Kenya: The return of tyranny

THE TYRANNY OF NUMBERS

Nairobi’s Mutahi Ngunyi, a neo-liberal crystal ball-gazer, is credited with introducing the term “tyranny of numbers” into Kenya’s political lexicon. Ngunyi is a former quirky columnist - and nowadays a darling of Kenyan TV reporters – who ladles out his ruminations on Twitter. In the run-up to the fiercely contested 4 March 2013 elections, Ngunyi prophesied that although independent Kenya’s longest pro-democracy detainee and former Prime Minister Raila Odinga consistently led in the opinion polls, his opponent Uhuru Kenyatta, son of Kenya’s first President Jomo Kenyatta, would pull a surprise win based on votes from the country’s two largest ethnic blocs, the Kikuyu and the Kalenjin, and smaller groups associated with these Big Two. Kenyatta is Kikuyu and his then running mate William Ruto is Kalenjin.

Many critics laughed off Ngunyi’s theory as wild speculation. But he turned out to be prescient in the end. (Or was Ngunyi privy to insider ethnic calculations and was intent on swaying voters by a provocative self-fulfilling prophecy?) On 9 March 2013, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC) declared Kenyatta the winner with 50.51 percent of the vote, followed by Odinga with 43.70 percent. Voter turnout was the biggest in history, at 86 per cent. Kenyatta’s Jubilee Coalition won majorities in both houses of parliament. Odinga’s Coalition for Reforms and Democracy (CORD) cried foul and challenged the result, but the Supreme Court upheld Kenyatta’s win in a ruling that remains controversial. Another suit filed by members of civil society challenging the legitimacy of the election was also lost. Odinga accepted the court decision, but without agreeing with it.

What Mutahi Ngunyi and the many Kenyans who debated his “tyranny of numbers” theory might never have suspected at the time was that the victory of Uhuru Kenyatta would herald the return of actual tyranny to the country. This was generally not suspected for two main reasons. First, although still a neo-colonial state captured by ethnic elites, the ten years prior to Kenyatta’s win, under Mwai Kibaki (2002-2012), were the longest period since independence that Kenyans had lived relatively free, without extensive and systematic state repression - although neo-liberalism, imperialist ties, inequality and economic exploitation were deepened. The 24 years of President Daniel arap Moi were the worst. At his departure, Kenyans had heaved a collective sigh of relieve. Kenyatta, then Moi’s handpicked successor, was decisively trounced by the laidback, rich golfer Kibaki. It therefore seemed natural to hope that, with Kibaki’s election, Kenyans had tossed dictatorship into the dustbin of history.

The second reason, related to the first, is that in 2010 the country overwhelmingly voted a new constitution that enshrined extensive, some would say radical, changes in the way Kenya was governed. The new supreme law was underpinned by a robust Bill of Rights. The pervasive powers of the president, creating what pro-democracy activists had long derided as the “imperial presidency”, were whittled down. Gone was the colonial-era provincial administration headed by a ruthless cadre of bureaucrats sporting ridiculous pith helmets and khaki uniforms. Handpicked by the president, and always overzealous to please him, they acted as his eyes and ears through a network that ran right down to the remotest village. In place of this colonial relic came the devolved government with 47 semi-autonomous counties headed by governors with executive powers, directly elected by the people. Numerous independent commissions were set up to oversee service delivery to citizens. The bi-cameral parliament was back. An independent judiciary was created, topped with the Supreme Court…

These and many more changes assured Kenyans that state tyranny was gone forever, regardless of who came to power. Relentless agitation for the new constitution had lasted for at least two decades, claiming many lives and limbs. The euphoria around the country upon promulgation of the constitution on 27 August 2010 was similar to that witnessed at independence on 12 December 1963. Everyone was convinced that Kenya had been reborn.

In this buoyant political atmosphere, Uhuru Kenyatta’s victory three years up the road was largely unforeseen. The country was still basking in the bright afterglow of enactment of the new constitution. It was the first election under the new law. Whoever won would be widely expected to uphold, implement and popularise the constitution with revolutionary zeal. But Uhuru Kenyatta did not look like that person. Although he had supported the “Yes” side during the referendum, Kenyatta was not such an enthusiastic campaigner. In any case it did not really matter where he stood. Kenyatta had never articulated a principled position on anything. He was in politics purely as the son of Jomo Kenyatta to protect family and associated elite interests. Worse, his running mate was William Ruto, the most prominent and virulent crusader for the “No” side.

