In the great chess-board of human society, every single piece has a principle of motion of its own
I had an insightful, if disconcerting, engagement a couple of days ago on some of the thinking behind the COVID-19 resource mobilisation that is going on in the government. This was in connection with some proposals on how to tap into unconventional sources of private money, some of them admittedly quite innovative. It is not the substance of the proposals that is cause for alarm—in fact some of them are quite sensible and practical. It is the preoccupation with private money. My disquiet was reinforced by a source close to some of the captains of industry that have been appointed to a COVID-19 response task force. According to the source, it was intimated to them that the government was counting on substantial contributions from their respective companies.
I learned from Prof. Terry Ryan, a veteran treasury mandarin, and have taught public policy students over the years that policy priorities are understood, not from what is written, but by how three resources—political power, managerial time, and money, in that order—are allocated. That the government, at the top level, is preoccupied with private sector financing suggests two things. First, the government does not understand the magnitude of the response that is required. Second, there is no appreciation that the key challenge of responding to the COVID-19 economic shock is policy instruments, not funding. And that is a problem.
The US government’s $2.2 trillion rescue package is over 10 per cent of GDP and close to half of the annual federal government budget. Canada’s $75 billion relief package is 4.4 per cent of GDP and a third of the budget. The two quantums are not directly comparable because they have different public financial management (PFM) systems. If we benchmark with Canada whose PFM system is closer to ours, we are talking Sh440 billion if we go with the GDP ratio, and Sh750 billion going with the budget ratio. The most that private sector mobilisation can raise is a few billion shillings, if that; Sh2 billion at most by my reckoning, less than 0.5 per cent of the lower figure. The government is barking up the wrong tree.
In my open letter to President Uhuru Kenyatta, I proposed a lifeline fund in the order of one per cent of GDP, about Sh100 billion. Clearly, even this falls far short of the Canadian initiative. But as I make clear in the letter, the figure was not based on need but on what is financeable from a macroeconomic sustainability standpoint. Canada’s budget deficit before the COVID-19 relief package was 1.2 per cent of GDP. The relief package will push it up to 5.6 per cent. Our budget deficit right now is about 7.5 per cent of GDP, and we were already in the early stages of a fiscal crisis before the COVID-19 crisis, with businesses crying out over pending bills and VAT refunds. A relief package like Canada’s would push the deficit to 17 per cent of GDP. That, ordinarily, would be flirting with hyperinflation.
In macroeconomics parlance, we say that Canada had plenty of fiscal space. We have none. Hence my contention that the prudent thing to do is to switch rather than increase the borrowing we have already budgeted. The revised national government development budget for the year is Sh436 billion. The Exchequer had released Sh220 billion as at end of February, that is, with four months to go to the end of the financial year. This means that if we can freeze every national government development project, we can switch Sh200 billion to the COVID-19 response within the existing budget. My Sh100 billion Lifeline Fund proposal requires switching half of the budgeted amount, which I think is very realistic. As it is, the current spending rate projects an absorption of Sh330 billion by the end of the fiscal year, that is, Sh106 billion less than budgeted. The COVID-19 disruption is bound to slow budget absorption.
In macroeconomics parlance, we say that Canada had plenty of fiscal space. We have none.
It is important to point out that budget is not money in the bank as some people seem to think. It is the approved expenditure, that is, what ministries, departments and agencies (MDAs) are authorised to commit. Right now, all our development budget is deficit-financed, that is, funded by debt. As at end of February, the government had borrowed Sh378 billion against a budget target of Sh514 billion for the year, leaving a borrowing headroom of Sh136 billion. What I mean when I say that the government does not have a funding problem is that, once the spending decision is made and approved by parliament through a supplementary budget, the government will continue to borrow as normal and channel the money to the COVID-19 response instead of development projects.
It should be readily apparent that given the urgency and enormity of the challenge, running around scrapping for private sector charity is a misplaced diversionary preoccupation and a waste of valuable time. The orders of magnitude we should be talking about help to put into perspective the much ado about donor money, Sh10 billion or thereabouts so far. It is useful but nowhere near significant enough to warrant all the attention it is getting. By now, a serious government would have pushed a Sh150 billion-plus COVID-19 response supplementary budget through parliament.
We can now turn to my contention that it is policy instruments, not funding, that are the key challenge of responding to the COVID-19 economic shock.
Economics Nobel Laureate Paul Krugman delights in deploying the simplest models for penetrating insights into the most complex problems. In a blogpost titled Notes on coronacoma economics, Krugman posits that, “What we’re experiencing is not a conventional recession brought on by a slump in aggregate demand”. Instead, he postulates, “We’re going into the economic equivalent of a medically induced coma, in which some brain functions are deliberately shut down to give the patient time to heal”.
Running around scrapping for private sector charity is a misplaced diversionary preoccupation and a waste of valuable time
To fix ideas, as we say in economics, Krugman deploys a stylised two-sector economy, consisting of a non-essentials (N) sector and an essentials (E) sector. Unlike a regular recession where policy intervention seeks to stimulate the whole economy, the coronavirus pandemic requires shutting down the N sector, while keeping the E sector working. But even after shutting it down, we need to replace incomes lost in the N sector, for two reasons. First, to keep the people alive. Second, to support the E sector with demand, so as to minimize the multiplier effect of the job losses in the N sector on the E sector, and spillovers into the financial sector that could bring the whole system tumbling down. Krugman posits that the correct policy instrument is a hybrid instrument he calls “disaster relief with a dash of stimulus”. Readers of this column may recognise that this is akin to the Lifeline Fund proposed in my open letter to the president.
