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Reflections

Knowing your place

By Silas Nyanchwani

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Knowing your place

When you use the term minority or minorities in reference to people, you’re telling them that they’re less than somebody else.

Gwendolyn Brooks -American Poet.

The average age of knowing that you were born out of wedlock in my village was 5.

For boys, you learnt this news on a football pitch. I don’t remember the slight misdemeanor that prompted the insult. Neither did I know the meaning of the expletive, but the viciousness with which it was uttered sent a chill down my spine and I froze on the spot. Afterwards, my mother (a young widow then) could not explain what the word meant, but she warned me never step in that field again. I never did.

The word for a child born out of wedlock in Ekegusii, ekerentane, reduces the child to an inanimate object. Loosely it would translate to: something you bring along. Its connotations are untranslatable, there is an undisguised ring of contempt to it. Illegitimate children in my community were objects of ridicule and hostility. The boys at the pitch had put me to my place.

An illegitimate boy was always a target of insults, sometimes even by his own brothers. I scarcely remember any illegitimate boy who ever fully integrated into the new society the mother married to. Illegitimate boys were always forbidden from even performing certain rights like breaking ground for a grave to be dug, or even digging a grave. Such a privilege.

With hindsight, I now know it is the diminishing farming land in my community that motivated the hostility from our male peers and relatives. Illegitimate girls were the first target of pedophiles and any creep with incestuous inclinations, inured by the belief that as long the child was not related to them by blood, it wasn’t incest.

The message was clear: You are an outsider, you can’t have an opinion in our village. I recoiled in embarrassment, hurt badly. I will never belong.

Within a short five years of living in our new home, my mother would die in her mid-thirties. I was an orphan at just ten years. Being an illegitimate boy was bad enough. Being an orphaned illegitimate boy was positively vulgar. Nobody wanted to pick you up. Thankfully, my maternal kin took me and locked me in a boarding school.

My mother’s eldest sister would take care of me for the next ten years. It was a lovely, inclusive and kind family, but I would always be an outsider. A fact I was once reminded rather painfully. My aunt’s brother-in-law died of throat cancer. The brother-in-law was renowned patriarch, the last of a dying generation. In the 1990s, there was still a sense of community, and his death attracted a sizable crowd for the wakes.

During the wake nights, women will huddle themselves in the kitchen (usually a smoky, makeshift, grass-thatched, mudwalled hut, separate from the main house). And men will gather in the main house. It was in one such gathering of youthful men, that I would once again be put to my place.

The gathering was a blazing sitcom; rapturous, filled with rancorous humour and mudslinging that drew the throatiest of laughter. It was during one of the heated exchanges that I made the capital offense of offering my unsolicited opinion. One of the older members of the crowd, shouted me down,

“Shut up! You are a just a relative* here!”. He said it with such deadpan fury, it scared me.

The rage in the voice may have been made to carry with a hint of humour -indeed, the whole house went up in flames of laughter at that putdown- but the message was clear: You are an outsider, you can’t have an opinion in our village. I recoiled in embarrassment, hurt badly. I will never belong. Long after the funeral, everyone in that host village would call me “relative” in good humour, and I took it up without begrudging anyone. But deep inside, I started withdrawing from the world to take solace in books. In retrospect, that is how I became a bookworm: To escape the harsh world.

***

My high school was a little-known entity buried somewhere in the innards of Gusii Highlands. I joined a fat boy, about to shed all the weight and morph into a 6’4 wiry mesh of bone and flesh. High school was a neutral, anonymous space where no one knew my background. I could be anything I wanted.

I was scared of bullies. But our high school deputy principal, soon to be our principal for the next four years, a man who inspired the fear of God in boys, banned bullying effectively. Only prefects would whip us, but even that they did surreptitiously; if caught, they invited the fist of the principal’s fury. Think of Samuel L. Jackson.

That principal now heads Nairobi School.

The high school was Catholic. I grew up in a strict Adventist family, and became an ardent one at a young age. Soon, I would learn what it means to be a minority. For the small portion—roughly about a quarter the school—that identified themselves as active Adventists, getting a chance to worship on Sabbath was always a hard bargain. There were all sorts of intimidation from the administration. And to meet for Friday evening vespers, or the Saturday afternoon bible study, depended on the magnanimity of the school management. We were rather isolated, ridiculed by some students and we had to know our place, and be thankful to the gracious Catholic administration for the piecemeal hours of worship granted. I never liked that experience.

I did attend an Adventist high school briefly also and I noticed that Catholics were also given very limited time, or rights to worship, same as other Sunday worshippers. You could see the big, authoritarian hand of the Adventist church infringing on the religious liberties of the young men. I immediately wanted the church to be separated from the school system, and I grew to hate any form of authoritarianism even from my own church.

***

Ten years ago, I joined the University of Nairobi’s Main Campus. To me it felt like coming out of a jail after the unfortunate first 20 years of my life. With guaranteed freedom and housing for the next four years, a burning desire to be a man of my own in my heart, and the financial stipend from Higher Educations Loans Board, I could afford to be a man of my own.

I remember the knife-edge tension in the small room where we were hurdled in front of the TV, incredulously watching Kibaki being sworn in at night.

Again, here I could afford to be anonymous. My being illegitimate, or an orphan were no longer a factor of life. At least on the outside. I joined other young men and women, mostly from rural and rustic parts of Kenya on a government loan to pursue my dream, which by then was clear: become a writer.

***

A brief detour

Bad things come in threes. The Christmas Break of my first semester coincided with the General Elections of 2007, the first elections I was eligible to vote. My ‘paternal’ grandmother, died. I may not have been her biological grandchild but, growing up she had this indifference (more of her temperament than any ill will) towards me, but still humane enough in the African way. I visited my ‘ancestral’ home for the first time in ten years. It was awkward. I will never belong.

The second bad thing: my high school crush, a woman who had unleashed a Sicilian Thunderbolt on me ala` Michael Corleone in The Godfather, died and I could not afford to attend her funeral. In my imagination, she would have been my wife. Or not.

