platforms through which the local police spend time with Somali youth aged between 13 and 17 years. It becomes difficult to ascertain if and how this is less humiliating and insulting than other programmes that, for instance, target similar sections of society with mental health support. This is for the simple reason that such programming has already judged and, in most cases, condemned, albeit covertly, a certain group of people as being dangerous, hence in need of help; otherwise they are terrorists, at least in potency.
Some commentators have argued that BIE, Prevent and similar CVE programmes, particularly in the West, are never designed to counter-violence. On the contrary, they are directed at suppressing dissent from marginalised communities, hence their focus is on individual acts rather than the systemic roots of violence.
In short, what runs across such conceptions and praxis is a thoroughgoing governmentality with a long history of criminalisation of marginalised communities, which unfortunately is not an answer to violence but a tool to constantly exclude and then justify the suppression of official state-sanctioned oppression on the grounds of those groups being potential producers of insecurity and/or disruptors of peace and harmony. This is exactly what is happening in Kenya with the securitisation and militarisation of the Somali territories operating within a complex context of historical marginalisation based on contested Somali identity.
The history of the problem
As pastoralists scattered across the vast “wastelands” in the north-eastern part of Kenya, Somalis have historically largely survived in immense isolation, often under deplorable social and economic conditions away from the public domain and far from the centre, neither contributing much to national development nor sufficiently benefitting from economic and political gains that the country has been making since independence. This is, however, changing significantly, given the Somalis’ current ventures into and gains from business and trade.
Somalis have equally been victims of state-led violence of atrocious nature committed across the years, including during the irredentist Shifta War and a number of massacres, such as the Wagalla and Garissa massacres, which collectively saw the killing of over 8,000 Somalis
Somali territories have historically remained highly securitised and militarised. It only takes a road trip from Garissa – just across the Tana River – to Mandera and you will easily appreciate this fact. I recall that during my frequent travels to the region between 2016 and 2018, my driver often jokingly said that “sasa tumevuka mpaka wa Kenya” once we crossed the security check, which is curiously right on top of the Garissa Bridge.
As pastoralists scattered across the vast “wastelands” in the north-eastern part of Kenya, Somalis have historically largely survived in immense isolation, often under deplorable social and economic conditions away from the public domain and far from the centre, neither contributing much to national development nor sufficiently benefitting from economic and political gains that the country has been making since independence.
There are numerous accounts by experts tracing the history of the rise of Somali nationalism in the 1950-60s, the subsequent Kenya-Somalia border controversy and the associated cessation ideology and Shifta War. The systematic historical and contemporaneous alienation of the Somalis is traceable to the rise of Somali nationalism beginning towards the end of the 19th century into early 20th century. This was around the time of the advent of European colonisation and the partitioning of Somali-inhabited territories between Western powers.
The partitioning of the Somali nation between the British, the French, the Italians, and the Ethiopians was a critical moment in the political history of Somalis in the Horn of Africa. The permanent fragmentation of the Somali key grazing areas, which occurred when the British handed over the Somali-dominated, and still contested, Ogaden in 1948 and Hawd areas in 1954 to Ethiopians, was to follow. This set in motion not only one of the most disputed border areas in the Horn of Africa that renewed Somali resistance regionally, but also lay the foundation for Somalis’ later notions of “ambiguous citizenship in Kenya”
The years leading to independence for both Somalia and Kenya were epitomised by intensified Somali political disturbances, which were repeatedly echoed in various means. The growth of nationalistic ideology led to the establishment of political parties, such as the Somaliland National League (SNL) and the Somali Youth League (SYL), with goals of furthering Somali nationalism
The quest for Somali unity does not fall too far from Al Shabaab’s dubious claims to unite the Somali people, especially the youth, and guard them against external (particularly Western) corruption, which resonates well with ideologies of Boko Haram in Nigeria and ISIS in the Middle East.
We should not forget that before undergoing the two dramatic transformations that have led to the lethal terror group that Al Shabaab has become, the group was originally a youth militia associated with the relatively moderate Islamic Courts Union (ICU) that rose to power in Somalia in early 2006 with the aim of establishing an Islamist state in Somalia.
