In 2015, when the Kenya Maritime Authority (KMA), the industry regulator, took the National Maritime Conference to Nairobi for the first time, policy makers at the highest level became aware of what a sleeping giant the industry was. Underscoring how much the blue economy (BE) had become a priority for Kenya, the government hosted the first-ever global Sustainable Blue Economy conference in November 2018, with support from Japan and Canada. About 16,000 delegates drawn from all over the world participated.
Key political messages that came from Kenya included the need to mobilise financing for the industry; creation of a blue economy and people-centered strategies on sustainable development; streamlining gender equality in the industry; and strengthening science and research, among other measures to awaken the giant.
Participants made voluntary financial commitments amounting to $172.2 million in various aspects of the BE, as well as several non-monetary commitments in areas like partnerships and capacity-building.
On numerous occasions since 2015, President Uhuru Kenyatta has indicated that Kenya is prioritising the implementation of sustainable blue economy programmes since the sector has the potential to accelerate the country’s development. He has cited the shrinking of land-based resources as a result of a rapidly rising population in Kenya as a good enough reason for a prudent government to lay more focus on resources spread in the ocean with an area of 245,000 km², or 42 per cent of her total land area, which makes Kenya a maritime state.
However, various measures that the government has undertaken in recent years to accelerate the BE have not yielded the envisaged results. This is largely blamed on many years of policy neglect and a consistent failure by the industry’s players to take remedial actions.
From the onset, Kenya has not been keen on the growth of the maritime sector. Even Kenya’s first independence economic blueprint, African Socialism and its Application to Planning in Kenya of 1965, failed to anchor BE in the country’s economic growth agenda, in spite of its significant role in transporting 95 per cent of the country’s global transactions.
The industry has thus evolved without the support of state policy-making machinery. Instead, it has largely relied on foreign players, who continue to exploit it to date and who repatriate billions from the economy.
Merchant Shipping Act 2009, which was assented to by Kenya’s President Mwai Kibaki after two lapses in Parliament due parliamentarians’ ignorance of its urgency, was the first attempt to regulate the sector. The new law was the brain child of KMA, which was established in 2004 to oversee the transfer of responsibilities in shipping matters from the Kenya Ports Authority (KPA) to an autonomous state corporation. This push came from the US government, which was afraid that having succeeded to hijack planes and carry out the September 11, 2001 terror attacks, terrorists could also do the same on largely unsecured African ports.
The industry has thus evolved without the support of state policy-making machinery. Instead, it has largely relied on foreign players, who continue to exploit it to date and who repatriate billions from the economy.
The 2009 Act created a comprehensive and modern legal regime for merchant shipping in Kenya and replaced the outdated Merchant Shipping Act, 1967. The old law did not reflect major transformations in the industry globally, which prevented the full exploitation of Kenya’s maritime industry.
The president’s good intentions on the industry are clear. However, there is a clear policy gap on who should steer the growth of BE. The president, in January 2017, appointed the Chief of Defence Forces, Samson Mwathethe, to chair a Blue Economy implementation Committee. The Kenya Gazette notice said that the eight-member team was mandated with co-coordinating and overseeing the implementation of the prioritised programmes in the industry and was to submit monthly reports.
Most importantly, it was supposed to develop an Integrated Maritime Transport Policy to galvanise and harmonise an industry that is currently overseen by 22 agencies with duplicating and conflicting roles. For over 3 years now, this has not yet been achieved and signs that the committee is working on it are nowhere to be seen.
The management of the BE is currently spread through three government departments without any clear mechanisms of collaboration despite the great interdependence among the players in the maritime industry. Executive order no. 1 of May 2020 places KPA and the Kenya Ferry Services (KFS) under the transport department. The Department of Shipping and Maritime Affairs oversees KMA, Bandari College and Kenya National Shipping Line, while the state department for fisheries is in charge of the Kenya Marine and Fisheries Research Institute and the Kenya Fisheries Advisory Council.
Without a harmonised approach, the country has failed to exploit sea-based resources, which are worth a huge fortune. In 2018, the then Agriculture Cabinet Secretary, Mwangi Kiunjuri, said Kenya was losing over Sh440 billion annually by failing to fully exploit the blue economy.
Marine fishing’s lost potential
The Western Indian Ocean has resources worth more than Sh2.2 trillion annual output, with Kenya’s share being about 20 per cent of this. The marine fishing sub-sector alone had an annual fish potential of 350,000 metric tonnes in 2013 worth Sh90 billion. However, the region only yielded a paltry 9,134 metric tonnes worth Sh2.3 billion.
Optimal exploitation marine fishing is hindered by infrastructural limitations and inappropriate fishing craft and gear. Artisanal fishers mainly restrict their operations to the continental shelf because they are ill-equipped in terms of craft and equipment to fish in the deep sea.
The Kenyan coastline is rich in fish species. For instance, Malindi is the only place in the world that offers the best chance of catching five different billfish species in one day – broadbill swordfish, black, blue and striped marlin and sailfish.
In 2018, the then Agriculture Cabinet Secretary, Mwangi Kiunjuri, said Kenya was losing over Sh440 billion annually by failing to fully exploit the blue economy.