Third thing: the botched elections and the violence afterwards. I remember the knife-edge tension in the small room where we were hurdled in front of the TV, incredulously watching Kibaki being sworn in at night. We had all voted for Raila Odinga cashing in on the ODM wave. I was in the village where I had grown up.

I grew up being fed a lot of nonsense about the Luo, but in that election, a brilliant cousin then studying Bachelor of Commerce at the University of Nairobi taught me a lesson on historical marginalization of not just the Luos, but of the Coastal people, of the people in Northern Kenya. He convinced me that Raila Odinga was the right candidate for Kenya, not just the Luos. He told me Kibaki had broken the MoU that would have probably ridden Kenya of the toxic tribal nature of our politics.

It is this kind of idealism that had led more than 50 per cent of my clansmen to turn to Raila Odinga in that election. But the blatant disregard of the wishes of Kenyans in that election was more than we could take. The men in the room were smacking, clicking, shouting, creaking, rasping and could not believe what was happening.

My cousin Shylock, a brilliant and laidback mathematician, in moment of absolute exasperation, sighed,

“HE IS NOT MY PRESIDENT!”

He was beside himself with anger. Those words are still the realest, heaviest reaction I have ever heard from someone. Everyone in that house was mortified and I remember so many bad things were said about the Kikuyus, all in a moment of madness.

Then the violence erupted. In no time, we learnt that our clansmen were being killed in Kericho for “voting for Kibaki”. We were in town bordering the Maasai and the men in the room had ‘warrior’ instincts borne out of the many years of the inter-ethnic war with the Maasais. They wanted to pick up their bows and arrows and go fight the Kalenjins; indeed, the war did erupt at Borabu on the Kisii-Bomet border.

We got the more sad news—rumours really— that our clansmen had been killed in Kisumu. This was greeted by ambivalence. There was a Luo man, Ouma, who had lived in that market place I grew up, working as welder, widely loved for his wild laughter and boisterous personality. He had spent the evening with us, in readiness for never-would-be Raila presidency.

Even in our devolved units, for some clannish communities, smaller clans have little chance and will always be at the mercies of the numerically bigger clans, handed scraps of leadership to pacify them. Sadly, if you are minority, you have to accept and live with this.

But as soon as the Kisumu news hit us, some of the male cousins suddenly wanted to be hostile towards him, with one insinuating that we should discipline him, and more disgustingly suggesting that ‘we’ should go after the wife.

The thought itself scared me to death. Even then, I knew what it feels like to be a minority in a place dominated by people of a different kind. Luckily for Ouma, nothing bad happened to him, there were more sensible people in that room than the few rotten apples.

But others were not lucky in the Rift Valley and Nairobi. Depending on where you voted, you were targeted for either offensive or vengeful attacks. The rest is well documented.

***

When school reopened, in the first class after the coalition government was formed, a Japanese instructor married to a Kenyan and who had lived in Kenya long enough, tried to prompt a conversation on the violence. There is something foolish about being 20-years-old with youthful idealism. Our feelings were raw, and we said bad things against each other, full of stereotypes. We stopped short of a fist fight. The Japanese lecturer was so scared she had to stop the discussions.

A section of the class wanted to move on. A section of the class felt hurt and cheated by the coalition government. The rancour in our nation politics would visit our campus, only uglier, during the charged Students Organization of Nairobi University (SONU) elections. Ethnicity was a big factor. We had ODM Tribes and PNU tribes.

There were tribal kingpins in college who decided which seat went to which tribe. The big seats went to the ‘big three tribes’; (Kikuyus, Luos and Kalenjins). I remember one friend telling me, straight-faced,

All I would have wished for is an electoral body that is above reproach in its conduct and delivery. It is not too much to ask. It is not because my party lost that I think the process is not credible.

“You Kisiis, have to give us the Organizing Secretary.” No irony. It was the default set up under which the university operated. Even the university management, top-down had to reflect a sense of equitable distributions of positions, with “minority” tribes in Kenya having a zero chance of ever being in charge of Kenya’s largest learning institutions. It was disgusting. Ditto the Kenyan political landscape. Even in our devolved units, for some clannish communities, smaller clans have little chance and will always be at the mercies of the numerically bigger clans, handed scraps of leadership to pacify them. Sadly, if you are minority, you have to accept and live with this.

Another reminder that coming from a minority tribe or clan in Kenya, you must be ten times as good before you even stand a chance. Recently, there were arguments if the newly elected Nairobi senator is a Sabaot or a Luhyia, the import being, he would rather identify himself as a Luhyia and get Luhyia votes than risk identifying himself as a Saboat.

***

The 2013 elections gave us the phrase for our pathological condition of sweeping everything under the rug and forgetting: Accept and Move On. Yvonne Owuor, in her novel Dust that was set against the backdrop of the 2007 contested elections, called Silence our fourth national language. Besides the 2007 post-election violence, Owuor visited parts of our violent history that have been hushed up to the convenience of one part of the country, and the constant agitation of others.

2017, I expected better. But regardless of the legitimacy of the declared results and how the Supreme Court will decide, the outcome will disappoint a section of the country.

For me, there is no such a thing as ‘third time is the charm”. All the three elections I have voted, neither my vote, nor my voice has counted. It would be tolerable if the opponents’ victory was incontestably clean. The first election was fraudulent. We lived with it. The second time, the opponent’s victory was doubtful, made the worse by the curt dismissal at the Supreme Court. We took it on the chin. Third time, we will still go to the Supreme Court, not after a brief, premeditated round of violence on Raila Odinga’s supporters by the state. Thankfully, no large-scale violence, but there is large-scale hurt and internal bleeding that will not go away.

***

I’m proudly Kenyan. Given my background, I’m condemned to live in a city or a cosmopolitan county. But, I’m not blind to the deep-seated differences that will sooner or later boil over along ethnic lines. It has made settling in places that are not our ancestral home a scary prospect, as every election approaches.

