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Kenya’s 2019/2020 Budget: A Predatory Scheme Designed for the Hustlers in Government

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RASNA WARAH argues that the 2019/2020 and other budgets prepared by the Jubilee government are essentially predatory and borrow heavily from the British colonialists’ playbook, which sought to enslave the indigenous population by taxing it. The tax regime is in essence in the service of foreign (previously Western, but now increasingly Chinese) capital and local elites.

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Memo to Uhuru Kenyatta: Finish up and Go
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“Rotich catches up with the real ‘hustlers’ in new tax measures,” screamed the front-page headline in the Standard the day after Treasury Cabinet Secretary, Henry Rotich, read what many view as an illegal Sh3 trillion ($30 billion) budget given that it had not been debated by the National Assembly and considering that a bill that would decide how national revenue would be divided had not yet been passed.

The “real hustlers” that the newspaper was referring to were not people like the Deputy President, William Ruto, who has in the past self-identified himself as a hustler, but people at the bottom of the economic pyramid, including security guards, cleaners, drivers, caterers and boda-boda operators, whose employers will now be forced to deduct 5 per cent withholding tax from their salaries. (Dictionary definition of a hustler: Someone who makes money using dishonest means.)

This means that a security guard in Nairobi who earns Sh15,000 a month will now have to forego Sh750 of his salary – probably the equivalent of half his monthly rent in one of the many sprawling slums in the city. The people Rotich wants to net in the tax bracket are those who make a living carrying out low-paying menial or laborious tasks and who can barely make ends meet. For them every shilling earned counts, and every shilling lost means less food on the table, and more sacrifices.

The newspaper made no mention of the actual hustlers and thieves in government who regularly siphon millions of taxpayers’ shillings by raiding the national treasury or the growing number of politically-connected “tenderpreneurs” who sell fictitious goods to government departments – and get away with it. (To date not a single high or low profile suspect involved in Kenya’s many mega corruption scandals has been convicted.) To describe cleaners and security guards as hustlers is the height of irresponsibility on the part of the Standard’s editors.

The “real hustlers” that the newspaper was referring to were not people like the Deputy President, William Ruto, who has in the past self-identified himself as a hustler, but people at the bottom of the economic pyramid, including security guards, cleaners, drivers, caterers and boda-boda operators, whose employers will now be forced to deduct 5 per cent withholding tax from their salaries.

Nor did this or any other newspaper provide sufficient analysis of what the new tax measures would mean for the economy, apart from that they would generate an additional tax revenue of Sh37 billion (an amount that is less than one-tenth of the total amount of money lost in the Goldenberg, Anglo Leasing and other corruption scandals, including those that have taken place under the watch of the current government). How many mamas selling githeri by the roadside will be affected? How many people doing casual or temporary work or who work in the informal economy will sink further into poverty?

It is not as if Kenyans are not paying enough taxes. The Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA) is expected to raise about Sh2 trillion ($20 billion) this year through direct and indirect taxes, such as income tax and VAT, customs duty, and other levies that Kenyans pay when buying unga, cooking oil, batteries, books (which were tax-exempt until Jubilee came into power), cars, petrol and other commodities.

In fact, most Kenyans are already suffering under a tax regime that can only be described as punitive. Extraordinarily high levies and taxes on electricity (which many believe are illegal) have financially crippled many households already struggling under the weight of the high cost of living. Every Kenyan, whether he or she likes it or not, is a taxpayer because the taxes on every product are inevitably passed on to consumers. And those who are employed in the formal sector cannot avoid being taxed because they end up paying taxes through their employers, who have to submit PAYE taxes to KRA on behalf of their employees.

It is not as if Kenyans are not paying enough taxes. The Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA) is expected to raise about Sh2 trillion ($20 billion) this year through direct and indirect taxes, such as income tax and VAT, customs duty, and other levies that Kenyans pay when buying unga, cooking oil, batteries, books (which were tax-exempt until Jubilee came into power), cars, petrol and other commodities.

