“Public participation calls for the appreciation by State, Government and all stakeholders implicated in this appeal that the Kenyan citizenry is adult enough to understand what its rights are under Article 34 [of the Constitution]. In the cases of establishment, licensing, promotion and protection of media freedom, public participation ensures that private “sweet heart” deals, secret contracting processes, skewed sharing of benefits-generally a contract and investment regime enveloped in non-disclosure, do not happen. Thus, threats to both political stability and sustainable development are nipped in the bud by public participation. Indeed, if they did the word and spirit of the Constitution would be both subverted.” – Communications Commission of Kenya & 5 Others v Royal Media Services Limited & Others  eKLR, para 381.
The role of constitutions and law in social transformation
The role of law in social transformation has a long genealogy when posed as a question about whether law and the courts can advance, stagnate or impede transformation and revolution. This question, once the source of serious and continuous jurisprudential debates, has acquired a consensus that law, indeed, has a role to play in societal transformation and revolution. This multi-disciplinary consensus is shared by lawyers, economists, policymakers, politicians, international organisations, and think tanks.
The debate on the new phenomenon of transformative constitutionalism has been both enriched and transformed by this consensus. The very idea of a transformative constitution (such as those of India, Colombia, South Africa, Ecuador, Venezuela, Bolivia, and Kenya) is the idea that the constitutional superstructure is embedded in a theory that it will be an instrument for the transformation of society rather than a historical, economic and socio-political pact to preserve the status quo as the earlier constitutions did. Constitutions and law have a class content. The superstructure does not merely conform to the economic base passively.
Issues of base and superstructure need creative and undogmatic re-analyses given the changing contexts and circumstance of the world. It should be argued that the dialectical relationship between the base and superstructure will need creativity, innovation, lack of dogma in the varying economic, political, social, ideological, cultural, and intellectual contexts without losing sight of the original revolutionary messages and expected revolutionary outcomes. This approach takes into account the limitations of transformative constitutions and constitutionalism as a basis for understanding revolutionary constitutions of the past, such as the Bolshevik, Chinese, Cuban, and Vietnamese ones. Meanwhile, transformative constitutions are about mitigating the status quo that societies find unsustainable and unacceptable.
While still on the issue of relations between base and superstructure, the constitution and law are part of the superstructure as is politics. The base determines the long movement of history. Most African states were governed by laws that did not recognise Africans as citizens. In my view, these vital aspects of the superstructure are significant forces in the short to immediate term. I would add, however, that they play either a progressive or a retrogressive role depending on the way they are used to fight the base (in our day and age, imperialism) or reinforce it. Whether these aspects play a progressive role, whether they have transformative potential depends on who uses them and how. And this depends mainly on the quality of political leadership and authentic opposition in all countries.
Judicial leadership is integrated in such leadership. I believe progressive forces in the Judiciary can use the constitution and law in moving society towards fundamental transformation. They will do that by developing progressive jurisprudence out of the constitution and the law, accepting that judicial officers do politics, and that their institution, the judiciary, is an institutional political actor.
We, the people of Kenya
Modern transformative constitutions – under which the Kenyan one falls – address two fundamentally critical pillars that anchor societal development: the equitable distribution and use of political power and land and natural resources of the country. The two pillars are the basis of survival, promise of democracy, equity, and prosperity in a nation. They impact the struggles for freedom, emancipation, struggles against exploitation, domination and oppression. These struggles are internal as well as external. It is these struggles that capture, going forward, a new nation, and a new planet that is peaceful, non-militaristic, free, just, equitable, ecologically safe, prosperous, and in my books, socialist. It is only the people the world over who can make this vision a reality. The 2010 Constitution puts Kenyans in this trajectory of struggle. It seeks to mitigate the status quo that is unacceptable and unsustainable while becoming a basis for further struggles towards freedom and emancipation.
The constitution-making process that birthed the 2010 Constitution was people-driven. The consultations with the Kenyan people were robust. The debates on whether the people’s will was reflected in the many drafts that were considered was an extension of the struggle to ultimately guarantee that the Constitution was a people’s constitution. Once in place, the implementation of the Constitution triggered yet another struggle in the constitution-making process. The Constitution Implementing Constitution, Parliament, and courts became central in the struggle to breathe life into the new Constitution. That struggle still continues.