Perhaps the only nuance in the historical clamour for a Pan-Somali ideology is an emphasis on the need for the said Greater Somalia to be an Islamic state, which was always a factor anyway, although it was not as heavily pronounced back then as it has been in recent years. It is an ideology that Al Shabaab has continued to exploit and package in religious propaganda in furtherance of its terror activities. To this end, I think, we cannot dissociate the historical clamour for Somali unity with Kenya’s current challenges with the war on terror for the simple reason that the search for an all-inclusive Somali state was an unwelcome idea for the Kenyan authorities and had to be quashed at all costs and by adoption of all means, as was witnessed during the Shifta War.
The Kenya-Somalia border dispute was one of the earliest post-colonial border controversies and one that presented unprecedented challenges for the newly independent state, with Kenya adopting a militaristic pacification approach to quash the ideology. Revisiting such history is important, especially at a time when Kenya is again locked in an escalating territorial dispute with Somalia
While Somali leaders believed in the unity of the Somali people irrespective of the flags under which they lived, the Kenyan leadership, on the other hand, perceived the demands by the Somali population as an outright act of aggression on its territorial integrity. However, this is not a creation of the governments of independent Kenya since, in many significant ways, the strained relations between the Kenyan state and the Somali community is an inheritance from the colonial state’s blunders, including a referendum held in 1962 in the Northern Frontier District (NFD) regarding the political future of the inhabitants of the area, whose results the colonial government did not follow through, particularly due to opposition by Kenyan leaders who were serving in the colonial government, notably Jomo Kenyatta and Ronald Ngala
Expectedly, under Kenyatta, who had argued that no inch of Kenyan territory should cede, the newly-established post-colonial Kenyan state threw a cordon sanitaire around Somali territories of the country the same way the colonial government did. This meant that social, economic, cultural, and political activities of Somalis were seriously curtailed and human rights abuses against them intensified, marking the beginning of a bitter resistance (the Shifta War) whose consequences were historically disastrous and whose scars, particularly among the Somalis populations, remain to date. This became a major turning point in the “othering” of Somalis in Kenya, with far-reaching implications, especially as regards current CVE and war on terror.
The othering of Kenyan Somalis
The othering of the Somali community in Kenya is perhaps one of the single most important factors fanning the historical marginalisation and current identity contestation. This othering is characterised by stereotyping, with symbolically fixed boundaries including popular narratives about the Somali community’s inability to integrate. It takes a simple observation of the patterns of the Somali lifestyle in urban set-ups like Nairobi to determine that they indeed live in same and specific locations, do business in specific spaces etc.
The historical disavowal of Kenya’s Somalis is based on several fetishes of differences relating to their language, culture and religion, but also with its own poetics, deeply invested in power as a product of discursive and hegemonic practices well theorised in mainstream discourse analyses. Under colonial rule, Somalis were stereotyped as “hostile”, “warlike” or “warriors”, concepts that the Kenyan government and the non-Somali Kenyan public seem to have easily accepted without question; they are assumed and adopted as true representations of Somali identity. This has come with a huge cost, as experienced through the so-called “violence of decolonisation” and indeed current struggle with homegrown extremist violence, which the majority of the Somali youth are perceived as highly exposed to.
The othering of the Somali community in Kenya is perhaps one of the single most important factors fanning the historical marginalisation and current identity contestation. This othering is characterised by stereotyping, with symbolically fixed boundaries including popular narratives about the Somali community’s inability to integrate.
The lack of integration of the Somali community and lack of interaction between them and the non-Somali populations in Kenya exist in and furthers relations of mutual suspicion. But since the government is seen as controlled by the non-Somali communities, the Somalis are simply victims of asymmetric relations in which they are viewed by the rest as troublesome. It takes a little attentiveness to the public mood and you will tell that such sentiments are heavily pronounced every time there is a terror attack. In such times, suspicion of the Somalis seems to surge and a lot of ordinary non-Somali Kenyans create a narrative that is openly aggressive to Somalis but somehow, with the help of the posture and conduct of the state, such aggressiveness is normalised.
It reminds me of an incident in 2015 after the Garissa attack when I attended a function in Nairobi in the company of a Somali driver who was wearing a kanzu. At some point after midday, he wanted to go for prayers in a mosque across the road and so he came to where I was to inform me about it. As he walked away, someone remarked, albeit jokingly, if “we were safe”, a statement that I found offensive, not only to my colleague but to Somalis and any reasonable person really. Of course, I raised my concern over the same, to which the said person casually apologised. This was especially annoying given the stature of the person in question and the nature of the event. It goes to show that as a society there is a prevalent perception about Somalis that we have been reluctant to interrogate in relation to the bigger discourse on terrorism.