How to finance it? Krugman posits that the slowdown of the N sector will leave plenty of money on the table that would have been invested— think about all the approved and financed projects that have been put on hold. This money is available for the government to borrow to finance the COVID-19 response. Let me reiterate: funding is not the problem.
The US, like many other advanced countries, has public social security and other public social safety nets that can, and are, being deployed to achieve this. We don’t. Another cautionary note is that the N and E sectors should not be taken literary. They don’t exist as such in reality.
Two weeks ago, this columnist mused that “depending on how long this goes on, governments should start thinking in terms of wartime economic management”. The IMF and others have since echoed the same call, prompting some people to compliment or be awed by this columnist’s prescience.
As flattering as that might be, exceptional prescience was not required. John Maynard Keynes concludes his magnus opus, The General Theory of Employment Interest and Money, on the note that,
[T]he ideas of economists and political philosophers, both when they are right and when they are wrong are more powerful than is commonly understood. Indeed, the world is ruled by little else. Practical men who believe themselves to be quite exempt from any intellectual influence, are usually the slaves of some defunct economist. Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back.
And so it is. Adam Smith famously remarked that the market economy functions “as if by an invisible hand”:
Every individual . . . neither intends to promote the public interest, nor knows how much he is promoting it . . . he intends only his own security; and by directing that industry in such a manner as its produce may be of the greatest value, he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention
But for all its virtues, there are occasions, times such as this, when the invisible hand is not fit for purpose. The market system is not wired to recognise essential and non-essential activities, only price signals. The market also does not respond to need, only to effective demand, that is, want backed by ability to pay.
At the onset of this crisis, a small supermarket chain caused uproar and moral outrage when one of its branches increased the price of hand sanitiser after observing a spike in demand (Krugman also talks of an “epidemic of price-gouging”). Even after the supermarket chain apologised profusely for “individual error” the authorities came down hard, and in an unprecedented consumer protection action, ordered the shop to trace and refund all buyers the difference between the normal and the inflated price. I am not certain that this directive is lawful, as there appears to have been no due process, but that is a matter for another day.
Market fundamentalists here and elsewhere have come out in support of price hikes of this nature as the proper working of the invisible hand, asserting that what the uninitiated see as price gouging is precisely the circuit breaker needed to prevent panicky and greedy people buying all the supply, the former to hoard, and the latter to resell at a profit. In this view, the branch store manager who hiked the price of sanitiser is cast as the unwitting agent of the invisible hand, compelled by his nose for a quick kill to do the greater good.
Adam Smith did not have such religious faith in the invisible hand, and in fact, much of his contribution to economic thought turns on trying to square markets and morality (unsurprisingly, seeing as he was professor of moral philosophy). His benevolent view of the invisible hand is not predicated on an angelic view of man, but on temperance of greed by “moral sentiment”, that impulse which leads people to cultivate virtue. He had a dim view of businesspeople, maintaining that whenever and for whatever reason people in the same trade met, it would end up “in a conspiracy against the public, or in some other contrivance to raise prices”.
Adam Smith’s moral being was a person who cultivated justice, prudence and beneficence. Such a person would have asked themselves whether raising prices was morally upright, considering that the higher price would compel poor people desperate to protect themselves from harm to sacrifice food or another necessity. Thus Smith’s moral being might have concluded that in the circumstances, rationing was a better allocation mechanism than price, seeing as no ordinarily person would buy ten sanitisers at a go, or three bales of toilet paper for that matter. Limiting each customer to two or three sanitisers was warranted.
An even more fundamental challenge is the propensity of the invisible hand to work as it is meant to, resulting in perverse, morally repugnant outcomes. We know that export horticulture has been completely disrupted. Floriculture employs more than 30,000 people, mostly low wage earners in Naivasha. The flower farms themselves are staring at business failure. Naivasha’s second industry is tourism. In fact, both floriculture and the hotel establishments are on the same stretch of Moi South Road along the shores of Lake Naivasha. These two industries are the engine of the rest of the Naivasha economy. Once these paychecks stop coming, every other business, from the grocery shops, to boda bodas, petrol stations and supermarkets, will be affected. Naivasha may be looking at a socio-economic implosion in a matter of weeks. Once the flower farm and hotel paychecks stop, without income replacement, the invisible hand will signal a fall in demand and supply will adjust downward to the quantity commensurate with Naivasha’s much diminished purchasing power, as opposed to the number of mouths Naivasha has to feed. Survival will turn on moral sentiment. Left to the invisible hand, they will starve.
Naivasha is not an island. Hospitality establishments are closing down—the Serena Group has closed ten lodges, Pride Inn has closed its Mombasa hotels, and in Nairobi, DusitD2 has closed, to name but that one. Given the trajectory of the pandemic we are observing, the best-case scenario is four to six months before the pandemic curve flattens globally. We do not know when the people from our COVID-19-devastated source markets will venture into leisure travel in large numbers again. The tourism-dependent economies—Mombasa, Diani, Malindi and elsewhere—are no islands either. In addition to sustaining livelihoods, they are a market for supplies of fresh foods from upcountry. If the big hotels are not in the market, it may not be worth their while for some traders to transport food there.
