Arjen Westra’s African Weblog

Human Rights Watch: Government, Donors Should Support Commission’s Findings on Election Violence

[inspic=143,left,,thumb](New York, October 15, 2008) – The Kenyan government and international partners should strongly support the call by the Waki commission investigating post-election violence to create a special tribunal to end Kenya’s cycle of impunity, Human Rights Watch said today.
“The Waki commission has done an admirable job describing the causes of the violence and assembling evidence,” said Georgette Gagnon, Africa director at Human Rights Watch. “Now the politicians need to set up the special tribunal it recommends. Justice is crucial for Kenya’s stability.”

The report of the Commission of Inquiry into Post-Election Violence, headed by Justice Philip Waki, was published on October 15, 2008. The commission concluded that politicians on all sides had organized and funded attacks on supporters of their opponents. The inquiry also found that security forces responded inappropriately, using excessive force against civilians, intervening to have allies released from custody and failing to investigate individuals responsible for the violence. Human Rights Watch said that a complete overhaul of Kenya’s corrupt and abusive police force, as recommended by the Waki commission, is long overdue….

The morning was quiet in Nairobi. This afternoon i visited the informal settlements Mathare and Kibera. Police was around and Mathare seemed realtively quiet. Downtown Nairobi though there were pockets of rioting youth. They were dispersed by special police forces that used teargas. Less than an hour later, I witnessed singing youth who were challenging the police in the informal settlement Kibera. Police went in (that is the moment you hear on the audiofile). Minutes later, it seemed back to ‘normal’, as far as i can use that word in this extraordinary days for Kenya. Observation: more journalists around than common people. The riots will be in the media much bigger than they were.

[mygal=nairobiriots]

Just outside Kenyan Parlement now. It’s still quiet, riot police are around and an old lady is removing dust from the streets in front of the Parliament buildings, thus giving them a final touch. She laughs at me, I greet her and I wonder what she thinks…

Good morning!

I woke up this morning realising how lucky I am. I went to bed with the story of a Kenyan who arrived in Nairobi confused. He spent his last money on the bus to flee for his life, because a group of soldiers and citizens came to his home at night. Screaming to him: Who did you vote for!! Who did you vote for!! I will keep it short. He and his family bled into a river bed and spent the night. From there he and his family saw how groups went through the area putting fire on houses in the region. This man’s life was saved, and the attackers did not set his house a blaze. But they took his cows. I had a paeceful sleep although the story of the man popped up from time to time.

Then this morning they I woke up with the news of two ministers of the Kenyan government saying: we don’t need any African mediators, because we have won the elections. One of them was referring to a team of African ‘wise men and women’, among them Gracia Machel (Nelson Mandela’s wife) and Kofi Annan (former UN secretary general) who are jetted in for mediation between Raila Odinga and Mwai Kibaki. For your information: the two ministers: Michuki and Saitoti have both been around and they are not the cleanest.

This morning
This morning in the Newspaper, they showed how big the distance is between Kenya’s filthy rich politicians who don’t even seem to suffer from what is happening to their people. They can just talk about their victory and seem to blind that what is going on in ‘their’ Kenya. But ‘their’ Kenya seems to be a different Kenya. It is the Kenya of the career politicians, who have their children study abroad and who got away with almost everything they did in the past because they are who they are. Their Kenya, they showed is another planet, to which they can choose to fly to whenever they want.

The real Kenya these days is the Kenya of a people that tries to survive, of the people who don’t have a choice. The real Kenya is the Kenya is the Kenya from people that thought they were in a stable country and got hope in the past five years that things would get better. The real Kenya is the Kenya is the Kenya of people who from one day day to another are refugees, don’t have the choice to take a flight like a lot of NGO-workers, diplomats, family of the small group of privileged and tourists with a travel insurance who left this country.

The leaders of this country, none of them did not show anything that shows concern. There is no joint statement in which they show who they really. This country will remember them as many other leaders in Kenyan history: the ones that put their own interests above the people’s. Or… like we Dutch say: the ones that were the drops that made water in the bucket go over the rim… to finally start the Big Change…

What is happening here has gone far beyond who has won elections or not. It among others about a deep felt frustration from the poor. It is about a deep felt frustration about the permanent felt injustice in this society and a hope that was taken away. It is about choices and where they can bring people. Like the man from my bed time story: he did not have the choice but to save his life. Compare to minister Michuki’s choice: looking at the picture in today’s newspaper I have the impression he choose to go for a Dead Sea Mineral-mask and on the way decided to choose a nice new Hugo Boss suit.