A fabulously wealthy KANU party loyalist entirely assembled by tyrant Moi, and a direct beneficiary of the neo-colonial state dating back to his father’s 15-year dictatorship, Uhuru Kenyatta had absolutely no record of championing democracy in Kenya. There was also some debate around the question of dynastic politics – electing the son of a former president. Another issue was the fact that Kenyatta, surreptitiously endorsed by the deceptively urbane outgoing President Kibaki, an ethnic Kikuyu as well, would be the third Kikuyu president out of four in a country where ethnicity is a very sensitive political subject.

But by far the biggest issue was that Uhuru Kenyatta and his running mate Ruto were standing trial for crimes against humanity at the International Criminal Court at The Hague. Both tainted men, previously allied to opposing political formations, had been accused of masterminding the deadly post-election violence that engulfed Kenya in 2007-8. They were charged at the ICC with several counts of crimes against humanity, charges which they vehemently denied. The victims of that violence had not received justice yet – not even from the local courts. Thousands of displaced persons were still languishing in makeshift camps or living with relatives. It did not seem likely that individuals whose names had been formally linked to those apocalyptic atrocities could be elected to the highest office in the land. Moreover, questions were raised about how Kenyatta and Ruto would discharge their duties at the presidency while attending court at the ICC. Concerns were also expressed that Kenya’s image would be tarnished internationally in the event that persons suspected of committing the vilest crimes on earth were elected to the exalted office of president. Crucial friends, especially traditional allies in the West who backed the ICC trials, would isolate Kenya.

Renowned scholar Prof Mahmood Mamdani, Director of Makerere Institute of Social Research at Makerere University in Uganda, has argued, correctly, that the ICC was “the single factor with the most influence on this election.” That the ICC process polarized politics in Kenya is true. “Led by individuals who [stood"> charged before the ICC, one side in the electoral contest could not contemplate defeat; if defeated, they would lose all,” Mamdani observes. He is also correct to suggest that the devious Jubilee Coalition posed as “the coalition of victimized sacrificial lambs”. Kenyatta and Ruto vigorously campaigned on a rather nebulous platform of peace, national healing and reconciliation – of course without ever uttering a word about truth and justice.

But that is not what won them the election. Mamdani surprisingly fails to factor in his analysis a perceptive appreciation of Kenya’s ethnicised politics: Mutahi Ngunyi’s “tyranny of numbers”. Or the multi-million-dollar Jubilee war chest that made the 2013 polls the most expensive in the country’s history. Or the blatant lies and distortions employed to consolidate the ethnic vote, while deliberately confusing the rest of the mostly unsophisticated electorate.

A recent report by Corporate European Observatory titled ‘Spin doctors to the autocrats: how European PR firms whitewash repressive regimes’ reveals how “[i">n a few short months, thanks in part to the PR strategy of British firm BTP Advisers, presidential candidate Uhuru Kenyatta went from being seen as a dubious person wanted by the International Criminal Court (ICC) in the Hague to leader of his country in the 2013 elections. It was the most expensive campaign in Kenya’s history.” The Kenyatta Campaign, the report says, drummed up populist feelings against Western imperialism, targeted mostly at the ICC and diplomats in Nairobi who had suggested that Kenya would suffer internationally if Kenyatta was elected. “BTP Advisers used their local and international networks to present the ICC process as a machination of Western powers and to turn what was initially considered a disadvantage into an advantage for Uhuru.”

Unbeknownst to the proverbial Wanjiku (a popular reference to the struggling, short-changed ‘ordinary’ citizen) who had hoped for better life under the new constitution, the multi-million-dollar Kenyatta Campaign was sheer fraud: a strategic mudslinging of the West in a cynical ploy devised by a British PR firm. Even the lawyers handling Kenyatta’s case at the ICC were British. The Kenyatta family itself is believed to have extensive business interests in Europe and America. And in February 2015, whom did the Jubilee government hire to oversee their flagship projects? Tony Blair.

Eminent Pan-Africanist scholar-activist Horace Campbell, Professor of African American Studies and Political Science at Syracuse University, has described Uhuru Kenyatta’s campaign as “one of the most blatant manipulations of the anti-imperialist claims of the progressive forces in Africa.” Ruto and Kenyatta cleverly appropriated “the discourse of African radicals about defending the sovereignty of Africa” to win the election.