There can be no doubt in the provisions of the 2010 Constitution about the centrality of the Kenyan people in its implementation. In the Preamble it is We, the people of Kenya that ADOPT, ENACT and give this Constitution to ourselves and to our future generations. Chapter One of the Constitution is appropriately titled Sovereignty of the People and Supremacy of the Constitution. Article 1 (1) & (2), respectively, provide that “All sovereign power belongs to the people of Kenya and shall be exercised only in accordance with this Constitution” and “The people may exercise their sovereign power either directly or through their democratically elected representatives.”
The constitution-making process that birthed the 2010 Constitution was people-driven. The consultations with the Kenyan people were robust.
Kenyans are further called upon under Article 3 (1) “to respect, uphold and defend this Constitution.” Although English and Kiswahili are the official languages of the Republic of Kenya under Article 7, the State is obligated to “promote the development and use of indigenous languages, Kenyan Sign language, Braille and other communication formats and technologies accessible to persons with disabilities.” Under Article 10, participation of the people is one of the national values and principles of governance. In reinforcing this value, other relevant values are patriotism, national unity, human dignity, democracy, equity, human rights, rule of law, non-discrimination, protection of the marginalised, integrity, transparency, accountability, and sustainable development. Under Article 11 the “Constitution recognises culture as the foundation of the nation and the cumulative civilization of the Kenyan people and nation.”
The Kenyan Bill of Rights, under Chapter 4, is perhaps the most progressive in the world. It gives Kenyans the promotion and protection of their whole gamut of political, civil, economic, social, and cultural rights. (However, it must be noted that the Bill of Rights has its limitations. It is not clear on the protection of gay rights. Land rights are still based on the protection of private property under Article 40. Although there is a category of community land, the fundamental land regime is one that protects land as a commodity, making the ownership and use of land the root cause of poverty and gross inequalities.) Article 22 (1) in the Bill of Rights states “Every person has the right to institute court proceedings claiming that a right or fundamental freedom in the Bill of Rights has been denied, violated or infringed, or threatened.” Article 258 (1) provides that “Every person has the right to institute court proceedings claiming that this Constitution has been contravened or is threatened with contravention. Article 22 (2) and Article 258 (2) decree robust sovereignty of Kenyans as individuals and in the public interest.
All these provisions are the basis of Kenyan citizens and institutions developing robust jurisprudence of public interest litigation (PIL) in the protection of the Bill of Rights, in particular, and the Constitution in general. These provisions give Kenyans the responsibility to protect the Constitution from subversion by Parliament, state institutions, the executive, and/or external forces that could, through investment agreements or military pacts, subvert our Constitution. (We need to glorify the work of Katiba Institute and Okoiti Omtata for breathing life into these provisions. Katiba Institute works with individuals or social movements to take up cases in their interest. So does, Omtata. One hopes that going forward the Law Society of Kenya will take up serious and robust public interest litigation, as provided under the Law Society Act.)
The sovereign power of the Kenyan people is delegated or donated to Parliament (whose members the Constitution decrees be individuals of integrity). The Constitution also provides for how political parties are to mobilise people. Article 81 provides for “free and fair” elections that deliver electoral justice to Kenyans. So, the “legislative authority of the Republic is derived from the people” under Article 94. So are executive and judicial authorities “derived from the people” under Articles 129 and 159, respectively.
The sovereign power of the Kenyan people is delegated or donated to Parliament (whose members the Constitution decrees be individuals of integrity). The Constitution also provides for how political parties are to mobilise people.
All the structures under the national and county executive, such as finance and security, also derive their authority from the people of Kenya. Commissions created under Chapter 15 have one of their objects “to protect the sovereignty of the people” of Kenya. The peoples’ sovereignty reigns supreme in matters of amending the Constitution under Articles 255-257. Article 259 provides for a theory of interpreting the Constitution that is pro-people and cognisant of the people’s economic, social, cultural, spiritual, and political struggles that underpin the word and spirit of the Constitution.
Reality or lip service?
I would like to comment on two case studies, namely, the Makueni County Experiment and the current political initiative called the Building Bridges Initiative (BBI). In my view, the former case study breathes life into the sovereignty of the people while in the latter case the political leadership subverts that same sovereignty.
