security & development

President Uhuru Kenyatta has outlined a “10-point security plan for Kenya.” As reported by Capital FM, the 10 points are:

  • Legitimate monopoly on the means of violence
  • Effective administrative control
  • Management of public finances
  • Investment in human capital
  • Delineation of citizenship rights and duties
  • Provision of infrastructure services
  • Formation of the market
  • Management of the state’s assets
  • International relations
  • The rule of law

I have no idea if this is the order in which the points were presented—sequence can matter. If so, one notes that the Kenya that emerges is governed by state violence—the state has a “monopoly on violence” and that violence is to be understood as “the rule of law.” In between, the language of neoliberalism—management, investment, assets, capital, administration—takes hold. Those in Kenya—those with access to Kenyan-ness—are defined, first, as “human capital,” and only, belatedly, as bearers of “rights and duties,” to a state that has a “monopoly on violence.”

These are initial notes.
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Some framing gestures:

Governmentality moves away from sovereign and state-centered notions of political power (though it does not eschew the state as a site of governmentality), from the division between violence and law, and from a distinction between ideological and material power. [It also] features state formations of subjects rather than state control of subjects; put slightly differently, it emphasizes control achieved through formation rather than through repression or punishment.
—Wendy Brown, Edgwork

The modern state exercises moral and educative leadership—it “plans, urges, incites, solicits, punishes.” It is where the bloc of social forces which dominates over it not only justifies and maintains its domination but wins by leadership and authority the active consent of those over whom it rules. Thus it plays a pivotal role in the construction of hegemony. In this reading, it becomes, not a thing to be seized, overthrown or “smashed” with a single blow, but a complex formation in modern societies which must become the focus of a number of different strategies and struggles because it is an arena of different social contestations.
—Stuart Hall, “Gramsci’s Relevance for the Study of Race and Ethnicity”

In popular usage, neoliberalism is equated with a radically free market: maximized competition and free trade achieved through economic deregulation, elimination of tariffs, and a range of monetary and social policies favorable to business and indifferent toward poverty, social deracination, cultural decimation, long-term resource depletion, and environmental destruction.
—Wendy Brown, Edgework

[However], neoliberalism is not simply a set of economic polices . . . Rather neoliberalism carries a social analysis that, when deployed as a form of governmentality, reaches from the soul of the citizen-subject to education policy to practices of empire. Neoliberal rationality, while foregrounding the market, is not only or even primarily focused on the economy it involves extending and disseminating market values to all institutions and social action, even as the market itself remains a distinctive player.
—Wendy Brown, Edgework

neoliberalism entails the erosion of oppositional political, moral, or subjective claims located outside capitalist rationality
—Wendy Brown, Edgework

What, then, are the leading ideas of the neoliberal model? We can only pull at one thread here. However anachronistic it may seem, neoliberalism is grounded in the ‘free, possessive individual’, with the state cast as tyrannical and oppressive. The welfare state, in particular, is the arch enemy of freedom. The state must never govern society, dictate to free individuals how to dispose of their private property, regulate a free-market economy or interfere with the God-given right to make profits and amass personal wealth.
—Stuart Hall, “The Neoliberal Revolution”

Neoliberalism is not one thing. It evolves and diversifies. Nevertheless, geopolitically, neoliberal ideas, policies and strategies are incrementally gaining ground, re-defining the political, social and economic model, governing the strategies and setting the pace.
—Stuart Hall, “The Neoliberal Revolution”

few strategies are so successful at winning consent as those which root themselves in the contradictory elements of common sense, popular life and consciousness
—Stuart Hall, “The Neoliberal Revolution”

Hegemony is a tricky concept and provokes muddled thinking. No project achieves ‘hegemony’ as a completed project. It is a process, not a state of being. No victories are permanent or final. Hegemony has constantly to be ‘worked on’, maintained, renewed, revised. Excluded social forces, whose consent has not been won, whose interests have not been taken into account, form the basis of counter- movements, resistance, alternative strategies and visions … and the struggle over a hegemonic system starts anew. They constitute what Raymond Williams called ‘the emergent’ – and are the reason why history is never closed but maintains an open horizon towards the future.
—Stuart Hall, “The Neoliberal Revolution”
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In what scholars term “the literature,” Kenya’s entry into neoliberal logics dates to the early 1980s, when Structural Adjustment Programs were introduced—the line between imposed and adopted is shaky. A more precise date is given as the 1986 publication of Sessional Paper No. 1. I’ll turn to that in a moment.

