Democracy

by Condoleezza Rice

  As Moi began his pitch, he seemed to be leaning the wrong way. His eyes darted back and forth, staring at each of us as he recited the old slogans about ethnic tensions in his country and how the next election might exacerbate them. The implication was clear, though he didn’t actually say it: Moi wanted to run again because he was the best man to unify Kenyans. His country needed him.

  The president told him flatly to step down. “Everyone’s time comes to leave office. When the American people are done with me, I’ll go back to Texas, proud to have served but glad to be an ordinary citizen again. You need to go home to your children and grandchildren,” he said.

  Moi was clearly unhappy with the message, but he seemed to understand that time was up. When the two men met again three months later on the sidelines of the United Nations General Assembly in New York, the Kenyan was ready to do the right thing. It was, after all, not just the president of the United States who thought it was time for him to go. His people were ready for a change too.

  Moi stepped aside, and on December 29 of that year, Mwai Kibaki, only seven years the president’s junior, was elected. Uhuru Kenyatta, the son of the country’s founder and Moi’s handpicked successor, conceded the next day. The transition was relatively smooth.

  Kenya’s Hard Road to Democracy

  That day had been a long time coming for Kenya. For forty years—from independence in 1963 to the watershed election of 2002—the Kenyan people struggled against authoritarian rule.

  The struggle actually went back even further. The British East Africa Protectorate was formed in 1895, with white settlers arriving shortly thereafter. The British government appointed a Legislative Council to represent the settler community in 1906, and the first elected representatives were selected by six thousand settlers in 1919.1 A British governor was appointed in 1920 and the protectorate was turned into a colony, now known as Kenya.

  The system stayed in place until the upheaval of World War II stirred Africans across the continent to seek independence. Jomo Kenyatta, widely viewed as the father of modern Kenya, became the head of the Kenya African Union in 1944 and the voice of the people’s political push for sovereignty. He, together with Patrice Lumumba of Congo, Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, Julius Nyerere of Tanzania, Félix Houphouët-Boigny of Côte d’Ivoire, and others, was a powerful advocate for an end to colonialism. These leaders mobilized public opinion across the world to support their cause.

  This political movement was essential, but in Kenya the British were also pressed by some of the most violent resistance activities on the continent. A secret group of fighters from the Kikuyu tribe, known as the Mau Mau, carried out a campaign against white settlers for four years, from 1952 to 1956. The Mau Mau rebellion cost fourteen thousand Africans and a hundred or so Europeans their lives.2 The British eventually declared a state of emergency and crushed the guerrillas by force. Kenyatta, despite no direct connection to the rebellion, was tried, arrested, and imprisoned for nine years.

  But London’s appetite for maintaining its colonial possessions across Africa and Asia was waning. The United Kingdom had been flattened economically by World War II and was yielding global leadership to the United States. The sun was indeed setting on the British Empire.

  Kenya’s First Democratic Opening

  In March 1960, the British laid down a framework for a transition to Kenyan independence under majority rule. The Legislative Council, which had been created to allow white settlers to govern themselves, was to be given over to a narrow African majority, though there were seats reserved for Asians and Europeans.3 The Kenya African National Union (KANU) and the Kenyan African Democratic Union (KADU) were formed as political parties on the eve of independence. Kenya held multiparty elections for the first time in February 1961, and then again in May 1963. KANU won both decisively. Kenyatta became prime minister, leading the transition to independence six months later.

  The institutional landscape of Kenya at the birth of the new nation looked promising. The country carried out multiparty elections to the legislature and Kenyatta was a revered civilian leader and a strong figure to unify Kenya’s many ethnic groups. Unlike nearly all other newly independent African states, Kenya would never experience a successful military coup d’état.4

  But the external trappings were deceiving. Kenya was and is a country with deep tribal fissures. Its tribes are not tightly knit clans in isolated areas. They are more like ethnic groups that share distinctive cultural, linguistic, and historical roots. Some groups are predominant in certain towns and neighborhoods, but they are generally dispersed throughout the country and the population is mixed. Kenyatta, who became Kenya’s first president, was a Kikuyu. Moi, his vice president and successor, was a Kalenjin. Although they accounted for only a third of Kenya’s population, these two tribes have always wielded outsized political influence.