The deep sea waters are left to Distant Water Fishing Nations (DWFN) who mainly fish tuna species. Kenya lies within the rich tuna belt of the West Indian Ocean where 25 per cent of the world’s tuna is caught.
Foreign fishing fleets can operate in Kenya’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) in accordance with the regional and international agreement and cooperation provision of the National Oceans and Fisheries Policy, which allows governments to continue granting fishing rights in their EEZs, taking into account the state of the stock and economic returns.
In December 2017, President Kenyatta suspended the licences of foreign trawlers as part of efforts to grow the country’s blue economy through value addition. During the 54th commemoration of the country’s independence, he said that the ban on foreign vessels would help increase fish processed locally seven-fold to 18,000 tonnes per year. Kenya, the president announced, loses about 10 billion shillings ($97 million) a year to foreign boats fishing without permission.
Lack of specialised maritime training
Although Kenya requires fishing vessels to land 30 per cent of their catch in the country to create processing jobs, coastguards lack sufficient capacity to police the country’s territorial waters.
Andrew Mwangura, a maritime expert in Mombasa, argues that carving out coastguards from the military was a big mistake. Coastguards have more roles to play and need specialised training. With only one boat at their disposal and less than 40 officers, he opined, coastguards lack capacity to effectively deal with the issue of illegal fishing. Coastguards are supposed to offer maritime safety and security with on-board other officers from customs, fisheries, port health, immigration and police.
Kenya’s effort to venture into deep sea fishing is not only limited due to lack of physical infrastructure but the country’s ill-trained workforce as well. The International Convention on Standards of Training, Certification and Watchkeeping for Fishing Vessel Personnel, 1995 (STCW-F 1995), entered into force on 29 September 2012, sets certification and minimum training requirements for crews of seagoing fishing vessels of 24 metres in length and above.
For maritime training institutes worldwide, the International Maritime Organisation (IMO) has developed a series of model courses that provide suggested syllabi, course timetables and learning objectives to assist the instructors to develop training programmes to meet the STCW Convention standards for seafarers.
Out of more than 30 courses offered in maritime training, as recommended by IMO, Bandari (which has since last year been renamed Bandari Centre of Excellence) is only able to offer 6 of these courses.
In addition, Bandari lacks shipboard training opportunities due to the nascent development of seafarer training in Kenya, which has caused delays in completion of training courses, given that shipboard training is compulsory in order to be certified. An integral part of the programmes for Sea Training is to ensure that the students acquire practical knowledge through actual work experience. One has to learn by doing while at sea and in port.
Out of more than 30 courses offered in maritime training, as recommended by IMO, Bandari (which has since last year been renamed Bandari Centre of Excellence) is only able to offer 6 of these courses.
Lack of training of seafarers will also lock Kenyans from the off-shore gas and oil industry exploration taking place in our high seas.
To optimise the gains in the sector, there is a serious need to invest in human resources by rolling out training in higher education institutions and tertiary colleges.
Despite the growing demand to create enough workforce commensurate with the industry’s growth, the status of maritime training is not very encouraging. Only three colleges and two universities offer maritime courses in the country, with most of the other professionals having trained overseas at highly prohibitive costs.
By 2016, the Philippines had over 37 maritime academies, 20 maritime training centres and 17 crewing manning agencies, enabling it to supply 20 per cent of the world seafarers.
High shipping costs and lack of a competitive environment
In its endeavour to facilitate and promote global maritime trade, the Blue Economy Implementation Committee identified the revival of the Kenya National Shipping Line (KNSL) as a critical intervention, with a potential of contributing to the exchequer Sh304 billion annually.
To do this, KNSL partnered with the Mediterranean Shipping Company (MSC) of Italy, in what was described as a government-to-government arrangement that would see the government retain the majority shareholding (51 per cent) at KNSL to turn it into a major national carrier. Merchant Shipping Act section 16 A was amended and assented to allow the deal. However, the Dock Workers Union (DWU) challenged this in a court of law and when the ruling was done in its favour, the government deal collapsed.
The government’s plan intended to support the revival of the KNSL, which has been dormant for the last 23 years. Mismanagement sent the entity, which was established in 1987, into debt and loss of business. The deal was supposed to allow the MSC to run the second container terminal (CT2) at the port of Mombasa and it would also hire 2,000 seafarers every year for the next five years in return.
The estimated transport charges paid out to shipping lines calling at Mombasa port is about Sh304 billion annually. There is also another list of destination charges applied in the country that have made the shipping business in Mombasa costly.
The government, in supporting the deal, estimated that its cargo costs an average of Sh14billion in freight per year, while local destination charges comprise another Sh34 billion. With local shipping capacity and the application of “Buy Kenya, Build Kenya” policies, the amount of Sh14 billion could be retained in Kenya, Transport CS Mr. James Macharia argued in support of the deal.
In the absence of a pricing framework or competitive environment, the destination tariff has proliferated in Mombasa port to 36 charge items. The revived KNSL could be used by the government to influence and leverage the reduction or doing away with components of destination charges thus reducing the national burden in maritime transport. Some of the charges include delivery order fee, amendment to bill of lading fee, supervision fee, manifest correction fee, currency exchange rate, container repair charges, and equipment management fee, among others.