The problem of misinterpreting or distorting the 2019/2020 budget and its implications was not just confined to the Standard. While admitting that Rotich (who has allegedly been associated with a conflict of interest issue revolving the Arror and Kimwarer dams project saga) had prepared a budget that “raids the poor”, the Daily Nation erroneously described the budget as “capitalist” – as if to imply that Kenya is not a capitalist country, and that somehow the budget had betrayed the country’s communist inclinations. (Dictionary definition of capitalism: An economic and political system in which a country’s trade and industry are controlled by private owners for profit, rather than by the state. Dictionary definition of communism [the antithesis of capitalism]: a theory or system of social organisation in which all property is vested in the community and each person contributes and receives according to their ability and needs. Note: This form of communism morphed into “state capitalism” in the Soviet Union and China, where all property was not vested in the community, but in the state, which then determined what “the community” was entitled to.) Moreover, the newspaper’s editors failed to appreciate that even the most advanced capitalist societies have safety nets for the poor and state-funded social programmes that are focused on the most vulnerable in society.

The budget is also heavily skewed towards the security sector. For instance, while Sh473 billion is allocated to education (which traditionally has always been allocated the bulk of the national budget in Kenya) a whopping Sh325 billion is allocated to security. When a government starts spending a disproportionate amount of money on security, be sure that there will be a lot of kickbacks involved as most security contracts are highly secretive.

As for the Big Four Agenda plans of President Uhuru Kenyatta to improve food security, to increase access to affordable housing, to make health care universal and to boost local manufacturing (which were allocated Sh450 billion), we are still to see their benefits. One thing I am sure of, however, is that the affordable housing part of the agenda will most likely not impact those most in need of affordable housing, which will remain unaffordable for the majority of urban residents. (For more on this, read my article Faulty Towers published in the eReview.)

Home guards and hut tax

The 2019/2020 and other budgets prepared by the Jubilee government and its mandarins are neither capitalist nor a means to rein in those who break the law or who engage in criminal activities; rather these budgets are essentially predatory and borrow heavily from the British colonialists’ playbook, which sought to enslave the indigenous population by taxing it. The tax regime is in essence in the service of foreign (previously Western, but now increasingly Chinese) capital and local elites.

The budget is also heavily skewed towards the security sector. For instance, while Sh473 billion is allocated to education (which traditionally has always been allocated the bulk of the national budget in Kenya) a whopping Sh325 billion is allocated to security.

For those who have studied Kenyan history (and I believe there are fewer of us left as history has now become an optional subject in Kenyan schools), the process of British colonisation in Kenya was consolidated through what is known as the “hut tax”, which was imposed on indigenous people living in the territory now known as Kenya, and particularly those in the so-called White Highlands of Central Kenya. As a form of “indirect rule” the colonialists co-opted local chiefs whose primary responsibility was to recruit labour and to collect taxes. The “home guards” – as the loyalist chiefs and specially-appointed agents who were in the service of the British were known – were rewarded with plots of land (from which the indigenous people were evicted, thereby becoming squatters on their own land), trade licences and tax exemptions.

In her book Britain’s Gulag: The Brutal End of Empire in Kenya, Caroline Elkins, an American historian, describes how the process of colonisation and land alienation was achieved by white settlers and the colonial administration through a system of taxes:

“Labor was the one factor in the economic equation that the settlers and the colonial government could jointly manipulate, and they did so ruthlessly. Rather than offering wage incentives, the European employers relied upon coercion by the colonial government to recruit African labor, which was, more often than not, drawn from the Kikuyu population then living on the edge of the White Highlands. The government’s guarantee of cheap and bountiful Kikuyu labor was based on a complex set of laws aimed at controlling nearly every aspect of Kikuyu life. Over time, four regulations, together, pushed the Kikuyu off their remaining land and into the exploitative wage economy.”

One of these regulations was the displacement of indigenous populations through the establishment of so-called “African reserves” where each ethnic group was expected to live and eke out a living separately. By confining the “natives” to reserves (which were much like the tribal “homelands” in South Africa and the Native American reservations in the United States) the colonisers forced the local population into a wage economy, as the reserves (usually situated on the least fertile parts of the land) could not sustain them. Furthermore, Africans were forbidden from growing cash crops. Those who grew maize and other staple foods were forced to sell them to marketing boards at a set price. (These boards remain in existence to this day, and have continued to exploit and rob farmers, as has been witnessed in various maize scandals.)