I am just outside the Kenyan parlement now waiting for the moment teh parlement is going to be opened. It might be the start of a new wave of actions, the choice of an angry Kenyan people. I will keep you posted! At this moment: The streets are getting quiet, riot police is around with cannisters of teargas.

I just got this letter from one of my friends. Agree or not: it shows how part of Kenyans feel about what is happening to the country. Please feel welcome to comment on this open letter to Samuel Kivuitu, the Chairman of the Kenyan Electoral Commission. Comments will be shown with a delay to avoid spam-robots… Have a nice day!

AN OPEN LETTER TO SAMUEL KIVUITU, CHAIR OF THE ELECTORAL COMMISSION OF KENYA

Mr. Kivuitu,

We’ve never met. It’s unlikely we ever will. But, like every other Kenyan, I will remember you for the rest of my life. The nausea I feel at the mention of your name may recede. The bitterness and grief will not.

You had a mandate, Mr. Kivuitu. To deliver a free, fair and transparent election to the people of Kenya. You and your commission had 5 years to prepare. You had a tremendous pool of resources, skills, technical support, to draw on, including the experience and advice of your peers in the field – leaders and experts in governance, human rights, electoral process and constitutional law. You had the trust of 37 million Kenyans.

We believed it was going to happen. On December 27th, a record 65% of registered Kenyan voters rose as early as 4am to vote. Stood in lines for up to 10 hours, in the sun, without food, drink, toilet facilities. As the results came in, we cheered when minister after powerful minister lost their parliamentary seats. When the voters of Rift Valley categorically rejected the three sons of Daniel Arap Moi, the despot who looted Kenya for 24 years. The country spoke through the ballot, en masse, against the mind-blowing greed, corruption, human rights abuses, callous dismissal of Kenya’s poor, that have characterised the Kibaki administration.

But Kibaki wasn’t going to go. When it became clear that you were announcing vote tallies that differed from those counted and confirmed in the constituencies, there was a sudden power blackout at the Kenyatta International Conference Centre, where the returns were being announced. Hundreds of GSU (General Service Unit) paramilitaries suddenly marched in. Ejected all media except the government mouthpiece Kenya Broadcasting Corporation.

Fifteen minutes later, we watched, dumbfounded, as you declared Kibaki the winner. 30 minutes later, we watched in sickened disbelief and outrage, as you handed the announcement to Kibaki on the lawns of State House. Where the Chief Justice, strangely enough, had already arrived. Was waiting, fully robed, to hurriedly swear him in.

You betrayed us. Perhaps we’ll never know when, or why, you made that decision. One rumour claims you were threatened with the execution of your entire family if you did not name Kibaki as presidential victor. When I heard it, I hoped it was true. Because at least then I could understand why you chose instead to plunge our country into civil war.

I don’t believe that rumor any more. Not since you appeared on TV, looking tormented, sounding confused, contradicting yourself. Saying, among other things, that you did not resign because you “did not want the country to call me a coward”, but you “cannot state with certainty that Kibaki won the election”. Following that with the baffling statement “there are those around him [Kibaki] who should never have been born.” The camera operator had a sense of irony – the camera shifted several times to the scroll on your wall that read: “Help Me, Jesus.”

As the Kenya Chapter of the International Commission of Jurists rescinds the Jurist of the Year award they bestowed on you, as the Law Society of Kenya strikes you from their Roll of Honour and disbars you, I wonder what goes through your mind these days.

Do you think of the 300,000 Kenyans displaced from their homes, their lives? Of the thousands still trapped in police stations, churches, any refuge they can find, across the country? Without food, water, toilets, blankets? Of fields ready for harvest, razed to the ground? Of granaries filled with rotting grain, because no one can get to them? Of the Nairobi slum residents of Kibera, Mathare, Huruma, Dandora, ringed by GSU and police, denied exit, or access to medical treatment and emergency relief, for the crime of being poor in Kenya?

I bet you haven’t made it to Jamhuri Park yet. But I’m sure you saw the news pictures of poor Americans, packed like battery chickens into their stadiums, when Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana. Imagine that here in Nairobi, Mr. Kivuitu. 75,000 Kenyans, crammed into a giant makeshift refugee camp. Our own Hurricane Kivuitu-Kibaki, driven by fire, rather than floods. By organized militia rather than crumbling levees. But the same root cause – the deep, colossal contempt of a tiny ruling class for the rest of humanity. Over 60% of our internal refugees are children. The human collateral damage of your decision.

