For the sake of Sudan and its neighboring countries, which have also been destabilized, further deterioration of the situation must be avoided. To end the crisis in Darfur, mediation must focus on power and resource sharing between the parties now locked in conflict. Mediators must be trusted by both sides and, given all the suspicion and recrimination in evidence, not appear to be biased.
In Juba, southern Sudan, we saw encouraging signs of post-conflict restoration: the approximately thirty women's groups we met with were very active, although anxious for a resolution of the conflict in Darfur and worried that the 2005 comprehensive settlement between north and south that ended Sudan's long civil war wasn't being fully honored. While they were happy to have peace, they felt the political commitment by the government in Khartoum was shaky, particularly along the transitional border between the two parts of the country. If the peace agreement didn't hold, they indicated, the possibility existed that Sudan would once again be engulfed in a ruinous civil war; the soldiers and the weapons are still there.
Throughout southern Sudan urgent work is being undertaken to reestablish functioning systems of governance and to provide basic services and new opportunities for the southern Sudanese people. It is still a very poor region, struggling to move forward. However, the land around Juba is not a desert, but rather green and fertile. Possibilities exist for new agricultural initiatives as well as rehabilitation of degraded land. One government official stated that she would like to plant at least a million trees.
Our time in Chad provided a very different story. There we encountered desperation among the Darfurian women we met who had, with their children, fled attacks by the Janjaweed militia. When I inquired why they thought the Janjaweed would seek to kill them when they, too, were Muslims, they replied: “The Janjaweed are doing this because they are not practicing the correct Koran.” When we asked why the government would attack them when they too were its citizens, they responded that it was because of their ethnicity. They may not have understood that it was water and land that were being fought over. None mentioned oil, which is also said to be in the ground in Darfur.
These women refugees were very unhappy with the AU, which they said was against them. The woman who served as spokesperson for the others said they wanted justice.
We discovered that complicating the situation in Sudan even further was a difficult history between the southern Sudanese and the Darfurians. During the north-south civil war, some Darfurians joined the government's forces in attacks on the southerners, who unlike most people in the north and west of Sudan are Christians. As a result, some in southern Sudan are ambivalent about the Darfurians' resistance to the central government, a resistance that has gotten more pronounced as the conflict has dragged on and the antigovernment factions in Darfur have splintered and, in some cases, begun fighting each other—another case of divide and rule.
Another challenge to peace in the region appeared to be that the Zaghawa micro-nation, which is dominant in Darfur and is the object of the Janjaweed attacks, is also present in Chad. The Chadian president, Idriss Déby, is a Zaghawa. We were told by various people during our trip that the rivalry between the leaders in the two neighboring countries was also fueling the conflict—with militias on both sides of the border being supported by the rivals. At stake in each country is access to oil, much coveted by the international community.
Our delegation expressed its concern about the practice of extracting resources from the region, and indeed all of Africa, in exchange for weapons (and the money to buy them) that fuel conflicts and are the cause of untold suffering. We called upon the international community—particularly those who do business directly with African governments and consider themselves friends of the continent—to cease supplying weapons and work instead to build sustainable peace, human security, and real development to benefit all the people of Africa. The mission made clear to me that to end these regional conflicts and create cultures of peace, leadership from African nations is essential, along with the full support of the international community. In addition, those countries that are truly friends of Africa will pursue a relationship that is less exploitative and that encourages respect for human rights and the protection of women and children.
The trip also showed me that bringing peace and reconciliation to areas of conflict in Africa will not be easy. When leaders are not only fighting among themselves, but are also undermining each other across borders, the challenges Africa is facing come into sharp relief. What the mission also brought home to me is that many of the continent's conflicts were, and appear still to be, based on political jealousies and competition between heads of states and micro-nations, and those trying to replace them. In so many cases, the antagonists were not willing to come together to share power, but instead would fight to the death, taking thousands of members of their micro-nation with them. I had already seen how volatile that mixture was closer to home in my own country of Kenya.
THE CASE OF THE 2007 KENYAN ELECTIONS
On December 27, 2007, millions of Kenyans lined up peacefully outside polling stations around the country to vote in the general election. These elections, coming five years after those held in 2002, were keenly anticipated throughout the country. Most observers and participants agreed that they would confirm that, after the 2002 elections had proven free and fair, Kenya was on the path of real democracy. The country had a government elected by and accountable to all Kenyans—and not to a small elite, particular ethnic group, specific class of businessperson, or landowner. While some sporadic violence had broken out in the run-up to the polling, on the day of voting itself the mood among the electorate was relatively upbeat.