In running the liner service, KNSL had the option of chartering or acquiring with time its own vessels. It was anticipated that income arising from transferring MSC trans-shipment cargo from Mombasa to other ports around Africa would yield sufficient funds to make consideration of vessel acquisition a reality in the long run.
The second container terminal is currently being operated by Maersk Shipping, the largest line calling at Mombasa, with control of over 30 per cent of the total cargo volumes at the port. When the terminal was finished over three years ago, it was supposed to be operated by a private player, who KPA was unable to pick from bidders due to a row that ended up in court.
Last year, Denmark, France, Japan and the UK protested that management of CT2 should have gone out to international tender since this was a condition for Japan to provide Sh28 billion for the first phase and Sh35 billion for the second phase construction.
Marine Cargo Insurance (MCI) also has huge potential. Its overall performance has significantly improved since the National Treasury directive to enforce Section 20 of the Insurance Act came into effect on 1 January 2017 that requires compulsory purchase of MCI from local underwriters. However, by importing cargo on Cost Insurance Freight (CIF) and the lack of proper coordination between various agencies has made the enforcing of this requirement a huge challenge.
Claims of undercutting have rocked the MCI insurance business as a record number of players entered the segment. The Insurance Regulatory Authority (IRA) had in the past raised concerns over unsustainable premiums.
Following the directive, the MCI performed considerably well compared to the years before 2017. The gross written premiums were Sh2.3 billion compared to Sh1.45 billion in 2016, representing an increase of 59 per cent. Based on the value of the imports, MCI premiums can generate up to Sh20 billion for local underwriters if the law is fully enforced.
Twenty-seven insurance companies have been brought on the online cargo clearing system run by the KenTrade, which is being integrated with the Kenya Revenue Authority’s Integrated Custom Management System (iCMS). This could help in enforcing section 20.
Cruise ship tourism: The next frontier
Cruise ship tourism is another area with huge potential as it targets high- end tourists. Industry experts say that 400 cruise tourists are equivalent to 4,000 tourists who come to the country via air. Kenya Ships Agents Association (KSAA) estimates that 40 cruise ships calling at the port could translate to US$20 million.
In 2004, at least 42 cruise ships arrived in Mombasa, with 15,166 passengers who took safaris to various destinations, especially to Maasai Mara and Tsavo national parks, earning the sector millions of shillings. But the number dropped as piracy took over in the Indian Ocean, with 2012 being the worst since not a single vessel called at Mombasa port.
Industry experts say that 400 cruise tourists are equivalent to 4,000 tourists who come to the country via air. Kenya Ships Agents Association (KSAA) estimates that 40 cruise ships calling at the port could translate to US$20 million.
A memorandum of understanding was signed early this year between Kenya and Vanilla Islands, a consortium of island nations including Seychelles, Madagascar, Mauritius, Comoros, Reunion, Mayotte and the Maldives.
Construction of the Mombasa cruise ship terminal at the port of Mombasa, which was supported by the Trademark East Africa. has been completed. The new terminal contains duty free shops, conference facilities, restaurants, offices, baggage conveyor belts, and migration and health offices. Further, the facility has a capacity to handle 2,000 cruise ship passengers at a time.
Stakeholders in the hospitality industry have been pushing to be represented at the KPA board so that they can help in understanding cruise tourism dynamics, such as developing cruise facilities at the other smaller ports, and in influencing the port to bid for as many cruise vessels as possible.
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The Moral Economy of Elections in Africa
In recent months it has felt like election rigging has run riot.
Citizens killed, beaten and intimidated and election results falsified in Uganda. Ballot boxes illegally thrown out of windows so their votes for the opposition can be dumped in the bin in Belarus. Widespread censorship and intimidation of opposition candidates and supporters in Tanzania.
So what do ordinary citizens make of these abuses?
If you follow the Twitter feed of opposition leaders like Uganda’s Bobi Wine, it would be easy to assume that all voters are up in arms about electoral malpractice – and that it has made them distrust the government and feel alienated from the state. But the literature on patrimonialism and “vote buying” suggests something very different: that individuals are willing to accept manipulation – and may even demand it – if it benefits them and the candidates that they support.
Our new book, “The Moral Economy of Elections in Africa” tries to answer this question. We looked at elections in Ghana, Kenya and Uganda over 4 years, conducting over 300 interviews, 3 nationally representative surveys and reviewing thousands of pages of archival records.
Based on this evidence we argue that popular engagement with democracy is motivated by two beliefs: the first is civic, and emphasises meritocracy and following the official rules of the democratic game, while the second is patrimonial, and emphasises the distinctive bond between an individual and their own – often ethnic – community.
This means that elections are shaped by – and pulled between – competing visions of what it means to do the right thing. The ability of leaders to justify running dodgy elections therefore depends on whether their actions can be framed as being virtuous on one – or more – counts.
We show that whether leaders can get away with malpractice – and hence undermining democracy – depends on whether they can justify their actions as being virtuous on one – or more effective – of these very different value systems.