After alienating the locals from their land, the colonialists then imposed a hut and poll tax, which, according to Elkins, amounted to nearly twenty-five shillings, or the equivalent of almost two months of African wages at the going local rate. This forced thousands of Kikuyus to migrate in search of paid work. Many women in Central Kenya, who could not afford to pay the hut tax, were forced to migrate to Nairobi, where they made a living through commercial sex work or informal trade. To add insult to injury, these migrants were then forced to carry a kipande (pass) which was used to monitor their movements and keep track of their employment histories.

In her book Britain’s Gulag: The Brutal End of Empire in Kenya, Caroline Elkins, an American historian, describes how the process of colonisation and land alienation was achieved by white settlers and the colonial administration through a system of taxes

When Kenya gained independence, the former home guards became the biggest beneficiaries of land left behind by the departing British. Funded resettlement schemes were manipulated in their favour, and many dispossessed Kenyans found that independence did not result in freedom from want. The new elite class of post-colonial rulers who had benefitted from the colonial system decided to continue with the plunder and exploitation of their own people. The Mau Mau movement, which had struggled to regain land from the colonialists, was outlawed and its members found themselves either landless or forced to eke out a dehumanising existence in slums. In essence, the departing British colonisers never left – they left their agents behind who could be relied on not to disrupt Britain’s hold on its former colony.

Debt and plunder

The plunder of not just Kenya but the whole of Africa has continued unabated since then. According to “Honest Accounts 2017: How the World Profits from Africa’s Wealth”, a report by a consortium of civil society organisations, including Global Justice Now and the Jubilee Debt Campaign, African countries are collectively net creditors to the rest of the world, to the tune of $41.3 billion in 2015. African countries received $161.1 billion in the form of loans, personal remittances and grants in 2015, but $203 billion was taken from the continent; of this, $48 billion was money taken out through “trade mis-invoicing” (a form of tax evasion) by multinational companies. While African countries receive $31 billion in personal remittances from overseas annually, multinational companies operating on the continent repatriate $32 billion in profits to their home countries every year. African governments received $32.8 billion in loans in 2015 but paid $18 billion in debt interest and principal payments.

With rising debt owed to the emerging neocolonial masters in Kenya (such as the Chinese Communist Party), it is likely that this exploitation in the service of foreigner interests will continue. Public debt in Kenya stands at Sh5.4 trillion ($54 billion). Beginning in July this year, Kenya will spend Sh800 billion ($8 billion, or nearly a quarter of the current budget) annually to service maturing loans owed mostly to foreign (read Chinese and European) lenders.

It is possible that given Kenya’s ballooning debt, the Jubilee government felt that the only way to prevent the Chinese government from taking over our ports, airports and other infrastructure in case of non-repayment (as it has done in other countries, such as Sri Lanka) was to tax everyone, including those least able to afford it. But the question remains: In whose name did the Jubilee government accept to sign a highly irresponsible and secretive loan agreement (whose contents remain unknown to the public to date) with the Chinese? Were wananchi or the country’s legislators consulted on whether to go ahead with the standard gauge railway (SGR) and other expensive Chinese-funded projects (which appear to heavily favour the Chinese, as recent reports have indicated)? And now that it finds itself unable to service these loans (partly because the SGR has not yielded expected revenue for the Kenyan government), what moral or legal authority does the government have to tax its citizens to service them?

Moreover, given the corruption scandals in the country – which have reached unprecedented levels under Jubilee – what incentive does an ordinary Kenyan have to further fund a government whose leaders (including at the county level) have become adept at stealing taxpayers’ money? Not to mention that every year the Auditor General reports that more than a third of the national budget is unaccounted for or lost to fraud. (That could mean Sh1 trillion or $10 billion lost to corruption or fraud this financial year.) And while an increasing numbers of Kenyans are being forced to go without essential items and services, no austerity measures have been imposed on our legislators – Kenya’s pampered and shameless lawmakers continue to earn salaries and allowances that rival those of lawmakers in rich industrialised countries.

Kenya is neither a capitalist country nor a developmental state. Nor is it a command-and-control economy along the lines of China. It is a predatory state that benefits only a few chosen elite, and has remained so since the days of colonialism. What’s worse, most trade unions, consumer watchdog associations, and state environmental agencies exist in name only, which means that the majority of Kenyans are left to their own devices to defend their interests.

