While churches in the wealthy democracies are emptying or folding up, those in the global South – Africa, Latin America and the Oceania – are full to capacity. Similarly, Pentecostal and charismatic churches have mushroomed all over the African continent. Alongside the explosion of these spirit-filled churches, the so-called “Men of God” have become doubly influential, not just in the political sphere, but also in the socio-economic sphere, including in women’s and gender issues. Few of these churches are engaged in the gospel of social responsibility, such as building hospitals and schools (which the state has neglected); rather, the majority of these churches preach a life of spiritual abundance and prosperity.
These powerful men – and women – of God live a life of abundance and opulence, even as their many followers wallow in abject poverty. Many of these church leaders, who come with many fancy titles, such, as overseers pastors, prophets, and more recently, “God’s generals”, and “the oracles of God”, are benignly referred to as “Men of God”. They are immensely powerful politically and have perfected the art of preaching about prosperity, otherwise known as the health and wealth gospel. Their preaching and teachings have wide reach that is not limited only to Sunday mornings and mid-week services; their sermons are often broadcast live on national TV and radio to hundreds of thousands of people.
To supplement the TV and radio broadcasts, they also package audio tapes and books – many of them ghost-written – alongside other imported spiritual books, church magazines, websites and social media pages that equally reach a wide range of audiences beyond their congregations. The bulk of their sermons are uploaded on YouTube.
Pentecostal churches on the African continent are male-dominated institutions, especially in leadership, even though thousands of women and youth fill their pews or tents every Sunday.
Self-proclaimed Prophet David Ujiji Owuor frequently holds humungous crusades that attract thousands of people. His sermons and healing crusades are often streamed live on TV and uploaded on YouTube. In his thousands of churches (also called “altars” to distinguish them from ordinary churches), not much preaching takes place. Owuor, like many “Men of God”, talks about a patriarchal and masculine God.
My research on the gendered discourses of Pentecostal and evangelical Christianity shows how these Men of God promote a particular brand of “Masculinity Christianity” couched in African and Christian patriarchal forms of dominance. Here, I adopt Akosua Adomako Ampofo’s understandings of masculinity, which refers to a cluster of norms, values and behaviour patterns expressing explicit expectations of how men should act and represent themselves to others.
In his thousands of churches (also called “altars” to distinguish them from ordinary churches), not much preaching takes place. Owuor, like many “Men of God”, talks about a patriarchal and masculine God.
And while some types of masculine brands espoused by the Men of God encourage a sort of “soft masculinity” (behavior that can be beneficial to women, such as eschewing violence, advocating monogamy and love and care for the family), many also preach that women are the weaker sex both emotionally and intellectually. As Akosua Ampofo aptly points out when referring to Ghanaian Pentecostal and charismatic churches, “many sometimes emphasise women’s limitations, leading to a devaluing of women, re-inscribing male domination and undermining female autonomy”. Though there are female-founded and female-led Pentecostal and charismatic churches in Kenya, the majority of these outfits are led by men and the dominant voices on the religious sphere are male. Their prominent focus and value judgments are, however, directed at female bodies.
They are also increasingly portraying themselves as experts, not just on spiritual matters, but also on women’s and gender issues, including female sexuality, advising women and youth on how to deal with their intimate and sexual lives, for instance. Their teachings and theologies are not just troubling but are also sexist. Yet, these so-called Men of God remain highly influential voices on gender issues.
The good wife
These preachers have carved a niche for themselves as the go-to specialists for people seeking to improve and renew their relationships, hence reconstructing sexual and intimate citizenships, gender, sexuality and women’s reproductive health rights. In fact, many of their pulpits, which attract thousands of female followers, are spaces where women’s and gender issues are constructed/deconstructed and assigned new meaning.
In many of these churches, a monogamous marriage is portrayed as the ideal achievement that every woman and girl must aspire to. It is a privilege to get married, women and girls are taught. In one sermon at a Pentecostal church in Nakuru and attended by this researcher, the pastor said to an ecstatic crowd:
“It doesn’t matter how beautiful you are, how educated you are, how big your boobs and backside are! If you are not married, if no man has seen you, you are going to stay single and miserable for the rest of your life. And it’s not funny being an old spinster! Just ask that bunch of old unmarried women in your neighbourhood! The Bible says, he who finds a wife finds a good thing! Sister, don’t be influenced by these crazy feminists who hate men! Without the love of a man, you will grow old and die a miserable spinster! And for those who are married, please understand that you are highly favoured of God. Take care of that man! Please remember that there are more women than men in Kenya according to the latest census.”
The pastor then mocked young girls who did not know how to cook ugali, a popular staple food in East Africa and beyond.
“If you are here and you can only cook spaghetti, shame on you! Your husbands will return you back to your mother to teach you how to cook and look after a man! Don’t feed your husband with rubbish. Sister, go back and learn how to cook proper food from your mum. And when you have learned how to cook, also learn to how to serve him like a king! Treat him well otherwise you will lose him to someone who can cook and treat him better! Am I talking to somebody here? Please shout halleluiah!”
Such messages are replicated in many Pentecostal churches where I have carried out research, as well as in public and private discourses. These messages reinforce women’s position in society as subordinate domestic workers. In many Christian churches, marital violence is considered un-Christian behaviour yet scores of women I spoke with told me that they have endured violence and were badly treated by their Christian spouses. One woman told me that her being “saved” or “born again” has not insulated her from intimate partner violence, which has reached alarming proportions in Kenya and globally, according to recent data from the United Nations, which suggests that the home is emerging as the most dangerous place for women and girls.
Yet, such religious messages can further reinforce violence against women. In his book, Till Death Do Us Part, Bishop Charles Agyin-Asare, the founder of one of Ghana’s mega churches, had this to say about abuse in marriage:
“You are not the first woman to be beaten by your husband and you will not be the last…Rise up with the word of God and use your spiritual weapons…Keep going to church, listen to tapes, pray, notice the blessings around you, and keep your vows.”
Many pastors in Pentecostal churches preach that God hates divorce. They encourage women who seek advice about what to do when they experience domestic violence to keep praying and keep waiting for God to change the man. Some women I interviewed told me that their pastors advised them to change and become good wives – a message that suggests that women are abused by their spouses because they are not behaving like good wives.