THE REAL WINNER

In a rousing inauguration speech on 9 April 2013, Uhuru Kenyatta sought to cut the image of an astute statesman; a grounded democrat; a single-minded, defender of the will of the Kenyan peoples as expressed, not in the divisive and highly choreographed election, but in the 2010 Constitution. Kenya was an open and free democracy, where a vibrant opposition played the vital role of holding the government to account, he said, pledging that “as president I will respect that role just as I will champion the right of every Kenyan to speak their mind free of fear of reprisal or condemnation.” He would lead the country towards abiding peace. “Peace is not simply about the absence of violence. It is defined by the presence of fundamental liberties and the prevalence of economic opportunities.”

Not everyone was duped by that high-sounding rhetoric crafted by dubious top-dollar PR gurus. Even before Kenyatta was inaugurated, already perceptive voices grounded in the man-eat-man reality of Kenya were starting to be heard doubting the direction the election winners would take the country. Just days after the election, Kenya’s top man of letters, Prof Ngugi wa Thiong’o, an avowed Leftist dissident detained by Uhuru Kenyatta’s father, made an insightful point in an article in the New York Times: “The real winner was a man who wasn’t on the ballot: Daniel arap Moi, the country’s leader from 1978 to 2002, who terrorized it for 24 years and destroyed all credible institutions, including political parties.”

Kenyatta and Ruto were Moi’s political protégés, Ngugi noted. When multi-party politics was re-introduced in Kenya in 1991 against the wishes of Moi, he had turned to Ruto, then a young upstart wheeler-dealer but who quickly distinguished himself as a lieutenant for Youth for Kanu ’92, which conducted a campaign of violence and intimidation in the Rift Valley Province, home to Moi. Thousands of residents were forced to flee. Some returned, only to have to flee again around the next election, in 1997. The Rift Valley was also the epicenter of the 2007-8 violence, which displaced hundreds of thousands of people. As for Kenyatta, it was Moi who fished him out of political obscurity by nominating him to parliament. Kenyatta later served in Moi’s Cabinet, as did Ruto, and in 2002 Moi tried, but failed, to foist him on Kenyans as his successor. “The sycophancy and corruption of [Moi’s"> era are still ingrained in the political culture and are embodied by the rise of his allies in this election,” Ngugi observed.

Prof Campbell echoed Ngugi’s sentiments: “The faction of the political divide represented by Uhuru Kenyatta and his running mate William Ruto is that section of the Kenyan society that has monopolized political and economic power since independence in 1963. Both Kenyatta and Ruto represent entrenched interests of capital.”

Wangui Kamari of the Kenyan social movement Bunge La Mwananchi (People’s Parliament) also saw capital as the winner of the 2013 elections. She opined: “And while the new president and his party have made promises that may offer some form of short-term respite from our (dying) conditions, they are embedded in a global capitalist framework (reliant on getting ‘foreign investment’, dismal salaries and working conditions and increasing the surveillance and policing of citizens) that does not offer any break from a system that still treats the majority of our people like chattel.”

Former international journalist and author of the book ‘It is our time to eat: The story of a Kenyan whistleblower’, Michaela Wrong, wrote that “in confirming the election of a man indicted by the International Criminal Court for allegedly orchestrating the ethnic cleansing that followed Kenya’s 2007 polls, Chief Justice Willy Mutunga did more than solve a national wrangle over a ballot count. He secured Kenya’s place as a shining international symbol of impunity.” She went on: “Jingoistic and cynical while campaigning, the Jubilee alliance of Kenyatta and Ruto is likely to be bullying while in power, with foreign diplomats whose respect it demands and constituents alike.”

Poignantly, the current political situation in Kenya under the Kenyatta-Ruto ethnic combo fulfils these dire predictions.