A boycott or protest of some sort might be required to stop the bleeding. But even the Kenyan government knows that a people whose lives are dominated by survival issues and worries about paying bills and taxes will not have the energy to revolt. Like the dispossessed Kikuyus in Central Kenya, we will work even harder as we watch our resources being forcefully taken away from us by the very people who demand taxes from us so that they can continue with the plunder. (We Kenyans are submissive law-abiding citizens, after all, even if the law has the potential to strangle and kill us. We are deeply religious too.)

But then, that is what Omar al-Bashir believed until the Sudanese people decided that enough is enough.

Rasna Warah
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Rasna Warah is a Kenyan writer and journalist. In a previous incarnation, she was an editor at the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-Habitat). She has published two books on Somalia – War Crimes (2014) and Mogadishu Then and Now (2012) – and is the author UNsilenced (2016), and Triple Heritage (1998).

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What Is Trump’s Only Redemption? That He’s an Utter Coward

There is an element to Trump that is almost tragic if he were not such a buffoon. What happens if the next Trump is just mad and brave enough to really commit and go all the way?

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What Is Trump’s Only Redemption? That He’s an Utter Coward
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Consider something for a second: how severe could things have gotten, both in America and globally, if Trump weren’t an utter coward?

I can already hear the murmurs of dissent: “How can he be a coward? Trump just tried to overthrow the US government on live television!” Yes, that is entirely true — and yet he didn’t. The entire tenure of his administration seems to have been a series of near misses; flirting with dangerous ideas and flitting back under the umbrella of normalcy just before the precipice. Every disaster that he helped to foist on the world could have been exponentially worse — if only he had been as committed to being the strongman he always boasted to be.

He isn’t. He’s a little daddy’s boy, a frightened man-child who doesn’t have the courage to follow through on the bull he himself spouts in front of adoring supporters. He’s an entitled, rich, spoilt moron and always has been. For all the bluster, when the chips are down, he’s quick to back off. Remember that boastful kid in primary school who was probably dropped off in his family’s C-Class Mercedes and looked down on everyone within insulting distance? He’d puff himself up and spit on others, until one day someone slapped the hell out of him. Upon getting struck, and family power no longer mattering, it became apparent that he didn’t even know how to throw a punch. That’s Trump in a nutshell. But Trump was also the gleeful little sociopath who led the charge in starting a fire only to have it pointed out there could be consequences without Daddy around. Learning of possible repercussions, he was the type to throw others quickly under the bus and backtrack from his own fomented chaos.

To be clear, in the last year especially, Trump absolutely could have gone horrifyingly further than he did. Could you imagine if Trump, the wannabe little dictator that he is, had the convictions (terrible though they are) of a Museveni or an Uhuru? It was within his power to do so, but he kept pulling back. Take for instance the Black Lives Matter movement across the United States in the summer of 2020. Yes, there was horrible police violence, clashes amongst protesters, chaos and destitution. In the midst of all of those charred buildings and the all-pervasive sense of loss in Minneapolis (the city where George Floyd was executed by police), I had a feeling I could not quite shake off as masked marchers swarmed in the streets around me: couldn’t this have been so much worse? To be clear, there absolutely could have been martial law declared but all those Trumpian threats of militarising entire cities never fully materialised beyond a handful of arrests by unidentified officers of questionable loyalties.

Sure, all these things are a horror and an affront to “Western society”. We get it. But all things are relative in politics so imagine if Uhuru had been in Trump’s shoes. Kagame calling the shots. Museveni. What would have happened? Experience tells me that those ugly bruises and lost eyes from rubber bullets would have needed body bags; the amount of live ammunition used would have been innumerable, and the scale of the tragedy would have been of unheard of proportions. Ask a Kenyan university student how their protests tend to wind up; talk to a random Kampala youth about how things shook out a couple weeks after the presidential election. If you can manage to find one, talk to an opposition leader in Rwanda. If there are any brave enough to filter back into Burundi, ask anyone involved in the coup attempt against Nkurunziza a few years back. The point here isn’t to give undue credit to tyrants, but merely to point out that things can always be drastically worse.