And now, imagine grief, Mr. Kivuitu. Grief so fierce, so deep, it shreds the muscle fibres of your heart. Violation so terrible, it grinds down the very organs of your body, forces the remnants through your kidneys, for you to piss out in red water. Multiply that feeling by every Kenyan who has watched a loved one slashed to death in the past week. Every parent whose child lies, killed by police bullets, in the mortuaries of Nairobi, Kisumu, Eldoret. Everyone who has run sobbing from a burning home or church, hearing the screams of those left behind. Every woman, girl, gang-raped.

Do you sleep well these days, Mr. Kivuitu? I don’t. I have nightmares. I wake with my heart pounding, slow tears trickling from the corners of my eyes, random phrases running through my head:

Remember how we felt in 2002? It’s all gone. (Muthoni Wanyeki, ED of Kenya Human Rights Commission, on the night of December 30th, 2007, after Kibaki was illegally sworn in as president).

There is a crime here that goes beyond recrimination. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolise. (John Steinbeck, American writer, on the betrayal of internally displaced Americans, in The Grapes of Wrath)

Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi….kila siku tuwe na shukrani (“Justice be our shield and defender….every day filled with thanksgiving” Lines from Kenya’s national anthem)

I soothe myself back to patchy sleep with my mantra in these terrible days, as our country burns and disintegrates around us:

Courage. Courage comes. Courage comes from cultivating. Courage comes from cultivating the habit. Courage comes from cultivating the habit of refusing. Courage comes from cultivating the habit of refusing to let fear dictate one’s actions. (Aung San Suu Kyi, Burmese Nobel Peace Prize winner).

I wake with a sense of unbearable sadness. Please let it not be true…..

Meanwhile, the man you named President cowers in the State House, surrounded by a cabal of hardline power brokers, and a bevy of sycophantic unseated Ministers and MPs, who jostle for position and succession. Who fuel the fires by any means they can, to keep themselves important, powerful, necessary. The smoke continues to rise from the torched swathes of Rift Valley, the gutted city of Kisumu, the slums of Nairobi and Mombasa. The Red Cross warns of an imminent cholera epidemic in Nyanza and Western Kenya, deprived for days now of electricity and water. Containers pile up at the Port of Mombasa, as ships, unable to unload cargo, leave still loaded. Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Southern Sudan, the DRC, all dependent on Kenyan transit for fuel and vital supplies, grind to a halt.

A repressive regime rolls out its panoply of oppression against legitimate dissent. Who knew our police force had so many sleek, muscled, excellently-trained horses, to mow down protestors? Who guessed that in a city of perennial water shortages, we had high-powered water cannons to terrorize Kenyans off the streets?

I am among the most fortunate of the fortunate. Not only am I still whole, alive, healthy, mobile; not only do I have food, shelter, transport, the safety of those I love; I have the gift of work. I have the privilege to be in the company of the most brilliant, principled, brave, resilient Kenyans of my generation. To contribute whatever I can as we organize, strategize, mobilize, draw on everything we know and can do, to save our country. I marvel at the sheer collective volume of trained intelligence, of skill, expertise, experience, in our meetings. At the ability to rise above personal tragedy – families still hostage in war zones, friends killed, homes overflowing with displaced relatives – to focus on the larger picture and envisage a solution. I listen to lawyers, economists, youth activists, humanitarians; experts on conflict, human rights, governance, disaster relief; to Kenyans across every sector and ethnicity, and I think:

Is this what we have trained all our lives for? To confront this epic catastrophe, caused by a group of old men who have already sucked everything they possibly can out of Kenya, yet will cling until they die to their absolute power?

You know these people too, Mr. Kivuitu. The principled, brave, resilient, brilliant Kenyans. The idealists who took seriously the words we sang as schoolchildren, about building the nation. Some of them worked closely with you, right through the election. Some called you friend. You don’t even have the excuse that Kibaki, or his henchmen, might offer – that of inhabiting a world so removed from ours that they cannot fathom the reality of ordinary Kenyans. You know of the decades of struggle, bloodshed, faith and suffering that went into creating this fragile beautiful thing we called the “democratic space in Kenya.” So you can imagine the ways in which we engage with the unimaginable. We coin new similes:

lie low like a 16A (the electoral tally form returned by each constituency, many of which were altered or missing in the final count)

We joke about the Kivuitu effect – which turns internationalists, pan-Africanists, fervent advocates for the dissolution of borders, into nationalists who cry at the first verse of the national anthem .

Ee Mungu nguvu yetu
Ilete baraka kwetu
Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi
Natukae na undugu
Amani na uhuru
Raha tupate na ustawi.

O God of all creation
Bless this our land and nation
Justice be our shield and defender
May we dwell in unity
Peace and liberty
Plenty be found within our borders.