Case Study 1: The Makueni County Experiment
There is no doubt that the Makueni County Experiment in the implementation of the 2010 Constitution has caught the imagination politicians, public intellectuals, civil society groups, and foreign interests represented by the diplomatic missions in Nairobi. There has been consistent bench-marking to Makueni by governors of other counties. The media could have participated robustly in these bench-marking trips, but that has not been the case.
Makueni is, indeed, a beacon of progress in the implementation of the Constitution. The robust public participation and civic education in matters of county governance are a reflection of the reality of the sovereignty of the people. Makueni County has a county agenda discussed right from the grassroots in a six-tier consultation process. In matters of governance, Makueni County has made a reality of the constitutional requirement of the people’s authority. The county has donated its executive political power to the grassroots in the County Agenda. The consensus reached in the Agenda cannot be varied by the County Assembly or the leadership of the County Government. Monitoring of budgets and the implementation of the Agenda is subjected to robust public participation.
The political leadership of Makueni County is known to be incorruptible. It accounts in a transparent manner the resources entrusted to it by people. Some key projects have become the talk of the country: universal healthcare; scholarships; factories; and other projects in compliance with the county agenda such as the mango and milk plants; and innovative research on education as a public good. Partnerships with foreign interests have been on the basis of the vision of the county, a good precedent in negotiation after the county clearly knows its interests.
It does not surprise me that the Makueni Experiment has not been glorified by the political leadership in this country. Recognising beacons of incorruptibility, progress, public participation, and transparent accountability of resources is the last project the political leadership wishes to see.
Makueni County’s narratives of incorruptibility, good governance, public participation, donating executive power of the county to the grassroots, implementing a county agenda borne out of people’s participation, and allowing monitoring and policing of county budgets and projects should have been the case study the BBI engaged with seriously.
Case Study 2: The Presidential Taskforce on Building Bridges to Unity Advisory (popularly known as BBI)
“We must undertake a major consultation, in the form of an inclusive national conversation culminating in a major conference with the single aim of producing a vision of a unique Kenyan civilisation 100 years from today.” – BBI report, page 100.
“If BBI has failed to unite 6 Kenyans [ethnic barons], [namely] Raila, Ruto, Uhuru, Kalonzo, Mudavadi, and Wetangula, how can it unite 47 million Kenyans?” – Post on Twitter
On page 7 of its report, the BBI Taskforce states who it interviewed:
“The Taskforce heard from more than 400 elected leaders past and present; prominent local voices from the community; and young people who added their voices to citizens in the Counties. This included more than 35 Governors and their Deputies as well as dozens of Senators, MPs, and MCAs in the Counties and in Nairobi. Submissions were given by 123 individuals representing major institutions, including constitutional bodies and major stakeholders in the public and private sectors; 261 individuals and organisations who sent memoranda via email; and 755 citizens who offered handwritten submissions during public forums in the Counties. Kenyans made their views heard as individual citizens, institutionally, and based on diverse interests and experiences. This report reflects their views and insights.”
The BBI, given the sample of consultations above, has the audacity to shamelessly announce from the rooftops that the “Kenyan people have spoken!”
After reading pages 7-17 and 100-126 of the BBI report, I have only come up with burning questions, all involving the implementation of the Constitution. It seems to me that this effort should have been restricted to the political leadership to account for the failures that the report narrates in the nine issues it focuses on. The political leadership could have been asked to give reasons for:
- Their continued politics of division and disunity;
- Their failure to implement national ethos in the 2010 Constitution;
- Their failure to guarantee the independence of national institutions;
- Their failure on the so-called war on corruption;
- The continuing gross violations of human rights of the Kenyan people by state authorities;
- Their failure to restructure the colonial provincial administration system, as decreed by the Constitution, and to reinforce county governance;
- Divisive, corrupt, unfree, not peaceful, unacceptable elections;
- The Executive seeking to claw back constitutional provisions that guarantee the decentralisation and democratisation of the imperial presidency through equitable distribution of political power, land and natural resources of the nation and the defence of devolution;
- The utter failure of political parties to comply with the provisions of Article 91 of the Constitution on the basic requirements for political parties; and the failure of the government to give capacity to the Registrar of Political Parties to police, monitor, deregister and hold political parties accountable in their obedience of the Constitution;
- The deliberate subversion of the national value and principle of inclusiveness through political alliances of the “Big Five” communities to the exclusion of all others;
- The continued wastage and theft of national resources and the failure to implement the many reports of the Auditor-General and other Commissions set to investigate the issue of corruption;
- Their failure to conduct forensic lifestyle audits that were to start with the President and his Deputy;
- Not entrenching of Article 43 on economic and social rights in political platforms and national policy;
- Their failure to reduce the mounting sovereign national debt and its disastrous economic, social, and political consequences;
- Their failure to submit development funds to the counties and to audit the effectiveness of the 15% currently given to the counties;
- Their failure to secure the lives and properties of the people of Kenya;
- The impotency of the Summit of the 48 governments;
- Their failure to make healthcare, housing, water, education, food and the environment public goods, as envisaged by Article 43 of the Constitution; and
- Their failure to transparently account for the authority that the people of Kenya donated to the political leadership.