What happened in November of 2020 in Kampala? Protests at the arrest of Bobi Wine were met with such utter brutality it was incredible that anyone would dare stick their head out. Officially 54 people were killed but there are claims that the real death toll is in fact far higher. Take the days after the Kenyan re-election of Uhuru Kenyatta back in 2017, when there seemed to be a sort of suspension of what was to come next as the election drama unfolded and the cops came down hard on Kawangware and Kibera. That’s what being a totalitarian looks like. It is cops firing on crowds, social media shutdowns and mass power cuts. Looking back years from now, the reality will prevail that Trump could easily have gone there but didn’t.

That is the essence of Trump, absolutely having the power to be a world-class dictator, but lacking the organisational skills, intelligence, or conviction to jump in all the way. He always dips his toe in at the deep end, but never dives. The waters of reality are always a bit too cold for him, the soup just a bit too hot for his liking. His legacy will be one of having half-assed it in all aspects of his administration, from fascism to COVID-19 vaccine rollouts. I don’t think that it is any real stretch to look at him and state plainly that he’s just too cowardly to really accomplish anything that he aspires to. While Sevo cranks out press-ups on state television, Trump has spent his time cranking out tweets in between bites of “quarter-pounder” cheeseburgers from the comfort of his own bed.

Of course, the Western media will not countenance such comparisons, let alone acknowledge how much worse the situation could have easily become at the US Capitol last January 6th. For the American media, this is (rightly) a major blow to US democracy, but (wrongly) the single worst thing that could have happened. For instance, what if just two more of the thousands of protesters had discharged the firearms they were carrying inside that crowded Capitol Building? What if the pipe bombs planted near the Democratic National Committee and Republican National Committee buildings had exploded? What if the mob had wedged its way into the chambers of the Senate and the House quickly enough to get their hands on members of congress? And what if Trump himself had not backed off and sent out a tepid message to his supporters at the 11th hour?

Think about this: in coup d’état terms, the Trump mob had pulled it off. They had taken the single most important government building in the US and had done so quite easily. Their flags were draped from balconies and their cronies were climbing the ramparts to continue streaming through the doors. They took the seat of government and, for a brief period during the process of transitioning power, successfully interrupted the proceedings and forced all the democratically elected members of congress to scurry into the labyrinth of subterranean tunnels below the Capitol Building to save their very lives. That is a coup. A successful one at that. For one committed to following through on his calls to overthrow the government, this would be a crowning achievement.

Picture this: if three years ago Raila Odinga had called on his supporters to storm State House, and they had successfully done so while Uhuru’s re-election  was being certified, forcing members of parliament to flee in their government-issue Prados, what would that be called? I know what the Western media would have said about it, that it is another sad story of a developing country in Africa that just could not get over the hump of real democracy. There probably would have been some backroom deals with international powers, and an intervention from all those British troops that hold the base up on Mount Kenya may not have been entirely out of the question. Perhaps Raila is the most eloquent example as he does have a bit of a track record of stirring up his supporters after controversial elections then backing down “for the sake of the country” after chaos has already erupted.

The coup was complete but Trump pulled out of it quicker than from his marriage to a wife turning 40. Why? Could it be that it is only when his advisors managed to get his ear during cable news commercial breaks that he realised that he might drown in the madness? I for one certainly think so. When he realised that there would be consequences for his little civil war charade, Trump felt what he always feels — fear. Trump didn’t realise there could be ramifications for what he was doing until someone (not named Mike Pence) put the fear deep into him. He backed off, and American democracy continues shakily on into an uncertain future

Now there actually might be consequences — legal ones at that. Banks are cutting ties and media partnerships are being snuffed out in rapid succession. Some Republicans are now actively jumping ship, others have deflected blame or finally acknowledged that there is a central symptom to the American political condition. It is too little, too late of course, and the task of getting Americans locked in a tribal political death embrace to try not to strangle each other is now firmly in the hands of centrist Democrats who may not actually follow through on the massive economic recovery needed for the citizens of the US to survive the coronavirus pandemic and the resulting economic disaster. Is the US still the preeminent superpower as the Trump administration takes the exit? Yes, unfortunately it is. Imperialism is still alive and well, and frankly could have weighed way more heavily on the global community over the last four years.