Rarely do we allow ourselves pauses, to absorb the enormity of our country shattered, in 7 days. We cry, I think, in private. At least I do. In public, we mourn through irony, persistent humour, and action. Through the exercise of patience, stamina, fortitude, generosity, that humble me to witness. Through the fierce relentless focus of our best energies towards challenges of stomach-churning magnitude. We tell the stories that aren’t making it into the press: the retired general in Rift Valley sheltering 200 displaced families on his farm, the Muslim Medical Professionals offering free treatment to anyone injured in political protest. We challenge, over and over again, with increasing weariness, the international media coverage that presents this as “tribal warfare”, “ethnic conflict”, for an audience that visualises Africa through Hollywood: Hotel Rwanda, The Last King of Scotland, Blood Diamond.

I wish you’d thought of those people, when you made the choice to betray them. I wish you’d drawn on their courage, their integrity, their clarity, when your own failed you. I wish you’d had the imagination to enter into the lives, the dreams, of 37 million Kenyans.

But, as you’ve probably guessed by now, Mr. Kivuitu, this isn’t really a letter to you at all. This is an attempt to put words to what cannot be expressed in words. To mourn what is too immense to mourn. A clumsy groping for something beyond the word ‘heartbreak’. A futile attempt to communicate what can only be lived, moment by moment. This is a howl of anguish and rage. This is a love letter to a nation. This is a long low keening for my country.

Shailja Patel

The masses decide the direction of history. Yes it is a cliché. Thanks for observing that. At least you know your cliché’s. And also: thew image is never as bad as reality, especially if you talk about so called African countries with political tension. Examples? My first visit to Nigeria years ago, I did not get the AK47 roadblocks every 200 meters that people prepared me for. I neglected the advice of friends (who had never been to Africa), asking me if a story is worth my life. I went and I met a crazy country, but not the roadblocks. And I have had the experience before and often. Anyway: travelling to Togo is was prepared for soldiers and harassment during election time. The immigration officer in neighbouring country Ghana had already warned me when he asked my profession. Don’t tell the neighbours that you are a journalist, every year journalists are disappearing. I laughed and thanked him for his advice when he returned my passport over the counter.

Hours later, I got a warm welcome, again, by a very friendly immigration officer at the Lomé international airport. I had to fly because the overland border was closed, not very promising, indeed. Of course the usual bureaucracy (‘We can not allow you in, when you can’t show us the boarding pass of the plane you were on, sir’, the plane with the engine on meters behind me).
-’Could you please join me to my office?’
-’Sure sir, I understand.’

The next day, elections passed. Calm and as the BBC reported with long qeus at the polling stations which is a reason to believe that a high percentage of people went out to vote. No violence reported, only some harassment around the border, which is a less than ten minute-moto-taxidrive from the city center.
Days passed, without any violence being reported. From the capital Lomé, I travelled over well maintained tarmac-roads, hardly counted any potholes nor roadblocks manned by angry drunken soldiers asking for money. Not that you would expect when you hear the name Togo? Excellent! My starting point is an average Kenyan road, that is like it has been bombarded recently and is full with roadblocks. Anyway, I stayed in hotels, that served nice breakfast, had rooms with cold and hot water and a friendly staff that understands hospitality.

Days later, I returned to the capital and I got a different feeling. Everybody in capital Lomé seemed to be full of fear the evening the results of the elections were to be announced. The beautiful waitress of the pub were I enjoyed a cold Eku-beer, came to me, bowed over, looked me deep in my eyes, and asked me extremely friendly with an extremely beautiful smile if i could leave ‘Parce que on ferme tot ce soir. On attend les résultats.’ I gave her my best ‘Pas de problème’ since long.

Arriving at the hotel, I found a panicking old white madam from the reception who called me on my room to tell me in a high voice ‘de pas sortir’, not to go out, or even better leave the country now, because even last time ‘they’ came and destroyed part of the hotel. I could not tell her my profession, so I accepted her advice calm with a polite smile and ‘Merci madam’. Coming from the North, I had not felt anything like tension. Talking with people about the elections, they seemed to be happy that they were able to bring out their vote, although they knew that their voice would not make a difference. And they told me and it seemed that people were discussing politics in the open. At least the president had brought some good things I learned: a year ago there was no water, there no electricity on a lot of places, but now there is. I saw police officers, ok, but they seemed friendly and not of the bullying-bulldog-type. It seemed that the whole nation was ready not to spoil this time. It’s the Togo-complot against the West