Our differences can be solved peaceably through constitutional means; amending the constitution to have a better power sharing arrangement, adopting a different voting system that is not based on the tyranny of numbers like in the US, whose constitution we badly plagiarized. Or even increasing funding as some of the measures that can forestall the call for secession – a number of Kenyans are buying into economist David Ndii’s call for self-determination.

I have come to understand why people vote the way they vote. Both parties have valid reasons; fear on one side, hope on the other. Fear always prevails. If I was a Kikuyu, and my community has been a target of ethnic displacement or cleansing in 1992, 1997 and 2007, I would probably vote for someone I believe will protect me, especially if the utterances of some of the politicians urge my community to “lie low” hours before the election. Last time someone said such words, our clansmen died. Understandable.

If I have been under systemic neglect and discrimination since independence I will turn to a candidate who promises to address historical injustices, redistribute the national cake and inclusion.

All valid reasons. All I would have wished for is an electoral body that is above reproach in its conduct and delivery. It is not too much to ask. It is not because my party lost that I think the process is not credible. Power is a very temporary thing; the incumbent can lose and another person can take over. I will hate it if the political elite will abuse their power.

But most importantly, is my wish that our country can start having statesmen who think beyond raw power, tenders, real estate, stashing cash in foreign reserves. I hanker after statesmen who will think about future generations and build a world, where race, tribe, religion and such play a tertiary role over competence, humanity and empathy.

Where a child born in Turkana or Wajir, or Kisii, or a slum in Nairobi has as much chance to be a president, as the one born in Kiambu or Siaya. Or Uasin Gishu.

***

These things are cyclic. In 1960, Ronald Ngala led Kenya African Democratic Union (an outfit for Kalenjin, Maasais, Turkana and Samburu) to oppose the dominance of the Kikuyus and Luos. If the so called big tribes continue to dominate the political scene, other tribes will continue having deep antipathy towards them.

We need both a political and constitutional solution to this. Otherwise elections will always be a problem, since more and more Kenyans will feel that Kenya is not a place for them. They will find another place they can call home. Hardly the right way. But if pushed…it will be the only way. It is not as farfetched as some people think.

By Silas Nyanchwani
Silas Nyanchwani is a Kenyan writer who writes for the Standard Group. He is also a Journalism Instructor at Riara University. 

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Reflections

ELECTIONS AND VIOLENCE: The Kenyan Case

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Why are elections in Kenya associated with death and tragedy? At what point in our history as nation, did bloodletting become part parcel of the Presidential and General elections?

In Kenya today, elections are synonymous with shootings, death, sorrow and destructions in some parts of the country. Kisumu and the counties of Homa Bay, Siaya and Migori, where the Luo ethnic group is dominant have become associated with police shootings and killings during and after elections. A look into the history of elections in Kenya can help us understand the triggers of these conflicts. Karl Marx said, “History repeats itself, first as tragedy and second as farce”.

From 1960 to 1963 in the years leading to independence, the battleground was a contest between the two nationalist political parties, the Kenya African National Union (KANU) and the Kenya African Democratic Union (KADU), competing for the Senate, Parliamentary or Regional assembly seats. The competing political ideologies were for a Centralist Government as espoused by KANU and Majimbo (Federalism) as propounded by KADU. There were other parties too, Paul Ngei’s African Peoples Party (APP) and Sir Michael Blundell’s New Kenya Party but the real supremacy battle was between KANU and KADU.

In 1963, KANU consisted of the Agikuyu and Luo led by Jomo Kenyatta, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga and Tom Mboya among others. KADU was led by Ronald Ngala, Daniel arap Moi, Masinde Muliro and Martin Shikuku and was composed of the Coastal peoples, the Kalenjin of the Rift Valley and parts of Western Province with the Bukusu and a smattering of other Luhya sub-tribes. The small communities fearful of domination by the two largest communities at the time –the Agikuyu and the Luo –had come together in KADU and wanted Kenya organized into a US style federal state with six autonomous regions. KADU actually got their way at Lancaster House.

The fiery William Murgor of KADU famously announced at the January 1962 Lancaster House Conference in London, ‘If Kikuyus are settled in the Rift Valley, we will blow the whistle and have them ejected. That was a signal for his people to come out with spears and defend their territory. ‘They belong to Central Province and should vacate Rift Valley as soon as possible.’ President Jomo Kenyatta had proposed to settle the former Mau Mau and landless members of the Kikuyu tribe in the Rift Valley to occupy the lands vacated by departing white settlers and Murgor bitterly contested this settlement arrangement.

While tension was high between Kikuyu and Kalenjin land interests in the period leading up to independence, the alliance between the Kikuyu and Luo leadership was strong as all the leading Luo political leaders, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Tom Mboya, Ramogi Achieng’ Oneko, CMG Argwings-Kodhek and Samuel Onyango Ayodo were all in KANU.

Jaramogi served as Vice-President of Kenya and KANU while Tom Mboya was Party Secretary-General and Minister for Economic Planning and Development. Ramogi Achieng’ Oneko held the Information and Broadcasting portfolio while Onyango Ayodo served as Tourism Minister and Kodhek later joined the Cabinet as Foreign Minister. This lasted until 1966 when Jaramogi resigned as Vice –President of Kenya and formed the opposition party, Kenya Peoples Union (KPU).

Parliament subsequently passed a law which forced all MPs and Senators who had defected to the new party to lose their seats. It is worth noting, that when KADU and African Peoples Party leadership voluntarily crossed to KANU in November 1964, by elections were not held.

In May 1966 what is called the ‘Little General’ elections was held to fill the seats of the KPU defectors. This occasioned the first major multi-party elections held in Kenya and Luo-Nyanza. Six of the by elections were held in Central Nyanza District (today Kisumu and Siaya).’Tom Mboya led the KANU and Government campaign addressing 12 rallies in three days’ as narrated in Cherry Gertzel’s the Politics of Independent Kenya.

Initially they were fears of attacks on Mboya and the Government delegation but no attacks happened, as the contest was limited to a war of words. KPU portrayed Mboya as ‘a younger man who was responsible for the older mans problems, through use of imagery and idioms.’ KPU won all the seats, Bondo, Ugenya, Alego, Nyando, Kisumu Rural, and Ondiek Chillo Miguda recaptured the Central Nyanza Senate seat.