This idea is embedded in Proverbs 31 Woman, a biblical verse that embodies the qualities expected of every good Christian woman/wife. A lot of discourse on Proverbs 31 focuses on marriage, and preparing women to be good wives, good mothers, and pure girls. The Proverbs 31 woman rises early to fend for and feed her family. Such teachings and discourses on women’s domestic roles are repeatedly replicated in many church pulpits, suggesting that women have no value outside of marriage and family life. And they also have no value within it beyond providing domestic services.
Kenyan women, like all other women in Africa and in other parts of the developing world, carry incredible responsibilities for keeping their marriages and families intact, even if it means sacrificing their own personal well-being and safety. Scores of women I interviewed appeared to have internalised the teachings of these churches and many blamed themselves for the violence they endured in their homes.
Sexual sin and the purity culture
However, it is the sexualised view of women’s bodies and the purity culture espoused by Prophet David Owuor and his Ministry of Repentance and Holiness (MRH) that I find most disturbing. Prophet Owuor, whose key messages are centred around repentance and holiness, as reflected in his ministry’s name, seems to be mainly concerned about sexual purity, morality and immorality. These teachings occupy much of the teachings in MRH, which border on obsession. Prophet Owour squarely places women’s bodies at the centre of an erotic economy.
The sexual purity gospel espoused by Owuor is akin to the evangelical purity culture popularised in evangelical circles in the USA in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. In this purity culture, men and boys are viewed as sexually weak and women and girls are seen as the upholders of sexual purity. Women are also responsible if men fail to observe sexual purity and for the sexual thoughts and feelings of boys and grown men. Followers are taught that men and boys are visually-oriented and are thus easily aroused by the site of women’s flesh. Women must, therefore, keep male sexual desires in check by covering up lest they provoke men who can’t control their sexual urges. For the same reasons, Owour has prescribed a dress code for his female followers that explicitly forbids the wearing of sleeveless tops, hemlines at or above the knee, slit skirts that expose the knees and thighs, open shoes, bare legs and make up. In his church, women dress in heavy curtain-like materials that flow from the neck to the tips of the toes. Every part of the women’s bodies is covered except for the face.
These messages reinforce women’s position in society as subordinate domestic workers. In many Christian churches, marital violence is considered un-Christian behaviour yet scores of women I spoke with told me that they have endured violence and were badly treated by their Christian spouses.
Women are further urged to adopt certain mannerisms and practices that are deemed appropriate for a religious holy life. Speaking about women’s bodies and dressing, Owuor often quotes biblical verses, such as Hebrews 12:14: “Make efforts to be holy, for without holiness, no one will see the Lord!”, and 1 Corinthians 6:19, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?”
Applying these verses to his female followers while speaking at a prayer rally, Owuor said: “When you cover your body, you are saying: I respect and honour my body which is the temple of the Lord. So make sure you do not defile the house of the Holy Spirit by dressing indecently.”
In a series of sermons titled “Purity in the Church and How God Looks at Sexual Sin”, as well as in numerous interviews with his followers and non-followers, Owuor frequently depicts women as prostitutes and temptresses, and as the chief cause of “men’s sexual sins” and “lack of sexual control”. He often evokes biblical narrative and paraphrases, some like the book of Proverbs, Chapter 6: 24-26: “Keep yourself away from the immoral woman and from the smooth tongue of the wayward wife. Do not lust in your heart after her beauty or let her captivate you with her eyes. For the prostitute reduces you to a loaf of bread and the adulteress preys upon your very life.”
According to Owuor, “The Bible says that based on the way a woman is dressed, she can be called a prostitute.” (There is no such verse in the Bible.) “This is how God looks at sexual sin,” he adds. “Look, men are affected by what they see. Some women dress to get the attention of the pastor.”
Followers are taught that men and boys are visually-oriented and are thus easily aroused by the site of women’s flesh. Women must, therefore, keep male sexual desires in check by covering up lest they provoke men who can’t control their sexual urges.
Owuor’s preaching makes fluent transitions from biblical texts to the contemporary context and back again, reinforcing negative images of women as adulterers and prostitutes and as dangerous and potentially fatal sources of temptation. I have even heard prophet Owour telling women not to use good old Vaseline on their bodies. (This is preposterous. Vaseline is a popular balm for cracked lips and is also used to moisturise legs and hands.)
The purity culture espoused by Owuor is about how a woman needs to be a good Christian by protecting men from the threat of women. This message suggests that women’s bodies and sexuality are a threat to Christendom and men. Therefore, it is women’s and girls’ responsibilitiy to dress right, and in an acceptable manner. They must also sit right, talk right and not reveal themselves so as not to tempt men. If they don’t, then they risk being called prostitutes and impure harlots. Women are responsible not only for their own sexual purity, but that of men too. As such, gender and sexuality are deeply intertwined in MRH.
In MRH, women’s bodies are depicted as locus of impurity, lust, sin, and temptation. The burden of proof of holiness appears to lie primarily with women. Of course, from a gender or feminist perspective, it is easy to see in MRH’s teachings the workings of patriarchy, with women’s bodies being made sites of surveillance, regulation, control, and power. Indeed, Owuor’s project of moral regeneration echoes wider patterns in colonial and post-colonial Africa, in which women’s bodies, in particular, have become symbolic sites of contestation over authenticity, decency and purity. As South African feminist scholar Desiree Lewis points out: “The centrality of patriarchy in the control of women’s bodies is evident in the policing of women’s gender roles in many African countries requires a highly visible and explicit performance of prescribed gendered behaviour.” Owour’s sermons on women bodies are not just disturbing but they are also sexist and aim to control women’s intimate lives.
Ironically, Prophet Owuor’s ministry has been embroiled in sex scandals. Even his personal life has been the subject of controversy, including rape and domestic violence allegations against him raised in the United States. On his own admission, he has also fathered a child in Israel and abandoned both the mother and son in unclear circumstances.
Recently, one of his close associates was expelled from his ministry and the altar was burned down because he sexually molested three female followers who he used to invite to his house for “prayer and anointing with oil”. Apparently, he did more than just “anoint” the women. Three of these women gave harrowing testimonies of sexual abuse at the hands of a pastor of a church where the majority of sermons are about sexual sin.
