In his column in the Sunday Nation of May 31 2020, Professor Makau Mutua argued that there was need for a constitutional amendment targeting the Judicial Service Commission (JSC). Although details about his proposed reforms were scant, he did articulate three core changes on structure, membership and mandate.
On structure, he proposed splitting the JSC in two: an independent body for interviewing judicial candidates and hearing petitions against judges and, a commission chaired by the Chief Justice that would exclusively deal with the judiciary’s administration matters.
On membership, Mutua seemed to prefer dismantling the current membership of the JSC and adopting a model more akin to how other commissions — such as the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights — are constituted. The effect of such a model would be to ensure that institutions with ring-fenced membership in the JSC — the Law Society of Kenya, the Magistrates, Judges of the three Superior Courts and the Public Service Commission — would have no representation in the body. The model would likely then require the President to appoint a recruitment panel for commissioners and then both he and parliament would have the final word on who become JSC commissioners.
On mandate, Mutua argues for reducing the role of the JSC and limiting it to “only interviewing judicial candidates and hearing petitions against judges”. His choice of words is critical, because interviewing judicial candidates is not the same thing as deciding which persons should be appointed judges. The most extreme of Mutua’s recommendations is on the removal of judges, which he proposes be ceded to parliament.
There are many reasons why Mutua’s suggestions are highly regressive and unhelpful. However, before I outline some of those reasons, it is critical to explain what the constitution currently provides in respect of the JSC.
The Constitution and the JSC
The JSC is one of the independent commissions established by the constitution. It has eleven members with its composition constituted through a mixed approach. The first category are permanent positions comprising persons occupying the positions of Chief Justice and Attorney General. The second category are elective positions with the first three being for the judges of the Supreme Court, the Court of Appeal and the High Court. There are three other elective positions, one for Magistrates and the other two for a female and male advocate who are members of the Law Society of Kenya. Position to the third category are appointive, with appointment to the first position being made by the Public Service Commission. The constitution describes the remaining two appointive positions as “one woman and one man to represent the public, not being lawyers, appointed by the President with the approval of National Assembly”.
The JSC’s overarching role is to facilitate the independence, accountability as well as transparency and efficiency of the judiciary. One of its core tasks is nominating and recommending to the President, following a competitive and open process, persons for appointment as judges. Additionally, it is responsible for considering complaints against judges and notifying the President when to form a tribunal to determine whether a judge should be removed from office.
With the exception of the Chief Justice and the Deputy Chief Justice, whose candidatures have to be vetted by the National Assembly, the JSC essentially makes the decisions on persons to be appointed judges. Even for the Chief Justice and Deputy Chief Justice, the President and the National Assembly cannot substitute their choices for those of the JSC. Fundamentally, if the National Assembly declines to approve the person selected as Chief or Deputy Chief Justice, the JSC has to recommend an alternative candidate for vetting.
Of course, both Mwai Kibaki and Uhuru Kenyatta have shown their frustration with the constitutional edict removing from them the power to decide or directly influence the appointment of judges. This was apparent from the first appointments under the 2010 Constitution when Mwai Kibaki rushed to appoint a now retired Judge of the Court of Appeal as Chief Justice without the involvement of the JSC. The courts were quick to assert their authority, suspending Kibaki’s decision and the JSC eventually conducting a competitive process that saw Dr Willy Mutunga appointed Chief Justice. Ironically, Mutunga was perhaps the last person Kibaki had in mind for the position of CJ because, even though Kibaki’s autocratic tendencies now pale in comparison to Uhuru Kenyatta’s, still he seemed to prefer more pliant judges.
Nevertheless, while Kibaki was gracious after the courts blocked his choice, Uhuru has been contumaciously obstinate about seeking to influence the appointment of judges. It started in 2014 when he refused to appoint 14 Judges nominated by the JSC. The courts eventually forced him to make the appointments. Yet, since July 2019 he has refused to appoint 41 new Judges nominated by the JSC despite being ordered to do so by the courts. His court filings on the case show that he believes he can haggle over who he does not want to see appointed judge.