In the House of Representatives, out of 28 contested seats, Kanu garnered 21 while KPU got 7 seats. There was no violence and campaigns and voting were conducted peacefully. However, the KPU candidates were subjected to considerable official harassment. They were not, on the whole, granted licenses’ for campaign rallies and their passports were impounded. The Voice of Kenya also imposed a news blackout on the KPU activities.

KANU and KPU were expected to lock horns during the 1968 local Government elections. This did not happen when the returning officers refused to accept nomination papers from all KPU candidates. As a result all KANU candidates were elected unopposed. The country was supposed to have had General elections in 1968, but with the merger of the Upper House (Senate) and Lower House (Parliament) in late 1966, the unicameral legislature voted to extend its 5 year tenure to 6 with elections now scheduled for late 1969.

Fast forward to July 5 1969 and the country’s peace and quiet was shattered when Nahashon Isaac Njenga Njoroge shot dead Tom Mboya in a Nairobi street. Kisumu and Homa Bay bore the brunt of the protests and demonstrations with police shootings and killings. Earlier, in January 1969 Foreign Minister Clement George Michael (CMG) Argwings-Kodhek died in a mysterious road accident in Nairobi.

Kodhek was one of three Luo ministers, alongside Mboya and Ayodo who had remained in KANU and Government when KPU was formed and was MP for Gem until his death. He was succeeded by Wasonga Sijeyo of KPU who overcame Rading Omolo of KANU in the May 1969 by election, despite Mboya and KANUs aggressive campaigns.

In 1969, the Country was preparing for Presidential and General elections where Kanu was to be pitted against the KPU and President Jomo Kenyatta was to face off with Jaramogi Oginga Odinga later that year. That election happened without Jaramogi and KPU after the clash at the official opening of the New Nyanza Provincial Hospital (aka known as Russia Hospital) in Kisumu between Kenyatta and Odinga on October 25 and ended up with 11 people shot dead. The deaths of Kodhek and Mboya set the tone for the clash at the hospital especially in reaction to President Kenyatta’s vitriol directed at Jaramogi Odinga and his KPU party.

KPU was banned and her Members of Parliament and the entire constellation detained without trial. Only one KPU member Grace Onyango was re-admitted to KANU and won the Kisumu Town parliamentary seat becoming the first woman elected to the August House in the entire Republic. The 1969 elections set a firm precedent regarding the exclusion of former KPU politicians from the electoral process. The election was peaceful and this was replicated in 1974.

The death of Jomo Kenyatta in 1978, seemed to usher in a short period of political rapprochement and reconciliation when new President Daniel arap Moi released political detainees, sought reconciliation and visited Nyanza province. After the Russia incident in 1969, Kenyatta did not return to Nyanza. However, KANU in line with Moi’s “Fuata Nyayo” (Follow the footsteps) stance, continued the tradition of denying the ex-KPU group an opportunity to stand in the 1979 election.

Moi established a firm grip, consolidating power under a single party and ruling the country with an iron fist particularly in response to the failed coup attempt in 1982 fronted by junior Airforce officers. The failed coup gave birth to a draconian regime that brutally dealt with dissenters. In the intervening electoral periods, 1983 and 1988, Luo Nyanza remained politically marginalized and subdued up until another prominent death shook its core in 1990.

Foreign Minister and Kisumu Town Member of Parliament, Dr Robert Ouko’s macabre murder in February 1990 set off a wave of protests, demonstrations and confrontation between police and locals in Nairobi and Kisumu and to some extent other parts of Migori and Homa Bay.

When Ouko’s remains arrived in Kisumu Stadium for last rites, the security situation deteriorated and he had to be airlifted to Nyahera, the hills above Kisumu to his parents’ home. This was after a deadly confrontation between Police, the GSU and protesters. Robert Ouko’s death and the aftermath left more than 200 people dead according to the Weekly Review.

Ouko’s murder broke any pretense at good relations between Government and the Luo community. ’If a Government Minister who has round the clock security can be kidnapped and murdered and the culprits have never been apprehended then what options do we have? ‘Queried a resident of Kisumu at the Commission of Inquiry constituted to look at Ouko’s death between October 1990 and November 1991. The Inquiry that sat at the Kisumu Municipal Council played a merry havoc with public confidence- in terms of corruption and alleged kick-backs by Ministers.

An array of issues that included the removal of the security of tenure of Judges of the High Court, the queue voting system introduced ahead of the 1988 General elections, the human rights violations in the Nyayo torture chambers and the politically instigated ethnic clashes in 1991 and 1992 led to the exodus of the Luo community from KANU to Oginga Odinga’s newly formed political party Ford in late 1991. William Murgor’s people had finally blown the whistle and they targeted opposition supporters particularly the Luo and Kikuyu. From 1992 with political pluralism back in the statutes, the opposition became vocal but Moi did not tolerate dissent. Police dealt with protests and demonstrations ruthlessly as Luo Nyanza found itself back in the line of fire.

In March 1992, police chased down multi-party demonstrators into Kisumu Boys High School and shot them down despite the fact that the school was in session. A former student who was at the institution, collecting his O-level results was one of the casualties. The State instigated ethnic cleansing continued unabated in the Rift Valley and at the borders of Nyanza and Nandi as well as the Kericho-Sondu areas. At the General election on 29 December Luo-Nyanza voted to a man and woman for Ford-Kenya and Oginga Odinga in the first multi party elections since 1966. Ford Kenya came in fourth after, Mwai Kibaki’s DP, Kenneth Matiba’s Ford Asili and Moi’s KANU that won amidst widespread claims of ballot stuffing and irregularities.

There was some respite during the cooperation between KANU and Ford-Kenya and Moi and Oginga Odinga for some time in 1993 and this lasted until Jaramogi’s death in January 1994. Tension increased again as political leaders started agitating for reforms ahead of the 1997 General elections. Government outlawed the rallies and met them with brute force, not only in Kisumu but also in the Nairobi.

