In the past few days, a number of outside voices have offered advice on the crisis in Kenya. “We can't just sit by,” said the chairman of the African Union, opening its annual meeting in Addis Ababa on Thursday. “If Kenya burns, there will be nothing for tomorrow.” The President of Rwanda, Paul Kagame, favours a military coup d'état. “It might not be fashionable, but in situations where institutions have lost control, I wouldn't mind such a solution.” Less draconian approaches may also work, but only if Kenya's problems are seen in a larger light.
Kenya has not been as peaceful as some suppose. In the 1950s, 50,000 people died in the Mau Mau Rebellion, a land war among the Kikuyu people, as much as a revolt against British rule. In 1969, all Africa was shocked by the assassination of Tom Mboya, one of the most inspiring politicians of his generation. In 1978, I was in Nairobi when the country's first president, Jomo Kenyatta, died, and foreigners were confined to their hotels for three days for fear of violence. To prevent a clash between the Kikuyu and their main rivals, the Luo, the ruling party chose an “interim” leader from a smaller group, the Kalenjin; Daniel Arap Moi stayed in power for 24 years.
SUPPRESSED RAGE
Since then, Kenyan leaders have fomented ethnic rivalries, often in the run-up to elections. In the western Rift Valley in 1992 and along the coast in 1997, bloodshed was widespread enough to disrupt the tourist trade. And now the grisly scenes of neighbours hacking each other to death are awakening memories of “ethnic cleansing” in Bosnia and Rwanda, and the fear of an unleashing of what Joseph Conrad called Africa's “suppressed rage.”
Conrad meant something primal and savage, and he attracted charges of racism and paternalism. But his observation may hold true in another sense. Since independence, Africans have been remarkably long-suffering and fatalistic in the face of persistently bad government. Without such patience, Africa would have been even more violent. In the 1990s, when Sierra Leone, Liberia, Zaire and Somalia were all at war, eight in 10 Africans were still living in peace. But it was a false peace.
When not plundering the public purse or worrying about paying next month's salaries, governments were buying presidential jets or paving potholes in the capitals rather than equipping rural schools and clinics, on which most of the people depended. Worse, they claimed that they were at the mercy of outside forces and did not set their own priorities. The economy was ignored. Small farmers, the source of Africa's greatest wealth, were overtaxed or exploited. Large companies were granted monopoly rights while small businesses struggled for breath, trying to keep their heads above the paperwork and the bribes. As a result, the continent lost half its foreign markets to other developing countries. Africa was the only part of the world growing steadily poorer, and its leaders were far from sharing the pain.
RISING EXPECTATIONS
But, propelled by outside pressure, new forces were at work. In 1991, a small country in West Africa became the first African state to change governments at the ballot box; Benin has had four peaceful presidential elections since then. Kenya, which had only two leaders in 39 years, waited until 2002 to do the same, but almost within months it was plain that little had changed. The new president, Mwai Kibaki, a former vice-president and minister of finance, was accustomed to the old ways. He appointed a tough anti-corruption czar, John Githongo, who submitted a report incriminating three senior ministers, but it was Mr. Githongo who suffered the consequences, leaving Kenya for Britain, for his own safety. After an outcry, the ministers were dropped from the cabinet (but not otherwise punished); two of them were reappointed last month, after the disputed elections.
