Bursting the myth of Kenyan exceptionalism

For over four decades, we Kenyans allowed ourselves, and were encouraged by our multitude of foreign friends, to believe we were special.

Kenya was in Africa but different.

The country’s natural beauty and climate; our self-conscious, anglicised, urbanised, precocious middle class with its efficient Westernised perks — from banks to schools to insurance companies — all served to reinforce this feeling of the nation about itself.

Add to this steady economic growth and a reputation as an enclave of stability in one of Africa’s roughest neighbourhoods, and the case for exceptionalism seemed complete.

What we had in truth was a rapacious state dominated by a small elite that was prone to mobilise ethnically; had no real concept of national interest nor was even bothered to develop a coherent foreign policy.

It used violence, the threat of violence and economic exclusion, at will against individuals and entire sections of the population considered “hostile.”

This has been the reality covered tightly under a lid that hissed steam with every detention order, every assassination, every demonstration, every exile...

The cauldron bubbled through the first 30 years and boiled over with the reintroduction of political pluralism.

But this boiling over was directed by elements of the elite. In Kenya, historically, most political violence and all corruption emanate from only one office — the presidency.

From here, it spreads outwards like a malignant fungus.

A fungus that mutates thieves into “billionaire businessmen” and leads many young people to doubt whether it is worth wasting time “working” instead of looking out for a sweet deal.

Nothing has changed today except the reaction of the majority to this unhappy condition.

The fungus is now disfiguring our face and looking into a mirror has become painful.

It hurts when colleagues from Somalia, Nigeria, and Sudan commiserate with Kenya because of our troubles in 2007/8.

This really bothers us because the myth of Kenyan exceptionalism has been blown out of the water. This is particularly upsetting to the middle class.

Some have retreated into sulking apathy, others into virulent ethnic cocoons and others, after introspection, have emerged determined to imagine a new Kenya, causing a proliferation of impressive unity-oriented initiatives.

The violence in 2007/8 was different because the leaders who always controlled it centrally seemed to lose their grip on their own troops at some point.

Some were even forced to call on groups they had declared illegal in 2002 to help out as the state took a severe blow to its sense of control and image.

As a result, the youthful troops began to feel a strength, legitimacy and sense of relevance that far exceeded anything that had ever existed before.

They are now real potent political actors on the national scene, albeit in ways that don’t at first seem that organised or coherent.

As one informed long-time observer put it to me recently, “Our leaders are sweating while majoring on minor issues while it is “minor” informal groups like Mungiki that are dealing with the major issues in their own way — issues like security in poorer slums, even the provision of other services.” 

The nexus of youth and security are Kenya’s key issues right now. We must be prepared to sacrifice growth for equity and do so transparently.

In this sense, devolution’s time has arrived, but the notion has been bastardised as much as it has been politicised.

As we argue about the minor issues, we miss out on the major ones.

These are really quite simple: A few people and their progeny own way too much land, having acquired it corruptly, as endless commissions and task forces have told us. This situation must be dealt with as quickly and as fairly as possible.

The bigger transition underway in Kenya today is from the first generation of thieves to the second.

And so the next convulsion, if it comes, will take new forms. It won’t only be political and ethnic, but will also assume class and racial overtones.

Ethnicity, race and class are now inextricably intertwined in a toxic cauldron of divisiveness, sitting on the fire of youth empowerment lit by politicians who then took a break to build Spanish villas and buy SUVs.

The historically dominant tribe of Kenya — always perceived to be the Gikuyu — have become second class citizens in large parts of the country. The Somalis would say: “Hey! Welcome to the club!”

Ironically, corruption is the glue holding together the coalition. That and occasional threats from concerned elements of the international community.

The second irony is that some of the most important reforms facing us in the coming few years may not actually be the grand ones defined by abstractions.

Fixing and dignifying the police force is critical. The elite has misused and robbed from the police for decades now and we are paying a heavy price. 

Even more troubling has been the discovery in private hands of over 132,000 rounds of 7.62 millimetre ammunition — weighing all of four tonnes — in the Narok area between December and early this month.

Add to this an assortment of military supplies that would imply internal expeditionary use and the questions multiply.

I’m a steadfast believer in Kenyan exceptionalism, in that sense of hurt we feel when our neighbours tell us “pole sana.”
We will have to use it to see us through the coming tragicomedy.