However, Stuart Hall teaches me to ask about the “terrain,” or, were I to adapt him in more Kenyan terms, the ground on which these ideas fell. And, for that, I turn to an old favorite, Sessional Paper 10 of 1965: African Socialism and its Application to Planning in Kenya.

First, the banal observation that the Session Paper is dedicated to planning; to use a Kenyan vernacular, I do not claim that the term “development” is used with any mischief.

The Paper opens with a Statement By The President:

    Since attainment of our independence just over eighteen months ago, the Government has been deciding the measures that will ensure rapid economic development and social progress for all our citizens.

Much of what follows is administrative boilerplate. I am arrested, as always, by the final paragraph of the Statement:

    To the nation I have but one message. When all is said and done, we must settle down to the job of building the Kenyan nation. To do this we need an atmosphere of political stability and an atmosphere of confidence and faith at home. We cannot establish these if we continue with debates on theories and doubts about our society. Let this paper be used from now as the unifying voice of our people and let us all settle down to build our nation. Let all the people of our country roll up their sleeves in a spirit of self-help to create the true fruits of UHURU.

Building consent requires formal labor. Some of that labor happens as Kenyatta repeats (with a slight variation): “building the nation.” This becomes the work. What is to be accomplished. What pulls people together. Building the nation must take priority and it should not be halted, arrested, or delayed by “debates on theories and doubts” about “our society.” The question of what Kenya is, of who Kenyans are, will emerge as Kenyans “build the nation.” Development will provide identity—it will give shape and meaning to “our society.”

We are on dangerous, dissent-killing ground. We are on dangerous anti-intellectual ground. 50 years later—note that consent takes a long time to build and sustain and become dominant—this ground has won.

Even those who claim to be “progressives” and “radicals” frame their vision of Kenya within the paradigm of “development.” Corruption is bad because it stunts development. Impunity is bad because it delays development. Sexual violence is bad because it arrests development. Evil is bad because it hurts development.

Something curious has happened. And, we can better see what that something curious is by returning to the Sessional Paper. Tom Mboya, author of the Paper, defines what he terms “Objectives of Societies”:

The ultimate objectives of all societies are remarkably similar and have a universal character suggesting that present conflicts need not be enduring. These objectives typically include:

  1. political equality;
  2. social justice;
  3. human dignity including freedom of conscience;
  4. freedom from want, disease, and exploitation;
  5. equal opportunities; and
  6. high and growing per capita incomes, equitably distributed

In Mboya’s Sessional Paper, freedom and justice could still be imagined. (Many aspects of the Paper are troubling, but let me defer that discussion.)

To make a polemical point about where we are now, let me leapfrog to the very long Sessional Paper No 12 of 2012: On Kenya Vision 2030. A few long, blocky paragraphs follow.

    Kenya Vision 2030 is the new long-term development blueprint for the country. It is motivated by a collective aspiration for a better society by the year 2030. The aim of Kenya Vision 2030 is to create “a globally competitive and prosperous country with a high quality of life by 2030”. It aims to transform Kenya into “a newly-industrialising, middle-income country providing a high quality of life to all its citizens in a clean and secure environment”.
    The Vision is anchored on three key pillars: economic; social; and political governance. The economic pillar aims to achieve an average economic growth rate of 10 per cent per annum and sustaining the same till 2030 in order to generate more resources to meet the MDGs and vision goals. The Vision has identified a number of flagship projects in every sector to be implemented over the Vision period and to facilitate the desired growth rate. The identified flagship projects directly address priorities in key sectors such as agriculture, education, health, water and the environment. The social pillar seeks to create a just, cohesive and equitable social development in a clean and secure environment. The political pillar aims to realise an issue-based, people-centered, result-oriented and accountable democratic system.

To the extent that form matters, note that the social and political pillars get one sentence each.

    The economic, social and political pillars of Kenya Vision 2030 will be anchored on the following foundations: macroeconomic stability; continuity in governance reforms; enhanced equity and wealth creation opportunities for the poor; infrastructure; energy; science, technology and innovation (STI); land reform; human resources development; security; and public sector reforms.

One notes that “people-centered” translates into “human resources development,” and the “human resources development” paragraph reads,

    Human Resource Development: Kenya intends to create a globally competitive and adaptive human resource base to meet the requirements of a rapidly industrialising economy. This will be done through life-long training and education. As a priority, a human resource database will be established to facilitate better planning of human resources requirements in the country. Furthermore, steps will be taken to raise labour productivity to international levels. Other steps will include the establishment of new technical training institutions, as well as the enhancement of closer collaboration between industry and training institutions.