Given the trajectory of the pandemic we are observing, the best-case scenario is four to six months before the pandemic curve flattens globally
Scarcity will drive up prices, which should elicit supply. Middle-men will be called out for price gouging. The government will be called upon to protect consumers. In as much as government intervention may become imperative, humility is required. We recall the spectacular failure of the dirigiste economic regimes of a few decades back. One week candles would be out of stock, but the market would be oversupplied with brown shoe polish. The following week, candles would be back, but only blue ones, and sugar could only be bought with tea leaves, salt, or a can of brown shoe polish. But people forget, and other generations who take twenty brands of toothpaste for granted are born. Governments will do well to proceed with an abundance of caution, and take heed of Adam Smith’s much less remarked observation about homo leviathansis, government man:
The man of system is often so enamoured with the supposed beauty of his own ideal plan of government, he seems to imagine that he can arrange the different members of a great society with as much ease as the hand arranges the different pieces upon a chess-board. He does not consider that in the great chess-board of human society, every single piece has a principle of motion of its own.
There is a view that we can disrupt the virus with a one-off lockdown of a few weeks—go into hibernation so to speak— and once we emerge, the curve will have flattened, and we will then go back to business as usual. This “silver bullet” view of lockdowns is little more than wishful, lazy thinking. As Stanford economics professor John Cochrane opines, the more likely scenario is “whack-a-mole”—as soon as we think it has subsided, it flares up in another corner of the world, triggering another containment cycle around the world. Epidemiologist Nelly Yatich offers a similar prognosis. She argues that an effective lockdown would have to be in place until a vaccine is found and administered on 60 per cent of the population, and that is still six months away at best. Alternatively, countries can adopt on and off lockdowns but that requires meticulous surveillance systems capable of picking up an increase in infections very quickly.
This “silver bullet” view of lockdowns is little more than wishful, lazy thinking
These predictions may already be playing out. Singapore, one the first countries to bring infections under control, has announced another lockdown after registering an upsurge of cases whose source could not be traced, suggesting that there are people without symptoms within the community who are unknowingly passing the virus on to others who then develop symptoms. Put differently, it is now endemic. It is telling that only a week ago, the Singaporean government had said that a “nuclear option lockdown” was not on the cards, on the grounds that it would be too costly economically. Singapore’s economy is built on international trade. As Gillion Koh of the Institute of Policy Studies, a think tank at the Singapore National University’s Lee Kwan Yew School of Public Policy, observes, “Singapore’s survival and sustainability depends on borders being open and receiving goods as well as people. So the cost of locking down Singapore is very high, both for the economy and for sustaining daily life itself”.
Proponents of the “nuclear option” posit it as a moral imperative—lives above money. It’s a false dichotomy, and for three reasons. First, healthcare provision is an economic activity. It is not an island. It requires supplies and logistical services—medical and non-medical supplies, maintenance and financial services—and health workers need to meet their daily needs and social obligations. As the economy is disrupted so too will healthcare provision. Other diseases have not gone away. Already, patients with chronic illnesses are expressing fears about being crowded out of the healthcare system by social distancing and curfew. Preventive disruption of the economy must be weighed against how many existing patients’ lives will be put at risk, and whether the degraded economy will be able to service healthcare provision if the coronarivus epidemic does materialise. It is in anticipation of this unhappy trade-off that this column suggested weeks ago that African governments earmark coronavirus isolation hospitals and make contingency plans to evacuate them as and when needed. This advice, and much else, is clearly falling on deaf ears.
Already, patients with chronic illnesses are expressing fears about being crowded out of the healthcare system by social distancing and curfew
Second, it has been pointed out ad infinitum that the vast majority of low-income people, particularly the urban poor, live day to day. Many have lost their incomes already. They are surviving on social support from family, friends and charity. It is not at all evident that the government is capable of mounting a safety net that would sustain half of Nairobi’s 4.5 million people for two weeks. Mounting a total lockdown has to be weighted against the risk of breakdown. Should the government be overwhelmed, it will be downhill from there. Self-preservation will become the government’s primary preoccupation. The coronavirus will have a field day.
Third, the economic dynamics of the pandemic are now, for all intents and purpose, delinked from the epidemiological. The coronavirus has become an economic terrorist. Such is its contagiousness that the only way to be sure not to get it is to be in complete isolation. Even a trip to replenish food supplies, face mask and all, is not risk-free. As long as the virus is lurking in our midst, self-preservation demands that people minimise social interaction and mobility to the extent that they are able.
And therein lies the rub. We do not need a lockdown for the economy to seize up. The instinct of self-preservation is sufficient, and this is already evident. With every day that goes by, there is less and less on the supermarket shelves. Many county governments have closed fresh produce markets. The fresh produce that is rotting in the farms means shortages for the remainder of the year because many farmers who are losing money simply won’t have the working capital to invest in another crop. The prudent thing for them to do is to hold on to the money they have to tide their families over the hard times ahead.
It is not at all evident that the government is capable of mounting a safety net that would sustain half of Nairobi’s 4.5 million people for two weeks
All said, the lockdown question is not one of lives versus money. It is how many lives are at risk in each scenario. But above all, it is about getting it into our heads that complex problems do not have simple solutions. Simple solutions—especially ones that need to be propelled by manufactured consent through opinion polls and social media acclamation—can be relied upon to backfire. We need not trawl through the Jubilee administration’s record in this regard at this time. Politicians who are raring to go back to their 2022 slugfests may want to consider looking for online side-hustles. Coronavirus is not a passing cloud.