The Taskforce could have focused on good practices (apparently there were not many) in the implementation of the Constitution. The Taskforce paid lip service to public participation, as is clear from the report.
It does not surprise me that the Makueni Experiment has not been glorified by the political leadership in this country. Recognising beacons of incorruptibility, progress, public participation, and transparent accountability of resources is the last project the political leadership wishes to see.
BBI reminds me of the Saitoti Committee tasked with finding out if Kenyans wanted multiparty democracy. Although the response from the people was in the affirmative, the Committee chose to report to President Moi that the people did not want political pluralism. Here the BBI did not ask the political leadership the reasons for not implementing the Constitution, but goes on to give recommendations that beg that question. The BBI put the cart before the horse. The BBI is a monumental political distraction and an abdication of the national interest for the interests of the ruling Kenyan elite. The BBI provides a golden political opportunity for those who are agitating for an alternative political leadership in Kenya to birth, nurture and consolidate it.
One county governor told me once that the 2010 Constitution gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby whose protection and security was entrusted to a ruling Kenyan elite that was a master in trafficking children’s body parts! A great metaphor that I believe is as pessimistic as it is true.
BBI reminds me of the Saitoti Committee tasked with finding out if Kenyans wanted multiparty democracy. Although the response from the people was in the affirmative, the Committee chose to report to President Moi that the people did not want political pluralism.
However, the metaphor underestimates the resistance of the Kenyan people in the protection of their baby. While the Kenyan elite continues to pay lip service to the implementation of the Constitution, the people of Kenya resist this elite and focus on making the 2010 Constitution a reality in its economic, social, cultural, political, and ideological vision. It mitigates the current status quo in Kenya that the people find unsustainable and unacceptable.
Implementing the 2010 Constitution can be the basis – if given the right political party or environment – of our imagination and thinking of a Kenyan society that is just, free, peaceful, non-militaristic, ecologically safe, equitable, prosperous, and socialist.
This lecture by the former Chief Justice, Dr. Willy Mutunga, was delivered on 10 February 2020 to post-graduate students at The East Africa Institute of the Aga Khan University (EAI) in partnership with IGLUS (iglus.org)
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Unlike the Rest of the UN, Is WHO (Finally) Taking Sexual Abuse Seriously?
A disturbing report on the sexual exploitation and abuse of women and children in the DRC has laid bare the failure of UN agencies to protect vulnerable populations.
It is extremely unfortunate that at a time when the World Health Organization (WHO) is spearheading a campaign to get people vaccinated against COVID-19, and pushing rich countries to donate their vaccines to low-income countries instead of hoarding them, it is confronted with revelations that suggest deep systemic failures within the global health agency that have allowed its employees to get away with sexual exploitation and abuse of vulnerable populations.
Last month, WHO released a report that confirmed that there was sexual abuse of women and children by WHO employees in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) during an outbreak of Ebola in the country’s North Kivu and Ituri provinces between 2018 and 2020. This report was the result of an independent commission’s investigations following an exclusive media report last year that found that dozens of women in the DRC had been sexually exploited by aid workers, including WHO employees. The most disturbing revelation was that some of the perpetrators were medical doctors. Many of the abused women were offered jobs in exchange for sex; others were raped or coerced into having sex against their will. There were also stories of women being forced to have abortions after they were sexually abused. The independent commission stated that its findings showed that 21 of the 83 alleged perpetrators were WHO employees, and that “individual negligence” on the part of WHO staff may have amounted to “professional misconduct”.