Ring-fencing the independence of the judiciary
The constitutional framework establishing the JSC is perhaps one of the constitution’s strongest tools to guarantee the independence of the judiciary by ensuring that (legally) political actors have little leeway to influence who becomes a judge. Yet, there are many other constitutional provisions that jealously guard the independence of the judiciary. This ring-fencing was not a chance constitutional design occurrence. It was reflectively deliberate. Historically, as Mutua rightly indicated, the propensity of Kenya’s political elite to demand control of the judiciary has been insatiable. Yet, in his wisdom, Mutua asks that parliament be given the mandate to remove judges. If this had been the case, nearly all our leading judges who have displayed exceptional courage in defending the rule of law would be long gone even where the threshold for removal was a vote by two-thirds of parliament. It would be an exceptionally gleeful removal ceremony as punishment for those judges who have displayed inestimable consistency in defending the rule of law and calculated to create a chilling effect on those still in the judiciary.
There is another and more fundamental reason.
The 2010 Constitution created a constitutional democracy. The cardinal feature of a constitutional democracy is the rule of law. Rule of law is a very basic concept which simply means that no person or institution should operate above or outside the law. That includes the President and his relatives. The sacrosanct task of checking that everyone operates within the law is assigned to the judiciary. A constitutional design that ensured that the institution entrusted to call out those who violate the law is to the extent possible devoid of interference was key. The solution was a professional yet diverse institution – the JSC – where no one voice had an eclipsing effect. Importantly, the designers of the Constitution made sure that legally the political class – the President and Members of Parliament – had a minimal, perhaps nearly inconsequential, role in deciding the composition of the judiciary.
Mutua anecdotally samples how judges are appointed in different jurisdictions starting from – yes, you guessed right – the United States. He then mentions India and South Africa while providing scant details about the relevance of these countries.
As a starting point, the United States is just the wrong place to go when one wants to argue a case for the independent and professional appointment of judges. To begin with, the United States is not a modern constitutional democracy. In fact, I would argue that it is not at all a constitutional democracy but perhaps merely a struggling democracy with a constitution written by slave owners. Second, recent events have shown how the political class in the United States manipulates judicial appointments to entrench their political ideologies through the courts. I need say no more here.
The most recent detailed study on best practice to guarantee judicial independence through appointments, tenure and removal of judges is by the Commonwealth in 2015. The study builds on and complements the Latimer House Principles, a set of guiding principles promulgated by the Commonwealth Heads of State in Abuja in 2003 for the best ways to ensure a true separation of powers between the three arms of government: the judiciary, legislature and executive. While that study does not rate the legal norms of individual commonwealth countries for their effectiveness in guaranteeing judicial independence, it distils a set of principles for best practice. Kenya’s legal framework, under the 2010 Constitution, would rate relatively highly measured against those criteria.
We have in the 2010 Constitution the best law we perhaps could hope for to support the independence of the judiciary. It is therefore difficult to understand how the amendments to the constitution that Mutua argues for, superintended by a regime that does not believe in an independent judiciary, can achieve better independence, transparency and accountability of the judiciary.
In ordinary times, Mutua’s proposals would not elicit a response. However, they are made during a season of heightened and choreographed demands by those who control the executive and parliament, to effect amendments that would neuter the independence of the judiciary. His proposals might just be part of the “intellectual” primer that the Building Bridges Initiative is desperately clamouring for to sanitise its upcoming proposals for constitutional change.
Right of Reply
I hope you’ve been well. I’ve read with interest your response piece in the Elephant. It’s challenging and engaging. Several points.
First, you essentialize democracy without realizing it’s a system of governing people based on the stilts and fictions of liberalism. Those fictions and stilts are very fragile. That’s why democracy is an experiment whose outcome is unknown. That’s why there’s nothing like a “modern” democracy. Every country has a dynamic and evolving political system within the genre of political thought and history known as democracy. What would interest me are thoughts about a post-modern post-liberal democracy.
Second, all systems and institutions rely on community ethics and standards of internalized norms and behavior. You can’t abstract Kenya’s institutions from its corrupt elites in the judiciary, executive, and legislature — and even civil society. It’s a rotten country, and you know it. The three arms of the state are all equally corrupt. They work together to steal and destroy. That’s why it’s fallacious to imagine the JSC or the judiciary is above the muck.
Third, law is important but not determinative of anything. Virtually all a society’s choices lie in politics — even law. If your politics are bad — as we’ve seen in the US, and has been the case since its founding, then your laws are bad.
