The public debt burden has dominated economic debate in 2019. Public debt is likely to be even more topical in 2020, both domestically and globally. As at end November 2019, 31 out of 70 countries in the IMF’s roster of low-income countries are listed as either in or at high risk of debt distress. Another 26 are listed as being at moderate risk, leaving only 13 that are still at low risk. Last week, the IMF approved a $2.9b bailout for Ethiopia, one of the high distress risk countries.
I first called out the Jubilee administration’s borrowing binge six years ago. Up until two years ago, the IMF and the World Bank were still giving it the thumbs up. (Very often we forget that these institutions are lenders and therefore conflicted on matters debt.) A few weeks ago Donald Kaberuka, the immediate former president of the African Development Bank (AfDB) and erstwhile Finance Minister of Rwanda, dismissed as “nonsensical” any suggestion that Africa may have over-borrowed:
“The idea that Africa is drowning in debt is nonsensical . . . If we can improve on our own domestic revenue mobilization, if we can improve on our public debt management and if we can improve on our debt management capabilities, the continent is able to take a bit more debt, especially at this time when the markets are looking for yield.”
This is an interesting argument. You may also have heard it from the Jubilee administration—the problem is not too much debt; it is the Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA) that is failing to meet revenue targets.
Kaberuka, who I gather is an economist, wittingly or otherwise, fails to make the connection between the borrowing binge and the revenue problem. Only a most incurious economist would look at revenue and debt trends such as ours (see chart) and conclude that they are completely unconnected. Although I have written about the connection on more than one occasion, it is worth recapping. There are two dimensions to the connection: an accounting one and an economic one.
Let’s start with the accounting. Let’s say we start with a GDP of Sh10 trillion which is 80 per cent private economy and 20 per cent government. Let’s then say the government is raising Sh2 trillion, which is 20 per cent of GDP, in tax revenue. Suppose the government goes to China and buys a railway worth Sh500 billion on credit. The GDP will now be Sh10.5 trillion. We will be told that the economy has grown by 5 per cent. But the railway has not added anything to the economy, and nor is it paying tax, so the government still collects Sh2 trillion, but which is now 19 per cent of the Sh10.5 trillion GDP. If this is repeated every year, by year five, the GDP will have expanded to Sh12.8 trillion and the tax revenue-to-GDP ratio will be down to 15.7 per cent.
This is a purely accounting view, which assumes that government investment is neutral, neither helping nor harming the economy. This is not as far-fetched as it might at first appear. For example, it could simply reflect government investments with long gestation periods. Indeed, we have been told that the new Standard Gauge Railway (SGR) is one such long-term visionary project whose benefits will be realised by our grandchildren. But for no harm to occur, two conditions need to obtain. First, all the borrowing needs to be foreign. Use of domestic resources means diverting these from the private economy, and that is harmful. We call this crowding out. Second, there are no repayments, because repayment of foreign debt amounts to sucking money out of the economy, also harmful. Neither obtains.
Let us start with repayments. This year, we have budgeted to pay Sh139 billion ($1.39 billion) in foreign interest, a tenfold-plus increase from Sh11b ($130m) in the 2012-2013 financial year, the last year of the Grand National Coalition government. And this does not include the hefty payments of the principal on the SGR loans that kicked in this year. The use of domestic resources is also a very significant factor. Half the debt that the Jubilee administration has accumulated is domestic. The crowding out extends beyond credit. With so much money to spend liberally, trading with the government becomes the most profitable business, diverting other economic services away from, and inflating the costs for the private sector. This could not be better demonstrated than by the case of Kenya’s banking industry.
Last year, the industry made a consolidated profit of Sh110b, and Sh119b in interest from government securities. Considering that lending to government is virtually costless and risk-free, this implies that banks made all their profits from the government, and lost Sh9b on the business they did with the rest of the economy. The contribution of interest on government securities has increased steadily from 37 per cent in 2013 to 108 per cent in 2018 (see chart). But we also see that the banks’ profitability has declined. Profits declined by 40 per cent in 2017, following the capping of interest rates in late 2016. In 2018 profits were 14 per cent lower than in 2013. If banks are not making money from the private economy, it stands to reason that government revenue will also take a hit.
How much public debt is too much?
Debt experts have sophisticated models that are supposed to tell us. These models are built around “present value.” Present value is the sum of a forecast, such as a cash flow, and in this case annual debt repayments, discounted by a rate of interest or other relevant discount factor, used to give an estimate of current worth. If two similar countries borrow the same amount of money on similar terms, one invests wisely, and the other plunders it all, the net present value of the debt will be the same. It should not surprise then that the IMF’s models were giving the Jubilee borrowing binge the thumbs-up even as the Eurobond went walkabout and one Josephine Kabura was mocking us with tall tales of cash stuffed in gunny bags.
For the financial health of a country, a simple rule of thumb is to ensure that debt service does not grow faster than government revenue for too long. If the debt is invested productively, the investments expand the economy, the government generates more tax revenue from the expanding economy, which it then uses to service the debt. How long is too long? That is a matter of exercising sound judgement. As John Maynard Keynes famously quipped, in the long run, we are all dead. But the question becomes moot when the trend looks like what we see in the chart—debt service heading north, revenue heading south. You do not need present value calculations to see that this trend cannot go on for much longer. Sooner or later, something will have to give.
Expect to hear a lot about fiscal consolidation in 2020.
Fiscal consolidation is defined as policy measures that aim to reduce the deficit and stop the accumulation of debt. The substance of it is what we used to call structural adjustment but, following the 2007 financial crisis, it became necessary to invent a new name—it just wouldn’t do to speak of Spain, or the UK for that matter, as implementing structural adjustment.