A lingering question remains, one that hangs like a suspended piano over the heads of the Democratic establishment: what or who will come along next? It is obvious that the cat has been let out of the dark ethers of conservatism for a while now; just how much has that cohort been emboldened? It is a question that I have asked before, but now as flags were draped on the smoldering fences that were brought down around the US Capitol, the core of the issue remains; what happens if the next Trump is just mad and brave enough to really commit and go all the way? There is an element to Trump that is almost tragic if he were not such a showman; he evoked something amongst a huge swath of the public consciousness, only for it to prove illusory for Trump never understood what he had within his grasp in the first place.

Whoever comes next might just push the boundaries further out, might commit to striking Iran, take concentration camps for immigrants to a greater extreme, declare martial law and put armed troops in the streets with a standing “shoot to kill” order. Someone who might take measures to outlaw efforts to combat global warming and do all of this without batting an eyelid or seeing any reason to back down. The part of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic wasn’t what was visible, but the larger mass just below the surface and out of sight. To put it bluntly, next time the United States might not be pulled back from the brink by cowardice.

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What Kenyans Have Always Wanted is to Limit the Powers of the Executive

As Kenya’s political class considers expanding the executive branch of government, no one seems to be talking about restricting its powers.

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What Kenyans Have Always Wanted is to Limit the Powers of the Executive
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The tyranny of numbers, a phrase first applied to Kenyan politics by one of Kenya’s most well-known political commentators, Mutahi Ngunyi, was repeated ad nauseum during the week of waiting that followed Kenya’s 2013 general elections.

In ads published in the run-up to the 2013 elections by the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC), people were told to vote, go home and accept the results. Encouraged by a state that had since the 2007 post-electoral violence dominated public discourse and means of coercion, the military pitched camp in polling stations. Many streets in Kenya’s cities and towns remained deserted for days after the polls closed.

According to Ngunyi, the winner of the 2013 elections had been known four months earlier, that is, when the electoral commission stopped registering voters.

In a country whose politics feature a dominant discourse that links political party and ethnicity, the outcome of voter registration that year meant that the Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto-led coalition, the Jubilee Alliance, would start the electoral contest with 47 per cent of the vote assured. With these statistics, their ticket appeared almost impossible to beat. For ethnic constituencies that did not eventually vote for Uhuru Kenyatta – the Jubilee Alliance presidential candidate in 2013 – a sense of hopelessness was widespread.

For them, a bureaucratic, professionalised, dispassionate (even boring) discourse became the main underpinning of the 2013 elections.

This was not the case in 2017.

Uhuru Kenyatta, pressured by opposition protests and a Supreme Court ruling that challenged his victory and ordered a re-run, met with Raila Odinga – his challenger for the presidency in the 2013 and 2017 elections – and offered a settlement. It became known as the Building Bridges Initiative (BBI).

In his 2020 Jamhuri Day speech, Uhuru reiterated that the purpose of the BBI process is to abolish the winner-takes-all system by expanding the executive branch of government.

As he explained it, the challenge to Kenya’s politics is the politicisation of ethnicity coupled with a lack of the requisite number of political offices within the executive branch that would satisfy all ethnic constituencies – Kenya has 42 enumerated ethnic groups.

The revised BBI report that was released on 21 October 2020 (the first was published in November 2019) has now retained the position of president, who, if the recommendations are voted for in a referendum, will also get to appoint a prime minister, two deputy prime ministers and a cabinet.

Amid heckles and jeers during the launch of the revised BBI report, Deputy President William Ruto asked whether the establishment of the positions of prime minister and two deputy prime ministers would create the much sought-after inclusivity. In his Jamhuri Day speech, the president conceded that they wouldn’t, but that the BBI-proposed position of Leader of Official Opposition – with a shadow cabinet, technical support and a budget – would mean that the loser of the presidential election would still have a role to play in governance.

One could not help but think that the president’s statement was informed by the fact that Odinga lost to him in both the 2013 and 2017 presidential elections –  this despite Odinga’s considerable political influence over vast areas of the country.

The 2010 constitution’s pure presidential system doesn’t anticipate any formal political role for the loser(s) of a presidential election. Raila held no public office between 2013 and 2017, when he lost to Uhuru. This did not help to address the perception amongst his supporters that they had been excluded from the political process for many years. In fact, Raila’s party had won more gubernatorial posts across the country’s 47 counties than the ruling Jubilee Alliance had during the 2013 elections.