“EVIL SOCIETY”

"We are committed to fostering an open, tolerant, forward-looking Kenya" – Jubilee Manifesto

One of the planks of Jubilee’s purported anti-imperialist crusade was a burning animosity towards civil society, especially critical organisations championing social justice, on the excuse that they were funded by foreigners (Who isn’t foreign funded? Government? Church? Crucially, does the freedom of association guaranteed by the constitution exclude foreigners or specify the nature of association?). In the immediate aftermath of Jubilee’s disputed victory, the term “evil society” emerged in social media, propagating a grotesque narrative created by bloggers allied to the fledgling administration. Denis Itumbi, allegedly a college drop-out - now the Director of Digital, New Media and Diaspora Affairs at Kenya’s presidency – is associated with the origins of this smear campaign through an insulting infographic that became the subject of some discussion on social media.

Jubilee’s animus towards civil society is connected to the ICC trials on which they rode to “win” the 2013 election. The organisations had whole-heartedly backed the ICC work in Kenya - given that the Kibaki government had failed to try the perpetrators - with some groups providing crucial support to the Office of the Prosecutor. That naturally made them the enemies of crimes against humanity suspects Kenyatta and Ruto. NGOs was falsely accused of taking the duo to The Hague, despite facts on record that it was politicians like Ruto who rejected a local tribunal, paving the way for the ICC intervention. In addition, some organisations were believed, rightly or otherwise, to have supported the candidature of Raila Odinga, Kenyatta’s top opponent.

Leading activists were openly vilified and some physically attacked. In September 2013 for example, a militia stormed the rural home of prominent activist Maina Kiai, the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the rights to freedom of peaceful assembly and of association. Kiai blamed the attack on operatives based at Kenya’s presidency. In a report on emerging threats to civil society presented at a UN forum, Kiai drew global attention to the situation in Kenya, where there was a sustained campaign to destroy civil society. Within months of Kenyatta’s inauguration, attacks and threats against human rights defenders and other activists had escalated to “acute” proportions, according to a Human Rights Watch statement published in October 2013.

That month, as the culmination of Jubilee’s relentless onslaught on civil society under the pretext of protecting the country’s sovereignty, the government quietly crafted a bill to amend the Public Benefit Organizations (PBO) Act of 2012, the law that governs the operations of non-governmental organisations. To many observers, the amendments were intended to strangle civil society with a financial noose. The bill proposed a cap on foreign funding for Kenyan PBOs, limiting such funds to 15 percent of their total budget. The proposed law also required that all PBOs funding be channelled through a government body, which would alone decide which organization got money and for what purpose. But the amendments were narrowly defeated in parliament after a massive local and international outcry.

Defeat of the attempt to amend the law to muzzle NGOs did not deter the government. Jubilee changed tact by forming a task force to collect views from stakeholders about a fresh raft of amendments to the PBO Act. The team completed this process on 5 March 2015. But civil society groups have accused the government of using the task force to reach a pre-determined outcome of clipping the wings of the sector.

Meanwhile, the harassment and intimidation of activists continues. In January for example, it emerged that well-known social justice campaigner Boniface Mwangi had written to Uhuru Kenyatta seeking his help following numerous death threats. “I am convinced that my life is in real danger. In the past one year, I have received many threats to my life, the most disturbing of which came from men who are considered loyal to you and your administration,” Mwangi wrote. But it is not just prominent activists facing such harassment. There are frequent reports from around country revealing a well-oiled government campaign to beat down civil society into submission and silence.

EMERGING AUTHORITARIANISM

Total chaos. Fisticuffs. Punches. Deafening yells. Insults. Jumping. Dancing. Pulling and pushing. Tearing. Hurling…. Those were the scenes in the National Assembly, the so-called “august house”, in Nairobi on 18 December 2014. It was a special sitting called for the final reading of the Security Laws (Amendment) Bill 2014. At the end of the unsightly free-for-all, House Speaker Justin Muturi of Jubilee declared that the government-sponsored bill had been passed. The following day Uhuru Kenyatta signed it into law. Unperturbed by the scenes in parliament and protests from citizens, Kenyatta brazenly lied to Kenyans in an address to the nation that there was nothing in the new law that contradicted the Bill of Rights or the constitution. The amendments came into force on 22 December. A whooping 22 separate laws had been amended in a marathon process lasting just over a week!