Fourth, you can’t carve out a sane lane in the judiciary without capturing state power and then leading a moral, normative, and cultural revolution. Anything else is just elite and bourgeois musical chairs. Lastly, the founders of the American state weren’t slave owners — rather, they repressed ENSLAVED Africans. No one can normatively be a slave, but people can be empirically enslaved — I’ve written a chapter on this for a forthcoming book that Caroline Elkins has edited.
On the enslavement question, I just want to add that one human being can treat another as chattel, or commercial property — as Arab, Europeans, and White Americans did to black Africans. But this empirical transactional concept cannot normatively vacate the humanity of the person treated as chattel. In other words, one human being cannot be normatively owned by another. That’s why the term slave is a political assertion without a philosophical basis. It’s normalized by those who dehumanize black Africans in a bid to turn enslavement into a natural condition.
Finally, let me thank you for keeping the debate I started vibrant. We can disagree, even in civil society without ulterior motives, or being pawns. The tyranny of the intellect which requires orthodoxy or unanimity is by definition anti-intellectual. Let’s continue the debate and engage it in a higher gear when we meet post-COVID!
Prof Makau Mutua
Seeds of Neo-Colonialism: Why GMO’s Create African Dependency on Global Markets
Rather than addressing food scarcity, genetically modified crops may render African farmers and scientists more, not less, reliant on global markets.
As COVID-19 continues to lay bare the deficiencies in the global food system, imagining new food futures is more urgent than ever. Recently, some have suggested that seeds that are genetically modified to include pest, drought, and herbicide resistance (GMOs) provide an avenue for African countries to become more self-sufficient in food production and less reliant on global food chains. Although we share the desire to build more just food systems, if history is any indicator, genetically-modified (GM) crops may actually render African farmers and scientists more, not less, reliant on global actors and markets.
In a paper we recently published in African Affairs, we trace a nearly 30-year history of collaborations among the agribusiness industry, US government agencies, philanthropic organizations, and African research councils to develop GMOs for African farmers. We found that these alliances, though impressive in scope, have so far resulted in few GMOs reaching African farmers and markets. Why, we ask, have efforts to bring GMOs to Africa yielded so little?
One reason, of course, is organized activism. Widespread distrust of the technology and its developers has animated local and transnational social movements that have raised important questions about the ownership, control, and safety of GM crops. But another issue has to do with the complex character of the public-private partnerships (PPPs) that donors have created to develop GM crops for the continent. Since 1991, beginning with an early partnership between the US Agency for International Development (USAID), the Kenyan Agricultural Research Institute, and Monsanto to develop a virus resistant sweet potato (which never materialized), PPPs have become a hallmark of GMO efforts in Africa. This is mainly so for two reasons. The first is that GM technology is largely owned and patented by a handful of multinational corporations, and, thus, is inaccessible to African scientists and small to mid-sized African seed companies without a partnership agreement. The second is that both donors and agricultural biotechnology companies believe that partnering with African scientists will help quell public distrust of their involvement and instead create a public image of goodwill and collaboration. However, we found that this multiplicity of partners has created significant roadblocks to integrating GMOs into farming on the continent.
Take the case of Ghana. In the mid-2000s, country officials embarked on an impressive mission to become a regional leader in biotechnology. While Burkina Faso had been growing genetically modified cotton for years, Ghana sought to be the first West African country to produce GM food crops. In 2013, Ghanaian regulators thus approved field trials of six GM crops, including sweet potato, rice, cowpea, and cotton, to take place within the country’s scientific institutes.
However, what began as an exciting undertaking quickly ran into the trouble. Funding for the sweet potato project was exhausted soon after it began. Meanwhile, cotton research was put on indefinite hold in 2016 after Monsanto, which had been supplying both funding and the Bt cotton seed, withdrew from its partnership with the Ghanaian state scientific council. Describing its decision, a Monsanto official said that without an intellectual property rights law in place—a law that has been debated in Ghanaian parliament and opposed by Ghanaian activists since 2013—the firm could not see the “light at the end of the tunnel.”
Monsanto was also embroiled in legal matters in Burkina Faso, where their Bt cotton had unexpectedly begun producing inferior lint quality. Meanwhile, Ghanaian researchers working on two varieties of GM rice had their funding reduced by USAID, the main project donor. This left them with insufficient resources, forcing the team to suspend one of the projects. The deferment of both the cotton and one of the rice projects dealt a blow to the Ghanaian scientists who were just a year or two away from finalizing their research.