While Raila’s attempts to remain politically relevant in the five years between 2013 and 2017 were largely ignored by Uhuru, the resistance against Uhuru’s victory in 2017 wasn’t.

The anger felt by Raila’s supporters in 2017 following the announcement that Uhuru had won the elections – again – could not be separated from the deeply-entrenched feelings of exclusion and marginalisation that were at the centre of the violence that followed the protracted and disputed elections.

The reading of Kenyan politics that is currently being rendered by the BBI process is that all ethnic constituencies must feel that they (essentially, their co-ethnic leaders) are playing a role in what is an otherwise overly centralised, executive-bureaucratic state. This is despite the fact that previous attempts to limit the powers of the executive branch by spreading them across other levels of government have often invited a backlash from the political class.

Kenya’s independence constitution had provided for a Westminster-style, parliamentary system of government, and took power and significant functions of government away from the centralised government in Nairobi, placing significant responsibility (over land, security and education, for instance) in the hands of eight regional governments of equal status known in Swahili as majimbo. The majimbo system was abolished and, between 1964 to 1992, the government was headed by an executive president and the constitution amended over twenty times – largely empowering the executive branch at the expense of parliament and the judiciary. The powers of the president were exercised for the benefit of the president’s cronies and co-ethnics.

By 2010 there was not a meaningful decentralised system of government. The executive, and the presidency at its head, continued to survive attempts at limiting their powers. This has continued since 2010.

As Kenya’s political class considers expanding the executive branch of government, no one seems to be talking about restricting its powers.

Beyond the minimum of 35 per cent of national revenue that the BBI report proposes should be allocated to county governments, it is less clear whether the country’s leaders are prepared to decentralise significant powers and resources away from the executive, and away from Nairobi.

Perhaps the real solution to the challenges of governance the BBI process purports to address is to follow the prescriptions of the defunct Yash Pal Ghai team – it went around the country collecting views for constitutional change in 2003-2004.

According to a paper written by Ghai himself, the Ghai-led Constitution of Kenya Review Commission (CKRC) had no doubt that, consistent with the goals of the review and the people’s views, there had to be a transfer of very substantial powers and functions of government to local levels.

The CKRC noted – much like Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga now have – that the centralised presidential system tends to ethnicise politics, which threatens national unity.

Kenyans told the CKRC that decisions were made at places far away from them; that their problems arose from government policies over which they had no control; that they wanted greater control over their own destiny and to be free to determine their lifestyle choices and their affairs; and not to be told that they are not patriotic enough!

Yes, the BBI report has proposed that 5 per cent of county revenue be allocated to Members of County Assemblies for a newly-created Ward Development Fund, and that businesses set up by young Kenyans be exempted from taxation for the first seven years of operation. However, this doesn’t amount to any meaningful surrender of power and resources by the executive.

In emphasising the importance of exercising control at the local level, Kenyans told the CKRC that they wanted more communal forms of organisation and a replacement of the infamous Administration Police with a form of community policing. They considered that more powers and resources at the local level would give them greater influence over their parliamentary and local representatives, including greater control over jobs, land and land-based resources.  In short, Kenyans have always yearned for a dispersion of power away from the presidency, and away from the executive and Nairobi. They have asked for the placing of responsibility for public affairs in the hands of additional and more localised levels of government.

This is what would perhaps create the much sought-after inclusivity.

But as the BBI debate rages on, the attention of the political class is now on the proposed new positions within the executive branch. And as the debate becomes inexorably linked to the 2022 Kenyatta-succession race, questions centring on political positions will likely become personalised, especially after the political class cobbles together coalitions to contest the 2022 general elections.

Meanwhile, ordinary Kenyans will be left battling the aftermath of a pandemic, and having to deal with the usual stresses brought on by a political class seeking their votes for another round of five years of exclusion.

The more things change, the more they remain the same.

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Uganda: Democracy for Some, Mere Management for Others

The coming election in Uganda is significant because if there is to be managed change, it will never find a more opportune moment.

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Western powers slowly tied a noose round their own necks by first installing Uganda’s National Resistance Movement regime, and then supporting it uncritically as it embarked on its adventures in militarism, plunder and human rights violations inside and outside Uganda’s borders.

They are now faced with a common boss problem: what to do with an employee of very long standing (possibly even inherited from a predecessor) who may now know more about his department than the new bosses, and who now carries so many of the company’s secrets that summary dismissal would be a risky undertaking?