What happens when “the people” of a place are framed through “human resources”? What has been prioritized? While the latter sections of the Sessional Paper make some gratuitous noise about rights, the phrases “political equality” and “social justice” are absent from the Sessional Paper.

Market rationalities infiltrate all the ways Kenya and Kenyan-ness can be envisioned.
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Little of what I’ve claimed above is new or original. I simply want to mark where we are.
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I had imagined spending some time on Sessional Paper No. 1 from 1986, but I can’t find a handy pdf online, and, frankly, I’m tired of trying to think with Sessional Papers.

Call this a broken promise.
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Let me return, finally, to the peculiar structure of the president’s “security agenda.” The figure of the citizen appears as one threatened by the state’s “monopoly of violence,” as one “managed” and “administered,” as one framed, primarily, as “human capital.” “Human capital” precedes citizenship, which is, primarily about “rights and duties.” One might argue that one’s “rights and duties” are subordinate to one’s status as “human capital”: one’s being is assessed as a measure of one’s ability to incarnate and produce capital.

We need, here, to think through histories of slavery and the role of fungibility in producing our modern world. To value “humans” as “capital” is precisely to live within slavery’s logics of unhumaning and exchange.

“Life is cheap” becomes more than a metaphor within such logics and practices.

In the president’s vision, security is about fostering development and managing assets, not about “securing” freedom or increasing justice or imagining possibility. Indeed, the imagination must be “managed” and “administered,” kept anxious and paranoid, forced to prove that it participates in “development” and “security.” Kenya has no space for questioning imaginations, for imaginations that pursue freedom and justice and equality.

To read the president’s agenda as a threat—and I read it as such—means refusing to consent to its premises and promises. But this stance, I fear, is a minority one.

Security & Development discourses and practices have so taken hold of the popular imagination that it’s difficult to critique how they proliferate unfreedom. Progressive forces critique the government not for its security imaginary, but because it has “failed” to “secure properly.” The same voices critique the government not for its development imaginary, but because it has “failed” to “develop properly.”

In conference rooms and seminars and forums across Kenya, we sit and nod at our ongoing unhumaning in the name of security and development.

unhoming kenyan women

At the heart of Grace Ogot’s short story “The White Veil” is a simple sentence: “She felt helpless.” Taking different forms, this sentence runs through a wide body of writing by Kenyan women.

Rebeka Njau’s The Sacred Seed features a female teacher who is forcibly abducted and raped by the male head of state. Ngwatilo Mawiyoo’s poem, “The Way You Felt Remains,” describes a public encounter where a young woman encounters a “chokora” who gropes her in public, unsolicited. Sitawa Namwalie’s “Let’s Speak a Simple Truth,” notes that, “the average man can without much planning / Take by force most average women in the world.”

Repeatedly, Kenyan women’s writing bears witness to a society where women’s bodies are considered available to all men, a society where a woman’s consent is considered irrelevant.

In fact, the question of women’s consent is considered irrelevant in our National Assembly. During the recent discussions of the Domestic Violence Bill, Hon. John Murithi Waiganjo (Ol Joro Orok, TNA) described intercourse as “enjoy[ing] the facilities,” rendering women as inert structures.

Hon. Jimmy Angwenyi (Kitutu Chache North, TNA) insisted that marriage voided the need for women’s consent, arguing, “We are talking about somebody you persuaded to move from her parents’ home to your home. When she moved from her parents’ home to your home, that was when she accepted you. Therefore, every time you need that thing, she should accept.” Men’s needs take priority over women’s will and desire.

Further contributing to this line of thinking, Hon. Makai Mulu (Kitui Central, WDM-K) argued for a “cultural exemption,” saying, “in the Kamba culture, there is nothing like sexual harassment when you are dealing with a wife or husband. When you pay the three goats, you are given 100 per cent authority to engage in that act without any question.”

Engaging these voices, Hon. Priscilla Nyokabi Kanyua (Othaya, TNA) reminded the National Assembly, “Our African cultures actually protected their women. The reason why we are here 1000 years after the discovery of man is because Africa protected women.”