In many ways, the difficulties presented here from both Ghana and Burkina Faso suggest that efforts to bring agricultural biotechnology to Africa are a house of cards: the partnerships that seem sturdy and impressive from the outside, including collaborations between some of the world’s largest philanthropies and industry actors, are actually highly unstable. But what about the situation in other countries?
Both Nigeria and Kenya have made headlines recently for their approval of GM crops. The news out of Nigeria is especially impressive, where officials recently approved a flurry of GMO applications, including Bt cotton and Bt cowpea, beating Ghana to permit the first genetically modified food crop in West Africa. Kenya also approved the commercial production of Bt cotton, an impressive feat considering the country has technically banned GMOs since 2011. Both countries, which have turned to an India-based Monsanto subsidiary for their GM seed supply, hope that Bt cotton will help revitalize their struggling cotton sectors. While biotech proponents have applauded Nigeria and Kenya for their efforts, it will take several growing seasons and more empirical research to know how these technologies will perform.
As the cases described here demonstrate, moving GMOs from pipeline to field is not simply a matter of goodwill or scientific discovery; rather, it depends on a multitude of factors, including donor support, industry partnerships, research outcomes, policy change, and societal acceptance. This complex choreography, we argue, is embedded in the DNA of most biotechnology projects in Africa, and is often ignored by proponents of the technology who tend to offer linear narratives about biotech’s potential to bolster yields and protection against pests and disease. As such, we suggest the need to exercise caution; not because we wish to see the technology fail, but rather because we are apprehensive about multi-million dollar collaborations that seemingly favor the concerns of donors and industry over those of African scientists and farmers.
The notion of public-private partnerships may sound good, but they cannot dispel the underlying interests of participating parties or the history and collective memory of previous efforts to “improve” African agriculture.
The Chira of Christopher Msando Will Haunt His Murderers Until Justice for His Family Is Served
Those who contributed in any way to the abduction, torture and assassination of Christopher Msando will eventually face justice because if there is something that history has confirmed to us time and again, it is that justice is always served, no matter how long it takes.
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about chira. In Luo language and culture, the closest translation of chira is “curse”. It results from an infraction of the kwer (taboos) and can befall an individual, a clan, a community or even a nation. In some cases, ritual cleansing can take away the chira. However, the chira arising from killing a person cannot be removed through rituals. It remains with you, your clan and your community. I am convinced that a chira from the kidnap, torture and brutal assassination of Christopher Msando haunts Kenya to date. The dire state of the economy, socio-economic inequalities, political polarisation, corruption, and state capture, all seem to have gotten worse in the last three years.
To refresh our memories, Christopher Msando was the Information Communications Technology (ICT) manager at the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). Msando oversaw key ICT processes, including the audit of the register of voters and the data centre project. Crucially, he was the project manager for the electronic transmission of results for the 2017 presidential elections. Msando was one of the few Africans who had access to the highly sensitive results transmission system set up by the French company Safran/OT Morpho (now renamed IDEMIA). Safran had been single-sourced by the IEBC to deliver the Kenya Integrated Election Management System (KIEMS), in a contract worth close to Sh6b. The deal was so scandalous that even the state-captured Kenya National Assembly’s Parliamentary Accounts Committee on 24 April 2019 banned Safran/OT Morpho/IDEMIA from operating in Kenya for ten years.
Msando had been unanimously nominated by the Wafula Chebukati-led Commission to lead key ICT processes. He was hard working, had superb technical skills, a strong team spirit and excellent communication skills. Msando was an honest man, who at times seemed quite naïve in the trust he placed in his bosses to do the right thing. He was transparent in sharing the loopholes in the ICT system and revealed how some “external” actors had already gained access to it, months before the August 2017 election. He explained complex processes to the Commissioners in layman’s language, without making them feel insecure due to their lack of ICT knowledge. This is probably the singular reason the Commission chose him over his then boss, James Muhati, to be responsible for the ICT operations for the 2017 election. Unlike Muhati, Msando did not show the Commissioners disdain for their ignorance or incompetence.