We argue that all elections are embedded in a moral economy of competing visions of what it means to be a good leader, citizen or official. In the three countries we study, this moral economy is characterised by a tension between two broad registers of virtue: one patrimonial and the other civic.
The patrimonial register stresses the importance of an engagement between patron and client that is reciprocal, even if very hierarchical and inequitable. It is rooted in a sense of common identity such as ethnicity and kinship.
This is epitomised in the kind of “Big Man” rule seen in Kenya. The pattern that’s developed is that ethnic leaders set out to mobilise their communities as a “bloc vote”. But the only guarantee that these communities will vote as expected is if the leader is seen to have protected and promoted their interests.
In contrast, civic virtue asserts the importance of a national community that is shaped by the state and valorises meritocracy and the provision of public goods. These are the kinds of values that are constantly being pushed – though not always successfully – by international election observers and civil society organisations that run voter education programmes.
In contrast to some of the existing literature, we do not argue that one of these registers is inherently “African”. Both are in evidence. We found that electoral officials, observers and voter educators were more likely to speak in terms of civic virtue. For their part, voters and politicians tended to speak in terms of patrimonial virtue. But they all had one thing in common – all feel the pull of both registers.
This is perfectly demonstrated by the press conferences of election coalitions in Kenya. At these events, the “Big Men” of different ethnic groups line up to endorse the party, while simultaneously stressing their national outlook and commitment to inclusive democracy and development.
It is often assumed that patrimonial beliefs fuel electoral malpractice whereas civic ones challenge it. But this is an oversimplification.
Take the illegal act of an individual voting multiple times for the same candidate. This may be justified on the basis of loyalty to a specific leader and the need to defend community interests – a patrimonial rationale. But in some cases voters sought to justify this behaviour on the basis that it was a necessary precaution to protect the public good because rival parties were known to break the rules.
In some cases, malpractice may therefore look like the “right” thing to do. What practices can be justified depends on the political context – and how well leaders are at making an argument. This matters, because candidates who are not seen to be “good” on either register rapidly lose support.
Nothing demonstrates this better than the practice of handing out money around election times. Our surveys and interviews demonstrated that voters were fairly supportive of candidates handing out “something small” as part of a broader set of activities designed to assist the community. In this context, the gift was seen as a legitimate part of an ongoing patrimonial relationship.
But when a leader who had not already proved their moral worth turned up in a constituency and started handing out money, they were likely to be seen as using handouts to make up for past neglect and accused of illegitimate “vote buying..”
This happened to Alan Kwadwo Kyeremanten in Ghana, a political leader so associated with handing out money that he became popularly known as Alan Cash. But Cash has consistently failed to become the presidential flagbearer for his National Patriotic Party. We argue that this is because he failed to imbue gifts with moral authority. As one newspaper noted at the time:
Alan Cash did not cultivate loyal and trusted supporters; he only used money to buy his way into their minds not their hearts.
The problem of patrimonialism
A great deal of research about Africa suggests – either implicitly or explicitly – that democratisation will only take place when patrimonialism is eradicated. On this view, democratic norms and values can only come to the fore when ethnic politics and the practices it gives rise to are eliminated.
Against this, our analysis suggests that this could do as much harm as good.
Patrimonial ideals may exist in tension with civic ones, but it is also true that the claims voters and candidates make on one another in this register is an important source of popular engagement with formal political processes. For example, voters turnout both due to a sense of civic duty and to support those candidates who they believe will directly assist them and their communities.
This means that in reality ending patrimonial politics would weaken the complex set of ties that bind many voters to the political system. One consequence of this would be to undermine people’s belief in their ability to hold politicians to account, which might engender political apathy – and result in lower voter turnout. In the 2000s, as many as 85% of voters went to the polls, far exceeding the typical figure in established Western democracies.
The same thing is likely to happen if the systematic manipulation of elections robs them of their moral importance – signs of which were already visible in the Ugandan elections of the last few months.
Doing Democracy Without Party Politics
Our various peoples had clear democratic practices in their pre-colonial political formations without the inconvenience of political parties. It is high time we learned from our indigenous heritages.
The formation of factions is part of group dynamics, and is therefore to be found in every society. However, it was 18th century Western Europe and its North American corollary that invented the idea of institutionalising factions into political parties — groups formally constituted by people who share some aspirations and who aim to capture state power in order to use it to put those aspirations into practice. Britain’s Conservative Party and the Democratic Party in the US were the earliest such formations. Thus party politics are an integral part of representative democracy as understood by the Western liberal democratic tradition. Nevertheless, Marxist regimes such as those in China, Cuba, the former Soviet Union and the former East Germany also adopted the idea of political parties, but in those countries single party rule was the norm.
The idea of political parties gained traction in the various colonial territories in Africa beginning with the formation of the African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa in 1912. The founders of the ANC were influenced by African American political thinkers with whom they associated in their visits to the US.