Preelection opinion polls suggested a very close race between the incumbent president, Mwai Kibaki, and the main challenger, Raila Odinga. In 2002, Kibaki and Odinga had joined forces and, with other opposition leaders, had forged the National Rainbow Coalition (NARC), which won a momentous victory over the Kenya African National Union (KANU), the party of Kenya's longtime president, Daniel arap Moi. The fact that many of the country's different micro-nations had come together to bring an end to a discredited regime by democratic means, and that the elections themselves were conducted in a positive, even joyful, atmosphere, led me and others to anticipate the possibility that 2002 might finally be when Kenya turned a page on the negative, competitive politics between the micro-nations that supported those in power and those who sought a more democratic system of governance.
After the 2002 elections, many Kenyans looked forward to an honest and critical debate on reforming our constitution. We could finally provide ourselves with a truly representative government, with powers devolved from the president to a prime minister and sufficient checks and balances to make the abuse of authority less likely and governance more transparent. I was also eager to see Kenyans grapple seriously with the issues facing them—issues the Green Belt Movement and civil society had been working on for a quarter century.
Nevertheless, as I reflected at the end of my autobiography, Unbowed, I knew that the simple exercising of the vote would not provide the panacea for Kenya's ills. “Even as I savored the peaceful exchange of power,” I wrote of December 30, 2002, the day the new government was inaugurated, “in the back of my mind lingered the knowledge of the many challenges that awaited Kenya. The years of misrule, corruption, violence, environmental mismanagement, and oppression had devastated our country. The economy was in ruins and many institutions needed rebuilding.”
Unfortunately, much of what needed to be done in the years between 2002 and 2007 was left undone, and the political honeymoon for the new government lasted barely a year. The memorandum of understanding that Mr. Kibaki and Mr. Odinga and their parties had signed to share power—a pre requisite that had been necessary for the formation of the National Rainbow Coalition itself in 2002—was not honored. Efforts to stamp out corruption were pursued halfheartedly or curtailed; attempts to reach out to the people and bring them into the de
mocratization process were thwarted.
The NARC government had undertaken to present a new constitution to the Kenyan people within a hundred days of the election. However, instead of focusing on the constitution (which had been drafted through an unprecedented process of public deliberation, but was not agreed upon), a fight ensued between personalities in the government and leaders of some of the micro-nations over the failure to honor the memorandum of understanding and devolve power. When the constitution was finally brought to the people in 2005, the referendum became, in effect, a vote on the government and the communities that supported it. In an ominous sign of things to come, the poll divided Kenyans along ethnic lines. Those in favor of the constitution (represented on the ballot paper with the symbol of a banana) were aligned with the supporters of the president. Those against the new constitution (signified by an orange) were represented by the coalition led by Raila Odinga. The “no” vote won by a wide margin.
The president responded to the loss by dismissing his entire cabinet and marginalizing those leaders who had opposed the constitution in the form in which it had been presented to the country. Out of the cabinet but still members of parliament, Raila Odinga and others established the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), a political party that provided an umbrella for the opposition. Mwai Kibaki eventually would form his own coalition, the Party of National Unity (PNU), to contest the next elections.
Given this history, everyone expected the December 2007 elections to be close. The vote would elect local counselors, members of the Kenyan National Assembly (the parliament), and the president—both the head of state and of government and a position that, under the existing constitution, wielded a substantial amount of power. In the months preceding the vote, the PNU and ODM positions had hardened. Although each party drew the majority of its support from specific ethnic groups—in the case of PNU, the Kikuyus and the Merus; in the case of ODM, the Luos and the Kalenjins—the election was not only about supporting leaders of one's own ethnic bloc. It was also about the devolution of power and equitable distribution of national resources.
As it happened, the contest was the closest since Kenya gained its independence; it also became one of the most bitter. When parliamentary results began to come in to the Electoral Commission of Kenya (ECK) headquarters in Nairobi, they were quickly and publicly announced. The presidential vote, however, was another story. Surveys taken in the days before the contest indicated that Raila Odinga was likely to prevail, and indeed, initial vote tallies showed him leading the president by a substantial margin. Throughout the night, many stalwart supporters in parliament of Mwai Kibaki lost their seats, a sign that the PNU parliamentary coalition could be going down to defeat. The ECK, however, delayed declaring a winner in the presidential contest, which stoked unease and, not long after, suspicion of foul play among voters and the Kenyan press.
Finally, two full days after the election, on Sunday, December 30, the chair of the ECK dismissed from the room where he spoke all journalists except those from state-owned media, and announced that Mwai Kibaki had won the presidency by a margin of about 230,000 votes. Shortly after, Mr. Kibaki was sworn in for a second term at State House, the president's official residence. So hurried was the ceremony that, reportedly, those present forgot to sing the national anthem.
I had already digested the news of my own defeat at the polls two days before. I had sought reelection to my seat in parliament for Tetu. That fall, I had stood with others in the equivalent of a primary to determine who would be the official candidate of the PNU, which had formed relatively late in the run-up to the election. Many of us who lost suspected, however, that the primary election had been rigged. In the belief that the ECK would oversee a more fair and transparent process, and would prevent, for example, the bribing of voters, some of us decided to present ourselves to the voters again in the December general election, to be held shortly after the primary.