One of the few defiant actions taken by the Chebukati Commission was to suspend Muhati in May 2017, allegedly for failing to cooperate with an internal audit. But as press reports indicated at the time, there was more to the story than the Commission revealed. The suspension took Muhati’s close friend, then Chief Executive Officer, Ezra Chiloba, by surprise. Chiloba made several attempts to block the suspension from being executed, prompting a reprimand from the Commissioners. Msando was unanimously appointed the officer-in-charge of the ICT directorate.
Within a month of being in charge of the ICT directorate, Msando finalised the register of voters, secured a new data centre, developed the workflow for the electronic transmission of presidential results and sealed some technical loopholes in the KIEMS gadgets that would have enabled “dead voters” to vote. It is probably these measures that he had put in place that gave Msando the confidence to say to John-Allan Namu in an interview in June 2017 that “no dead voters will rise under my watch”. And indeed, with his assassination, potentially, many “dead voters” voted.
Reports indicate that the intention of the Commission had been to keep Muhati suspended until the end of the 2017 elections. However, former Commission staff say that Chebukati received a “dossier” from the Jubilee Secretary-General, Raphael Tuju, falsely claiming that Msando was working for the opposition coalition, NASA. Incidentally, death threats against Msando intensified during this period. He spoke openly about them, showed friends and colleagues the chilling text messages, and with his typical hearty laughter, brushed them off as he went on with his work almost unperturbed. Despite making official reports, no measures were taken to address his concerns. Msando was not even provided with a Commission vehicle and security, which he was entitled to by dint of his functions.
In the meantime, the pressure to reinstate Muhati intensified. There are reports that Deputy President William Ruto and his wife Rachel Ruto called almost all the Commissioners to demand the reinstatement of Muhati, who is a close friend from their University days. Those who did not get a direct call from the Deputy President or his wife, had the message delivered by his Chief of Staff, Ambassador Ken Osinde. Despite protests from two of the Commissioners, Muhati quietly returned from his suspension on 1 June 2017, and from then on, Msando’s days on earth were numbered.
The reports of Msando’s disappearance on 29 July shocked but did not surprise many at the Commission. The threats had been there for many months including on the lives of Chebukati and former Commissioner Roselyn Akombe. One would say that the manner in which these threats were handled by the Commission made the environment conducive for Msando to be assassinated. The silence emboldened his assassins to go ahead with their plan. For their silence, the chira from Msando’s murder will forever remain with Chebukati, Akombe and the other Commissioners.
On that fateful day on 29 July 2017, it is alleged that Chiloba and Muhati asked Msando not to go home after his KTN interview at 7 pm. It is reported that Msando and a friend decided to have drinks at a joint near the Commission’s Anniversary Towers office, as they waited for further instructions from Chiloba and Muhati. Details of what exactly happened to Msando from that Friday night until his bruised body was identified at the City Mortuary on 31 July 2017 will eventually come out. It is clear that there are many colleagues of Msando’s who have more information than they have revealed in public. To many them, chira for their silence will forever hang over them.
But of course, the harshest chira is reserved for those who ordered, aided and executed Msando’s abduction, torture and assassination. If there is something that history has confirmed to us on many occasions, it is that justice is always served, no matter how long it takes. Just this year, we have seen the fugitive Félicien Kabuga, an alleged leader and financier of the 1994 Rwandan genocide arrested. Monuments in honour of those who perpetuated grave injustices including racism, slavery and colonialism for more than 400 years have been brought down in the United States and Europe. And just last month in Germany, 94-year-old Reinhold Hanning was convicted of being “an accessory” to the murder of thousands of Jews while he worked as a guard at the Auschwitz Death Camp. It took 77 years to convict him for crimes he committed at the age of 17, but justice was eventually served.
It does not matter how long it will take, justice for Chris Msando will be served. Msando’s children Allan, Alvin, Alama and Alison deserve to know why their daddy was murdered. His widow Eva has several unanswered questions. Mama Maria needs to know why her last-born son could not have been jailed if he had done something wrong, rather than wake up every morning to his grave in Lifunga. Msando’s siblings deserve closure. But three years on, the investigators have no answers to offer nor have they shown any interest in the case. Politicians like Moses Kuria, Kimani Ngunjiri and Oscar Sudi continue to recklessly play politics with such a painful issue. But Msando’s friends are quietly pursuing the leads. Quietly documenting the facts. For, eventually, Kenya will have to reckon with its history of political assassinations.