Political organisations during the colonial period in Kenya
Kenya’s first indigenous political organisation, the East African Association (EAA), formed in 1919, had a leadership comprising different ethnic groups – Kikuyu, Luo, Kamba, the various communities later subsumed under “Luhya”, and some Ugandans, then the dominant ethnic groups in Nairobi. Its political programme entailed protests against the hut-tax, forced labour, and the kipande (passbook). However, following the EAA-led Nairobi mass action of 1922 and the subsequent arrest and deportation of three of EAA’s leaders, Harry Thuku, Waiganjo Ndotono and George Mugekenyi, the colonial government seemed to have resolved not to encourage countrywide African political activity, but rather ethnic associations. The subsequent period thus saw the proliferation of such ethnic bodies as the Kikuyu Central Association, Kikuyu Provincial Association, Kavirondo Tax-payers Association, North Kavirondo Tax-payers Association, Taita Hills Association, and the Ukamba Members Association.
In 1944, the colonial government appointed Eliud Mathu as the African representative to the Legislative Council (LegCo). On the advice of the governor, the Kenya African Study Union (KASU) was formed as a colonywide African body with which the lone African member could consult. However, the Africans changed its name to the Kenya African Union (KAU), insisting that their grievances did not need study but rather organisation.
In 1947, James Gichuru stepped down as chairman of KAU in favour of Jomo Kenyatta whose mandate was to establish it as a countrywide political forum. However, there were serious disparities in political awareness, and the colonial government continued to encourage the masses to think of the welfare of their own ethnic groups rather than that of the country as a whole. Besides, KAU’s links with other communities were often strained because of what was perceived as Kikuyu domination of the organisation. By 1950, KAU was largely moribund because, through the Mau Mau Uprising, Africans challenged the entire basis of colonial rule instead of seeking piecemeal reforms. In June 1953, the colonial government banned KAU after it concluded that radicalisation was inevitable in any countrywide African political organisation.
From 1953 to 1956, the colonial government imposed a total ban on African political organisation. However, with the Lyttelton Constitution — which provided for increased African representation — in the offing, the colonial government decided to permit the formation of district political associations (except in the Central Province which was still under the state of Emergency and where the government would permit nothing more than an advisory council of loyalists). Argwings-Kodhek had formed the Kenya African National Congress to cut across district and ethnic lines, but the government would not register it, so its name was changed to the Nairobi District African Congress.
Consequently, the period leading up to independence in 1963 saw a proliferation of regional, ethnic and even clan-based political organisations: Mombasa African Democratic Union (MADU), Taita African Democratic Union (TADU), Abagussi Association of South Nyanza District (AASND), Maasai United Front Alliance (MA), Kalenjin Peoples Alliance (KPA), Baluhya Political Union (BPU), Rift Valley Peoples Congress (RVPC), Tom Mboya’s Nairobi People Convention (NPC), Argwings-Kodhek’s Nairobi African District Council (NADC), Masinde Muliro’s Kenya Peoples Party (KPP), Paul Ngei’s Akamba Peoples Party (APP) later named African Peoples Party (APP) and others.
However, between 1955 and 1963, there developed a countrywide movement led by non-Mau Mau African politicians who appealed to a vision of Kenya as a single people striving to free themselves from the shackles of colonialism. Nevertheless, it was a fragmented movement, partly because the different peoples of Kenya had an uneven political development, becoming politically active at different times. The difficulties of communication and discouragement from the colonial government also contributed to the weakness of the movement.
Nevertheless, on the eve of Kenya’s independence in 1963, the numerous ethnically-based political parties coalesced into two blocks that became the Kenya African National Union (KANU), whose membership mainly came from the Kikuyu and the Luo, and the Kenya African Democratic Union (KADU) which mainly had support from the pastoralist communities such as the Kalenjin, Maasai, Samburu, and Turkana, as well as the Giriama of the Coast and sections of the Luhya of Western Kenya. During the 1963 elections, on the eve of independence, KADU only secured control over two out of the eight regions, namely, the Rift Valley and the Coast.
KANU under Jomo Kenyatta
Although at his release from detention in 1961 Jomo Kenyatta was not keen to join KANU, he ended up as its leader through the machinations of its operatives. He ascended to state power on its ticket at Kenya’s independence, first as Prime Minister, then as President. As Prime Minister, Kenyatta was directly answerable to Parliament, and it is this accountability that he systematically undermined.
First, the KANU government initiated a series of constitutional amendments and subsidiary legislation that concentrated power in the hands of the central government at the expense of the regional governments entrenched in the Independence Constitution. This KANU easily achieved because KADU was greatly disadvantaged numerically in Parliament. Thus within the first year of independence, KANU undermined the regional governments by withholding funds due to them, passing legislation to circumvent their powers, and forcing major changes to the constitution by threatening and preparing to hold a referendum if the Senate – in which KADU could block the proposals – did not accede to the changes.
It was clear to KADU that it was outnumbered and outmanoeuvred, and that the prospects for enforcing the compromise federalist Independence Constitution were grim. It was also clear to KADU that it was highly unlikely that it would win power through subsequent elections. Consequently, KADU dissolved and joined KANU, resulting in Kenya becoming a de facto single-party state at the beginning of 1964. These amendments produced a strong provincial administration which became an instrument of central control.
Second, with the restraining power of the opposition party KADU out of the way, KANU initiated amendments that produced a hybrid constitution, replacing the parliamentary system of governance in the Independence Constitution with a strong executive presidency without the checks and balances entailed in the separation of powers. Thus KANU quickly created a highly centralised, authoritarian system in the fashion of the colonial state.