These insidious pastors preach a dangerous and sexualized view of women’s bodies, as if women do not exist outside of their reproductive roles. In many of his rambling sermons that are also uploaded on YouTube, Prophet Owuor promotes an extreme form of purity culture and sexualisation of women bodies that is ultimately harmful to women and girls. According to Galia Sabar, a distinguished Professor of African Studies and the President of the Ruppin Academy Centre in Tel Aviv, Israel, Prophet Owour’s sexualised view of women’s bodies might have been influenced by an extreme form of ultra-Jewish orthodoxy in Israel that polices and requires women to keep off from everything and anything when menstruating, including being checked by an old woman to determine if there are any blood stains in their vaginas after menstruation. Only when it is determined that they are no longer menstruating are they allowed to touch anything and get intimate with their spouses.
Owuor’s preaching makes fluent transitions from biblical texts to the contemporary context and back again, reinforcing negative images of women as adulterers and prostitutes and as dangerous and potentially fatal sources of temptation. I have even heard prophet Owour telling women not to use good old Vaseline on their bodies.
This influence is not far-fetched considering that Owour spent a considerable amount of time in Israel for his post-graduate studies and by his own admission nearly converted to Judaism and had a child with a Jewish woman. Influences of Judaism are evident in his ministry: he obsesses about kosher food and the state of Israel.
Like Catherine Woodiwiis, who grapples with many questions in her article, “In the Image of God: Sex, Power and ‘Masculine Christianity”, I also ask myself many questions around these teachings. Why are women so devalued in Kenyan society? Why do women subject themselves to this kind of control? How can young men learn to respect women when their popular and influential pastors consistently preach about women as the weaker sex whose value is only reproductive and domestic? How can boys and girls think positively about female leadership when women are said to be unfit to lead a church or preach in public? How can young men support women’s aspirations to serve in public offices when they have been bombarded with messages of women’s place as being in the kitchen? How can young men learn not to abuse women when they are simultaneously modelled on the behaviour that leads to it? How can young men become leaders of integrity when the likes of Nganga and Owour are celebrities? Why have women, both young and old, internalised and normalised abuse not just in the home sphere but also in church spheres? Do Christian clergy even rethink their sermons and the impact that their teachings have on women? More fundamentally, is the notion of women’s bodies, religious authority and how the so-called “Men of God” control, regulate, construct, and deconstruct women’s bodies being challenged?
In many Pentecostal and charismatic churches in Africa, the female body is portrayed as the site of demonic attacks, immorality, sexual sin, tension and violations and one that is trapped in secrecy and shame. It is a locus for sexual sin, impurity and uncleanliness. The purity culture advocated by Owour not only body shames women but is unhelpful and damaging in a country where gender-based violence is rampant. The purity culture does not celebrate women as human beings who are deserving of dignity, respect, protection, love and care. The church and the purity culture dictate how a woman ought to be. Yet, the policing and the objectification of women’s bodies must be understood within the context of not just a patriarchal Kenyan society, but also within a particular masculine brand of Christianity in which “Men of God” continue to perpetuate and espouse behaviour and theologies that are disadvantageous to girls and women.
The purity culture shames women and in countries like the US, it has fuelled an exodus of young women from evangelical churches. It aims to sexually control women’s bodies and creates deep and long-lasting shame among women who internalise such teachings. Many young women (university students) I interviewed who left Pentecostal churches have narrated to me how the purity culture has created deep shame in how they view their bodies and has made them suffer sexual anxieties in their current relationships. Linda Kay, author of Pure: Inside the Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free, shows how damaging this purity culture is for women and young girls. It is paramount that the clergy rethinks the impact of such toxic theologies, even as they seek to reconstruct society and hopefully help create a better country in which women are respected not shamed.
Recently, one of his close associates was expelled from his ministry and the altar was burned down because he sexually molested three female followers who he used to invite to his house for “prayer and anointing with oil”. Apparently, he did more than just “anoint” the women.
After all, sex is not the biggest sin in Kenya. The country is riddled with massive corruption, poor governance, greed, poisonous food, poverty, food insecurity, and poor social services. In a country where women experience tremendous discrimination and violence, I have never heard Owuor condemn any form of violence against women, including forced prostitution of women, sex trafficking or even sex tourism. Neither have I heard him speak up against any social injustices rampant in Kenyan society that deny women their humanity and justice.
Often Kenyan women and girls have been publicly stripped, even sexually abused, because they wore tight jeans/skirts, dresses. And a section of the public has justified this by saying that the women asked for it because they were skimpily dressed. Yet my experience working with women who have suffered years of sexual abuse and violence suggests that dressing is not the cause of sexual and gender-based violence. In fact, it is a lazy and weak explanation that is not backed by any scientific evidence but has however been used to justify violence against women. This is unacceptable especially in a country where one out of every three women has experienced sexual and gender-based violence. Sexual and gender-based violence is about fear of losing control. More importantly, it is about power.
It is also a symptom of a crisis of masculinity and social and religious control of women. Thankfully, the ongoing global media coverage of clerical abuse of children and nuns in the Catholic church has helped to shift the narrative to the perpetrators.
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Congo-Brazzaville Strongman Buys Secret Weapons Haul from Azerbaijan
Congo-Brazzaville’s repressive government has quietly bought an arsenal from Azerbaijan. Opponents of President Denis Sassou-Nguesso say one recent cache is designed to tighten his grip on the nation.
In January 2020, at the Turkish port of Derince on the eastern shores of the Sea of Marmara, a huge cache of weapons was loaded onto the MV Storm. Registered in the tax haven of Vanuatu, the ship set sail with an arsenal of mortar shells, multiple launch rockets, and explosives, en route from Azerbaijan to the Republic of the Congo, better known as Congo-Brazzaville.
In total, more than 100 tons of weaponry wound its way to a building that appears to be the headquarters of Congo-Brazzaville’s elite Republican Guard, according to a confidential cargo manifest obtained by OCCRP. The cargo, estimated to be worth tens of millions of dollars, was just the latest in a series of at least 17 arms shipments sent by Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Defense to the regime of President Denis Sassou-Nguesso since 2015, according to flight plans, cargo manifests, and weapons inventories obtained by OCCRP.
Saudi Arabia was listed as the “sponsoring party” on several of the cargo manifests reviewed by reporters. It’s unclear what that sponsorship entailed, but it could mean that Riyadh paid for the weapons or the cargo deliveries.
There are no public records of Azerbaijan exporting these weapons, and no similar records of Congo-Brazzaville importing them. The latest transfer has sparked opposition concerns that Sassou-Nguesso is prepared to use force if necessary to maintain power as the country’s March 21 election nears.