  Ethnic Group: Kikuyu

  Percent: 22%

  Key Figures: Jomo Kenyatta, Mwai Kibaki, Uhuru Kenyatta

  Ethnic Group: Luhya

  Percent: 14%

  Key Figures: Michael Kijana Wamalwa

  Ethnic Group: Luo

  Percent: 13%

  Key Figures: Oginga Odinga, Raila Odinga

  Ethnic Group: Kalenjin

  Percent: 12%

  Key Figures: Daniel arap Moi

  Ethnic Group: Kamba

  Percent: 11%

  Ethnic Group: Other African

  Percent: 27%

  Ethnic Group: Non-African

  Percent: 1%

  Source: “Kenya,” CIA World Factbook, https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/ke.html.

  The country’s demographics drove two institutional debates that conditioned Kenya’s road ahead for years to come. One was the question of federalism—how much devolution of power to the regions was appropriate. The centralized state was seen by some as a safeguard against tribalism and the epitome of Kenyan unity. But others saw the strong state as a stand-in for tribal dominance by the Kikuyu, the largest group. The second related question, over the power of the presidency, reflected deep suspicions that any institution was just a cover for tribal and personal loyalties. And, indeed, leaders repeatedly appealed to the streets—speaking of one Kenya but falling back easily on tribal politics in the hardest of times.

  The End of Multiparty Rule

  Kenyatta did not tolerate dissent for very long. Five months after independence, the government banned public meetings. KADU, the rival political party, was effectively absorbed into KANU, as member after member saw no other choice but to defect.5 The new government was left without formal opposition. In December 1964, the position of prime minister was abolished and Kenyatta became president. His longtime ally, Oginga Odinga, was named vice president, only to resign that position two years later and create the Kenyan People’s Union (KPU). The expressed purpose of the KPU was to oppose the Western orientation of the country and move leftward toward class struggle and state ownership of the economy.

  Political parties were losing relevance, however, sidelined by an increasingly centralized state under an increasingly authoritarian president. The Senate was abolished, and the unicameral National Assembly was dominated by Kenyatta’s allies. When Kenyatta died in office in 1978, Moi, his vice president, succeeded him. The next year, Moi ran unopposed. In June 1982, he declared Kenya a one-party state, formalizing the reality of politics in the country for more than a decade.

  For the next ten years, Kenya experienced outbreaks of ethnic conflict, economic stagnation, and unsustainable debt to well-meaning foreign donors. The dependence on foreign assistance, however, gave the international community leverage to push for change in support of a Kenyan populace fed up with the state of affairs. By the late 1980s, the economy had stalled. Then it began to contract. GDP per capita was only $382 in 1988, but it declined further, to $366 in 1990, and $328 in 1992.6 Meanwhile, inflation continued to rise. Facing economic crisis, the Kenyan regime sought to reach agreement with the
IMF and the World Bank for continued economic support. The “Washington consensus,” as it was known at the time, required countries seeking assistance to take painful steps, including cutting budget deficits, privatizing industries, devaluing currencies, and tackling corruption.7

  In Kenya’s case, the United States agreed to forgive $44.7 million in loans immediately and another $130 million over two years if the government abided by the requirements of the IMF/World Bank program.8 This was part of a larger plan to forgive $735 million owed by twelve sub-Saharan African countries. Unfortunately, the rulers of these nations were in many cases more concerned with personal glory than with performing for their people. In Kenya, for example, the government was insistently pursuing plans for a $200 million, sixty-story skyscraper that would have been Africa’s tallest commercial building. The leaders relented and downsized the project only after coming under criticism from the World Bank and donor countries.