In the lead up to this saga, many progressive minds had been expressing alarm about the direction Jubilee was taking the country. Prominent activist and former Permanent Secretary for Governance and Ethics in the Kibaki government John Githongo had told a forum in Nairobi that “our current government has often made it clear that some of the rights Kenyans have come to take for granted are at best an inconvenience and at worst a risk to national security. While the messages are often mixed and confusing, it would seem that there are those within the regime – a minority it would seem - determined to craft Kenya into a militarized authoritarian state wrapped in the national flag and all the rituals and propagandised narratives of virulent nationalism.” Around that time Kenyatta had become the first Kenyan head of state to appear in public wearing military uniform. There were also claims, denied by Kenyatta himself, that the National Youth Service was being militarised for unknown reasons. The regime appears keen to control the youth through recruitment to the revamped and militarized NYS and the silencing or extrajudicial killing of those criminalized as “radicals.”

The amendments marathon had begun on 11 December 2014 when the parliamentary Committee on National Security and Administration sent the Security Laws (Amendment) Bill 2014 to parliament. Twenty-two laws were listed to be amended under the bill, ostensibly to strengthen the government’s hand to fight terrorism in the context of increased deadly attacks by the Somali-based militant group Al Shabaab. There was hardly any discussion in and outside parliament about the far-reaching changes proposed. The National Assembly allocated a mere three days for public participation – and this while the bill was being fast-tracked in the House. New criminal offenses with harsh penalties were created, the rights of arrested and accused persons were curtailed, and severe restrictions on the exercise of fundamental freedoms were imposed. Content aside, the entire process of rushing the bill flew in the face of the Constitution of Kenya 2010 and the rules of parliament. In sum, the Executive was using the ruling party-dominated National Assembly to abridge the celebrated Bill of Rights and return the country to dictatorship.

In a memorandum to the House, the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR), an independent human rights institution established under the constitution, rigorously questioned the rush, describing the proposed amendments as “momentous” and as seeking to “amend the Bill of Rights and fundamentally attach the principles of criminal justice.” The Bill of Rights can only be amended through a referendum. Several civil society organisations protested that the amendments were unconstitutional and amounted to clawing back on the democratic gains achieved under the constitution.

Jubilee was bullish at the time and would ride roughshod over anyone standing on their way. The bill had been taken to the House just days after the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court Fatou Bensouda withdrew crimes against humanity charges against Kenyatta, citing widespread witness tampering – deaths, disappearances, recanting of testimonies - and lack of cooperation by the Government of Kenya. Bensouda’s announcement, which was in no way a declaration of Kenyatta’s innocence, nevertheless sparked frenzied jubilation throughout Jubilee’s strongholds and wild partying at State House.

On 24 December, the opposition CORD, KNHRC and a Nairobi lawyer headed to court to fight the new security law. Civil society organisations were enjoined in the suit. Two months later on 23 February 2015, a 5-judge bench declared many provisions of the Security Laws Act unconstitutional in a ruling that castigated the Jubilee government, and which was hailed as a victory for civil liberties and a blow to emergent authoritarianism in Kenya.

REVIVING COLONIAL TACTICS

Four years ago when voters overwhelmingly passed the Constitution of Kenya 2010 at the referendum, a section of the civil service was very apprehensive. The supreme law demanded an overhaul of the much-loathed provincial administration that had been used by governments from the colonial days to brutalise and repress citizens. “Within five years after the effective date, the national government shall restructure the system of administration commonly known as the provincial administration to accord with and respect the system of devolved government established under this Constitution,” the constitution says. Although the government assured provincial commissioners, district commissioners, district officers, chiefs and their assistants that they would not be rendered jobless, the administrators knew for certain that, whatever alternative jobs they were offered, they would lose their immense powers and prestige.

The fate of these civil servants became a matter for public debate. Progressive voices were firm that the colonial relic should be entirely done away with, while supporters argued that it should be reformed and retained. Two months after coming to power, Uhuru Kenyatta announced he was keeping the provincial administration with minimal changes. Many saw this move as yet another move to consolidate powers back at the centre and weaken devolution.

Kenyan law scholar Prof Yash Pal Ghai who played key roles in the constitutional review process has written about the various ways in which Jubilee has flouted the constitution, concluding that, “We are rapidly slipping into the Kenyatta-Moi era.” Regarding the retention of the provincial administration, Ghai says: “The President’s county commissioners, with their new powers (and old hats), are so reminiscent of a British governor, Sir Evelyn Baring, who centralised the entire structure of provincial administration. He considered that the only way to defeat Mau Mau was for him to have firm control over all bureaucracy in districts and provinces, thus sidelining his ministers and senior administrators in Nairobi. Governors and presidents since then have retained this system, and ensured their lack of responsibility to anyone except themselves. The Constitution of Kenya Review Commission (CKRC) proposed to do away with this system, but the Bomas talks and the Committee of Experts retained it, although “restructured”. Now it has this new lease of life.”