His well-armed security services are a key reason he has ruled the Central African country for 36 years, split between two separate terms, making him one of the world’s longest-serving leaders. His party looms large over parliament, which recently changed the constitution to allow Sassou-Nguesso to run for office again, sparking local and international condemnation. The move means the 77-year-old could, in theory, run in every election for the rest of his life.
OCCRP has obtained confidential documents showing that in the eight months preceding the March 2016 election, and for over a year after it, Sassou-Nguesso’s security services bought more than 500 tons of arms from Azerbaijan in 16 separate shipments. Just weeks after the vote, the government began a brutal campaign against a militia from an opposition stronghold that lasted for more than a year.
Opposition leaders claim the Republican Guard used the Azerbaijani weapons in that post-election conflict, spurring a humanitarian emergency which the United Nations said affected around 140,000 people in the region of Pool, in the country’s south. Satellite imagery obtained by international media outlet The New Humanitarian appears to show widespread destruction caused by weapons like rocket launchers and explosives. (There is no way to be certain that these weapons were from Azerbaijan, since Congo-Brazzaville does not declare its arms imports.)
Since 2015, Congo-Brazzaville has bought a huge weapons stockpile from Azerbaijan, with over 500 tons of weapons delivered to the country in multiple shipments.
Sassou-Nguesso’s regime is facing one of Africa’s most severe debt crises, raising questions about how these arms shipments have been financed. Documents show that at least two consignments delivered between 2016 and 2017 were sponsored by Saudi Arabia, at a time when Riyadh was vetting Congo-Brazzaville’s application to join the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC). Given Congo-Brazzaville’s significant oil reserves, the kingdom had an incentive to have a compliant Sassou-Nguesso government in the Saudi-dominated club, according to leading arms expert Andrew Feinstein, author of The Shadow World: Inside the Global Arms Trade.
The world’s biggest arms importer, Saudi Arabia is also an unremorseful supplier of weapons to global conflict zones including Yemen, where it is fighting Iranian-backed Houthi rebels.
Flight manifests list Saudi Arabia as a “sponsoring party” on multiple arms shipments to Congo-Brazzaville, dispatched in 2016 and 2017, as Congo-Brazzaville was on the verge of OPEC membership.
Described by critics as an oil cartel whose members must be compliant with Saudi output demands, OPEC helps the kingdom dominate global oil supply. The effect this has on oil prices, in turn, can boost petroleum revenues in member states.
OPEC’s 13 members include Africa’s biggest producers, Nigeria, Angola, and Algeria. Congo-Brazzaville, which eventually joined OPEC in 2018, would have been seen as a coveted member because it is one of the continent’s top oil producers, which gives OPEC even more heft.
Azerbaijan is not a full OPEC member but it is a significant oil producer.
Feinstein added that the latest Azerbaijan shipment could have been intended to give Sassou-Nguesso the arms to enforce his political will.
“The timing of this shipment is extremely suspicious, given Sassou-Nguesso’s previous crackdowns around elections,” he said. “The government is likely preparing to quash any dissent around the polls.”
A spokesman for Congo-Brazzaville’s government did not respond to multiple requests for comment. Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Defence did not respond to a reporter’s email seeking comment, and neither did a ministry representative listed on multiple documents. Saudi Arabia’s Ministry of Defense did not respond to questions about the nature of their sponsorship of the arms deals.
Boulevard Denis Sassou-Nguesso
The most recent weapons load, addressed to the Republican Guard at 1 Boulevard Denis Sassou-Nguesso in Brazzaville in January 2020, included 775 mortar shells and over 400 cases of rockets designed to be launched out of Soviet-era trucks, the confidential cargo manifest shows. The consignment from Azerbaijan was loaded onto the MV Storm at Derince, about 1,000 kilometers southeast of Istanbul.
The exact price paid by the Congolese regime for the arms shipment could not be verified, although an expert who examined the cargo manifests said it would be worth tens of millions of dollars. A former senior diplomat with access to information about arms inventories, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisal from authorities, confirmed the authenticity of the cargo manifest and other documents and noted the sale price for the arms was likely well below market value.
The documents included end-user certificates, which are issued by the country importing the arms to certify the recipient does not plan to sell them onward.
In January 2020, more than 100 tons of weaponry was sent from Azerbaijan to Congo-Brazzaville’s Republican Guard, including 775 mortar shells and over 400 cases of rockets designed to be launched out of trucks.
Pieter Wezeman, a senior researcher at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, said arms received at a discount are often either surplus weapons or those produced in Bulgaria or Serbia, which are both known for their cheap ordnance.
“It would be less likely that Congo-Brazzaville would be able to buy some of this equipment from … other European countries which have more restrictive arms export policies,” he said.
The Pool Offensive
The 100-ton shipment from Derince was significant, but separate documents reveal another arsenal sent from Azerbaijan between 2015 and 2017 that dwarfed it — and may have had terrifying consequences.
In total, over 500 tons of weapons, including hand grenades, mortar systems, and millions of bullets, were sent to Congo-Brazzaville in 16 shipments during those years, according to documents including inventories, end-user certificates, and cargo manifests obtained by reporters.
One end-user certificate shows five thousand grenades imported for the purposes of “training, anti-terrorism, security and stability operations.” It was signed by a special adviser to President Sassou-Nguesso on March 3, 2016, just days before the election.
After the vote, the opposition claimed the government had rigged the election in favor of Sassou-Nguesso, and unrest broke out in the capital, Brazzaville. The government blamed the unrest on a militia known as the Ninjas, made up of people mainly from the Lari ethnic group and based in the Pool region, which partially surrounds Brazzaville.
The weapons from Azerbaijan were then used, an opposition leader claims, to help fuel a prolonged armed conflict in Pool targeting the Ninjas. Amnesty International condemned the offensive as “an unlawful use of lethal force by the country’s security forces.” As the government pursued the Ninjas, witnesses to the carnage told Amnesty that dozens of bombs were dropped from helicopters, hitting a residential area and even a school.
“During the violence in Pool, the regime deployed a scorched earth strategy,” said Andréa Ngombet Malewa, leader of the Incarner l’Espoir political party. “The weapons that they bought from Azerbaijan went straight to that operation.”
The Baku-Brazzaville Connection
Azerbaijan has emerged as a key foreign ally of Congo-Brazzaville, providing its regime with discount arms and, perhaps more importantly, secrecy.