With elections approaching, ethnic cleansing resumed in the Rift Valley. Kisumu was again targeted with KANU thugs given state protection. This time Alego-Usonga Constituency was the Government target in the contest between Peter Oloo Aringo of the National Development Party and the KANU candidate, Edwin Yinda. The number of those who died in that clash have never been known.

2002 was a calm year as the opposition sought to succeed Moi who was scheduled to retire after the term limits was introduced in the Constitution in 1992. The Kikuyu and the Luo joined forces to defeat KANU but the marriage did not last. Cracks emerged in the NARC Government of President Kibaki in 2003 because of the controversial Memorandum of Understanding, which promised Raila Odinga of LDP the Prime-Ministers position.

Those cracks finally came to the fore at the Constitutional referendum in November 2005. Roads Minister Raila Odinga and Cabinet colleagues Prof Anyang’ Nyong’o, Ochillo Ayacko, Najib Balala, William Ole Ntimama, Kalonzo Musyoka and Assistant Ministers, Peter Odoyo and Orwa Ojode among others led the NO team symbolized by the Orange while President Kibaki led the YES team represented by the Banana.

The November 2005 constitutional referendum between the Orange and Banana teams left death and destruction in Kisumu. One of those killed was a 13 year old pupil at Josana Academy, shot dead by police as he came from School. The Kisumu Polytechnic gate was brought down a GSU Landover acting as a battering ram. Students were beaten black and blue before being arrested and arraigned in Court.

Eventually all the charges were dropped because unknown to the State one student had recorded the entire episode on video. The 2007 General elections and its aftermath was the worst in living memory. During peaceful demonstrations, following the disputed result, a police officer gunned down a citizen taunting and making faces at the police, in the full glare of television cameras.

Despite the fact that this killing was recorded, the policeman was acquitted. Starting on 30 December 2007 up until the peace-accord in February 2008, police shot and killed citizens who protested the outcome of the election. Victor Odhiambo who played rugby for Kisumu RFC was one of those gunned down in Nyalenda area.

During the 2010 Constitutional referendum, Kisumu had a chance to catch its breath as President Kibaki and Prime-Minister Raila Odinga were on the same side. The peace only lasted until March 2013 with the face-off between Raila Odinga and Uhuru Kenyatta. Following the announcement of the results, those protesting clashed with the police, again resulting in shootings and death.

In the year 2015, during peaceful demonstrations against the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission, police again shot dead citizens in Siaya, Migori, Homa Bay and Kisumu.

History does repeat itself and 2017 has lived up to the painful consequence of death for protestors in Kisumu and other parts of Nyanza. Since the first election held on August 8, it is actually not possible to put a finger on the number of those killed and maimed. A 6-month-old Baby Samantha Pendo’s skull was crushed by a policeman’s boot following the protests against claims of a rigged election. A few weeks later, 2-year-old Chantal Amondi was a victim of a police bullet. She was shot on the shoulder, while playing with her neighbours.

On 26th October during the repeat elections, 26 people suffered gunshot wounds and three died, according to a record of those admitted to the New Nyanza Provincial Hospital (aka) Jaramogi Oginga Odinga Teaching and Referral Hospital. Figures released by the Kenya National Human Rights Body, IMLU and police gave conflicting numbers. Other casualties were admitted to sub-county hospitals and private institutions.

Given this history of state brutality, the trends of ethnic profiling remain self-evident. Policing in areas populated by communities aligned to the ruling regime is restrained and moderated. In recent times, a look at how the police have dealt with demonstrations in Gusii, Kitale, Bungoma, Vihiga, Mombasa and even Nairobi contrast sharply with the sort of excesses that have been normalized in Luo-Nyanza. Rarely will you find citizens shot and killed over an election contest.

The only thing new elections have taught us in Kenya, is that we have learned nothing from the old. Why are elections in Kenya associated with death and tragedy? The simple answer is the lack of electoral integrity and credibility that is an essential ingredient in reconciling political conflicts peacefully. Until, Kenya holds free and fair elections that adhere to the rule of law, Kenyans who rise up against injustice will continue to bleed. As the black American singer and actor turned Civil Rights activist Paul Robeson said, “The answer to injustice is not to silence the critic but to end injustice”.

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Reflections

I Long For A Different August

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Since I was a child, I have been acutely aware of conflict and deeply concerned with resolving contentious problems. That has made for an interesting outlook considering that since my birth in August 1982 until this day, my community in Nyanza, Western Kenya has been under regular attack from state forces because of the egalitarian values we seek to uphold, in stark contrast to the neocolonial, capitalist, patriarchal ideology steering government.

I now live in New York City and have lived here most of my life. I do not have the privilege of a single point of view. I hold at least four in my mind at all times: a Kenyan Luo woman, a feminist, a black person in the diaspora and an African aware of racialized scrutiny by Westerners. Right now, I am writing this editorial from my apartment in New York. Yet, the sounds of jackhammers fixing the road, people on their daily commute, children goofing around and sound systems blasting classic tunes, cannot take me away from Nyanza. Though I have lived abroad for years, returning now and then, Western Kenya is always very close to my heart. Even in this bustling city, I have a palpable sense of urgency. I feel as though this moment, with Luo identity under attack amidst disconcerting apathy in Kenya and abroad, is different from others.

In this moment, as America shows itself to be a feckless global leader, with a government incapable of healing national divides and Kenya bumbles along in similar fashion though with greater promise as a nation ascending rather than in decline; this is a time when truth comes to light no matter how long it has been kept in the dark.

In America, the lie of white supremacy is coming undone while in Kenya, the neocolonial construct of “tribal” supremacy and unfettered corruption is being confronted.

I was born during the coup of 1982, in August. The story goes that I was born just before the evening curfew and my father was able to see me before he had to rush home. Daniel Arap Moi was president and his brutality as head of state was highly effective in suppressing dissents and crushing the notion of Kenya as a democratic republic. The story of my birth and politics swirling about at the time have informed my entire life, though not intentionally.