This is not the first time that sexual abuse and exploitation of women and children by UN employees has been reported in the DRC. In 2004, UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan ordered an investigation into sexual abuses by UN peacekeepers in the country after it became apparent that such abuse was widespread in this mineral-rich but conflict-ridden country. The investigation detailed various forms of abuse, including trading sex for money and food. It was in the DRC that the term “peacekeeper babies” first emerged. Women who had given birth after being raped by UN peacekeepers spoke about being abandoned by both their families and the peacekeepers who had impregnated them. However, the report had little impact on the UN’s peacekeeping mission in the DRC – none of the perpetrators were brought to book nor were the victims compensated.
Sexual abuse of vulnerable populations, especially women and children, is particularly rampant in UN peacekeeping missions. In 2017, the Associated Press revealed in an exclusive report that at least 134 Sri Lankan UN peacekeepers had exploited nine Haitian children in a sex ring from 2004 to 2007. Many of the victims were offered food or money after they were sexually violated. (These “sex-for-food” arrangements have also been reported in other countries experiencing conflict or disaster.) Although 114 of these peacekeepers were sent home after the report came out, none of them were prosecuted or court-martialled in their countries.
One reason why UN peacekeepers evade the consequences of their actions is that under the Status of Forces Agreement negotiated between the UN and troop-producing countries, UN peacekeepers fall under the exclusive jurisdiction of the country they come from. When cases of abuse are reported, they are either ignored by the countries, or the perpetrators are sent home—no questions asked.
Unfortunately, civilian UN staff who commit crimes such as rape also evade any legal action because the UN accords the UN and its employees immunity from prosecution. This immunity can only be waived by the UN Secretary-General, but the Secretary-General hardly ever waives this immunity even when there is overwhelming evidence against a UN staff member. This means that cases brought against UN employees cannot be tried in national courts, nor can the perpetrators be detained or arrested by national law enforcement agencies.
At a press conference held last month, WHO’s director-general, Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, apologised to the victims of the abuse in the DRC at the hands of WHO employees and promised to take action to prevent such abuse from happening again. “I am sorry for what was done to you,” he said. “What happened to you should not happen to anyone.”
The head of WHO has also promised to review the organisation’s emergency response measures and internal structures and to discipline those staff members who fail to report cases of sexual exploitation and abuse. WHO member states have also called for an “immediate, thorough and detailed assessment of what went wrong”.
I have no doubt that Mr Ghebreyesus is serious about fixing a problem that has plagued the UN for decades. In fact, his response to the sexual abuse allegations is much more honest and sincere than the responses of other heads of UN agencies whose employees have been accused of allowing sexual exploitation and abuse to occur under their watch. One, he established an independent commission to look into the sexual abuse allegations, which rarely happens. (Most UN agencies either ignore the allegations or order an internal investigation, which invariably determines that the allegations “could not be substantiated”.) Two, he has publicly committed to undertake wholesale reforms in WHO’s structures and culture that allow sexual exploitation and abuse of vulnerable populations to go undetected, unreported and unpunished. Three, he has agreed to the independent commission’s recommendation that an independent monitoring group be set up within two months to ensure that the commission’s recommendations are enforced.
“What happened to you should not happen to anyone.”
Most UN agencies would not welcome such intense scrutiny of their operations by independent bodies, so WHO’s efforts in this regard are laudable. WHO’s actions could also be attributed to the fact that, unlike other UN agencies that report to the General Assembly, WHO reports to the World Health Assembly that comprises delegates that have technical competence in health matters and represent their governments’ ministries of health. Because it is a specialised UN agency not governed by the General Assembly, WHO can establish its own rules without deferring to the General Assembly. In this sense, WHO enjoys relative autonomy from the UN system’s gargantuan and highly opaque bureaucracy.
Cover-ups and impunity
WHO’s response is a far cry from the normal tendency of UN bosses to cover up cases of sexual abuse and exploitation taking place under the UN’s watch. In 2014, for instance, when a senior UN official reported to the French government that French peacekeepers operating in the Central African Republic were sexually abusing boys as young as eight years old, his bosses at the Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) responded by asking him to resign. When he refused to do so, they suspended him for “unauthorized disclosure of confidential information”, and, in a typical case of “shooting the messenger”, they directed their internal investigations towards him rather than towards the peacekeepers who had allegedly abused the children. This case, which received wide media coverage, did not lead to significant changes in how the UN handles sexual abuse cases. On the contrary, Anders Kompass, the UN official who reported the abuse, was retaliated against, and eventually left the organisation in frustration.