Buying from Ilham Aliyev, strongman of the notoriously opaque South Caucasus nation, Congo-Brazzaville could do so in the knowledge that the sales wouldn’t be reported.
Congo-Brazzaville has not reported any arms imports for more than three decades, and since there’s no arms embargo in place against the country, it isn’t required to do so. Nonetheless, a trail exists, with disclosures by other countries showing Sassou-Nguesso has been active in the arms market. In 2017, Serbia reported exporting 600 assault rifles to Congo-Brazzaville. Bulgaria sent 250 grenade launchers.
Opposition figures claim that previous shipments of weapons from Azerbaijan were used to fuel a brutal post-election offensive in 2016 that led to a humanitarian crisis.
But the Azeri weapons shipments have never been publicly reported, even though documentation seen by OCCRP shows Azerbaijan has been exporting lethal weapons to Sassou-Nguesso since at least as far back as September 2015. Some of the weapons were sourced from Transmobile, a Bulgarian company authorized to trade weapons for Azerbaijan, while others were bought from Yugoimport, a Serbian manufacturer. Neither company responded to requests for comment.
The first shipments of arms arrived in Brazzaville on Azerbaijani Air Force planes, but starting in 2017 a private carrier, Silk Way Airlines, began flying the weapons in instead. As a private carrier, Silk Way would have likely received less scrutiny than its military counterpart.
Silk Way is registered in the British Virgin Islands, a tax haven, and was previously linked to the Aliyev family. As well as previously winning lucrative contracts with the U.S. government to move ammunition and other non-lethal materials, Silk Way was found, in leaked correspondence reported by Bulgarian newspaper Trud, to have used flights with diplomatic clearance to secretly move hundreds of tons of weapons around the world, including to global conflict zones, between 2014 and 2017. The airline did not respond to a request for comment.
Braced for a Crackdown
As his regime heads to the polls on March 21, strongarm tactics mean Sassou-Nguesso is expected to win. He will reportedly face Mathias Dzon, his former finance minister from 1997 to 2002, and Guy-Brice Parfait Kolélas, who finished second in the 2016 presidential election, among others.
Saudi Arabia was listed as a “sponsoring party” in at least two arms consignments sent in 2016 and 2017, around the same time Congo-Brazzaville’s admittance to OPEC was being negotiated.
In 2016 he claimed 60 percent of the vote, with Kolélas securing just 15 percent. The U.S. slammed the government for “widespread irregularities and the arrests of opposition supporters.”
Experts don’t believe the opposition will fare any better this time around. Abdoulaye Diarra, a Central Africa Researcher for Amnesty International, said the government is carrying out a pre-election campaign of intimidation, harassment and arbitrary detention against its political opponents.
Fears that press freedom could be under threat ahead of the polls have risen after Raymond Malonga, a cartoonist known for satirical criticism of the authorities, was dragged from his hospital bed by plainclothes police at the beginning of February.
And now, the weapons haul from Azerbaijan has the opposition concerned about the prospect of violence around the polls.
“We are worried that the weapons that Sassou-Nguesso’s regime bought from Azerbaijan could be used to crack down on the opposition during the upcoming election,” said opposition leader Ngombet.
“They don’t want the world to see how much the Congolese people are eager for political change.”
Simon Allison, Sasha Wales-Smith, and Juliet Atellah contributed reporting.
A Class That Dare Not Speak Its Name: BBI and the Tyranny of the New Kenyan Middle Class
Even as they exert coercive power in Kenya, members of this class remain largely unrecognised as a class with its own economic interests and one that holds contemptuous and racist views of Africans despite being made up of Africans.
Despite many Kenyans’ opposition to the Building Bridges Initiative there is a sense that politicians are moving with the project full steam ahead and there is nothing the people can do about it. More perplexing is the fact that with elections just over a year away, the fear of what supporting BBI could do to their political careers does not seem to faze the politicians. What explains this powerful force against democracy?
I argue here that the aspect of the BBI — and its charade of public participation — that most passes under silence is the role of the civil service and the intelligentsia. Behind the spectacle of car grants to members of the County Assemblies is an elite that is growing in influence and power, and is pulling the puppet strings of the political class. The bribery of MCAs would have been impossible without the civil service remitting public funds into their accounts. The president would not succeed in intimidating politicians if there were no civil servants — in the form of the police and prosecutors — to arrest politicians and charge them with corruption.
The academy’s contribution to the BBI has been in controlling the social discourse. The mere fact that it was written by PhD holders brought to the BBI an aura of technical expertise with its implied neutrality. Using this aspect of BBI, the media and academics tried to tone down the political agenda of the document. They demanded that discussion of the BBI remain within the parameters of academic discourse, bombarding opponents with demands of proof that they had read the document and exact quotations, refusing to accept arguments that went beyond the text to the politics and actors surrounding the initiative. Discussing the politics of BBI was dismissed as “irrelevant”.
Two cases, both pitting male academics against women citizens, illustrate this tyranny of technocracy and academics. In both cases, the professors implicitly appealed to sexist stereotypes by suggesting that the women were irrational or uninformed. In one debate in February last year, political science professor and vice-chair of the BBI task force, Adams Oloo, singled out Jerotich Seii as one of the many Kenyans who had “fallen into a trap” of restricting her reading of the document to only the two pages discussing the proposed prime minister’s post, while leaving out all the goodies promised in the rest of the document. Jerotich was compelled to reply, “I have actually read the entire document, 156 pages.”
Likewise, earlier this month, Ben Sihanya sat at a desk strewn with paper (to suggest an erudite demeanour) and spoke in condescending tones about Linda Katiba, which was being represented by Daisy Amdany. He harangued Linda Katiba as “cry babies”, demanded discussions based on constitutional sociology and political economy, and declared that no research and no citation of authorities meant “no right to speak”. He flaunted his credentials as a constitutional lawyer with twenty years’ teaching experience and often made gestures like turning pages, writing or flipping through papers as Amdany spoke.
The conversation deteriorated at different moments when the professor accused Linda Katiba of presenting “rumors, rhetoric and propaganda”. When Amdany protested, Sihanya called for the submission of citations rather than “marketplace altercations”. The professor referred to the marketplace more than once, which was quite insensitive, given that the market is the quintessential African democratic space. That’s where ordinary Africans meet, trade and discuss. And women are often active citizens and traders at the market.