From my first breath, I intuitively understood that freedom isn’t free and yet it is the thing I value above almost all others. One might say that I have committed my life to the preservation of freedom of expression as writer, producer and activist. My mother, is a doctoral anthropologist and feminist, while my late father was a civil servant. Both of them led very improbable lives, committed in their own way to the promise of post-colonial Kenya having been born under British occupation. My mother made the greatest impression upon me with her keen understanding and research of our ethnic culture before colonization as a matrilineal society where land passes down through the women. She was fortunate to be raised by a feminist mother and father who did not undermine her potential as a girl child. Thankfully she treated me with the same respect, empowering a critical thinker, open to sometimes contradictory ideas in pursuit of universal truths.

In America, in the month of November 2017, a white man with a history of domestic violence walked into an idyllic Texas church in Sutherland Springs and indiscriminately murdered 26 people, injuring 10 more with a semi-automatic weapon. In the States, this has been the deadliest year on record for mass shootings. A nation that purports to be the leader of the free world. Please! Although this country works very hard to churn out propaganda that makes it seem that radical Muslims and rabid black protesters or gang members are out here shooting people left and right, it’s patently untrue.

According to research by Mother Jones, since 1982 Muslims have committed arguably 4% of mass shootings and black people 16%. But whites, mostly men, are responsible for some 54% of mass shootings. They are never called terrorists. Even Timothy McVeigh, a white supremacist, who by most accounts is a terrorist for the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing that killed 168 people, was never formally charged as a terrorist because the U.S. ascribes all federal charges of terrorism to foreign agents. White men are the true American terrorist and yet, the capitalist interests of bodies like the National Rifle Association (NRA), a pro gun lobby worth $27 billion, and political interests like the Republican party, funded by an oligarchy of racist white male billionaires, have no interest in the truth. Some are actually calling the American problem with mass shootings, an epidemic, because incidences of gun violence are spreading and body counts rising.

Just this past week, a self-proclaimed ISIS terrorist of Uzbek descent killed 8 people in New York City with a rented vehicle and a gun. Following this tragedy, most Republican politicians were calling for stricter immigration laws to stop the scourge of “Muslim extremists.” And yet, about a month prior a white man murdered nearly 60 people and injured about 600 more with an arsenal of many legally purchased guns, and there was no political will from the White House to handle the situation.

You see in America, arguably the leading third world democracy given they trail every developed nation in analytics, the single story of white male supremacy trumps any potential remedy to the epidemic of gun violence. If this nation were to admit that billionaire white men are pulling the levers of the Republican government. That these same oligarchs do not care about their poor and working class white male counterparts. That all they really care about is money and power that would disturb the carefully crafted single story that white is right in any form that white male domination takes.

And yet, the cat is kind of out of the bag since the election of Donald Trump who has inspired unprecedented pessimism in white male leadership in the midst of rampant violence.

Thinking about the emergence of Kenya after independence from colonization, I can see that the apathy Kenyans feel for the unbridled violence and cruelty towards Luo leadership and citizens is similar to the marginalization and misinformation piled on Muslim residents or citizens and African Americans in this country. The single story in Kenya entails that the wealthy are the most qualified to lead. That the Kikuyu hegemony and whomever aligns with them are the most competent to hold public office. That the Luo critics are the most insolent in their consistent challenge to oligarchic power. That bombastic self interest is a signifier of true leadership while egalitarianism is a pipe dream. That those who beat and kill with impunity have the divine right to do so. That like people of color in the US, Luo people are deserving of demonization despite overwhelming facts to the contrary (even allowing for those who fall short of appropriate conduct), and that British imperialism by African proxy like American imperialism propagated by whiteness is paramount to human rights violations.

Since Kenya entered a war with Somalia, Kenyan people have endured unprecedented mass killings with innocent people falling victim to Islamist terrorism at the hands of Al Shabaab. To witness the slaughter of 148 students with dozens injured in Garissa or see the horrific charred remains of upmarket Westgate mall following a mass shooting that claimed the life of 67 people and nearly 200 injured, has been difficult to say the least. Its public knowledge the war with Somalia is a proxy for U.S. interests. This conflict has only made Kenyans more cynical and mistrusting of one another and I cannot see how it helps Somalia given all the tragic attacks recurring in Mogadishu. So when America like other foreign observers claims the August 8th elections were free and fair after the murder of a high ranking IEBC official, Chris Musando, the whole affair becomes wholly suspect.

The Luo as a community, not to dismiss the sacrifices of other Kenyans, have suffered a lot in the challenge to contentious governance. We can look to the laundry list of assassinations including Tom Mboya and Robert Ouko, the countless imprisonments of dissidents like Jaramogi Oginga Odinga and Achieng Oneko, or the recent murders of IEBC officials Chris Msando and Caroline Odinga, who sadly suffered sexual assault before her cruel end. All Luos on the frontline challenging the status quo have been released from earthly duty by unchecked violence. And these are just some notable figures, there are countless more “nobodies” whose deaths remain unacknowledged and their memories erased.

In this moment in America, black people have learned their lesson about being scapegoated, mistreated and killed by white men with unchecked power. Muslim Americans are learning the same lesson. This is not to say that all of the oppressed are saints, but that most of the oppressed are indeed victimized. When we look to ongoing protests that employ nonviolent tactics akin to Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. in the fight against modern police brutality, racist violence and mass incarceration that too often claims black and brown people’s lives, I feel optimistic.

This optimism holds true because advocacy for one’s community can sometimes remind those capable of empathy that there is value to every human life. Though, justice is unlikely to come from the state; people who understand their human dignity, patriots in search of a nation that lives up to its constitution and citizens who understand the power of their vote have the means to change hearts.

Mandela showed us once before and young American activists in various urban centers protesting police killings and the questionable Muslim travel ban remind us today. My experience as a Kenyan immigrant with consciousness as a Kenyan Luo woman, feminist, black person and African among Westerners is one of longing.

Longing for the day that my people, who have often been on the right side of history, will be respected and protected, for the enormous love we have for Kenya and her children. Until then, as always, we will lead by example and I hope that is enough.