“In the great chess-board of human society, every single piece has a principle of motion of its own”. Men and women of the state realm, take heed.
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Nigeria’s Strategy and Boko Haram: Any End in Sight?
The Nigerian government must achieve an understanding of the conflict and of Boko Haram to avoid eventual state collapse, with catastrophic implications for West Africa and the continent.
On the 29th of November 2020, 43 rice farmers had their throats slit by Boko Haram terrorists at Zabamari in Nigeria’s northeastern Borno state. Following this attack, the Senior Special Assistant to the President on Media and Publicity blamed the deceased for not having received clearance from the military to harvest their crops. The military stated that though they had defeated Boko Haram, terrorists remained embedded in local communities and there was little they could do when civilians refused to provide intelligence. President Buhari issued his usual response, the operative phrase being that he “condemned the killing of our hardworking farmers”.
2020 was not done with showing just how precarious Nigerian state stability is. On the 11th of December last year, More than 300 students were kidnapped from their government school at Kankara, a two-hour drive from President Buhari’s hometown where he was vacationing at the time. Boko Haram claimed responsibility; the government denied this. Eventually, the students were released in a still obscure deal involving the Fulani ethnic Miyetti Allah group which has been accused of fomenting the Boko Haram-unrelated farmer-herdsmen crisis in central Nigeria. The Nigerian government then engaged in a shameful and ridiculous attempt to spin this fiasco.
In response, activists have trended the hashtags #ZabamariMassacre #FreeKankaraBoys #SackBuhari and #SecureNorth. Viewed through any one of several internal security lenses, the brutal, clear-eyed reality is that Nigeria is a scene of carnage and chaos related—directly or not—to the challenge posed by Boko Haram.
Successive governments have been hobbled by this Islamist sect which started a campaign of terror in 2009. Well over 37,000 people have been killed, with millions displaced to Internally Displaced Persons’ and refugee camps. The conflict is internationalised, localised as it is around Lake Chad which Nigeria shares with three French-speaking countries—Niger, Chad and Cameroon. The threat profile of Boko Haram that is unfolding in these hyper-connected times is far more scalable than any 20th century conflict. Ending the Boko Haram conflict is crucial to shoring up state stability in Nigeria and West Africa. Yet, Nigeria’s strategic engagement with this existential problem leaves much to be desired and is a cause for concern.
At the centre of all conflict resolution approaches is identifying the conflict and, in the case of Boko Haram, this remains blurry. What is clear is that the conflict was kick-started by the murder of the leader of the Boko Haram sect, Muhammad Yusuf, by officers of the Nigerian state. A charismatic preacher and adherent of Salafi revanchist ideology, Yusuf had taken over leadership of the group in 2002 and quickly gathered an immense local following. He then lent his popularity to local politicians uncertain of their legitimacy, until he fell out with them, leading to his death in 2009. The sect then came to be led by the choleric and belligerent Abubakar Shekau, who would go on to plug his group into the international jihadi mainstream with a 2015 pledge to al-Baghdadi’s then territorial Islamic State (IS). It now comprises an indeterminate number of factions sharing a narrative that the secular Nigerian state ought to be replaced with an Islamist one, and a willingness to exact an appalling human cost on soft targets and security forces alike. In these axioms, Boko Haram has been single-minded.
Georgetown University professor Jacob Zenn provides compelling research on Boko Haram in his 2020 book Unmasking Boko Haram: Exploring Global Jihad in Nigeria. Zenn’s thesis sets out and explores Islamist jihadism as an international network of ideas within which Boko Haram has positioned itself, even if its initial concerns were far more localised. At the centre of this network of ideas is Saudi Arabia’s decades-long project to balance out Iranian influence by indoctrinating moderate Muslim clerics and making generous petrodollar grants to spread the Kingdom’s ultraconservative Wahhabi Islam. While Mohamed bin Salman continues to try to scale down his country’s polarisation of the Middle East through rapprochement with Israel, for example, nothing is likely to be done by the Kingdom to scale back the effect of decades of state support for fundamentalist Islam and virulent extremism in Africa.
This fundamentalism underscored al-Qaeda, which exerted extremist influence on regions farther away, changing Islam forever in societies like the heterogeneous and heterodox ones of Nigeria, which found themselves faced with a new crisis of identity, of political economy, and of state stability. That there will be no help from the Saud who opened the basket of vipers is a given. That defeating Boko Haram requires a holistic, all-of-government strategic engagement by the government of Nigeria is obvious. That Nigeria’s state apparatus is currently engaged in chasing after indicators while disregarding the larger syndrome, is a reality rooted in an absence of a common understanding of the Boko Haram problem.
The importance of Dr Jacob Zenn’s Unmasking Boko Haram lies in its methodology for clarifying the Boko Haram reality. Zenn comes to his analysis from a position of expertise in jihadism and Boko Haram, facility with Hausa and Arabic languages and familiarity with the interconnections between points in the African web of armed non-state actors ranging from AQIM to al-Shabaab. To this he adds copious amounts of research stretching back fifty years, organising this in demonstrably objective ways. His expertise, rigour and creativity weave a narrative of Boko Haram’s early influence by bin Laden’s deputies in Sudan and the general context, tracing a line of international influences—including by the Shia—that created its peculiar syncretism. Unmasking then sets out the conflict between Boko Haram and mainstream Salafi scholarship, and the fracturing of the group into several factions, giving detailed descriptions of ideological differences. I do not expect that the government of Nigeria will adopt Zenn’s conclusions but there can be no doubt that a common understanding of the Boko Haram group is needed and that, eleven years on, it remains lacking.
