Kenya: The making of a political crisis that never was

For all their faults, or perhaps because of them, Kenyan politicians have always heeded the advice never to let a good crisis go to waste. In a country that has seemingly perfected the art of managing through disaster and swinging from one potential disaster to the next, the political elite need not even wait for a crisis, as they can just as easily fabricate one. And the last few weeks have given an object lesson on how this is done.

Before discussing the current crisis, some background information is in order. In 2010, Kenya adopted a new constitution, the culmination of more than a quarter century of struggle to tame its voracious parasitic and corrupt political class. Largely influenced by the carnage that followed the disputed 2007 presidential election, the constitution sought to overhaul the country’s systems and create a straitjacket to curb their psychopathic instincts in the hope of preventing future disaster.

But it has produced mixed results. Every presidential election since the promulgation of the constitution has been contested. In 2013, the Supreme Court, whose primary mandate is to settle disputes surrounding presidential elections, issued a widely publicized judgment legitimizing what many saw as yet another stolen election. Though unhappy with the verdict, the losing candidate, Raila Odinga, accepted it anyway. Thanks to the introduction of this mechanism in the constitution to settle the dispute, Kenya was able to avoid a meltdown like in 2008.

But in 2017, it was clear that the political class was gnawing at constitutional constraints. After another controversial victory for the incumbent, Uhuru Kenyatta, Odinga was initially hesitant to turn to the Supreme Court for redress. He eventually joined a case brought by civil society activists who challenged the outcome and the court ruled in their favour. It was the first court ruling on the African continent to reverse the re-election of a sitting president. Kenyans saw it as proof of the constitution’s effectiveness.

However, this moment of constitutional supremacy did not last long. Kenyatta launched an attack on the court, demonizing the judges and warning of an imminent “revisit” ahead of a rerun of the presidential election. The replay took place a month later, but with Odinga’s boycott, it was seen as a sham and the vote was again challenged in court.

After an incident in which the bodyguard of then Deputy Chief Justice Philomena Mwilu was shot, the Supreme Court was unable to raise the quorum to consider a petition demanding the annulment of the election results.

A later Supreme Court ruling upholding that election was swiftly overruled by the losing coalition and the country entered a period of political instability, violence and uncertainty that ended with the March 2018 “handshake,” a power-sharing deal in all but name .

The “handshake” and all that preceded it essentially loosened constitutional constraints and legitimized political arrangements beyond the constitution’s vision of clean and transparent elections with clear winners taking power and losers graciously conceding. That vision had once again met the much messier reality of Kenya, and this time it had lost.

Today, as in 2017, Kenya is in the messy aftermath of an election. This time, however, the vote is widely seen as the most transparent the country has ever had, a stark contrast to the murky trials of six years ago.

Again Odinga was defeated, this time against Kenyatta’s estranged deputy, William Ruto, another victim of the Handshake. Again Odinga challenged the outcome in the Supreme Court. Again he lost.

But having freed itself from the constitutional straitjacket, the political class was not about to let a decision of the Supreme Court stand in its way politically. The madmen ran the asylum again.

Despite a lack of evidence to support his case and a lack of public support, Odinga launched a program of weekly public protests with vague and ever-changing demands. The aim was to provoke the Ruto government into an overreaction.

The government’s blunt and heavy-handed response was as stupid and short-sighted as it was predictable. Police were sent to beat up protesters and administer tear gas, leading to three deaths and 400 injuries, as thugs attacked Odinga’s business and raided a farm owned by his ally Kenyatta.

The scenes of violence in the capital and some cities in the west were enough to convince many that a political crisis did indeed exist and that it needed a negotiated solution. The pressure led to an offer for talks from the Ruto administration, which was quickly accepted by the Odinga team. Yet there is little clarity about what that crisis actually is, and what the talks would be about.

Perhaps due to the lack of an agreed agenda, the talks have already run into problems. While both sides have chosen negotiating teams, an insistence by Ruto that talks be limited to parliament (which he controls) has caused Odinga to to threaten a return to the streets after the end of Ramadan.

Meanwhile, the country is facing a very real economic and humanitarian crisis, with a exploding national debt, rising food prices, the government unable to pay its workers and up to six million Kenyans. facing famine.

While Odinga has paid lip service to the skyrocketing cost of living and demands that the Ruto government he does not recognize work with him to lower it, it is clear that both sides are far more fixated on contesting power than on the increasingly miserable lives. of their compatriots. And if history is to be our guide, it is far from certain that they will act even in a political deal to alleviate that suffering.

In 2008, faced with a worsening food crisis, the Government of National Unity, formed to end the violence that followed the 2007 election, a new maize subsidy scheme.

Imported corn and supplies from the country’s strategic reserve would be sold to millers at a discounted price in an effort to drive down flour prices. However, the scheme was widely abused by politicians and government officials who posed as millers, pocketed the subsidy, and then resold the maize to the real millers, further driving up costs. By the time they were done, 10 million Kenyans were starving.

The depredations were so brutal that it led PricewaterhouseCoopers, which controlled the plan, to question whether the program was “designed from the outset to fail and to provide a means of significant financial exploitation at the expense of the state “. Ruto, who was minister of agriculture at the time, was accused of profiteering from the scheme and so did relatives and associates of Odinga, who was the prime minister.

With this in mind, hope that both sides of the political divide would prioritize alleviating the suffering of Kenyans over their narrow interests is rather dim.

The real political crisis facing Kenya today is the same since independence. Its political elite was forged in the fires of colonial plunder, and from birth the country has had to bear them as a torment, as the price of stability.

Some, like Charles Onyango-Obbo, one of East Africa’s most insightful commentators, see them as the reason why the country has avoided following many of its neighbors into anarchy and civil strife. “It is corrupt and amoral politics [are] a high form of pragmatism and political common sense,” he said recently wrote. “Any deal is possible. No betrayal is unthinkable. It is pagan, transactional politics at its worst – and best.”

But this is exactly the situation Kenyans had tried to get out of with the 2010 constitution. The truth is that it is “pagan, transactional politics” where “any deal is possible” leads politicians to see their followers as fodder, and violence and chaos as mere bargaining tactics.

It is what always keeps Kenya on the brink of collapse, the constantly starving and ruthless people who have learned to accept plunder and misery as the price of avoiding the fate of their neighbours.

Kenyans are ultimately faced with a choice: whether to lower their expectations and resign themselves to Kenya’s degenerate politics, or continue on the frustrating path of forcing Kenyan politicians into a new mold.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial view of Al Jazeera.