The othering narrative discursively accentuates the distorted imagery of the Somalis as “warlike” or as the “enemy of the Kenyan state” and even birthed the derogatorily yet normalised stereotype of “wariah”, which is a rather unconscious continuation of the colonial representation of their identity as “warriors” by the public. This stereotype of Somalis has undoubtedly influenced the Kenyan government’s perceptions and handling of the Somalis but also positions the wider public against the Somali community.
It should not be lost on us that by the time the NFD was handed over to the post-independent Kenyan government, stereotypes of “warlike” Somalis contributed to the beginning of anti-Somali sentiments, with an emergence of more derogatory repertoires mutating and normalised over time, ranging from “shiftas”, “wariah”, “bandits’, “jangili”, “Al Shabab”, “Al Shabaab sympathisers”, and most recently, “cash points”. Such images, real or imaginary, have continued to influence the Kenyan authorities’ behaviour towards the Somalis, leading to gross violations of human rights, for instance as was witnessed during Operation Usalama Watch that followed the Westgate attack. The historical othering was discursively articulated by portraying the Somali quest for independence as “secessionist” and its people as being anti the Kenyan state.
It is simply the nuanced formulation of such configuration that justifies the current narrative that associates Somalis with terrorism, or at least as sympathisers of Al Shabaab, and hence collectively perceived and dealt with as a threat to national security. Regardless of the political rhetoric of unity, the actions of the government and the mood of the general public regarding the place of Somalis in the wider scheme of CVE and the war on terror are that the community is a “problem to be fixed” – the same logic employed by the CVE programmes in the West, particularly in the US and the UK.
The relationship of antagonism between the state and the Somali community causes anxiety and uncertainty, especially at this critical moment when the state desperately needs genuine input from the Somali community if its CVE programme and the wider war on terror is to “succeed”. While there is a need for a sense of national unity and pride (patriotism) in the campaign against terrorism and extremist violence, the Somali othering obstinately negates the sense of that value by revealing the ambivalences of the Kenyan state as a stable unified entity, which creates fault lines that continue to be exploited to the advantage of terrorists, particularly Al Shabaab.
It should not be lost on us that by the time the NFD was handed over to the post-independent Kenyan government, stereotypes of “warlike” Somalis contributed to the beginning of anti-Somali sentiments, with an emergence of more derogatory repertoires mutating and normalised over time, ranging from “shiftas”, “wariah”, “bandits’, “jangili”, “Al Shabab”, “Al Shabaab sympathisers”, and most recently, “cash points”.
Furthermore, this othering continues to be reinvented and redeployed as a tool for Kenya’s own precarious constitution as a “nation” but also as a justification for the perceived Somali revolt against their own country, including their indifference to the war on terror and government’s CVE programmes.
Which way now for CVE and war on terror?
Now that Kenya is already deep in the problematic war on terror, it is imperative to keep up the tempo of counterterrorism operations in order to eliminate threats and degrade the capabilities of militants, particularly Al Shabaab. Indeed, nothing can justify terrorism and violent extremism, but we must also acknowledge that they do not arise in a vacuum. As the United Nations Secretary-General (UN-SG) rightly notes, “actual or perceived injustice and promised empowerment become attractive wherever human rights are being violated, good governance is being ignored and aspirations are being crushed.” He particularly singles out state violence and abuse of power as “tipping point” for terror.
If the Kenyan state is to make and/or consolidate its gains, if any, on the war on terror, it must deeply reflect on its positionality in regard to the conception and approaches that it has since adopted and experimented on. This includes, but is not limited to, a genuine appraisal of how the state’s perception and handling of the Somali community undermine the country’s own efforts against extremist violence.
To address any type of violence, society must focus on the structures that disadvantage certain groups, including historically marginalised communities – not just obvious physical violence, but also structural violence, such as that related to and sustained by inequities. This is for the simple reason that violence, including terrorism, emerges and survives in environments of identity contestation, hence ultimately insurgencies are best defeated by political legitimacy.
In its attempts to tackle the drivers and enablers of extreme violence, Kenya needs to open a political conversation on the county’s painful history and create a platform through which to forge a future that promises opportunities for all its people. This is one of the pathways to enacting in its people the sense of patriotism and national unity that are vital ingredients in the struggle against insurgency and the ever-changing terrain of security challenges. This calls for re-imagination of ingenious and pragmatic approaches in forging solidarity in addressing the pressing security concerns of our time.