The first thing to be exploded is the idea that Boko Haram’s actions, reprehensible as they are, are senseless. Boko Haram’s foundational dissent against mainstream Western ideas—such as Darwinism, allegiance to a secular state, mixed-gender education, for example—in favour of Sharia and the supremacy of the Quran are not particularly special. Revivalist movements within religions, especially Islam, Christianity and Judaism, are commonplace. The group should thus be approached as a sociological attempt to recalibrate society, no different from any of the other -isms academics, intellectuals and ideologues foment, even if misguided. This done, the underlying logic—one which devalues human life and disregards social cooperation and diversity—can be contradicted by floating counter-ideologies or changing society to accommodate or undercut the raison d’être of groups like Boko Haram.
Thought to have been founded in 1995, Boko Haram is rooted in a Borno-based jihadist community whose leaders had spent time abroad—particularly in the Sudan and Saudi Arabia—from the 90s right up to 9/11 and believed that postcolonial states were illegitimate. It merged with Saudi-backed Salafi groups which seek to emulate Arab Muslims of the 7th century, are strictly literalist in terms of Islamic tenets—thus rejecting all “innovation”—and believe that there exists a universal Islamic brotherhood of faith to which all else is in opposition. The synthesis of these two strands of ideology led to the defining character of Boko Haram—the certainty that they can declare other Muslims as apostates and wage violence against them and against non-Muslims who are, of course, infidels, precisely because they are either secular or simply non-Muslim.
Abubakar Shekau’s leadership of the sect would go on to fully test this minting of new apostates while designating infidels very broadly. He soon turned on the Salafi groups when it was clear they had no stomach for actual violence and had opted for state capture—by participating in politics—instead. The Salafi groups retaliated by mobilising what state resources they had under their influence against Boko Haram, which responded in kind. This, of course, was happening against the backdrop of Saudi backpedaling of Salafi association with jihadists following the US invasion of Iraq in 2003. The Saudis had greatly incentivised local Salafis following the Gulf War in 1990-1991—a period proximate to the coming to the fore of foreign-exposed or foreign-influenced local jihadists, such as the founders of Boko Haram. This is the loop within which the insurgency exists.
An examination of the Nigerian government’s strategic response to Boko Haram starts from it failing at its primary role as a state, which is providing people-centred development through managing identity and guaranteeing the security of its citizens. Today, the northeast has a 76 per cent poverty rate, with its quality of life and internally generated revenue profiles placing it amongst the poorest regions in the world. All this was achieved over decades of neglect and public sector corruption, precisely the sort of boko behavior Boko Haram uses to argue for a return to simpler times from fourteen centuries ago.
Nigeria’s initial reaction to Boko Haram absolutely ignored the interrelated local socioeconomic factors and the international environment that shaped the sect. Hence the assumption that the extrajudicial killing of Mohammed Yusuf would put paid to the sect, which turned out to be grossly incorrect. The initial response also seemed ignorant of the prior twenty years of evolution of armed non-state actors such as al-Qaeda employing a diffused command and control structure which has been described as “cell-like” and more sophisticated than hierarchical state structures. The Nigerian Police, widely known for human rights abuses and thought of as both incompetent and corrupt, quickly proved inadequate in addressing the insurgency and the military was drafted in for what was essentially an internal security issue.
The earliest military response included blanket arrests and disappearances which alienated local communities in the northeast and guaranteed little cooperation. These actions in fact gained sympathy for the insurgents, who soon began to seize territory. Determined military pushback has now seen the insurgency evolve into a low-intensity conflict with control of some territory routinely changing hands at the cost of military and civilian lives. Attacks have been frequent, especially by the ISWA (Islamic State of West Africa) faction of Boko Haram. A 2019 shift in military strategy saw the creation of “super-camps” and garrison towns which had the effect of leaving the countryside to the insurgents. In these territories, Boko Haram factions have proceeded to levy taxes and duties on economic activity, such as farming and harvesting. It is instructive that Abubakar Shekau, in claiming responsibility for the killing of the rice farmers in Zabamari, said it was done in revenge against the farmers for having arrested an insurgent and cooperated with the military.
It is quite clear that the Nigerian government’s response has not been proactive and preemptive, and has failed to emphasise building intelligence networks with local community buy-in that can disrupt Boko Haram. Nor has it denied Boko Haram factions the ability to recruit and replenish their ranks. The terror unleashed by Boko Haram results from these failures and the insurgents’ demonstrated ability to finance themselves.
It is over a decade since the Boko Haram insurgency started and the lack of strategic coherence on the part of the government of Nigeria is of great concern. Beyond documents and statements, proof of strategy is action and results.
It is important to go back to the drawing board and this starts with the government of Nigeria achieving a common understanding of the conflict and the opposing party—Boko Haram. This is a blind spot that researchers such as the American Dr Jacob Zenn amply illuminate, alongside the thinking of Nigerian academics and researchers who have done rigorous work on Boko Haram. The danger with not doing this is that the conflict will continue, with the usual victims of terror suffering in horrific ways, and after a decade or two, the state will collapse not because it could not save itself and regenerate its vitality, and definitely not because of a superior enemy, but simply out of sheer inertia. This would have catastrophic implications for West Africa and the continent at large.