In 1966, Oginga Odinga, the Luo leader at the time, who had hitherto been the Vice President of both the country and KANU, lost both posts due to a series of political manoeuvres aimed at his political marginalisation. Odinga responded by forming a political party — the Kenya Peoples Union (KPU) — in April of the same year. KPU was a loose coalition of KANU-B “radicals” and trade-union leaders. Although a fifth of the sitting MPs initially supported it, KPU was widely perceived as a Luo party. This was mainly due to the fact that Kenyatta and his cohorts, using the hegemonic state-owned mass media, waged a highly effective propaganda war against it.
Kenyatta took every opportunity to promote the belief that all his political opponents came from Oginga Odinga’s Luo community. Through a series of state-sponsored machinations, KPU performed dismally in the so-called little elections of 1966 occasioned by the new rule, expediently put in place by KANU, that all MPs who joined KPU had to seek a fresh mandate from the electorate.
During the 1969 General Election, KANU was for the first time unopposed. Those who were nominated by the party in the party primaries — where they were held — were declared automatically elected as MPs, and in the case of Kenyatta, President. Thus during the 1969 general election, Kenyatta also established the practice where only he would be the presidential candidate, and where members of his inner circle would also be unopposed in their bids to recapture parliamentary seats.
During Kenyatta’s visit to Kisumu in October 1969, just three months after the assassination of Thomas Joseph Mboya (Tom Mboya), a large Luo crowd reportedly threatened Kenyatta’s security, and was fired on by the presidential security guards in what later came to be known as the “Kisumu massacre”, resulting in the death of forty-three people. In an explanatory statement, the government accused KPU of being subversive, intentionally stirring up inter-ethnic strife, and of accepting foreign money to promote “anti-national” activities. Soon after this incident, the Attorney-General, Charles Njonjo, banned KPU under Legal Notice No.239 of 30th October 1969, and Kenya again became a de facto one-party state. Several KPU leaders and MPs were immediately apprehended and detained.
In 1973, the Gikuyu, Embu and Meru Association (GEMA) was formed with Kenyatta’s consent. In a chapter in Ethnicity and Democracy in Africa, the immediate former Attorney-General Prof. Githu Muigai, explains that GEMA had a two-pronged mission: to strengthen the immediate ethnic base of the Kenyatta state by incorporating the Embu and Meru into a union with the Kikuyu, and to circumvent KANU’s party apparatus in the mobilisation of political support among these groups. While posing as a cultural organisation, GEMA virtually replaced KANU as the vehicle for political activity for most of the Kikuyu power elite. Consequently, many other ethnic groups formed “cultural groups” of their own such as the Luo Union and the New Akamba Union. As Prof. Muigai further observes, with the formation of GEMA, the façade of “nationalism” within KANU had broken down irretrievably.
In October 1975, Martin Shikuku, then MP for Butere, declared on the floor of Parliament that “anyone trying to lower the dignity of Parliament is trying to kill it the way KANU has been killed”. When Clement Lubembe, then Assistant Minister for Tourism and Wildlife, demanded that Shikuku substantiate his claim that KANU had been killed, the then Deputy Speaker, Jean-Marie Seroney, stated: “According to Parliamentary procedures, there is no need to substantiate what is obvious.” Consequently, Shikuku and Seroney were detained without trial, and were only released after Kenyatta’s death in 1978.
KANU under Daniel arap Moi
Two years before Kenyatta’s death, more than twenty MPs sought to amend the section of Kenya’s constitution which stipulated that the vice president would become the interim president should the incumbent become incapacitated or die. Although the “Change the Constitution Movement” involved MPs from across the country, members of GEMA were among the most vociferous in seeking to block Daniel arap Moi’s succession in this way. Thus, upon assuming the Presidency, Moi set about reducing the influence of GEMA, especially its leaders who had been closest to his predecessor. Whereas Kenyatta had by-passed KANU, Moi revitalised and mainstreamed it, using it as the institution through which his networks would be built. By so doing, he undercut the power of established ethno-regional political leaders, and made the party an instrument of personal control.
Besides, Moi persecuted advocates of reform among university lecturers, university students, lawyers and religious leaders, many of whom were arrested, tortured, detained without trial, or arraigned in court to answer to tramped up charges and subsequently face long prison sentences, and all this forced some of them into exile.
Furthermore, Moi co-opted into KANU the Central Organisation of Trade Unions (COTU), Maendeleo ya Wanawake (the countrywide women’s organisation), and any other organisation that he viewed as a potential alternative locus of political power. At one point during Moi’s reign, the provincial administration even harassed people who did not have KANU membership cards in their possessions in markets, bus stops and other public places. I remember my father purchasing these cards to give to all his grown-up children in a bid to help them avoid such harassment. MPs lived under the fear of being expelled from KANU — which would mean automatic loss of their parliamentary seats — and so outdid one another in singing Moi’s and KANU’s dubious praises inside and outside Parliament. On the Voice of Kenya (VOK), the state-run radio station which enjoyed a monopoly, songs in praise of Moi and KANU and others castigating dissenters were played after every news broadcast.