Cases of UN employees sexually abusing or harassing their colleagues are also brushed under the carpet. In 2018, for example, when an Indian women’s rights activist accused the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA)’s India representative of sexual harassment, the UN agency said that its preliminary investigations showed that her allegations could not be substantiated. The Code Blue Campaign, which tracks instances of sexual harassment and exploitation by UN employees, dismissed the findings of the investigation, calling them a “cover-up.” (Soon after the activist made her allegation, UNFPA evacuated the accused from India, which further muddied her case.)
This is not an isolated case. In 2004, when a staff member at the UN’s refugee agency accused the head of the organisation of sexual harassment, the UN Secretary-General, Kofi Annan, dismissed her claims. Recently, a woman working at UNAIDS lost her job soon after she filed a complaint of sexual harassment against UNAIDS’ deputy executive director. This was after Michel Sidibé, the then head of UNAIDS, told a staff meeting that people who complain about how the agency was handling sexual harassment “don’t have ethics.”
The UN’s highly patriarchal and misogynistic culture allows such abuse to continue unabated. In 2018, the UN conducted an internal survey that found that one-third of the UN employees surveyed had experienced sexual harassment. It revealed that the most vulnerable targets were women and transgender personnel aged between 25 and 44. Two out of three harassers were male and only one out of every three employees who were harassed took any action against the perpetrator. About one in ten women reported being touched inappropriately; a similar number said they had witnessed crude sexual gestures.
Another survey by the UN Staff Union found that sexual harassment was one among many abuses of authority that take place at the UN. Results of the survey showed that sexual harassment made up about 16 per cent of all forms of harassment. Forty-four per cent said that they had experienced abuse of authority; of these, 87 per cent said that the person who had abused his or her authority was a supervisor. Twenty per cent felt that they had experienced retaliation after reporting the misconduct.
The UN’s highly patriarchal and misogynistic culture allows such abuse to continue unabated.
Since then, the UN has established a new sexual harassment policy and a hot line for victims of sexual harassment. However, remedial actions spelled out in the policy appear to be mediation or counselling exercises rather than disciplinary ones. The emphasis is on psychosocial support and counselling (for the victims, of course) and “facilitated discussions” between the “offender” and the “affected individual”. Disciplinary measures include physical separation of the offender from the victim, reassignment, and temporary changes in reporting lines. Official internal investigations are permitted, but as I have tried to illustrate, most internal UN investigations into cases of sexual harassment and other kinds of wrongdoing inevitably conclude that the sexual harassment or wrongdoing “could not be substantiated.” This leaves victims vulnerable to retaliation.
Perhaps WHO can lead the way in showing the rest of the UN system how to tackle sexual exploitation, abuse and harassment by UN employees. WHO has already terminated the contracts of four of its employees who were accused of sexually exploiting women in the DRC. However, a true test of WHO and the UN’s commitment to end such abuses would be if they reinstated all those who were fired for reporting such cases. I for one am eagerly awaiting the independent monitoring group’s findings on whether or not WHO has taken tangible and impactful measures to protect people from being sexually abused and exploited by its employees and to safeguard the jobs of those who report such abuses.
The Retrospective Application of Constitutional Statutes: Notes From the High Court of Kenya
Katiba Institute adds to the growing comparative discussion around constitutional statutes and therefore ought to be keenly studied by students of comparative constitutional law.
Previously, I have discussed the concept of constitutional statutes. Recall that a constitutional statute is a law that is “enacted in pursuance of the State’s positive obligation to fulfil a constitutional right.” While certain constitutional rights are self-enforcing (such as, for example, the right to free speech ipso facto prohibits the State from engaging in arbitrary censorship), others – by their very nature – require a statutory framework to be made effective. For example, the right to vote cannot be made effective without an infrastructure in place to conduct free and fair elections, including the existence of an independent, non-partisan Election Commission. Insofar as such a legislative framework is not in existence, the state is arguably in breach of its positive obligations to fulfil the right in question. Thus, to refine the definition further, a constitutional statute is a statute that “provides a statutory framework towards implementing a fundamental right, thereby fulfilling the state’s positive obligation to do so.”