Why Kenya’s Constitutional Duels Are All About Power Struggles Among the Elite
Kenya is in the throes of another agonised constitutional debate. Proponents of the new push for amendments argue that the time is right to cure deficiencies in the 2010 constitution. Yet that document is only a little over 10 years old, and followed a referendum that ushered in the most comprehensive constitutional reforms since independence in 1963.
A look back in history helps us understand Kenya’s perennial quest for constitutional change.
In the colonial era, constitutional demands were led by white settlers who ruled over the African population. Africans had no rights to land or civil amenities. In 1907, Britain conceded to white settler demands and created the Legislative Council. It began as a nominated, exclusively European institution with no provision for natives. Eventually, it became an elected body and a white missionary was nominated as the first official member to represent the interests of the African community. African elites challenged the privilege of white missionaries speaking for Africans.
Policy changes followed. The government appointed Eliud Mathu the first “native” to the Legislative Council in 1944. His appointment gave birth to Kenya African Union, the predecessor of the independence ruling party, Kenya African National Union. In the 1950s, demands by African led to the Mau Mau War. The armed movement sprang up in protest over colonial land alienation, economic inequalities and political oppression under British rule. The organisation’s mobilisation forced further governance policy adjustments.
In 1960, 1962 and 1963 Britain organised three Lancaster House Constitutional Conferences to decide Kenya’s future. On 12 December 1963 Kenya finally became an independent state.
From then on in constitutional power play became a domestic affair as local power brokers competed against one another. This resulted in power-hungry politicians faulting existing structures and demanding changes to the constitution. This was the case at the outset of colonialism and is still the case in 21st Century post-colonial Kenya.
The current push for constitutional change is reminiscent of these earlier trends – it is all about competition for power among the country’s elite.
Moments of crisis
There have been three major phases to constitutional reform in post-colonial Kenya.
The first followed the death of Jomo Kenyatta, the country’s first president. The second revolved around the consolidation of power, and the survival, of the country’s second president Daniel arap Moi. The latest is to push to amend the 2010 constitution.
When Kenyatta began ailing, rival politicians engaged in constant mischief as they schemed to identify a suitable successor. Constitutional Affairs Minister Tom Mboya, who belonged to the ruling Kenya African National Union, ensured that the 1963 constitution sidelined his party-mate, Kenya’s first Vice-President Jaramogi Oginga Odinga in the succession line up.
Ruling party honchos then turned to infighting as the then Vice-President Daniel Moi, formerly the chairman of the opposition’s Kenya African Democratic Union, looked on. Moi began to see how he could use the wrangling to ascend to the presidency. His first opportunity came in 1968 when successful constitutional amendments ruled Mboya out of the succession picture.
The law stipulated that in the event the president died, the vice-president would take office for 90 days and then call an election. In addition, the president was granted powers of detention without trial, meaning that he could detain his opponents as he saw fit.
Moi’s second opportunity came in the 1970s when he himself was the target of proposed constitutional amendments. His proponents wanted to return to the previous formula. Moi outwitted them by forming alliances with influential players across the country.
When he ascended to the presidency in August 1978, part of his control strategy was to constantly remind the public about how he foiled the amendments. That narrative ignored the successful constitutional change in 1968, of which he was the main beneficiary.
Moi’s survival amendments
Moi held the presidency for 24 years. Crafty in exploiting perceived weaknesses, his main constitutional concern was to consolidate his grip on power.
To secure his position, he engineered a constitutional amendment in June 1982 to make Kenya a one-party state. KANU was the “party”. This was the “Section 2A” amendment to the constitution the purpose of which was to stop the former vice-president Oginga Odinga from starting another political party.
A number of additional amendments were added, also designed to give Moi more power. These included the removal of tenure for constitutional office holders and an egregious amendment that replaced secret ballot at elections with voters lining up behind their candidate or agent at the 1988 elections.
These amendments backfired on the president, produced new national heroes, and eventually forced the repeal of Section 2A in December 1991 to pave way for the 1992 multiparty elections.
Following the repeal, the debate centred around Moi’s survival. In 1992, when he was still in control of Parliament, he took three far reaching steps. First, he introduced an amendment that required winning candidates to obtain 25% of votes cast in five of Kenya’s eight provinces. This made it difficult for any opposing candidate to win outright.
Second, he imposed a two-term limit for future presidents, just in case he lost. And third, he appointed retired judge and ally Zacchaeus Chesoni chairman of the electoral commission. Chesoni declared Moi the winner in the contested 1992 elections, despite the president garnering just 36% of the vote, and swore him in immediately probably to avoid court challenges.
After he won the 1992 election, Moi became preoccupied with repealing the two-term limit he had previously imposed. The period between 1993 and 1997 became charged with the constitution debate. This led to the formation of the Inter-Parliamentary Party Group, which committed to a review of the constitution after the 1997 election.
Two other groups had also emerged: the Ufungamano House group comprising religious leaders and civil society activists, and the Constitution of Kenya Review Commission, which was convened by Moi and opposition ally Raila Odinga, son of former vice-president Jaramogi Oginga Odinga.