In March last year, a bomb went off in a bustling suburb in Nairobi killing six people. Eastleigh is mostly populated by ethnic Somalis. Previously, the government had claimed that members of the Somalia-based militant group Al Shabaab had cells in Eastleigh and were radicalising youths and recruiting others to the group. Following the bomb attack, police launched a massive violent crackdown on ethnic Somalis in Nairobi. When police cells were full, police transported more than 1000 Somalis to Kasarani National Stadium and kept them there in deplorable conditions. The round-up caused an outcry, with Kenyans on Twitter using the hashtag #Kasaraniconcentrationcamp to demand the release of the citizens. There were many accounts of police brutality during the operation code-named Usalama Watch. Some commentators observed that the Jubilee government was using the same brutal strategies against Somalis as the British colonialists and the Kenyatta and Moi regimes.

The human rights campaign group Amnesty International said Operation Uslama [Security"> Watch was being used as a pretext for the blanket punishment of the Somali community. “They have become scapegoats with thousands arrested and ill-treated, forcibly relocated and hundreds unlawfully expelled to a war-torn country,” said Michelle Kagari, AI’s Deputy Regional Director for Eastern Africa. “Whilst Kenya has legitimate national security concerns, the wholesale targeting of an already marginalized and vulnerable community is an appalling breach of national and international law.”

A monitoring report by the Independent Police Oversight Authority (IPOA), a constitutional body, delivered a damning indictment of the police. It found that hundreds of citizens were held in dirty, overcrowded cells in criminal violation of their constitutional rights. Abuses were widespread, including detention of children together with adults. Police officers used the operation to enrich themselves by extorting bribes. IPOA concluded that the operation “was not conducted in accordance with the law, respect for the rule of law, democracy, human rights and fundamental freedoms as envisaged under Article 238(2) of the constitution. In addition, the police in their individual and collective capacities grossly failed to uphold the requirements of Article 244 of the constitution which binds them, among other things, to strive for professionalism and discipline and to promote and practice transparency and accountability.”

Kenya’s police force has not only refused to reform in accordance with the constitution; under the Kenyatta-Ruto regime, there is no political will to undertake the long-awaited reforms. Instead, the force is again being used for repression. The whole anti-terrorism narrative has been used as the entry point to legitimize increased surveillance and police brutality. The strengthening of arbitrary authoritarian police power is very much felt on the ground, with frequent reports of extortion and extrajudicial killings. In January, police violently broke up a march by school children in Nairobi who were protesting the grabbing of their playground by a hotel believed to be owned by a top Jubilee politician. Pictures of armed anti-riot police battling the brave children with tear gas and threatening them with dogs sparked outrage around the world. Days later, one person was killed when police confronted people protesting peacefully against the Jubilee governor of Narok County in south Kenya.

Colonial-era tactics are being deployed against activists and any form of activism and organizing. Threats against grassroots human rights defenders and the killing of those who are not in elitist civil society spaces have assumed a worrying trend. A community policing initiative dubbed Nyumba Kumi is being used to spy on and intimidate activists and to silence criticism of the government. All these tactics have created an atmosphere of control and violence against any activities that are for whatever reason seen as a threat by this government.

SILENCING MEDIA AND FREE SPEECH

“I will champion the right of every Kenyan to speak their mind free of fear of reprisal or condemnation.” Uhuru Kenyatta, inauguration speech, 9 April 2013.

Kenya has for long prided itself of having a vibrant and free media – although radical analysts insist that the so-called mainstream media are always at the service of the political class and big business. The leading media houses are owned either by powerful politicians or by business moguls allied to them. Upon coming to power Kenyatta praised the media for their “professionalism and responsibility.” Later he would host a media breakfast at State House, where he said he was happy that “in Kenya we do not have a debate about free media anymore.” That was in July 2013. In October, the government tabled two bills in parliament with draconian provisions to emasculate the media. Of course parliament passed the laws and Kenyatta signed them into law. Under the laws, a government-controlled body is mandated to punish journalists and media houses, whose reporting is perceived to be against the law. Steep fines of Kshs. 20 million [over $218,000"> on media houses and Kshs. 1 million [over $10,000"> on individual journalists are imposed. Journalists who contravene the law could be suspended from the profession.