Moi only conceded to restore multi-party politics at the end of 1991 due to the effects of his mismanagement of the economy coupled with the end of the Cold War, both of which increased internal and external pressure for reform. Nevertheless, he declared that people would understand that he was a “professor of politics”, and went on to emphasise that he would encourage the formation of as many parties as possible — a clear indication that he was determined to fragment the opposition in order to hang on to power for as long as possible. Indeed, the opposition unity that had influenced the change was not to last, as ethnically-based parties sprang up all over the country, enabling Moi to win both the 1992 and 1997 elections. Furthermore, the Moi regime was reluctant to put in place the legal infrastructure for a truly multiparty democracy, and the same was later to prove true of the Kibaki regime that took over power on 30th December 2002.
Parties as obstacles to democratisation
In a chapter in A Companion to African Philosophy, Makerere University philosophy professor Edward Wamala outlines three shortcomings of the multi-party system of government in Ganda society in particular, and in Africa in general.
First, the party system destroys consensus by de-emphasising the role of the individual in political action. Put simply, the party replaces “the people”. Consequently, a politician holding public office does not really have loyalty to the people whom he or she purportedly represents, but rather to the sponsoring party. The same being true of politicians in opposing parties, no room is left for consensus building. We have often witnessed parties disagreeing for no other reason than that they must appear to hold opposing views, thereby promoting confrontation rather than consensus.
Second, in order to acquire power or retain it, political parties act on the notorious Machiavellian principle that the end justifies the means, thereby draining political practice of ethical considerations that had been a key feature of traditional political practice. We are thus left with materialistic considerations that foster the welfare not of the society at large, but rather of certain suitably aligned individuals and groups.
Third, as only a few members at the top of a party wield power, even the parties that command the majority and therefore form the government are in reality ruled by a handful of persons. As such, personal rule, after seeming to have been eliminated by putting aside monarchs and chiefs, makes a return to the political arena of the Western-type state. Thus the KANU-NDP “co-operation” and ultimate “merger” was the result of the rapprochement between Daniel arap Moi and Raila Odinga; the Grand Coalition Government was formed as a result of the decision of Mwai Kibaki and Raila Odinga; The Handshake and the Building Bridges Initiative was the result of private consultations between Raila Odinga and Uhuru Kenyatta. In all these cases, party organs were only convened to ratify what the party leaders had already decided, and dissenters threatened with disciplinary action. We have very recently seen the same approach in the debate on the allocation of revenue, where what was supposed to be the opposition party acquiesced to the ruling party’s view simply because of the Handshake and the Building Bridges Initiative.
In my youth, I was convinced that if only multi-party rule would be restored in Kenya, autocracy would be a thing of the past. With hindsight, however, it is now clear to me that just as middlemen enjoy the bulk of the fruit of the sweat of our small-scale farmers, so party leaders enjoy the massive political capital generated by the people. In short, party politics, whether with one, two or many parties in place, hinder true democratisation by perpetuating political elitism and autocracy.
Towards a no-party system of governance
In Cultural Universals and Particulars, the Ghanaian philosopher Kwasi Wiredu advances the view that the no-party system has evident advantages over the multi-party system:
When representatives are not constrained by considerations regarding the fortunes of power-driven parties they will be more inclined in council to reason more objectively and listen more open-mindedly. And in any deliberative body in which sensitivity to the merits of ideas is a driving force, circumstances are unlikely to select any one group for consistent marginalisation in the process of decision-making. Apart from anything else, such marginalisation would be an affront to the fundamental human rights of decisional representation.
However, Yoweri Museveni’s “no-party system” which he instituted when he took power in Uganda in 1986 was simply a one-party system in disguise. Indeed, in his Sowing the Mustard Seed, Museveni unintentionally reveals a party orientation in his analysis of his electoral victory in 1996: “Although I was campaigning as an individual, I had been leading the movement for 26 years. Therefore, the success of the NRM and my success were intertwined.”
Our various peoples had clear democratic practices in their pre-colonial political formations without the inconvenience of political parties. For example, Prof. Wamala, in the chapter already cited, informs us that the Kabaka of the Baganda could not go against the decision of the Elders. It is high time we learned from our indigenous heritages.
Life at the End of the American Empire
The poverty of ideas in America’s political arena reflects the barbarism of our historical moment. While Trump’s minions promote authoritarianism and jingoism, their ideological opponents within the Democratic Party offer equally bankrupt solutions, from a return to “civility” to the rebuilding of national “unity” all the while forgetting the critical lesson: White supremacy does not love White folks.
Americans have a knack for demonstrating, in spectacular fashion, that they possess neither the political language nor the maturity to address the crises of our time.
As the climate catastrophe hurtles past the point of return, US pundits are content to debate “cancel culture.” As levels of economic inequality soar from the obscene to the unfathomable, half the political class obsesses over Russian meddling while the other half nurtures conspiracy theories about the “deep state.”
Critics have long characterised American politics as a form of mass paranoia. Witnessing recent events, one is reminded that American identity itself is an act of self-deception. As a society we remain trapped in petulant adolescence, incapable of and uninterested in developing any real awareness of ourselves.