In my case, I ran under the banner of the Mazingira Green Party, which I'd helped found in Kenya in the early 1990s (mazingira means “environment” in Kiswahili). The reasons for the launching of Mazingira were to promote “green” values and greater environmental consciousness and also to introduce the country to the concept of having a political party with an ideology. In Kenya, as in much of Africa, the political culture is one in which parties generally don't have specific ideologies, even though they have manifestos (party platforms). Some parties are nothing but vehicles for particular individuals to participate in elections. I felt it was important to stick with Mazingira rather than do what was customary—to switch parties when politically expedient. Because of the lack of ideology governing most parties, changing parties is not generally considered an issue. However, as a Kikuyu, I was expected to follow the party of Mr. Kibaki, who was, along with being president, the leader of the Kikuyu micro-nation. Staying with the Mazingira Green Party was, therefore, viewed as unforgivable by my constituents.
There were other reasons why I was punished at the polls. Even though I felt I had served my constituents to the best of my ability, I had insisted that it would be dishonest for Mr. Kibaki not to honor the 2002 memorandum of understanding. Then, in 2005, when the constitution was put to a referendum, I again urged the president not to hold the vote. It seemed to me bad policy to impose a constitution on the people, and I thought that, far from uniting Kenyans, the referendum would split the country down the middle along ethnic lines. However, as far as the Kikuyus I represented in my constituency were concerned, it was important that the president, a favorite son, be supported, right or wrong.
Some of my constituents were also unhappy because, when the president named the new cabinet following the constitutional referendum, and I was reappointed as assistant minister for the environment and natural resources, a position I had held since 2003, I declined to take up the post. All the cabinet ministers who opposed the constitution during the referendum had been dismissed, and I had urged that the president talk with the opposition members rather than exile them from the government. It was obvious that they represented a large public voice, and they deserved to be listened to. I indicated that I would take up the position when such a dialogue had been undertaken, and warned that failure to do this would increase divisions in the country that were already getting wider. All of these breaches of trust, and what I considered faulty policies, were, in my opinion, driving the country toward a conflict.
In making these decisions I was seeking to promote both dialogue and good governance that would be inclusive and embrace the country's diversity. However, in doing so I disappointed my constituents, who would have preferred that I support the president no matter what justice required. My taking these positions was perceived to be undermining the micro-nation's prospects to retain the presidency. Several of my constituents told me point-blank that I should have supported the president notwithstanding the circumstances, and that they now considered me a traitor.
It is not that communities aren't capable of recognizing the effects of good or bad policies on the ground. However, the strong sense of trust that micro-nations have in their leaders often predominates. Communities may not have enough information to know that the person may be the wrong leader (that they may, indeed, be traveling in the wrong bus), and they may refuse to hear other perspectives that are critical of them. Such may have been the case in this instance.
As it turned out, my fears that the country had become polarized since the 2002 elections were proven right. In 2007 the voters of Kenya were genuinely divided. Perhaps the most tangible indication of how they had expressed themselves was that the number of MPs on the ODM party's side were many more than those on PNU's. (However, while the number of voters is, of course, a good indicator, the fact that an area had an MP did not necessarily mean that the constituency had a significant number of voters. During the previous regime a considerable amount of gerrymandering had been done in creating parliamentary constituencies, so that areas supporting Mr. Kibaki, for instance
, had heavily populated constituencies with relatively few MPs.)
Not long after Mr. Kibaki's swearing-in on December 30, 2007, several electoral commissioners revealed their doubts about the accuracy of the presidential vote tally. In my own Tetu constituency, I had already written letters to the ECK indicating that I had reasons to suspect that irregularities had taken place.
For example, the forms that tallied the votes were meant to be signed by both the returning officer at the polling station and the agents (or representatives at the polling place) of the candidates. However, some of the forms that I saw were not signed; others I never received. It was also reported that on the day of the voting some representatives of the candidates, including my own, had been asked by the local ECK official to leave the polling room. Each candidate had two representatives (agents)—one to relieve the other if they had to use the bathroom or wanted to get a cup of tea. The ECK official should have ensured that one of the candidates' representatives was at the polling station at all times so that no irregularities with the ballot boxes could occur or suspicion of such irregularities could be raised. That both representatives had been sent away at the same time left the system open to abuse. Even though these problems concerned the parliamentary vote, it did not take much to persuade me that there might well have been malpractice with the votes for local councils and the presidency as well.
The apparent manipulation of votes began at the location where they were to be tallied. The first people who knew there were discrepancies were the returning officers, who informed leaders of the opposition and government parties of their concerns. These leaders began speaking out, and as the pressure and complaints continued, suspicion increased that votes were being misappropriated. Other accusations began to pile up. For instance, it was reported that in particular districts more votes had been cast than there were eligible voters, and recorded local vote counts differed from those presented to the electoral commission.
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