If we turn to the body of writing by Kenyan men, the notion of bodily integrity is well articulated. Maina wa Kinyatti’s Kenya: A Prison Diary rails against the humiliation of being searched by prison guards. In Three Days on the Cross, Wahome Mutahi has nightmares that he is being sexually violated while in prison. Onduko bw’Atebe’s award-winning Verdict of Death features the dashing protagonist being brutally attacked and raped in prison.

Across a broad range of works set in prison, Kenyan men demonstrate that they know what it feels like to be vulnerable, to fear for their bodily integrity, to lack consent.

Across a broad range of writing—on twitter, on blogs, in poems, in novels, in non-fiction—Kenyan women describe their everyday lives as gendered prisons, where they are vulnerable, subject to bodily violations in private and public contexts, where their consent is taken for granted, their bodies mishandled by friends, acquaintances, intimates, and strangers.

At a historical moment when Kenyan politics is consumed by the question of security, we might pause to ask why so many Kenyan women feel insecure in public and private spaces: walking on public streets, taking public transport, attending colleges and universities, visiting friends and relatives, hosting guests at home.

During the debate about the Domestic Violence Bill, Hon. Aden Duale (Dujis, URP) argued that questions of domestic violence were minor. Kenya, he claimed, had “more serious issues” to contend with, including terrorism and food insecurity. It should strike us as odd that women’s security in our homes is deemed unimportant. In fact, it should strike us as obscene and unacceptable.

It should be unacceptable that Kenyan women feel they must submit to bodily violations to participate in public and private life. It should be unacceptable that section 28 of our constitution, which guarantees inherent dignity to everyone, should be suspended when it comes to Kenyan women. It should be unacceptable that women’s bodies are considered available for men’s use and consumption. It should be unacceptable that we mute women’s voices when they attempt to assert their rights to dignity and bodily integrity.

Kenyan author and activist Shailja Patel has said, “Our bodies are our first homes. If we are not safe in our bodies, we are always homeless.”

Kenya is full of homeless women, unhomed by official parliamentary discussions, unhomed by misogynist radio shows, unhomed by public spaces full of unwanted touch by strangers, unhomed in private spaces full of unwanted touch by friends and acquaintances, unhomed by a country that discusses women as property.

At the heart of Grace Ogot’s “The White Veil” is a simple sentence: “She felt helpless.” Let’s pledge to make this sentence unthinkable.

ALLEGED SEXUAL VIOLENCE COMMITTED BY TONY MOCHAMA UPON THE PERSON OF SHAILJA PATEL

Date: Thursday September 25

Contact: Ann Njogu, Chair, CREAW, Centre for Rights, Education and Awareness for Women
Mobile: 0722 768 381
http://www.creawkenya.org

On Saturday September 20th, Standard Group columnist Mr. Tony Mochama is alleged to have committed an indecent act upon the person of poet and activist Shailja Patel, at a gathering in the home of Professor Wambui Mwangi in Spring Valley, Nairobi.

Today at 12 noon, Ms. Patel filed a police report at Spring Valley Police Station. She was accompanied by her lawyer Ann Njogu, Chair of CREAW (Centre for Rights, Education and Awareness for Women), high Court Advocate Betty Kaari Murungi, Executive Director of COVAW Joan Nyanyuki, representatives from FIDA, and friends and supporters.

Ms. Patel had previously stated that she would seek restorative community justice rather than engaging the judicial system. Following consultation with civil society colleagues and consideration of all parties involved, she decided to file a police report for the following reasons.

1) To facilitate the need for corroboration, substantiation, triangulation.

2) To support the decades of work of Kenya’s women’s movement has spent to improve reporting procedures for SGBV survivors.

3) To move forward policy and practice on on sexual violence in public life on the basis of evidence.

4) The women’s movement has fought hard and long for sexual violence to be treated like the crime that it is. We must uphold that struggle by being as rigorous as possible when we make our claims and the demands thereof.

Ms. Patel said:

“Each time a man sexually harasses or assaults a woman with no consequences, he is emboldened to repeat and escalate that behaviour. It becomes a pattern. Sexual predators are not born; they are the product of patriarchies and rape cultures that teach men they are entitled to the bodies of all women.

“When a man invades a woman’s body space without her invitation, touches, grabs and gropes her without her consent, he violates her sovereignty of person. He evicts her from her own body. Our bodies are our first homes. If we are not safe in our bodies, we are always homeless.

“Let us stand with all victims and survivors of sexual harassment and sexual assault. Let us create a society where sexual violence is unknown.”

Whither Justice?