In the meantime, over to juok, to continue raining chira on those who contributed in any way to the abduction, torture and assassination of Msando.
Quest for a More Equitable Nation Undermined: CRA’s Mission Aborted
In 2010 Kenya adopted a constitution that promised to address the daunting problem of ethno-regional economic discrimination. The Commission for Revenue Allocation was created to safeguard this intention and put an end to the exclusion of many ethnic communities in Kenya, a legacy of colonial rule and a decades-long centralised, ethicised, and personalised presidential system.
The current contentious debate in the Senate on the horizontal revenue allocation formula between counties, reveals a lack of political goodwill to end legal, systemic and institutionalised marginalisation in Kenya. The fact is that this formula does not exist or emerge in a vacuum, but is rooted in the political machinations and ideologies of those who control the dominant knowledge system that has informed economic policies responsible for sustaining regional privilege.
The proposals on the new revenue sharing formula are a clear sign that although regional discrimination might have been legally terminated, structural, social and systemic discrimination still thrives in Kenya. This is because the dominant philosophy of public policy continues to mirror the same exclusivity and discrimination that were legally institutionalised by Sessional Paper No. 10 of April 1965 authored by Tom Mboya and a cabal of bureaucrats at the post-independence national treasury and planning ministry.
Kenyans must be reminded that the idea of the Commission on Revenue Allocation (CRA) as an independent Commission emerged in response to the (traditionally) skewed allocation of revenue in Kenya. The constitution provides for Commissions and Independent Offices as an avenue to better cushion Kenya’s national interest against transient executive policy choices. Until the enactment of the 2010 constitution, all revenue allocations were centralised under the national government. Because of the pervasive absence of a culture of nationhood in Kenya and the extent of fragmentation in the society, most distribution of national resources has been based on ethnic, regional or political interests.
The exclusion of many ethnic communities in Kenya is the legacy of colonial rule and a decades-long centralised, ethicised, and personalised presidential system. Concerned by the entrenched economic inequalities, the constitution devised the counties to disburse a minimum of 15 per cent of the nationally generated fiscal revenue to the 47 subnational units. Additionally, it sought to ensure that equity was the overriding consideration in sharing revenue among the 47 counties.
The CRA was created to safeguard this intention and mandated to develop a sharing formula every five years. In conceptualising its mandate, the CRA must thus bear in mind this twisted legacy of our economic history and adopt a holistic and not just a positivist approach. Such an approach will integrate an appreciation of historically skewed allocations in favour of some regions the net effect of which has been to render these regions more attractive to diverse economic activities. Factoring in an amortised perspective of an investment in roads in 1960 would provide clarity in what the present value of such an investment could have accrued to a beneficiary region.
To fully understand the institutionalised discrimination patent in the proposed formula, it is important to recognise that, whereas 70 per cent of Kenya’s revenue remains with the national government, the formula does not take this into consideration, yet we know the degree of political expediency that underpins the national government’s distribution of this revenue across various counties through infrastructural and social development programmes. Then, on the basis of only the 30 per cent allotted to counties, the Commission has designed the formula presently before the Senate, where again it proceeds to attach much weight to population and disregards its responsibility to assign equal weight to regional economic disparities and the need for affirmative action in favour of disadvantaged regions.
Why did the formula turn a blind eye on inter-governmental fiscal transfers over and above the amount allocated to county governments as their equitable share of the revenue raised nationally under Article 202(1)? Is it proper for the formula to fail to factor in the impact of five other types of transfers to counties by the national government, namely, conditional and unconditional grants, loans, the equalisation fund, and constituency development funds?
The formula and the range of reactions in its defense reveal gaps in the way marginalisation in Kenya is understood, defined and addressed. In other words those individuals who designed the formula are conditioning Kenyans to only consider the slices of cake and ignore the way the national cake is divided. Under a purposive and holistic interpretation of article 203 (1) (f) (g) and (h), the revenue allocation should consider the distribution of national government projects.
The information on how the national government projects are allocated to the various counties is easily accessible to the Commission and the public through the Presidential Service Delivery Website. Furthermore, the CRA needed to have conducted a structural audit assessment of various counties. Such an audit would assess the kilometres of paved roads, the hospitals, the bridges, power connection, water connection, accessibility to mobile telephony and internet infrastructure, number and quality of schools, among others. Take for example the two counties of Kiambu and Kakamega with a population of approximately 1.6 and 1.9 million people and a landmass of 2,500 km and 3,225 kilometres respectively. Kiambu has 1,145 km of bitumen roads against a mere 700 km for the entire Western Province which has five counties. Kiambu County has 1,145 primary schools against 460 for Kakamega, and a 7/1000 infant mortality rate in Kiambu compared to 65/1000 in Kakamega.