Meanwhile, anchor Waihiga Mwaura did too little too late to reign in the professor’s tantrums, having already taken the position that the media is promoting, which is that every opposition to BBI is a “No” campaign, essentially removing the opposition from the picture on the principle of a referendum taking precedence.
Both cases reveal a condescending and elitist attitude towards ordinary Kenyans expressing opinions that run counter to the status quo. The media and academy have joined forces in squeezing out ordinary voices from the public sphere through demands for academic-style discussions of BBI. When discussions of BBI first began in 2020, these two institutions bullied opponents of the process by imposing conditions for speaking. For instance, in the days before the document was released, opponents were told that it was premature to speak without the document in hand. In the days following the release of the document, demands were made of Kenyans to read the document, followed by comments that Kenyans generally do not read. The contradiction literally sounded like the media did not want Kenyans to read the BBI proposals. Now it has become typical practice for anchors and the supporters of BBI to challenge BBI opponents with obnoxious questions such as “You have talked of the problems with BBI, but what are its positive aspects?” essentially denying the political nature of BBI, and reducing the process to the cliché classroom discussion along the lines of “advantages and disadvantages of …”
Basically, what we are witnessing is autocracy by the media, the academy and the bureaucracy, where media and the academy exert symbolic power by denying alternative voices access to public speech, while the civil service intervenes in the material lives of politicians and ordinary people to coerce or bribe them into supporting BBI. Other forms of material coercion that have been reported include chiefs forcing people to give their signatures in support of the BBI.
In both these domains of speech and interactions in daily life, it is those with institutional power who are employing micro-aggression to coerce Kenyans to support BBI. This “low quality oppression”, which contrasts with the use of overt force, leaves Kenyans feeling helpless because, as Christine Mungai and Dan Aceda observe, low-quality oppression “clouds your mind and robs you of language, precision and analytical power. And it keeps you busy dealing with it so that you cannot even properly engage with more systemic problems.” In the end, despite the fact that there is no gun held to their heads, Kenyans face BBI with literally no voice.
But beyond the silencing of Kenyans, this convergence of the media, the academy and the civil service suggests that there is a class of Kenyans who are not only interested in BBI, but are also driven by a belief in white supremacy and an anti-democratic spirit against the people. I want to suggest that this group is symptomatic of “a new middle class”, or what Barbara Ehrenreich and John Ehrenreich have referred to as the “professional managerial class”, which is emerging in Kenya.
For the purposes of this article, I would define this class as one composed of people whose managerial positions within institutions give them low-grade coercive power to impose the will of the hegemony on citizens. The ideology of this class sees its members as having risen to their positions through merit (even when they are appointed through familial connections), and holds that the best way to address problems is through efficient adherence to law and technology, which are necessarily neutral and apolitical. This class also believes that its actions are necessary because citizens do not know better, and that by virtue of their appointment or their training, the members of this class have the right to direct the behaviour of ordinary citizens. Basically, this class is anti-political.
The worst part about this class is that it is a group of people who cannot recognise themselves as such. As Amber A’Lee Frost puts it, it is “a class that dare not speak its name.” This means that even as they exert coercive power in Kenya, members of this class remain largely unrecognised or discussed as a class with its own economic interests.
Even worse, this is a class that holds contemptuous – and ultimately racist – views of Africans despite being made up of Africans. For example, Mohammed Hersi, chair of the Kenya Tourism Federation, has been at the forefront of proposing the obnoxious idea that Kenya should export her labour abroad, the history of the Middle Passage notwithstanding. Despite a history of resistance to the idea that Africans should not receive any education beyond technical training, from the days of WEB Dubois to those of Harry Thuku, the Ministry of Education has introduced the Competency Based Curriculum (CBC), a new education system affirming that ideology. A few months ago, Fred Matiang’i waxed lyrical about the importance of prisons with these words which I must repeat here:
“To Mandela, prison was a school; to Malcolm X, a place of meditation; and to Kenya’s founding fathers, a place where visions of this country were crystallised. We’re reforming our prisons to be places people re-engineer their future regardless of the circumstances they come in.”
How is it possible for educated Africans to talk in public like this?
One factor is historical legacy. The civil service and institutions such as the mainstream media houses were established during colonial rule and were later Africanised with no change in institutional logic. This factor is very disturbing given that the media and the civil service in Kenya opposed nationalist struggles. During colonialism, it was the civil service, its African employees in the tribal police and the local administrations (such as chiefs and home guards), who crushed African revolt against oppression. This means that the Africans who were in the civil service were necessarily pro-colonial reactionaries with no interest in the people’s freedom.
Essentially, Kenyan independence started with a state staffed with people with no economic or political allegiance to the freedom and autonomy of Africans in Kenya. The better-known evidence of this dynamic is the independence government’s suppression of nationalist memories through, for instance, the assassination of General Baimungi Marete in 1965. What remains unspoken is the fact that the colonial institutions and ideologies remained intact after independence. Indeed, certain laws still refer to Kenya as a colony to this day.
It is also important to note that colonial era civil servants were not even European settlers, but British nationals sent in from London. This meant that the primary goal of the civil service was to protect not the settlers’ interests both those of London. Upon the handover of the state to Africans, therefore, this focus on London’s interests remained paramount, and remains so to this day, as we can see from the involvement of the British government in education reforms, from TPAD (Teacher Performance Appraisal and Development) to the curriculum itself. This dynamic is most overt in the tourism and conservation sector, where tourism is marketed by the government using openly racist and colonial tropes, including promises to tourists that in Kenya, “the colonial legacy lives on”.
There was also a practical aspect to the dominance of these kinds of Africans in the civil service. As Gideon Mutiso tells us in his book Kenya: Politics, Policy and Society, the Africans who were appointed to the civil service had more education than the politicians, because as other Africans were engaged in the nationalist struggles, these people advanced in their studies. Upon independence, Mutiso says, the educated Kenyans began to lord it over politicians as being less educated than they were.
Mutiso’s analysis also points us to the fact that colonial control remained in Kenya through the management of the state by people whose credentials and appointments were based on western education. The insidious role of western education became that of hiding the ideology of white supremacy behind the mask of “qualifications”. As such, Africans who had a western education considered themselves superior to fellow Africans, and worse, British nationals remained civil servants in major positions even a decade into independence, under the pretext that they were technically more qualified.