On Saturday, September 20, Mr. Tony Mochama, a columnist with Kenya’s Standard Group, Secretary of PEN Kenya, and holder of a Morland Writing Scholarship, sexually assaulted a woman during a gathering of Kenyan and international poets. Mr. Mochama is a well-known figure in Kenya’s literary circles: he has hosted open mics, promotes literary culture in his work for PEN Kenya, and travels abroad regularly as an ambassador for Kenyan literature. Beyond his own accomplishments and labor, Mr. Mochama represents us. An us that encompasses all Kenyan literary workers, cultural producers, and cultural administrators. Quite simply: he is one of Kenya’s faces.

What are we to do when one of our collective faces commits sexual assault? How do we face that aspect of ourselves?

Kenyan philosopher John Mbiti argued that the African sense of self could be found in the formulation, “I am because we are.” Extrapolating from Mbiti, we can say that the self, the individual, exists within multiple networks and embeddings, all of which provide legibility, livability, and, most importantly, produce and demand ethical orientations. More simply: what injures one of us, injures us all.

If the damage is not only to the poet Mr. Mochama assaulted—who must not be forgotten—but also to our collective sense of self, how are we to address this assault? How can we take collective responsibility and imagine forms of accountability that produce a more ethical “we”?

If, in his role as PEN Kenya’s secretary, Mr. Mochama travels to Kenya’s schools, who are we sending to those schools? If, in his role as a Morland Writing Scholar, Mr. Mochama represents African writing, who are we saying represents African writing? If, in his role as a columnist for the Standard Group, Mr. Mochama publishes articles, who are we saying writes us and circulates among us?

Quite simply, if Mr. Mochama is the mirror we look into to see our faces, what faces are we seeing? And are those the faces we want to see?

I have used a collective we to emphasize the role of community accountability. As “advanced and theorized by Incite! Women of Color Against Violence,”

Community accountability is a community-based strategy, rather than a police/prison-based strategy, to address violence within our communities. Community accountability is a process which a community – a group of friends, a family, a church, a workplace, an apartment complex, a neighborhood, etc – work together to do the following things :

Create and affirm VALUES AND PRACTICES that resist abuse and oppression and encourage safety, support, and accountability

Provide SAFETY AND SUPPORT to community members who are violently targeted that RESPECTS THEIR SELF-DETERMINATION

Develop sustainable strategies to ADDRESS COMMUNITY MEMBERS’ ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, creating a process for them to account for their actions and transform their behavior.

Commit to ongoing development of all members of the community, and the community itself, to TRANSFORM THE POLITICAL CONDITIONS that reinforce oppression and violence.

Community Accountability refuses to privatize relations of damage—a privatization that happens when damage is framed as a relationship between assaulter, assault victim, and police-state mechanisms. Community Accountability acknowledges that damage is never private, that it is embedded within historical, cultural, and ideological frameworks. And it seeks to unmake those frameworks that make damage not only ordinary, but also inevitable.

And, so, this is a call: if you are reading this, will you help unmake the frameworks that make sexual assault not only ordinary, but also inevitable in Kenya and elsewhere?

two places

Kangemi and Westgate are roughly equidistant from my house, though Kangemi is a shade closer.

A few weeks ago, as the school term was starting, the Nairobi government arrived in Kangemi at 3 a.m., destroyed the local market, and, in the process, a bulldozer crushed a man to death. I do not know this man’s name. This man’s death was not pronounced a national or even local tragedy.

Around midday last Saturday, a number of people took Westgate Mall hostage. They shot many people, released some, and held the Mall hostage for 4 days, as Kenya’s elite forces, aided by other countries, attempted to regain control of the Mall and, by implication, the country. Thus far, approximately 90 million shillings has been raised to support recovery efforts.
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Following the Kangemi demolitions, many Kangemi residents protested the government’s actions. They blocked roads, set tires on fire, raged and mourned. They mourned that their lives were so disposable; they raged that their livelihoods had no value. With very few exceptions, Kenya remained silent. These were not lives worth valuing. A death in Kangemi is not worth mourning.

Reports indicate that president Uhuru Kenyatta was personally affected by Westgate—a nephew and his fiancée were killed. Photographs from Westgate have traveled across the world. We know names and faces and occupations and relationships.
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Who will grieve with the mourners?
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For the past few months, I have been thinking about disposability, about its reach and grasp and ever-expanding power. And while I continue to learn from Judith Butler about whose lives are grievable, about who is deemed worth grieving, thinking about disposability leads me to ask about killability.