For decades this willful ignorance made the US an especially dangerous superpower. Now, as the decline of US empire accelerates, our practiced innocence is fueling a sense of collective disorientation and despair.
Critics have long characterised American politics as a form of mass paranoia. Witnessing recent events, one is reminded that American identity itself is an act of self-deception
To grasp our predicament we must recognise modern American politics as a clash between competing delusions. The populist insurgents of the right pursue one set of ideological fantasies while elite apologists for the status quo pursue another. Even as political polarisation increases, both camps embrace the myths of American virtue that perpetuate our national blindness.
The mob that recently stormed the Capitol is a toxic outgrowth of the cult of lies on the right. Among those lies is the assertion that “Blue Lives Matter.” Americans who watched footage of the Capitol invaders pummeling cops with flags and other objects (one officer was bludgeoned to death with a fire extinguisher) might wonder whether “Blue Lives Matter” is actually a principled declaration of support for police, rather than a cynical effort to subvert Black Lives Matter and justify racist state terror.
Many antiracists have long known the truth. Many of us recognise, as well, something that few Americans will ever discover; namely, that White supremacy does not love White folks. Whiteness is simply a method of conquest. It is a necessarily antihuman mode of domination. When the hordes at the Capitol called for the head of Mike Pence, a great White patriarch, and erected gallows outside the halls of Congress, they were enacting a philosophy not of tribal loyalty but of capricious and unrelenting violence.
If the forces on the right wing are driven by lies, the moderate defenders of liberal democracy are no less devoted to deception. Business and political elites condemned the Capitol siege in the wake of the attack. Yet they routinely launch their own “raids” on the commons through the practice of corporate sovereignty and unrestrained capitalism. Some members of the ruling class have framed Trump’s departure from the White House as an opportunity to restore the rule of law and the prestige of American democratic institutions. They cannot be serious. The net worth of US billionaires has risen by a trillion dollars since the pandemic began. Precisely which democracy are Americans supposed to reclaim?
In reality, US plutocrats can offer only a more polished racial capitalism as a remedy for the vulgarity of Trumpism. Their revitalized America will continue to imprison legions of black people, hunt undocumented immigrants, and wage unrelenting war on brown populations abroad. But it will do so under an African American woman vice president and a rainbow cabinet. Voila. White supremacy lite.
If the forces on the right wing are driven by lies, the moderate defenders of liberal democracy are no less devoted to deception. Business and political elites condemned the Capitol siege in the wake of the attack. Yet they routinely launch their own “raids” on the commons through the practice of corporate sovereignty and unrestrained capitalism.
The poverty of ideas in the political arena reflects the barbarism of our historical moment. While Trump’s minions promote authoritarianism and jingoism, many of their ideological opponents within the Democratic Party offer equally bankrupt solutions, from a return to “civility” to the rebuilding of national “unity.” (We are asked to forget that it was decades of “unity” between the Democrats and the billionaire class that helped produce the social and economic dystopia we now inhabit.)
Thus do the reigning forces in American political life—the populist right and the liberal center—sustain their crusades of disinformation. Both factions brandish the bloody flag of patriotism. Both long for the revival of a glorious order. Both preach fundamentalist creeds, whether they use the jargon of White evangelicalism or that of underregulated markets. And both are doomed. They are combatants on the deck of a sinking ship.
In truth, the disintegration of American civilisation has been evident for some time. The perverse murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor were symptoms of deeper pathologies. Our trillion dollar military budget, our gleeful binge of fossil fuels, our support for the occupation and degradation of the Palestinian people—all signal the malignancy of a decadent and cruel nation.
In reality, US plutocrats can offer only a more polished racial capitalism as a remedy for the vulgarity of Trumpism. Their revitalized America will continue to imprison legions of black people, hunt undocumented immigrants, and wage unrelenting war on brown populations abroad.
Meanwhile our intellectual decay intensifies. Capitalism was never going to be satisfied with just seising our social wealth. It has gutted our cultural and educational institutions as well. Small wonder most Americans are strangers to critical thought, and are unable to perceive or meaningfully address the social contradictions that shape their lives. Absorbing the ideas of their religious and political leaders, they find themselves searching for meaning in gospels of prosperity and theories of lizard men.
There may still be an alternative to bewilderment and depravity for the American masses. Recent months and years have witnessed promising countersigns. Popular antiracist and environmental movements reinvigorated our traditions of dissent. Attempts to organize Amazon warehouses, fast food chains, the ridesharing and tech industries and other stubbornly antiunion establishments raised the prospect of renewed worker power. Despite the social devastation of the coronavirus, a period of extreme isolation and anxiety spawned mutual aid projects and tenant struggles.
Progressive dissidents and workers may yet draw on these expressions of solidarity to reconstruct a fractured republic. As feckless Joe Biden takes office, he and his administration should be greeted by waves of radical agitation. We should expand resistance to austerity and endless war, even as we escalate campaigns for climate repair, Medicare for all, living wages, student debt cancellation, and equitable vaccine distribution. Quests for human rights and dignity may not heal America, but they may well preserve some semblance of grace as our society collapses under the weight of its lies.
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