And maybe one day, in another August, outcomes will be different.

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Reflections

The Luo Problem

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The biggest frustration for a rational thinking Kenyan, is the flimsy justification of extra-judicial killings by the police.

Whether it is the Wagalla Massacre (they provoked the government), displacement and killing of Kikuyus during our tumultuous electoral cycles in the 1990s (they should know how to vote), or the state-sanctioned shoot-to-kill of the Mungiki (they are a menace), it always escapes me why we bother having a functional government, with a well-paid judiciary where showing up for work on the most important day is not necessary.

Or think about the use of excessive force and inexcusably, using live bullets on demonstrators who are not satisfied with the outcome of an election annulled by the Supreme Court.

To a section of Kenyans, the demonstrators in Nairobi, Kisumu and Migori, should be deterred using force because they destroy property. When we have people, who value property more than human life, we have a problem.

We sunk Sh 216 billion to the security docket last year. We invested in police trucks, water canon trucks, tons of teargas and rubber bullets, presumably. The various policing units, we hope are trained well in armed combat and handling riots. Why is the use of live bullets still an option?

Few people ask that. To many, if a live bullet can end a demonstration, and we go back to “our normal lives”, the better, because “business is suffering, and we can’t politick all year around”.

Yet politics determines our lives. The best question we can ask, is why are Luos ready to demonstrate, what justifies their anger that even a live bullet cannot stop them.

Unless you sufficiently understand the history of Kenya and how marginalization works, you will not understand why some communities are bandits, some sympathise with terrorists, and why the Northern Frontier will always be a hotbed of violence that our police and military will never adequately contain. And yes, you will never understand what makes the Luos angry, constantly agitating.

The 2017 elections have claimed more than 60 lives according to the Human Rights Watch report on the elections. Those killed include a 6-month toddler, a 10-year old girl playing in their apartment balcony, and several young men, some pulled from their homes at night, and killed and blanketly condemned as destructive protesters.

The Luo body is denigrated by the state, stripped of its life, and has been at the receiving end of state brutality, time and time again.

To the State, and its apologists, the Luo are a handful lot. We know the stereotypes: they are anti-business, violent, and difficult to appease. The Jubilee Party Vice-Chair David Murathe told KTN news network,

“The opposition (read Luos) have nothing to protect. They have no stakes in the economy.”

How come in Kenya, some people have a stake and others, don’t.

Murathe was trying to justify the use of excessive force, because where he comes from, property ranks higher than the sanctity of human life. To Murathe and his ilk, connecting poverty to protest is intellectually taxing.

It is an erroneous assertion that the opposition is anti-business and pro-Jubilee people are pro-business and prosperous.

Nigerian writer, Chimamanda’s Adichie’s said in the much-publicized TED Talk, The Danger of a Single Story, “Stereotypes are not necessarily untrue, as they are incomplete.”

The single story of the disorderly nature of the Luos, with a penchant for destruction, enabled by the cheap soundbites that our aptly labeled ‘Githeri Media’ goes after when tracking protesters, has made it possible to justify police brutality and violence.

When police talk of forestalling violence during elections, sadly it means sending police trucks to NASA strongholds mostly occupied by the Luos, whether in Nairobi (Kibera and Mathare) or Kisumu, Siaya and Migori.

We were here in 2007. We saw on live TV as an unarmed young man was shot dead as he protested a dubious election outcome. In 2013, the police did everything in their power to ensure that violence did not breakout, but it was more muted and creatively contained. But we never solved the problem of conducting credible elections, neither did we learn to have a more inclusive government.

And in 2017, inevitably we were going to end up where it all begun: in 2007 with a disputed presidential election.

But this did not begin in 2007. The two politically dominant communities, Kikuyus and Luos, did not begin their political competition today. It started long before the pre-Independence days, even as the colonialist tried to drive a wedge between them. But they buried their difference for the good of Kenya.

A history of marginalization

What makes the Luo constantly agitate for their rights stems from the diseased body politic of Kenya. If we learn to see it as a quest for equality, not just for the Luos, but for every Kenyan who suffers from the silly government policies, corruption and nepotism, it will bring us closer to relating to the humanity of the Luos.

The Kikuyus and Luos came together and their unity was instrumental in kicking out the British colonialist. But we got our independence at the height of the cold war, like some countries in the world, the president and vice-president would ideologically drift apart, and the seeds of marginalizing the Luos were planted, and so was the seed of agitating for their rights.

After independence, 40-odd tribes found themselves lumped together in an experiment called Kenya. Some of the communities had a head start. Walter Rodney, in ‘How Europe Underdeveloped Africa’, outlined how the colonialists annexed productive parts of the country, developing them, and by the time they left, the places had schools, churches, hospitals and basic infrastructure. And to date, such places are still far advantaged, no amount of denial can erase the fact.

In 1965, Tom Mboya and Mwai Kibaki, then in charge of the Ministry of Economic Planning and Development wrote a simplistic paper, Session Paper No. 10 that will guide Kenya’s faulty development agenda for the next 45 years.

The paper simply adopted the colonial system where areas with the most abundant natural resources, good land and rainfall, transport and power facilities and where people were receptive to and active in development would receive more government funding in the hope that profits from such areas can be offered as loans to less productive areas.

This was obviously a primer for regional development disparities that will haunt the country for decades to follow. This was made the worse by the nepotism that governed the conscience of the founding father. Areas that were resource poor, or in opposition were doubly sidelined.

That precondition of developing areas that were ‘receptive’ to development was to be used to politically control areas that were amenable to the whims of the ruling elite. Former president, Daniel Arap Moi, famously said, “Siasa Mbaya, Maisha mbaya.” And this was a justification of sidelining the Luos and other communities that were either in opposition or didn’t have arable land or any resource the state could extract.

At the very heart of politics, as Harold Laswell aptly defined it, is who gets what, when and how. With a firm grip on power by the Kikuyu elite and Jaramogi Oginga Odinga leaning left, the marginalization of the Luo started shortly after independence. Luos with potential to take power and change the course of the Luo trajectory were assassinated; Argwings Kodhek and Tom Mboya died in that troubled decade of the 1960s.