Less known, and even less talked about, is the virulent anti-African dispensation in the post-independence government. The new government not only had within its ranks Africans who had fought against African self-determination during colonial rule, but also British nationals who remained in charge of key sectors after independence, among them the first minister of Agriculture Bruce McKenzie. Similarly, the only university in Kenya was staffed mainly by foreigners, a situation which students complained about during a protest in 1972.
The continuity of colonial control meant that civil servants were committed to limiting the space for democratic participation. Veteran politicians like Martin Shikuku and Jean-Marie Seroney complained that the civil service was muzzling the voice of the people which was, ideally, supposed to have an impact through their elected representatives. In 1971, for instance, Shikuku complained that the government was no longer a political organ, because “Administrative officers from PCs have assumed the role of party officials [and] civil servants have interfered so much with the party work.” Shikuku Inevitably arrived at the conclusion that “the foremost enemies of the wananchi are the country’s senior civil servants.” For his part, Seroney lamented that parliament had become toothless, because “the government has silently taken the powers of the National Assembly and given them to the civil service,” reducing parliament to “a mere rubber stamp of some unseen authority.” Both men where eventually detained without trial by Jomo Kenyatta.
However, the scenario was no different in the education sector. As Mwenda Kithinji notes, major decisions in education were made by bureaucrats rather than by academics. It was for this reason, for example, that Dr Josephat Karanja was recalled from his post as the High Commissioner to the United Kingdom to succeed Prof. Arthur Porter as the first principal of the University of Nairobi, going over the head of Prof. Porter’s deputy, Prof. Bethwell Ogot, who was the most seasoned academic in Kenya with a more visionary idea of education.
Unfortunately, because the appointment went to a fellow Kikuyu, reactions were directed at Dr Karanja’s ethnicity, rather than his social status as a bureaucrat. Ethnicity was a convenient card with which to downplay the reality that decisions about education were being removed from the hands of academics and experts and placed in the hands of bureaucrats.
And so began the long road towards an increasingly stifling, extremely controlled administrative education system whose struggles we witness today in the CBC. As Kithinji observes, government bureaucrats regularly interfered in the academic and management affairs of the university, to the point of demanding that the introduction of new programmes receive approval from the Ministry of Education. Other measures for coercing academics to do the bidding of civil servants included imposing bonding policies and reducing budgetary allocations.
In the neoliberal era, however, this ideology of bureaucracy expanded and coopted professionals through managerial and administrative appointments. For instance, the practice of controlling academic life was now extended to academics themselves. Academics appointed as university managers began to behave like CEOs, complete with public relations officers, personal assistants and bodyguards. The role of regulating academic life in Kenya has now been turned over to the Commission for University Education whose headquarters are in the plush residential suburb of Gigiri. CUE regularly contracts its inspection work to academics who then exercise power over curriculum and accreditation under the banner of the commission.
With neoliberalism, therefore, bureaucrats and technocrats enjoy an increase in coercive power, hiding behind the anonymity provided by technology, the audit culture and its reliance on numbers, and concepts such as “quality” to justify their power as neutral, necessary and legitimate. However, the one space they now need to crack is the political space, and by coincidence, Kenya is cursed with an incompetent and incoherent political class. Life could not get better for this class than with the BBI handshake.
BBI therefore provided an ideal opportunity for an onslaught of the managerial class against the Kenyan people. The document under debate was written by PhD-holders, and initial attempts by professors and bureaucrats to defend the document in townhall debates hosted by the mainstream media backfired spectacularly. These technocrats were not convincing because they adamantly refused to answer the political questions raised around BBI, so they have taken a back seat and sent politicians off to the public to give BBI an air of legitimacy. Behind the scenes, however, support for BBI brings together the bureaucrats and the foot soldiers who are behind Uhuru, and the educated intelligentsia that is behind Raila.
And as if things could not get more stifling, Kenyans are looking favourably at the declared candidacies of Kivutha Kibwana, a former law academic, and Mukhisa Kituyi, a former United Nations bureaucrat, in the next presidential election. The point here is not their winning prospects, but the belief that maybe people with better paper credentials and institutional careers might do better than the rambling politicians. However, this idea is dangerous, because it places inordinate faith in western-educated Africans who have not articulated their political positions about African self-determination in an age when black people worldwide are engaged in decolonisation and the Black Lives Matter movement.
Basically, BBI is camouflaging the attack on politics and democracy in Kenya by a new managerial class. We are paying a heavy price for not decolonising our institutions at independence. Since independence, bureaucrats have whittled away at our cultural and institutional independence through police harassment, underfunding, the tyranny of inspections and regulatory control, and through constriction of the Kenyan public and cultural space. Even the arts and culture are tightly regulated these days, with the Ministry of Education providing themes for schools’ drama festivals and the government censoring artists in the name of morality. Worse, this new managerial class collaborates with foreign interests in a shared contempt for African self-determination.
Kenyans must be wary of academics and bureaucrats who use their credentials, acquired in colonial institutions, to bully Kenyans into silence. We must not allow bureaucrats and technocrats to make decisions that affect our lives without subjecting those decisions to public debate. We must recognise and reproach the media for legitimising the bullying from this new managerial class. And we must continue to recognise the Kenyan government as fundamentally colonial in its logic and practice and pick up the failed promise of the NASA manifesto to replace the master-slave logic of the Kenyan civil service. Most of all, we must learn to demystify education, credentials and institutional positions. Kenya is for everybody, and we all have a right to discuss and participate in what happens in our country.
For J.M’s Ten Million Beggars, the Hustler vs Dynasty Narrative is a Red Herring
Hon. William Ruto’s hustler vs dynasty narrative is a shrewd way of redefining Kenyan identity politics in order to avoid playing the tribal card in his quest for the presidency.
Stifling the “hustler” vs “dynasty” debate will not save us from the imminent implosion resulting from Kenya’s obscene inequalities. While the debate is a welcome distraction from our frequent divisive tribal politics, leaders in government and society are frightened that it might lead to class wars. Our sustained subtle, yet brazen, war against the poor has made class conflict inevitable. If only we had listened to Hon. J. M. Kariuki, the assassinated former Member of Parliament for Nyandarua (1969-1975), and provided the poor with the means to develop themselves, perhaps the prospect of revolt would now be remote.