What follows from the finding that a particular law is a constitutional statute? On this blog, we have discussed constitutional statutes in the context of amendments to the Right to Information Act, which have sought to undermine the independence of the Information Commissioners. We have argued that, insofar as constitutional statutes stand between the individual and the State, mediating the effective enforcement of rights, legislative amendments that prevent them from fulfilling this function, are thereby unconstitutional. Furthermore, once a constitutional statute has been enacted, the principle of non-retrogression applies – that is, the legislature cannot simply repeal the law and go back to a position where the right in question was unprotected. Another example discussed on this blog is the recent judgment of the Kenyan Court of Appeal in David Ndii, where it was held that the implementation of the Popular Initiative to amend the Kenyan Constitution required a legislative scheme, as also its discussion of the previous judgment in Katiba Institute, where an attempt to reduce the quorum for resolutions of the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission was held to be unconstitutional.
The judgment of the High Court of Kenya of 14 October 2021 – also titled Katiba Institute – provides an additional, fascinating implication that flows from the finding that a law is a constitutional statute. Katiba Institute arose out of the efforts of the Government of Kenya to implement a national biometric identification system called NIIMS, and the judgment of the High Court with respect to a challenge to the constitutionality of NIIMS (Nubian Rights Forum), which we discussed on this blog back in 2019. Recall that in Nubian Rights Forum, after a detailed analysis, the High Court struck down a part of NIIMS, and allowed the government to go ahead with the rest of the programme subject to the implementation of an effective data protection law. Therefore, as I had noted in that post:
The High Court’s decision – at least in part – is a conditional one, where the (legal) future of the NIIMS is expressly made dependant on what action the government will take. Thus, there remain a significant number of issues that remain open for (inevitable) litigation, even after the High Court’s judgment.
Notably, Kenya had enacted a data protection law in between the hearings and the judgment, but the High Court – in its verdict – was insistent that until the point of effective implementation, the continued rollout of NIIMS could not go on. And this was at the heart of the challenge in Katiba Institute: the applicant argued that NIIMS had been rolled out, in particular, without complying with Section 31 of the Kenyan Data Protection Act, which required a Data Impact Assessment as a pre-requisite to any data collection enterprise. In response, the state argued that the data collection in question had already been completed before the passage of the Data Protection Act, and that therefore – in accordance with the general principle that statutes are not meant to apply retrospectively – Section 31 was inapplicable to this case.
Engaging in impeccable constitutional statute analysis, Justice Jairus Ngaah noted that the Data Protection Act was “enacted against the backdrop of Article 31 of the Constitution.” Article 31 of the Constitution of Kenya 2010 guarantees the right to privacy. As the learned Justice noted, in its very preamble, the DPA stated that its purpose was to “give effect to Articles 31(c) and (d) of the Constitution.” Justice Ngaah then rightly observed, “The need to protect the constitutional right to privacy did not arise with the enactment of the Data Protection Act; the right accrued from the moment the Constitution was promulgated.”
The judgment of the High Court of Kenya provides an additional, fascinating implication that flows from the finding that a law is a constitutional statute.
It therefore followed that, on the balance, an interpretation that gave the DPA retrospective effect was to be preferred over one that did not. A contrary interpretation would mean that the state was entitled to collect data and infringe the right to privacy even in the absence of a legislative scheme. Or, in other words, having failed to implement its positive obligation to enact a constitutional statute to give effect to the right to privacy, the state could then take advantage of its own failure by nonetheless engaging in data collection enterprises anyway. This, naturally, could not be countenanced. And in any event, given that Article 31 had always existed, it followed that:
. . . there was always the duty on the part of the State to ensure that the Bill of Rights . . . is respected and protected. Section 31 of the Act does not impose any more obligation or duty on the state than that which the state, or the respondents . . . have hitherto had to bear.
On this basis, Justice Ngaah therefore held that NIIMS had been rolled out in breach of Section 31, and therefore, first, quashed the rollout itself, and secondly, issued a mandamus restraining the State from rolling it out again without first complying with Section 31.*
The judgment in Katiba Institute does not, of course, answer the number of questions that still remained to be resolved after the Nubian Rights Forum judgment, including some problematic aspects of the DPA itself. Those questions were not, however, before the court in this instance; on the other hand, the court’s finding that constitutional statutes apply retrospectively – and the reasons for that finding – make it a landmark judgment. Katiba Institute adds to the growing comparative discussion around constitutional statutes, Fourth Branch bodies, and “Guarantor Institutions”, and therefore ought to be keenly studied by students of comparative constitutional law.