A good formula that accounts for the above reality must involve the conscious use of the normative system called the “Presidential Service Delivery” to examine the extent to which national government programmes comport with the notion of equitable economic development. The lack of conscious use of the process of developing the revenue sharing formula by the CRA to narrow the poverty and marginalisation gap undermines its possible instrumentality to secure a more equitable and just nation. It undermines the use of Independent offices and commissions in promoting checks and balances in the developmental process in Kenya. It is up to the Senate and CRA to consider using the revenue allocation formula not as a ritualistic policy obligation to be undertaken every five years but to deploy it in furthering the entrenchment of economic justice, equality and inclusion in the country.
The argument advanced by those supporting the formula that counties that generate more revenue should benefit from higher allocation is pretentious as it conceals the fact that their present economic advantages flow from the relative deprivation of other regions historically. The justifications mobilised by proponents of the formula as they seek to protect their privileged economic status is a type of absolution (to help them sleep at night) and is aptly captured by Albert Memmi, the Tunisian Jewish writer and one of the most influential theorists to emerge out of the post-World War II African decolonisation movement:
The fact remains that we have discovered a fundamental mechanism, common to all marginalization and oppression reactions: the injustice of an oppressor toward the oppressed, the formers permanent aggression or the aggressive act he is getting ready to commit, must be justified. And isn’t privilege one of the forms of permanent aggression, inflicted on a dominated man or group by a dominating man or group? How can any excuse be found for such disorder (source of so many advantages), if not by overwhelming the victim? Underneath its masks, oppression is the oppressors’ way of giving himself absolution.
In other words, to justify the formula is to totally disregard the important reports on historical marginalisation like the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Report, that clearly pointed out those who are at the center and at the margin or periphery of national development.
The CRA’s mischief in the current stalemate regarding the formula to be used as the basis for sharing revenue among counties is a continuation of the disdain towards marginalised counties reflected in its recommendations to parliament with respect to the Second Policy on the Criteria for Identifying Marginalised Areas and Sharing of the Equalisation Fund in accordance with its mandate under Article 216(4) of the Constitution. The fund is a constitutional earmark of 0.5 per cent of annual revenue to be used to “provide basic services including; water, roads, health facilities and electricity to “marginalised areas”, as urged by article 204(2).
Under the second policy, the CRA departs from the first policy that had identified 14 counties in northern Kenya as marginalised areas and thus deserving of benefitting from the equalisation fund and instead identifies 1,424 administrative divisions across the 47 counties as “marginalised areas”. The policy choices in the CRA’s approach to the equalisation fund unravel when one realises that a good number of the administrative divisions identified are within the geographical limits of fairly well developed counties. Moreover, the choice of administrative units privileges national government structures and weakens the role of counties in the process. Worse, the choice shifts focus from the 14 historically marginalised counties whose economic exclusion the fund was intended to ameliorate. It assumes that parity in development has been achieved between the 14 counties and the rest of Kenya, a wildly fallacious assumption. Had the equalisation fund mechanism been implemented as envisioned in the constitution—with beneficiary counties managing the allocations—it could have assisted in cushioning marginalised counties in the event a formula favouring population as the overarching basis for revenue sharing is enacted.
In 2010, Kenya adopted a constitution that promised to address the daunting problem of ethno-regional economic discrimination. Its egalitarian tenets are evident in the quiet embrace of the principle of Ubuntu via Article 10 which holds “sharing” and “social justice” as defining values of our statehood.
As such, those at the CRA who developed the contentious formula must review their empirically unsupportable position that Kenya has made substantial progress in addressing marginalisation. We are persuaded by Malcom X’s assertion in his attack on race relations policies in the United States thus, “If you stick a knife nine inches into my back and pull it out three inches, that is not progress. Even if you pull it all the way out, that is not progress”. Progress is thus about healing the wound, and Kenya hasn’t even begun to pull out the knife of inequality. The CRA must stand up to its mission or disband.
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