A fiscal consolidation strategy is predicated on the expectation that governments can find ways of bringing down deficits without hurting growth. Budget deficits are, in essence, the pumping of money into the economy, which ought to stimulate growth. Conversely, fiscal consolidation amounts to withdrawing money from the economy, which would dampen growth. The problem is that economic slowdown hurts revenue, meaning that the government has to constrain expenditure even further to meet its deficit reduction targets.
The first strategy entails counteracting the contractionary effect of fiscal consolidation with expansionary monetary policy. Simply put, what the government takes away, the Central Bank puts back in circulation. The Central Bank has a couple of tools to do this, principally by buying bonds and lowering the cash ratio and liquidity requirements for the banks (the percentages of assets that banks are required to have in cash and near-cash assets such as Treasury bills and bonds). Shovelling money out of the door is also expected to reduce interest rates, which besides making borrowing attractive for businesses and consumers, can substantially lower the interest cost of domestic debt. But unlike fiscal stimulus where the government is the spender, monetary stimulus depends on market response. The policy makers hope the money will stimulate production, but it could just as well suck in imports, or leave the country to seek higher returns elsewhere, thereby depleting foreign exchange reserves and putting pressure on the currency.
The second strategy is to find “off-balance sheet” financing of public investment. The default alternative these days is the so-called public-private partnerships (PPPs). Simply put, PPPs are the public equivalent of equity financing. Instead of the government borrowing to build a hospital for instance, a private investor builds, and the government leases it. But PPPs have their drawbacks. First, to make them attractive to private investors, PPP projects are usually structured in such a way as to ensure that the investors cannot lose money—“de-risked” in financial lingo.
Second, PPPs are seldom commercially viable so, more often than not, the Government usually has to part-finance the project in order to achieve an attractive rate of return for investors. Third, PPP financing cherry picks projects with commercialisation potential, which typically will be projects that benefit more developed areas or better-off people in society. In economics, we call such policies “regressive”, meaning they transfer resources from the poor to the rich. Fourth, PPPs have a very high corruption risk—we need look no further than the stink that is the medical equipment leasing scheme known as the Managed Equipment Services (MES) project.
Another scheme is to shift debt and deficit financing from the national government’s books to quasi-government agencies, such as has recently been done by amending the law to allow the Kenya Roads Board (KRB) to issue bonds leveraged on the fuel levy revenues that are earmarked for road construction. Assuming an interest rate of, say, 12 per cent, each shilling of fuel levy revenue can be leveraged to borrow 8 shillings. Already, the KRB has published an expression of interest for transaction advisors to raise Sh150 billion. Suffice it to say that Greece used financial gymnastics of this nature to first be admitted into the Eurozone and to subsequently fake compliance.
PPPs have a very high corruption risk—we need look no further than the stink that is the medical equipment leasing scheme known as the Managed Equipment Services (MES) project
How much public finance does development require? There is perhaps no better place to benchmark than with the Asian Tigers.
In the 70s, Thailand and South Korea were raising 13 and 15 per cent of GDP in tax revenue, well below Kenya’s 18 per cent, while Malaysia and Singapore were doing better at just over 20 per cent (see chart). But where the East Asians stand apart is that each of them was able to put at least a third of their revenue into investment. The real miracle here is how they managed to keep their recurrent budget to a maximum of 10 per cent of GDP, out of which they were also heavily investing in education. As economists Mahbub ul Haq and Khadija Haq observed, beneath the East Asian economic miracle lay an education miracle.
It is also a miracle of public finance, specifically, public thrift. We hear a lot about the high saving and investment rate part of the story. What we do not hear about is the role of government in that story. In the early seventies, East Asian and African countries had similar national savings rates, but even then East Asian governments were contributing more to national saving and investment, although African governments’ contribution was also significant (see chart). A decade later, East Asian governments were still contributing over a third of national investment, while for African and other LDC governments this contribution fell to 11 and 6 per cent respectively. Consequently, we turned to foreign resources. By the early 80s, Africa was investing 20 per cent of GDP more than half of which was foreign-financed, while the East Asians were investing 30 per cent, 90 per cent of which was domestically financed.
In the 70s, Thailand and South Korea were raising 13 and 15 per cent of GDP in tax revenue, well below Kenya’s 18 per cent, while Malaysia and Singapore were doing better at just over 20 per cent
The East Asian experience is telling us that when people were too poor to save much, it is the government, and not foreign resources, that closed the gap between private savings and investment requirements. In economics, we postulate that saving is determined primarily by income, and investment by rate of return. As these public investments paid off, they boosted private income and consequently private saving. When countries save more, they need less, not more foreign resources to finance investment. Donald Kaberuka is telling us that we need to raise more revenue to enable us to borrow more. Is he ignorant or dishonest?
During his tenure, the AfDB became the lightning rod for infrastructure-led growth, a fallacy that this column has discussed before. In fact, the nonsensical comments echo sentiments in the AfDB’s 2018 Africa Economic Review, to wit:
“For much of the past two decades, the global economy has been characterised by excess savings in many advanced countries. Those savings could be channeled into financing profitable infrastructure projects in developing regions, especially Africa, to achieve the G20’s industrialisation goal. That this mutually profitable global transaction is not taking place is one of the biggest paradoxes of current times.”
You may want to note that the objective is to “meet the G20’s industrialisation goal.” The irrepressibly prescient Franz Fanon read in the tea leaves:
“The national bourgeoisie will be quite content with the role of the Western bourgeoisie’s business agent, and it will play its part without any complexes in a most dignified manner.”
And therein lies the rub.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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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