The elections taking place in Uganda this week have brought that dilemma into sharp relief.

An initial response would be to simply allow this sometimes rude employee to carry on. The problem is time. In both directions. The employee is very old, and those he seeks to manage are very young, and also very poor and very aspirational because of being very young. And also therefore very angry.

Having a president who looks and speaks like them, and whose own personal life journey symbolises their own ambitions, would go a very long way to placating them. This, if for no other reason, is why the West must seriously consider finding a way to induce the good and faithful servant to give way. Nobody lives forever. And so replacement is inevitable one way or another.

But this is clearly not a unified position. The United Kingdom, whose intelligence services were at the forefront of installing the National Resistance Movement/Army (NRM/A) in power nearly forty years ago, remains quietly determined to stand by President Yoweri Museveni’s side.

On the other hand, opinion in America’s corridors of power seems divided. With standing operations in Somalia, and a history of western-friendly interventions in Rwanda, the Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan, and even Kenya, the Ugandan military is perceived as a huge (and cut-price) asset to the West’s regional security concerns.

The DRC, in particular, with its increasing significance as the source of much of the raw materials that will form the basis of the coming electric engine revolution, has been held firmly in the orbit of Western corporations through the exertions of the regime oligarchs controlling Uganda’s security establishment. To this, one may add the growing global agribusiness revolution in which the fertile lands of the Great Lakes Region are targeted for clearing and exploitation, and for which the regime offers facilitation.

Such human resource is hard to replace and therefore not casually disposed of.

These critical resource questions are backstopped by unjust politics themselves held in place by military means. The entire project therefore hinges ultimately on who has the means to physically enforce their exploitation. In our case, those military means have been personalised to one individual and a small circle of co-conspirators, often related by blood and ethnicity.

However, time presses. Apart from the ageing autocrat at the centre, there is also a time bomb in the form of an impoverished and anxious population of unskilled, under-employed (if at all) and propertyless young people. Change beckons for all sides, whether planned for or not.

This is why this coming election is significant. If there is to be managed change, it will never find a more opportune moment. Even if President Museveni is once again declared winner, there will still remain enough political momentum and pressure that could be harnessed by his one-time Western friends to cause him to look for the exit. It boils down to whether the American security establishment could be made to believe that the things that made President Museveni valuable to them, are transferable elsewhere into the Uganda security establishment. In short, that his sub-imperial footprint can be divorced from his person and entrusted, if not to someone like candidate Robert Kyagulanyi, then at least to security types already embedded within the state structure working under a new, youthful president.

Three possible outcomes then: Kyagulanyi carrying the vote and being declared the winner; Kyagulanyi carrying the vote but President Museveni being declared the winner; or failure to have a winner declared. In all cases, there will be trouble. In the first, a Trump-like resistance from the incumbent. In the second and the third, the usual mass disturbances that have followed each announcement of the winner of the presidential election since the 1990s.

Once the Ugandan political crisis — a story going back to the 1960s — is reduced to a security or “law and order” problem, the West usually sides with whichever force can quickest restore the order they (not we) need.

And this is how the NRM tail seeks to still wag the Western dog: the run-up to voting day has been characterised by heavy emphasis on the risk of alleged “hooligans” out to cause mayhem (“burning down the city” being a popular bogeyman). The NRM’s post-election challenge will be to quickly strip the crisis of all political considerations and make it a discussion about security.

But it would be strategically very risky to try to get Uganda’s current young electorate — and the even younger citizens in general — to accept that whatever social and economic conditions they have lived through in the last few decades (which for most means all of their lives given how young they are) are going to remain in place for even just the next five years. They will not buy into the promises they have seen broken in the past. Their numbers, their living conditions, their economic prospects and their very youth would then point to a situation of permanent unrest.

However, it can be safely assumed that the NRM regime will, to paraphrase US President Donald Trump, not accept any election result that does not declare it the winner.

Leave things as they are and deal with the inevitable degeneration of politics beyond its current state, or enforce a switch now under the cover of an election, or attempt to enforce a switch in the aftermath of the election by harnessing the inevitable discontent.

Those are the boss’ options.

In the meantime, there is food to be grown and work to be done.

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