Unfortunately, instead of exploring opportunities to heal wounds, as suggested by the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC), and mending ties in pursuit of the national interest, specifically national security, it appears that the war on terror and approaches to CVE that the Kenyan state continues to adopt are deeply Western and historically and contextually insensitive. Hence they actually contribute to reproducing and deepening antagonism between the state and a section of its own society, thereby significantly undermining the former’s security objectives.
One then wonders if and how Kenya’s current CVE programme and counterterrorism strategies, tilted to Western framings and laden with American bias, will succeed. It certainly is a problematic issue area, especially when the CVE within the purview of the war on terror is perceived as nothing other than a violent return of the colonial past, with its split geographies of “us” and “them”; “civilization” and “barbarism”; and “good” and “evil”.
Without any intention whatsoever to validate such grave claims and conspiracies, one would want to seriously consider the implication of certain narratives that are prevalent in Kenyan society, especially during and around terror attacks. Issues, such as claims of Al Shabaab discrimination during attacks and/or conspiracy theories such as that there was word among Somalis about the impending attack at the Garissa University College, calls on experts to reflect deeply on such matters and place them in their historical-political context as they wrestle with the process of meaning-making of Kenya’s prospects as far as the war on terror is concerned and the positionality of the Somali community in these complex dynamics.
Xenophobia in South Africa: A Consequence of the Unfinished Business of Decolonisation in Africa
8 min read. The recent Afrophobic attacks in South Africa are symptoms of a deeper problem that has its roots in the Berlin Conference of 1884-1885.
South Africa has consistently experienced cyclical xenophobic flaring that has dented its image in Africa and in the world. The country continues to receive a high number of both documented and undocumented migrants as it has become a top destination in South-to- South migration. Beyond its geographical proximity to other African states, the current migration patterns have to be understood as a consequence of history and as such the xenophobic flaring has to be read as an unfinished business of decolonisation in Africa.
History created two processes that shaped Africa’s politics and economies, even up to today, creating a complex conundrum for our policy makers. Firstly, the Berlin conference created artificial borders and nations that remain problematic today. These borders were not fashioned to address the political and economic interests of Africans but the imperial powers of Europe. Institutions and infrastructure were created to service the imperial interests, and this remains the status quo despite more than four decades of independence in Africa. Secondly, Cecil John Rhodes’ dream of “Cape to Cairo” became the basis upon which the modern economy was built in Africa. This created what the late Malawian political economist, Guy Mhone, called an enclave economy of prosperity amidst poverty, and resultantly created what Mahmood Mamdani termed the bifurcated state, with citizens and subjects.
A closer look at the African state’s formation history provides insights on the continuities of colonial institutions and continuous marginalisation of Africans as the state was never fashioned to address their political and economic interests from the beginning.
Drawing on classical African political economists, this article argues that, unknowingly, the South African government and in particular, the African National Congress (ANC) leadership, a former liberation movement, have fallen into the trap of the logic of the underlying colonial epistemologies informing migration debates in Africa. The Afrophobic attacks in South Africa fly in the face of Africa’s founding fathers, such as Nkrumah, Nyerere, Machel, Kaunda and Mandela, and of the African Union’s dream of a borderless African economy and society.
In his essay “In Defence of History”, Professor Hobsbawm challenges us to read history in its totality:
However, the new perspectives on history should also return us to that essential, if never quite realisable, objective of those who study the past: “total history”. Not a “history of everything”, but history as an indivisible web in which all human activities are interconnected.
It is when we read history in its totality that we are able to make connections about the relations between the past, present and future. Looked at closely, the current xeno/Afro-phobia insurrections engulfing South Africa have to be read within the totality of history. Therefore, this piece argues that the xeno/Afro-phobia flarings that have been gripping South Africa ever since 2008, and which have cast South Africa it in bad light within the African continent, are contrary to the ethos of Pan-Africanism and are largely a product of the history of the scramble and partition of Africa at the Berlin Conference of 1884-1885.
Whose borders? Remembering the Ghosts of Berlin
By the beginning of the 1870s, European nations were in search of natural resources to grow their industries and at the same expand markets for their products. This prompted strong conflict amongst European superpowers and in late 1884, Otto von Bismarck, the then German Chancellor, called for a meeting in Berlin of various representatives of European nations. The objective was to agree on “common policy for colonisation and trade in Africa and the drawing of colonial state boundaries in the official partition of Africa”.