Luos generally settled in opposition, especially after the brutal assassination of Mboya and events surrounding the shooting a dozen protesters in Kisumu on October 1969, when President Kenyatta went to open the Russian Hospital. So ironic that 48 years later, police were breaking into people’s homes in Kisumu, shooting and killing Luos, unsparingly. What is vexing is that the Luos who are usually killed are unarmed, and when armed it is the crude stuff like a stone, an odd metal, yet police are trained in armed combat and can easily disarm and violent protesters with an array of options. Use of live bullets is positively revulsive.

Then came the 1982 coup, where Luos were part of the top ranks, behind the short-lived and misguided coup. Many were jailed and executed after the coup. And the second president found yet another justification to sideline Luos.

By 1990, another Luo, one of the few serving the government at the top, was brutally assassinated. Even though Robert Ouko was in the government, and not much of a popular figure among the Luos he was still their illustrious son and his death was definitely a reminder of government hostility towards their community.

Ouko’s death happened towards the end of the Cold War.. The West changed tune and started advocating for multiparty democracy in Africa.

With both Luos and Kikuyus in opposition after President Moi’s twelve years in power, their collaboration given their population would have effectively ended Moi’s regime. The initial dalliance of Jaramogi and Matiba and other Second Liberation leaders, was a good move, but selfish interests overrode the common agenda, and the three major opposition forces participated in the elections separately, efficiently giving Moi another 10 years, until the opposition came to its senses in 2002, where again, Kikuyus and Luos would collaborate to save Kenya from a dictatorship.

By then, the Luos had been marginalized for more than three decades. Raila Odinga’s brief cooperation with President Moi in the late 1990s and early 2000s did bring a few goodies to the people of Nyanza, with the Kisii-Kisumu Highway getting a much-needed facelift. Kisumu was made a city, with too much fanfare and, cosmetic as these changes were, Luos did taste, what being in government felt like.

Then 2002 came, and Kibaki got to power and disregarded the MoU that brought him to power and effectively ended the Kenyan dream. And in its place, he entrenched a terrible ethnic cronyism that restored the old GEMA elite network that Moi’s 24 years of presidency scuttled. In record time, we would see banks, universities, and businesses owned by the GEMA community start to flourish, even as Luos, and other marginalized communities were kept at bay from key state jobs. Instead marginalized communities were asked to be content with tokenisms, like the Constituency Development Fund (CDF). Most communities were kept from the center of action, until the 2010 promulgation of the New Constitution entrenched devolution, did many communities start to feel as part of Kenya, since they could get a slice of the national cake.

Legally, devolution only guarantees counties 15 per cent of the action. The remaining 85 per cent is still up for grabs and cause for clamor for presidency.

When we read that the president has cancelled Sh 2 billion coffee debts in Kirinyaga, or Sh 1 billion to Miraa farmers, or the government spent Sh 61 million to build a State-of-the-Art fishing factory in Nyeri, people will agitate for similar opportunities. Other parts of Kenya rarely get the same treatment.

When the president gets to bail other communities’ dead industries, it is for political expediency. But even so, what is the point of reviving Mumias, when cheap sugar is imported or smuggled, rendering the efforts of farmers futile.

The carnage of dead sugar industries in the country’s sugar belt, has robbed many people in Western Kenya their wherewithal. The killing and privatization of industries such as KICOMI by the Structural Adjustments Programs and other economic programs that favour cheap imports at the cost of our industrial economy have played a big role in rendering the Luo poor.

And it is poverty that makes them agitate for a piece of Kenya. It is easy to say, if it is not only the Luos who are poor, how come other tribes are not as violent?

For one, it is the Luos who have the critical mass to agitate, and that is why other communities that feel marginalized too, usually rally behind them. Besides marginalization in each community manifests itself differently. In pastoralists communities, banditry thrives, early marriages are common and there is high levels of illiteracy. In the Coast, secession calls by outfits such as MRCs (Mombasa Republican Council), the drug abuse scourge, child prostitution, are red flags of what marginalization can do.

Culturally, the Luos are outspoken and have always been an open society, where anyone can speak truth to power. Everywhere I have been, I meet Luos who cannot keep quiet in the face of injustice. Like the one-time honorary member of Black Panthers Movement, Stokely Carmichael said, “the secret of life is to have no fear, it is the only way to function.”

Luos have been so marginalized that fear is no longer an option, that is why no amount of gun-toting, trigger-happy policemen will silence them. They have infected other Kenyans to fight for their rights, and on Friday after the October 26 presidential rerun, we saw the same brutality being extended to Bungoma residents.

Luos Lives Matter

Regardless of how you relate with Luos, whether you found them repulsive, loud, or annoying, their lives matters. Each community will have certain traits, some likable, some disagreeable, but it is this diversity that makes our lives richer.

A people’s collective behaviour is a product of long-held customs, filtered through history, nurtured by their environment. Since we don’t share similar environments, we are likely to be different in our outlook of life. But these differences are smaller compared to similarities.

Luo parents want their children to succeed as much as Kikuyu parents want their children to succeed. No parent wishes to see their son killed by the very person they expect to protect their child.

If their way of life is at variance with how you lead your life, the least you can do, is not to wish them harm, or cheer the police in their murderous spree. Police brutality in a country like ours spares no one.

Like Chinua Achebe said of Igbo, in tackling the Igbo persistent Igbo problem in his evergreen collection of essays The Trouble with Nigeria, “The Igbo are a necessary ingredient to the modernization and development of Nigerian society. It is neither necessary or possible to suppress them. Nigeria without the inventiveness and dynamism of the Igbo would be a less hopeful place than it is.”

The same can be said of the Luos. Overt and covert exclusion of the Luos, and other communities from key government posts and resources will always make them agitate and will never give a government peace until they are made to feel part of the country.

It is really that simple.

By Silas Nyanchwani
Silas Nyanchwani is a Kenyan writer and social commentator.

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