* One cannot, of course, help comparing this with the judgment of the Indian Supreme Court in the Aadhaar case, where despite the fact that Aadhaar data was collected for more than five years without any law whatsoever, it was retrospectively validated by the Supreme Court.
The Pandora Papers Reveal the Dark Underbelly of the United Kingdom
Through its network of tax havens, the UK is the fulcrum of a system that benefits the rich and powerful.
There’s the role, for instance, played by the British Virgin Islands, an overseas territory of the UK that functions as a tax haven. Czechia’s multimillionaire prime minister used the territory to hide his ownership of a chateau in France. Others, including the family of Kenyan president Uhuru Kenyatta and Vladimir Putin’s PR man, have made similar use of the islands to conceal wealth – while Tony and Cherie Blair reportedly saved £312,000 in stamp duty when they bought a London property from a company registered in the British Virgin Islands in 2017.
Then there’s London itself. The leaked documents show how the King of Jordan squirreled personal cash away in the capital’s property market, as did key allies of Imran Khan, Pakistan’s president.
More details will emerge in the coming days. But one thing is already clear. This isn’t a story about countries on the periphery of the world economy. It is a story about how the British state drives a global system in which the richest extract wealth from the rest.
British through and through
The British Virgin Islands were captured by England from the Dutch in 1672. By then, the indigenous population had already gone – either slaughtered in an unrecorded genocide or fled for fear of one. The islands have been a haven for pirates of various sorts ever since.
But this is just one part of Britain’s offshore network. There are around 18 legislatures across the globe that Westminster is ultimately responsible for. These include some of the worst offenders in the world of money laundering, tax dodging and financial secrecy. The Cayman Islands are British. So is Gibraltar. So are Anguilla and Bermuda.
These places aren’t just British in an abstract sense. Under the 2002 British Overseas Territories Act, their citizens are British citizens. They operate under the protection of the British diplomatic service. And, when need be, they can rely on Her Majesty’s Armed Forces: in the last 40 years, Britain has twice gone to war to defend Overseas Territories. Once was when Argentina tried to claim back the Falklands/Malvinas. The other time was the invasion of Iraq, when the British government claimed that Saddam Hussein’s weapons programme threatened its military bases at Akrotiri and Dhekelia on the island of Cyprus.
This complexity is no accident
In total, experts estimate, Britain and its overseas territories are responsible for facilitating around a third of the total tax dodged around the world. And that’s before we consider money stolen by corrupt rulers, or the proceeds of crime. Not to mention the way that billionaires’ hidden wealth allows them to influence our political systems in secret.
This complexity is no accident. The UK, unlike almost any other country on earth, lacks a written constitution. The rules about how the rules are made are set through ‘convention’, an endless fudge that ultimately amounts to them being made up by our rulers as they go along.
We see this most clearly in how the domestic territories of the British state are governed: Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, Greater London and the City of London each has its own arrangements, each absurd in its own way. Each of these messes leaves a different tangled thicket in which the crooks of the world can hide their cash.
Seen from the perspective of international capital, though, it is the Overseas Territories, as well as the Crown Dependencies of Jersey, Guernsey and Mann, which form the most significant part of this complex. They use the malleability of the British constitution to form a network of safes in which the rich can hide their cash.
A new era
Although no one knows for sure how much money is hidden in tax havens, of which the British territories make up a significant chunk, the figures involved are so vast that academics at the Transnational Institute in the Netherlands have described them as “the backbone of global capitalism”.
Seen this way, the constitutional flexibility of the British state isn’t just some post-medieval hangover. It’s a hyper-modern tool in an era of global surveillance capitalism, where the rich can flit around offshore while the rest are forever trapped by borders.
Through its empire, the British state played a key role in inventing modern capitalism. Now, the UK is helping reinvent capitalism once more, by extending the protection of a constitution designed by the powerful, for the powerful, to the billionaires, oligarchs and criminals of the world.
Adam Ramsay is openDemocracy’s main site editor. You can follow him at @adamramsay. Adam is a member of the Scottish Green Party, sits on the board of Voices for Scotland and advisory committees for the Economic Change Unit and the journal Soundings.
This article was first published by Progressive International
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