Moi and Raila recruited lawyer Yash Pal Ghai who unified the review commission and Ufungamano initiatives, and together the two groups prepared a draft constitution. That draft became the basis of constitutional debate between 2003 and 2005. The debate culminated in the 2005 constitutional referendum. The draft was voted against, setting the stage for the chaotic 2007 elections.
The third post-colonial phase of constitution-making came about as a direct result of the 2007 election chaos.
What finally emerged was a grand coalition government between Raila Odinga and the incumbent Mwai Kibaki. The two finally agreed to a co-presidency with Kibaki as the president and Odinga in the new position of prime minister.
The co-presidency shepherded in the 2010 constitution because they were required to pass the new law as part of the national accord agreement that set up the grand coalition government.
But the document had many flaws which meant that its promulgation created new constitutional conflicts.
Ten years on and gyrations around Kenya’s constitution continue. The current drive for change is happening under the guise of the Building Bridges Initiative. This suggests that, once again, constitutional reform is being driven by political power agendas.
The changes that are likely to be effected will, therefore, not be the last because there always will be groups or individuals who will question the existing power structure. They are interested in grabbing power, not the effective functioning of constitutional structures in a state.
Thomas Sankara: A United Front Against Debt
In 1987, Thomas Sankara called for a united front against debt. His struggle remains as urgent today as it was then.
Mister President, Heads of Delegations,
At this moment I would like for us to speak about another pressing issue: the issue of debt, the question of the economic situation in Africa. It is an important condition of our survival, as much as peace. And this is why I have deemed it necessary to put several supplementary points on the table for us to discuss.
Burkina Faso would like to first of all talk about our fear. Our fear is that there are ongoing United Nations meetings, similar meetings, but less and less interest in what we are doing.
Mister President, how many African heads of state are present here when they have been duly called to come speak about Africa in Africa?
Mister President, how many heads of state are ready to head off to Paris, London, or Washington when they are called to a meeting there, but cannot come to a meeting here in Addis-Ababa, in Africa?
I know some of them have valid reasons for not coming. This is why I would suggest, Mister President, that we establish a scale of sanctions or penalties for the heads of state who do not presently respond to the call. Let’s make it so that through a set of points for good behavior, those who come regularly – like us, for example – can be supported in some of their efforts. For example: the projects that we submit to the African Development Bank should be multiplied by a coefficient of Africanness. The least African should be penalized. With this, everyone will come to the meetings.
I would like to say to you, Mister President, that the debt issue is a question we cannot hide. You yourself know about something in your country where you have to make courageous decisions, reckless even – decisions that do not seem to be related to your age or gray hair. His Excellency, the President Habib Bourguiba, who could not come but had us deliver an important message given this other example in Africa, when in Tunisia, for political, social, and economic reasons, has also had to make courageous decisions.
But Mister President, are we going to continue to let the heads of state individually seek solutions to the debt issue at the risk of creating social conflicts at home that could put their stability in jeopardy and even the construction of African unity? The examples I have mentioned – and there are others – warrant that the UN summits provide a reassuring response to each of us in regards to the debt issue.
We think that debt has to be seen from the perspective of its origins. Debt’s origins come from colonialism’s origins. Those who lend us money are those who colonized us. They are the same ones who used to manage our states and economies. These are the colonizers who indebted Africa through their brothers and cousins, who were the lenders. We had no connections with this debt. Therefore we cannot pay for it.
Debt is neo-colonialism, in which colonizers have transformed themselves into “technical assistants.” We should rather say “technical assassins.” They present us with financing, with financial backers. As if someone’s backing could create development. We have been advised to go to these lenders. We have been offered nice financial arrangements. We have been indebted for 50, 60 years and even longer. That means we have been forced to compromise our people for over 50 years.
Under its current form, controlled and dominated by imperialism, debt is a skillfully managed reconquest of Africa, intended to subjugate its growth and development through foreign rules. Thus, each one of us becomes the financial slave, which is to say a true slave, of those who had been treacherous enough to put money in our countries with obligations for us to repay. We are told to repay, but it is not a moral issue. It is not about this so-called honor of repaying or not.
Mister President, we have been listening and applauding Norway’s prime minister [Gro Harlem Brundtland] when she spoke right here. She is European but she said that the whole debt cannot be repaid. Debt cannot be repaid, first because if we don’t repay, lenders will not die. That is for sure. But if we repay, we are going to die. That is also for sure. Those who led us to indebtedness gambled as if in a casino. As long as they had gains, there was no debate. But now that they suffer losses, they demand repayment. And we talk about crisis. No, Mister President, they played, they lost, that’s the rule of the game, and life goes on.
We cannot repay because we don’t have any means to do so.
We cannot pay because we are not responsible for this debt.
We cannot repay but the others owe us what the greatest wealth could never repay, that is blood debt. Our blood had flowed. We hear about the Marshall Plan that rebuilt Europe’s economy. But we never hear about the African plan which allowed Europe to face Hitlerian hordes when their economies and their stability were at stake. Who saved Europe? Africa. It is rarely mentioned, to such a point that we cannot be the accomplices of that thankless silence. If others cannot sing our praises, at least we must say that our fathers had been courageous and that our troops had saved Europe and set the world free from Nazism.