“The media laws passed by the National Assembly are unconstitutional as they fail to ensure that media bodies are free from government, commercial or political control and interference,” said Henry Maina, Director ARTICLE 19 Eastern Africa. “These laws must not be allowed to be put into practice. Media freedom in Kenya will be seriously damaged if these laws are not reviewed.” Media owners and journalists rushed to court to challenge the laws. The laws were suspended pending hearing of the case.

But it is not just mainstream media that is under siege by the Kenyatta-Ruto regime in Kenya. In January 2015, Alan Wadi Okengo, a university student, was sentenced to a year in prison and fined $2,200 for "insulting Kenyatta" (speaking his mind?) on Facebook. Several other bloggers have been arrested or intimidated in the past on account of their social media posts that are considered hate speech. What is interesting is that pro-government bloggers and other commentators who post similar messages have not been so vigorously pursued for hate speech - like foul-mouthed Moses Kuria, the “honourable” Member of Parliament for Gatundu South, Kenyatta’s rural constituency.

CONCLUSION

A brief letter to the editor appeared in the Daily Nation newspaper of 5 March 2015, in which the author, James O Kihali, asks a number of questions, including: “Why is the Church silent even when the country drifts back to the dark days reminiscent of the Nyayo era [the 24-years of the Moi regime">? [1] How can the Church afford to look the other way when things are definitely not right?”

There is no doubt in many people’s minds that Kenya is headed back to tyrannical rule. And there is no shortage of citizens searching for a saviour. To be sure, the Church used to be a reliable ally in people’s struggles for justice; but it has long fallen silent having allowed its space to be invaded and desecrated by the political class. A day after the presidential election result was announced, William Ruto was cheered when he told a Nairobi congregation that it was “God who gave us victory against the odds”. He then proceeded to apparently break down into a fit of sobs in a dramatic show of gratitude to the Almighty. No fiery clerics any more boldly pointing out the glaring failings of the state and proposing alternatives. Hard-hitting sermons are no longer heard; nowadays pastoral letters and press statements are tepid, full of generalities.

Uhuru Kenyatta has arrogantly told off his critics to wait until he completes his ten years in power – he has a five-year mandate, but to his mind his re-election in 2017 is guaranteed. That means the Jubilee project to restore tyranny will be pursued with zeal. The Judiciary seems to be the last resort for Kenyans pushing back against this onslaught. But this option requires a lot of money and time; moreover litigation depoliticises the struggles for freedom and does nothing to redress underlying systemic causes. There are also reasonable fears that the regime might soon or later invent a strategy to deal with the bothersome independence of the courts. Already yet another a bill has been published that seeks to, among other things, remove the supervisory powers of the courts to question the constitutionality and legality of the proceedings and decisions of parliament.

Although pushed under intense pressure, civil society remains valiant. These groups, however, urgently need to review their ideological foundations and political strategies for mobilising and organising. In particular, civil society – and all conscious, progressive Kenyans - ought to go beyond merely reactive responses to systemic oppression and instead think about launching a sustained, long-term people’s struggle to totally dismantle the woefully unjust neo-colonial state in Kenya.

Forty years ago, just a decade after independence, a small group of committed patriots analysed the national situation and decided that the Jomo Kenyatta regime was an imperialist-allied dictatorship that should be removed. Fundamentally, nothing has really changed since then. Their observation remains true today:

“Kenya has never achieved true independence. Full independence can only be brought about by revolution. It is the culmination of popular, protracted revolutionary change during which the people seize control of the instruments of power under the leadership of a party dedicated to the eradication of the institutions and forms of the colonial state. In Amilcar Cabral’s words, ‘It is necessary to totally destroy, to break to ash, all aspects of the colonial state’ before independence can be achieved.”[2]

* Henry Makori is an editor with Pambazuka News.

END NOTES

[1] James O Kihali, Church’s silence amid injustices worrying, Daily Nation, 5 March 2015, pg.14.
[2] Maina wa Kinyatti, Mwakenya: The unfinished revolution, Mau Mau Research Centre, 2014; pg.151

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