To be disposable is to be ungrievable. Not to merit grief or thought. We have other words for this: acceptable losses, collateral damage. Yet, disposability is not passive, not simply a category into which we place the ungrievable. Instead, it is a hungry logic and practice. It becomes ever-more voracious as it eats.
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For years now, rumors have circulated that, like the Kangemi market, Westgate Mall is an illegitimate structure, that it should be torn down.
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The question of whose lives are grievable is not about withholding grief, saving it for those usually deemed ungrievable. Instead, it is about the possibilities of radical vulnerability.
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Radical vulnerability is debilitating. It saps energy and will. It is exhausting.
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Kangemi is forgotten. Another eyesore destroyed.
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To hold Kangemi and Westgate together.
To imagine Kangemi and Westgate together.

Shrinking

Become smaller.
And smaller
More.
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Fear works to contain bodies within social space through the way it shrinks the body. – Sara Ahmed

Fear works to expand the mobility of some bodies and contain others.
-Sara Ahmed
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I have been afraid to use “ICC indictees.”
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Pay attention to fear.
Pay attention to shrinking away.
Pay attention to contractions.
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We are playing.

“I’m Shirley Temple
With
Curly, Curly Hair”
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Irritated, we snap at each other. There is “something” not quite right.
Now we name as “something” that thing we once named during the day.
The KPTJ Report is hidden from view.
Do Not Look At This!
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“Milk Hawkers” are shut down.
The President owns one of the largest milk companies in the country.
We can’t say this.
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Power is openly contemptuous.
Power despises “the people.”
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The president discusses title deeds.
One of Kenya’s largest land owners discusses giving away 50×100 plots.

Crumbs.
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Be grateful for crumbs.
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Shrink.
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Don’t Speak.
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Whisper.
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A cowed media sycofantasizes
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We celebrate ever-receding freedom

Peace and Justice for PEV Victims

Who are the victims of Kenya’s Post-election violence (PEV)? And what would it mean to secure “justice” for them? What would “justice” look like, feel like, taste like, sound like? The farther away we’ve moved from the PEV, the more distant these questions have become. Justice, we have learned, has something to do with the law and legal arguments and lawyers’ abilities to argue and counter-argue. Justice, we have learned, is about the time of the argument—collecting evidence, verifying it, evaluating witnesses, intimidating them, diplomatic negotiations, diplomatic failures, winning elections, losing elections, blaming victims, victimizing blame. Justice, it seems, has very little to do with people to whom specific things happened.

As with 9/11, in which every U.S. resident, citizen or not, was deemed injured and subsequently recruited to participated in the surveillance state—if you see something, say something—the PEV has been used to recruit Kenyans as infinitely vulnerable, woundable subjects, whose task is to build armor, or, more precisely, don Kevlar vests that prevent such wounding. In the years since the PEV, those of us who experienced the violence from a distance have been made proximal through exhibitions and stories, traumatized by our second-hand experiences. While I do not want to minimize the labor of witness and exhibition, I wonder what happens when we claim a trauma equal to those who witnessed their loved ones killed in brutal ways.

What does it mean to claim we are all victims of the PEV?

Even those accused of aiding and abetting the violence, the ICC 3, describe themselves as political victims of the violence. They merit as much prayer—with anointing oil—as those whose families and friends died under brutal conditions. The pain of the political class is always much more significant than the wananchi’s. And in an even more recent twist, we are told that the real victims are, variously, African sovereignty, African dignity, Kenya, and Kenyan masculinity.
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News arrives that 93 witnesses for the ICC have withdrawn from the case. That is, 93 victims of PEV violence have withdrawn. Their reported statement is heartbreaking:

“The utterances of the prosecution against our government threatens the process of national healing and reconciliation. Our peaceful coexistence as a community is much more important.”

Is “our government” the same as “Our . . . community”? And what does it mean to understand oneself as an obstruction to “national healing and reconciliation”? It’s worth remembering that PEV victims have been actively constructed as undeserving criminals for the past few years: lazy, unmotivated, liars, and cheats. The burst of sympathy and goodwill from early 2008 has been transformed to disgust and contempt. We have been taught to regard PEV victims as irritants who are holding us back, as incarnating a “bad time” that was a “little mistake” when “passions were inflamed.”

And we have been told that anything is worth doing (silencing, suppressing, repressing, arresting, disappearing) to maintain peace. At a moment when peace increasingly means not irritating those in power.