That is the name I gave to this small community of Himba people in Namibia’s Northwest where is just passed some days ago. Probabely the only Himba-community with a white female Minister of Finance. Himba’s are to Namibia what the Maasai are to Kenya and Tanzania and Bushmen to Southern Africa. The difference in Namibia is that white ‘native’ people talk about their fellow nationals the San and the Himba in a very strange way: just as if the white nationals are superior to the natives. AIt seems to be a trend among whites in Southern Africa to do something good. And that is also how a lot of these white well-do’ers behave: We are doing something GOOD. Look how GOOD I am. And i have to believe how GOOD they are of course. I ran into a white lady who ‘adopted’ this small community of Himba people, when according to the lady they came to her with the question if they could stay on her land. The lady said yes, you are welcome. Her motive, how could i even think it would not be, was very noble: helping these poor Himba-people who are, in fact and according to the lady ‘very normal people’. It took the lady a lot of effort to ‘help this Himba’s stop drinking’ and she almost cried, I had the impression. I almost felt like offering a tissue, when she was talking about HER Himba’s and the pain SHE had gone through to make them adjust their behaviour (to what?). Now every day in the tourist high season, the small community gets ‘more than five trucks with guests a day’. Every tourist pays 100 Rand to visit (approximately 10 euro’s). That is an average turnover of 750 euro a day, or more than 5000 euro a week. When I asked the lady what’s in it for the Himba’s, she told me: ‘…everything is for them and I am the one buying food for them, I know exactly what they need, and exactly how much they need of it. The rest of the money goes in an account. I am their Minister of Finance and decide what happens with the money.’ I fully understood, of course. Who wouldn’t? On a yearly basis, that is more than 240.000 euro, for this 20 head community of mais-eating Himba’s. Interesting he? This has been going on for years, that’s why I would call these people The Himba Millionaires. I did not find a nick name for the lady, who truly is a VERY NORMAL lady of the white tribe of WEDO’s (Well do’ers). Any suggestions are welcome! Pictures are clickable! Much better! [mygal=himba]

For those who missed it: journalist/writer friend Bas Vlugt presented his new novel last thursday in the Dutch city of Haarlem. The story is situated in West Africa of the now. It’s about tradition, modernity and the clash between those two. It’s a story about friendship, love and betrayal and it’s about longing: where do you want to be in this world? I am reading it now and I am looking for someone who want to read it after me, as every book has a unique track and trace number. The idea is that this travel book makes her own journey over the world. People can trace where their book is on this site (click here). If you are in Nairobi shortly or you will be in Lusaka/Copperbelt within a week: please contact me.

For those who are ready to complain about this ‘promotion’: artists who tell the story deserve more attention in this world. It’s one of the few ways to get a real understanding about it. For those who are interested in Africa Literature please check out this list with Africa’s 100 Best Books of the 20th Century (click here)

Does Mungiki bring the dream for Africa? What is the point of a so called sect, or ‘political’ movement that believes in killing people by beheading their victims? Sorry to say, but if do you don’t make a point when you get the World’s attention, then there can only be one motivation: you want to bring chaos for the order of chaos, feeding any so-called opposition in Kenya with illustration material why things are not right in this country, bringing a general feeling of insecurity… What’s your programm, Mungiki? It just confirms the feeling that everything is politics in this country, politics to destroy.

Sometimes i get really sick of Kenyan politics. All these movements of old guys with big bellies, who have been around for almost 20 years and are now blaming the current government for tribalism, not being able to fight crime, in-security or whatever. Where were you when the once riving economy nose-dived into the Rift Valley? This country is full of selfish bastards, who play their own population in a way that shows total disrespect. None of the so called new movements (and old political parties) have something like a program. A written document that says: this is what the country needs, and this is how we are going to solve it. They like to play Kenyan politics ‘old style’, where favouring an ethnic group, and your alpha-male aspirations for ‘real leadership’ is more important than being there to serve your people. Politics in Kenya is business. Not the question What do THEY get out of it, but what do I get out of it, is most important. The debate is about the heads, like in a lot of places in the (political) world. But the things is: I don’t know any African country that even can AFFORD to discuss about minor issues if the majority of your population is suffering. Opposition in Kenya like playing a blame game. It does not look very smart from a distance. Most countries on this continent live in a permanent state of emergency and therefore ask for a united effort to solve the problems in the interest of the most vulnerable people in there societies, children, women and the un-employed, the illiterate. The people who manage to survive day in day out. They are my heroes. Political debates where blaming is more important than coming with solutions for real problems your country is facing, is something for later. Opposition in Kenya is only for destroying and establishing their own interest, filling the bellies if you want. Come with a program. We are living in Kenya 2007 guys, not in the old days anymore! Have a dream for your people, a lot of them lost it! Comments are welcome.