Could this be the angry ghost of J.M. Kariuki coming back to haunt us? Listen to his voice still crying from the grave, as did his supporters at a rally in 1974: “We do not want a Kenya of ten millionaires and ten million beggars. Our people who died in the forests died with a handful of soil in their right hands, believing they had fallen in a noble struggle to regain our land . . . But we are being carried away by selfishness and greed. Unless something is done now, the land question will be answered by bloodshed” (quoted by Prof. Simiyu Wandibba in his book J.M. Kariuki). Fired by this speech, his followers set ablaze 700 acres of wheat on Mzee Jomo Kenyatta’s farm in Rongai and slaughtered cattle with malice. Thus did J.M. invite his death.
What Hon. William Ruto propounds in his hustler vs dynasty debate is a shrewd way of redefining Kenyan identity politics. Ruto is re-directing the political narrative from the “us” vs “them” of tribalism, to one characterised by the poor and desperate (hustlers) who have seen subsequent governments betray their hopes for a better life, pitted against “them”, Ruto’s rivals, the offspring of politicians born to unfair and unearned privilege.
Wycliffe Muga, the Star newspaper columnist, has eloquently described them as the “sons of a hereditary political elite who absorbed all the benefits that came with independence, leaving ‘the rest of us’ destitute and having no choice but to beg for the crumbs under their table.” By opting for an alternative approach, Ruto hopes to avoid playing the tribal card to attain the presidency. For, besides his own, he would need the support of at least one other of the five big tribes who often reserve support for their own sons unless there is a brokered alliance. But even then, the underlying logic of Kenyan politics remains that of identity politics, which creates a binary narrative of “us” against “them”.
Meanwhile, Ruto has not only radicalised the poor, but he has also hastened the country’s hour of reckoning — judgement for the years of neglect of the poor — and this may ignite the tinder sooner we imagine.
In their article in The Elephant, Dauti Kahura and Akoko Akech observe that, “Ruto might have belatedly discovered the great socio-economic divide between the walala-hoi and the walala-hai in Kenya”. Ruto has galvanised the poor and their plight around the banner of the “hustler nation”, a nation aspiring to erase the tribal or geographical lines that have kept Kenyans apart. As a result the poor are restless as they compare their state with the ease of the lives of the affluent. But Ruto is not organising to awaken class-consciousness among the exploited. ‘As Thandika Mkandawire, citing Karl Marx, observed, “The existence of class may portend class struggles, but it does not automatically trigger them. It is not enough that classes exist in themselves, they must also be for themselves”’, Kahura and Akech further reiterate.
The problem kicks in immediately he points to the “dynasty”. In juxtaposing the hustlers and dynasty, the poor find a target of hate, an object of their wrath. This situation can easily slide into violence, the violence emerging only when the “us” see themselves as all good and the “them” as all evil.
I worry this controversy has led us to that radicalisation stage where the poor see themselves as the good children of light fighting evil forces of darkness. In our case, the so-called hustler nation believe they are against the deep-state which doesn’t care about them but wants to give to the dynasty that which is due to them. They believe that this collusion between deep-state and dynasty is preventing them from reaching prosperity and so they blame their situation on those who they perceive to be the cause of their wretchedness. Interestingly, the colonial state always feared the day when the masses would rise up and topple it. Unfortunately, Ruto is using the crisis of the underclass created by the colonial state and perpetuated by the political class for political expediency and for his own self-advancement.
By declaring himself the saviour of the hustlers from the dynasties, Ruto — who is devoid of any pro-democracy and pro-suffering citizens political credentials — is perceived to be antagonising the Kenyatta family’s political and financial interests. He has with precision stoked the anger of the poor against particular political elites he calls dynasties and the Odingas, the Kenyattas, the Mois and their associates have become the hustler nation’s enemy. So, one understands why President Uhuru Kenyatta considers Ruto’s dynasty vs hustler debate “a divisive and a major threat to the country’s security”, which he fears may degenerate into class warfare.
Hon. Paul Koinange, Chairman of the Parliamentary Administration and Security Committee errs in his call to criminalise the hustler vs dynasty narrative. If this is hate speech, as Koinange wants it classified, then neglect of the poor by their government is a worse form of hate speech. The application of policies favouring tender-preneurs at the expense of the majority poor, landless and unemployed will incite Kenyans against each other faster than the hustler vs dynasty narrative. The failure to provide public services for the poor and the spiralling wealth of the political class must be confronted.
We have been speeding down this slippery slope for years. According to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS) data released in December 2020, only 2.92 million Kenyans work in the formal sector, of which 1.34 million or 45.9 per cent earn less than Sh30,000. If we accept that the informal sector employs another 15 million Kenyans, an overwhelming majority (71 per cent) would be in micro-scale enterprises or in small-scale enterprises (which make up 26 per cent). This implies that 97 per cent of our enterprises are micro or small, and these are easily wound up. The situation is exasperated by the opulence at the top. The UK-based New World Wealth survey (2014) conducted over 5 years paints a grim picture of wealth distribution in Kenya. Of the country’s 43.1 million people then, 46 per cent lived below the poverty line, surviving on less than Sh172 ($2) a day.
The report shows that nearly two-thirds of Kenya’s Sh4.3 trillion ($50 billion) economy is controlled by a tiny clique of 8,300 super-wealthy individuals, highlighting the huge inequality between the rich and the poor. Without a clear understanding of these disparities, it is difficult to evaluate the currents that are conducive to the widening of this gap not to mention those that would bridge it. Hon. Koinange should be addressing these inequalities that the masses are awakening to rather than combatting the hustler narrative. Our government must be intentional in levelling the playing field, or live in perpetual fear like the British colonials who feared mass revolt across imaginary ethnic lines.
In Kenya, past injustices have yielded gross inequalities. In Reading on inequality in Kenya: Sectoral Dynamics and Perceptions, Okello and Gitau illustrate how state power is still being used to perpetuate differences in the sharing of political and economic welfare. Okello further observes that: “In a country where for a long time economic and political power was/has been heavily partisan, where the state appropriated for itself the role of being the agency for development, and where politics is highly ethnicised, the hypothesis of unequal treatment has been so easy to build.”
This, and not the euphoria of the hustler nation, is the pressure cooker that is about to explode. The horizontal manifestation of inequality stemming from the failure of state institutions and policies that have continued to allow inequalities to fester is what should be of concern to the state. How can the government not see the risk such extreme economic disparities within the population pose for the nation’s stability?
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