The xenophobic/Afrophobic attacks in South Africa fly in the face of Africa’s founding fathers, such as Nkrumah, Nyerere, Machel, Kaunda and Mandela, and of the African Union’s dream of a borderless African economy and society.
At the end of the Berlin Conference, the “European powers had neatly divided Africa up amongst themselves, drawing the boundaries of Africa much as we know them today”. It was at this conference that European superpowers set in motion a process that set boundaries that have continued to shape present-day Africa. Remember that there was no King Shaka, Lobengula, Munhumutapa, Queen Nzinga, Emperor Haile Selassie, Litunga of Barotseland among many other rulers of Africa at this conference. There was Otto von Bismarck, King Leopold II and their fellow European rulers who sat down and determined borders governing Africa today.
This is the epistemological base upon which current “othering” within citizenship and migration policies are hinged. This colonial legacy has its roots in the Berlin Conference of 1884-1885, where major European powers partitioned Africa amongst themselves and formalised it with the current borders that have largely remained intact and the basis of the modern state in post-colonial Africa. Therefore, policies on identity, citizenship and migration in Africa have been largely informed by modern nation-state forms of territoriality drawn from remnants of colonial policies. These have tended to favour the elites and modernised (privileged, intelligentsia, government officials and business) at the expense of the underclass in Africa, who form the majority.
Most of the institutions and policies characterising the post-colonial African state are bequeathed by legacies of colonialism, hence the need for African states to listen to the wisdom of Samir Amin and “delink from the past” or bridge Thabo Mbeki’s “two nations” thesis and create a decolonised Africa where Africans will be no strangers.
Africa’s citizenship and migration policies remain unreformed and informed by colonial epistemology and logics. The partitioning of Africa into various territories for European powers at the Berlin Conference means most of the present-day nation-states and boundaries in Africa are a product of the resultant imperialist agreement. The boundaries were an outside imposition and split many communities with linguistic, cultural and economic ties together. The nation-state in Africa became subjugated by colonial powers (exogenous forces) rather than natural processes of endogenous force contestations and nation-state formation, as was the case with Europe.
Stoking the flames
African communities are burning from Afrophobia/xenophobia, and at times this is sparked by Africa’s elites who make reckless statements based on the logics of the Berlin Conference. Africa’s poor or the underclass are the most affected, as these xeno-insurrections manifest physically and violently amongst poor communities. Among elite communities, it manifests mostly in subtle psychological forms.
South African leaders continue to be oblivious to the crisis at hand and fail to understand that the solution to the economic crisis and depravity facing the South African citizenry can’t easily be addressed by kicking out foreigners. In 2014, prominent Zulu King Goodwill Zwelthini had this to say and the whole country was caught up in flames:
Most government leaders do not want to speak out on this matter because they are scared of losing votes. As the king of the Zulu nation, I cannot tolerate a situation where we are being led by leaders with no views whatsoever…We are requesting those who come from outside to please go back to their countries…The fact that there were countries that played a role in the country’s struggle for liberation should not be used as an excuse to create a situation where foreigners are allowed to inconvenience locals.
After a public outrage he claimed to have been misquoted and the South African Human Rights Council became complicit when it absolved him.
Towards the South African 2019 elections, President Cyril Ramaphosa also jumped onto the blame-the-foreigner bandwagon by stoking xenophobic flames when he said that “everybody just comes into our country…” Not to be outdone, Johannesburg Mayor, Herman Mashaba, has been on the blaze, blaming foreigners for the rise in crime and overcrowded service delivery.
On the other hand, Minister Bheki Cele continues to be in denial as he adamantly characterises the current attack on foreigners as acts of criminality and not xenophobia. Almost across the political divide there is consensus that foreigners are a problem in South Africa. However, the exception has been the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) that has been steadfastly condemning the black-on-black attacks and has characterised them as self-hate.
Whither the Pan-African dream?
In his founding speech for Ghana’s independence, Kwame Nkrumah said, “We again rededicate ourselves in the struggle to emancipate other countries in Africa; for our independence is meaningless unless it is linked up with the total liberation of the African continent.”
This speech by President Nkrumah set the basis upon which Ghana and some of the other independent African states sought to ensure the liberation of colonised African states. They never considered themselves free until other Africans were freed from colonialism and apartheid. Tanzanian President Julius Nyerere had this to say:
I reject the glorification of the nation-state [that] we inherited from colonialism, and the artificial nations we are trying to forge from that inheritance. We are all Africans trying very hard to be Ghanaians or Tanzanians. Fortunately for Africa, we have not been completely successful. The outside world hardly recognises our Ghanaian-ness or Tanzanian-ness. What the outside world recognises about us is our African-ness.