Debt is also the result of confrontation. When we are told about economic crisis, nobody says that this crisis has come about suddenly. The crisis had always been there but it got worse each time that popular masses become more and more conscious of their rights against exploiters. We are in a crisis today because the masses refuse that wealth be concentrated in the hands of a few individuals. We are in crisis because some people are saving enormous sums of money in foreign bank accounts that would be enough to develop Africa. We are in a crisis because we are facing this private wealth that we cannot name. The popular masses don’t want to live in ghettos and slums. We are in a crisis because everywhere people are refusing to repeat the problems of Soweto and Johannesburg. There is a struggle, and its intensification is worrying to those with financial power. Now we are asked to be accomplices in a balancing – a balancing favoring those with the financial power; a balancing against the popular masses. No! We cannot be accomplices. No! We cannot go with those who suck our people’s blood and live on our people’s sweat. We cannot follow them in their murderous ways.
Mister President, we hear about clubs – the Rome Club, Paris Club, club whatever. We hear about Group of Five, Group of Seven, Group of Ten, and maybe Group of One Hundred. And what else? It is normal that we too have our own club and our own group. Let’s have Addis-Ababa become now the center from which will a new beginning will emerge. An Addis-Ababa Club. It is our duty to create an Addis-Ababa united front against debt. That is the only way to assert that the refusal to repay is not an aggressive move on our part, but a fraternal move to speak the truth. Furthermore, the popular masses of Europe are not opposed to the popular masses of Africa. Those who want to exploit Africa are those who exploit Europe, too. We have a common enemy. So our Addis-Ababa Club will have to explain to each and all that debt shall not be repaid. And by saying that, we are not against morals, dignity and keeping one’s word. We think we don’t have the same morality as others. The rich and the poor do not have the same morality. The Bible, the Koran cannot serve those who exploit the people and those who are exploited in the same way. It could be used in favor of both sides, there should be two different editions of the Bible and two different editions of the Koran. We cannot accept to be told about dignity. We cannot accept to be told about the merit of those who repay and the mistrust toward those who do not. On the contrary, we must recognize today that it is normal for the wealthiest to be the greatest thieves. When a poor man steals it is merely a theft, a petty crime — it is solely about survival and necessity. The rich are the ones who steal from the treasury, customs duties, and who exploit the people.
Mister President, my proposal does not aim to simply provoke or create a spectacle. I would just like to say what each one of us thinks and wishes. Who here doesn’t wish for the debt to be canceled outright? Whoever doesn’t, can leave, get into his plane and go straight to the World Bank to pay! All of us wish for this…my proposal is nothing more. I would not want people to think that Burkina Faso’s proposal is coming on behalf of youth without maturity or experience. I would not want people to think either that only revolutionaries speak in this way. I would want one to admit it is merely objectivity and obligation. And I can give examples of others who have advised not to repay the debt – revolutionaries and non-revolutionaries, young and old. I would mention Fidel Castro, for example, who said not to repay; he is not my age, even though he is a revolutionary. I would also mention François Mitterand, who said that African countries, poor countries, could not repay. I would mention Madam Prime Minister [Norwegian Prime Minister Gro Harlem Brundtland] – I don’t know her age and I would begrudge myself to ask her – but it’s an example. I would also mention President Félix Houphouët-Boigny; he is not my age but he officially, publicly, declared that, at least as far as his own country is concerned, Ivory Coast cannot repay. Now, Ivory Coast is among the wealthiest countries in Africa, at least Francophone Africa; that is also why it naturally has to pay a larger share here. Mister President, this is definitely not a provocation. I would like you to offer us some very intelligent solutions. I would want our conference to take on the urgent need to plainly say that we cannot repay the debt. Not in a warlike or bellicose spirit – but to prevent us from being individually assassinated. If Burkina Faso stands alone in refusing to pay, I will not be here for the next conference! But, with everyone’s support, which I need, with the support of everyone we would not have to pay. In doing so, we would devote our meager resources to our own development.
And I would like to conclude by saying that each time an African country buys a weapon, it is against an African country. It is not against a European country, it is not against an Asian country. It is against an African country. Consequently, we should take advantage of the debt issue to solve the weapons problem. I am a soldier and I carry a gun. But Mister President, I would want us to disarm. Because I carry the only gun I have and others have concealed guns or weapons that they have. So my dear brothers, with everyone’s support, we will make peace at home. We will also make use of our immense potentialities to develop Africa, because our soil and subsoil are rich. We have enough bodies and and a vast market – from North to South, East to West. We have enough intellectual capacity to create or at the very least use technology and science from wherever we find it.
Mister President, let us form this Addis-Ababa united front against debt. Let’s make the commitment to limiting armaments amongst weak and poor countries. The clubs and knives we buy are useless. Let’s also make the African market be the market for Africans: produce in Africa, transform in Africa, consume in Africa. Let’s produce what we need and let’s consume what we produce instead of importing. Burkina Faso came here showing the cotton fabric produced in Burkina Faso, weaved in Burkina Faso, sown in Burkina Faso, to dress citizens of Burkina Faso. Our delegation and I are dressed by our weavers, our peasants. There is not a single thread coming from Europe or America. I would not do a fashion show, but I would simply say that we must accept to live as African – that is the only way to live free and dignified.
I thank you, Mister President.
Patrie or death, we will overcome!
Editors Note: At the 1987 summit of the Organization of African Unity, Thomas Sankara warned that he would not live to attend another meeting if Burkina Faso were alone in resisting its debt obligations. A few months later, he was murdered in a coup backed by France for calling out the neocolonialist and imperial character of the debt imposed on African countries and calling for African unity and freedom.
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