It is against this background that countries like Zimbabwe, Namibia and South Africa benefitted from the solidarity of their African brothers as they waged wars of liberation. Umkhonto weSizwe, the African National Congress’ armed wing, fought alongside the Zimbabwe People’s Revolutionary Army to dislodge white supremacist in Southern Rhodesia. And Nigeria set up the Southern Africa Relief Fund that raised $10 million that benefitted South Africans fighting against the apartheid regime. The African National Congress was housed in neighbouring African countries, the so-called frontline states of Zambia, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Lesotho and Tanzania. In some cases, these countries had to endure bombings and raids by the apartheid regime.
African communities are burning from Afrophobia/xenophobia, and at times this is sparked by Africa’s elites who make reckless statements based on the logics of the Berlin Conference.
The attacks on foreign nationals who are mostly African and black by black South Africans and the denial by South African government officials that the attacks are not xenophobic but criminal are attempts to duck a glaring problem that needs urgent attention. It is this denialism from authorities that casts aspersions on the Pan-African dream of a One Africa.
Glimmers of hope
All hope is not lost, as there are still voices of reason in South Africa that understand that the problem is a complex and economic one. The EFF has also managed to show deep understanding that the problem of depravity and underdevelopment of Black South Africans is not caused by fellow Africans but by the skewed economic system. Its leader, Julius Malema, tweeted amidst the flaring of the September 2019 xenophobia storm:
Our anger is directed at wrong people. Like all of us, our African brothers and sisters are selling their cheap labour for survival. The owners of our wealth is white monopoly capital; they are refusing to share it with us and the ruling party #ANC protects them. #OneAfricaIsPossible.
Yet, if policy authorities and South Africa’s elites would dare to revisit the Pan-African dream as articulated by the EFF Commander-in-Chief Julius Malema, they may be able to exorcise the Ghosts of Berlin.
Signs of integration are appearing, albeit slowly. East African countries have opened their borders to each other and allow free movement of people without the need for a visa. Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta has even gone further to allow people from Tanzania and Uganda to work and live in Kenya without the need for a visa. In addition, Rwanda and Tanzania have abolished work permit fees for any national of the East African Community. Slowly, the Ghosts of Berlin are disappearing, but more work still needs to be done to hasten the process. The launch of the African Union passport and African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) offers further hope of dismantling the borders of the Berlin Conference. South African authorities need to look seriously into East Africa and see how they can re-imagine their economy.
Towards the South African 2019 elections, President Cyril Ramaphosa also jumped onto the blame-the-foreigner bandwagon by stoking xenophobic flames when he said that “everybody just comes into our country…”
The continuous flow of African migrants into South Africa is no accident but a matter of an economic history question. Blaming the foreigner, who is an easy target, becomes a simple solution to a complex problem, and in this case Amilcar Cabral’s advice “Claim no easy victories” is instructive. There is the need re-imagine a new development paradigm in South Africa and Southern Africa in general to address questions of structural inequalities and underdevelopment, if the tide of migration to Egoli (City of Gold) – read South Africa- is to be tamed. The butchering of Africans without addressing the enclavity of the African economy will remain palliative and temporary. The current modes of development at the Southern African level favour the growth of South African corporates and thus perpetuate the discourse of enclavity, consequently reinforcing colonial and apartheid labour migration patterns.
Op-Eds1 week ago
A New Despotism in the Era of Surveillance Capitalism: A Reflection on Census 2019
Ideas2 weeks ago
Recovering the Oromo Story in Ethiopia’s Fractured Past
Videos1 week ago
Julius Malema On Xenophobic Attacks on Nigerians in South Africa
Reflections6 days ago
Our Grandmother’s Miniskirt: A People’s History Through Photographs and Stories
Op-Eds1 week ago
South Africa: Xenophobia Is in Fact Afrophobia, Call It What It Is
Politics1 week ago
For the Love of Money: Kenya’s False Prophets and Their Wicked and Bizarre Deeds
Culture2 weeks ago
Legacies of Othering in Kibra and Chinatown
Politics6 days ago
Xenophobia in South Africa: A Consequence of the Unfinished Business of Decolonisation in Africa