  The pressure to reform economically would slowly bleed into concerns about the political system. As much as the two are theoretically separable, economic and political institutions do affect one another. But precisely how they interact is a matter of debate. Some have argued that economic reform should be the priority. Democracy is messy, with veto-wielding groups and noisy constituencies that make tough choices untenable: better to liberalize the political system after a country can deliver basic goods and comforts to the people. Support for this view could be found in the stories of the Asian Tigers from Taiwan to South Korea, which built a sound economic foundation and have since become stable democracies.

  The alternative view is that many of the ills that limit economic progress can be addressed only through political reform. Law is arbitrary in authoritarian regimes because power rests in too few hands. Corruption is hard to deal with when it is practiced by the leaders and their cronies. And until there is some modicum of free thought and expression, the most capable and creative citizens will seek to live where those liberties exist. In this narrative, some of the Asian Tigers are the exception to the rule, not the other way around.

  Those who were faced with this question in confronting the Kenyan regime were largely of the latter view. The degree to which international players insisted on political and not just economic reform is remarkable and a successful example of “democracy promotion.” But importantly, the international pressure was supporting powerful domestic forces that were determined to be heard.

  Moi’s stranglehold on power was slowly eroded as political and economic conditions fostered the emergence of counterbalancing forces in Kenya’s institutional landscape. Aided by the regime’s abysmal economic performance, opponents were able to highlight Moi’s failed policies and brutal repression of opposition. They championed a multiparty system as an antidote to Kenya’s ills.

  At first the president stood fast, opening a session of the parliament in February 1990 with a resounding rejection of political change. “Kenyans are not opposed to the multiparty system because of ideological reason or designs by those in leadership to impose their will on the people. What we have said is that until our society has become cohesive enough so that tribalism is of no significance… the strategy of a mass-based democratic and accountable one-party system is best,” he said.9

  Of course, the party was neither democratic nor accountable. And though ethnic cleavages were most certainly present in Kenya, they were widely viewed as a convenient excuse to ward off change. Former members of the president’s own cabinet, Charles Rubia and Kenneth Matiba, fired the first salvo with calls for a transition to multiparty politics. They were quickly arrested but could not be silenced. Thousands of supporters gathered to demand their release, leading to mass rioting. Scores of people died. And despite Moi’s personal order to muzzle the press, the events were fully covered.

  Gibson Kamau Kuria, an opposition lawyer representing Rubia and Matiba, sought asylum at the U.S. embassy, causing an outcry from the government against “unwarranted interference in Kenya’s affairs.”10 Arrests of opposition leaders escalated, but the crisis didn’t abate. Events then followed a familiar cycle in challenges to autocratic regimes: Repression led to further protests, which led to further repression and more protests. With each successive round the regime became more isolated and illegitimate.

  A central question in democratic transitions is whether the opposition can organize effectively to take advantage of an opening. In Kenya, the key institutional elements were rapidly emerging to do just that: the press that refused to be silenced; civil society groups, particularly human rights lawyers defending prisoners; a business community that championed change; and charismatic leaders, who spoke out from jail cells and the underground. Prominent Luo leader Oginga Odinga summed up the situation in a widely publicized letter to the president: “The message that Kenyans are sending you is they are tired and dissatisfied with your leadership.”11

  The opponents of the regime adopted a strategy for the next eighteen months calibrated to stay technically within the law. Initially, in February 1991, Oginga Odinga formed an opposition party (the National Democratic Party) dedicated to ending the constitutional requirement of a one-party state. He was, of course, unable to register NDP. But within months, he and his allies announced the formation of a different organization, the Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD), calling it a lobby group instead of a political party. Historians have noted that the name was designed to echo the Civic Forum movement in Czechoslovakia and East Germany.12 That effort had incubated the opposition that eventually helped to bring down communist regimes in Eastern Europe.

  Nonetheless, the designation that skirted the legal issue didn’t provide protection from the regime. When FORD attempted a rally in November, armed riot police officers fired tear gas and used batons to disperse the demonstrators. Five leaders of the opposition were arrested as they drove to the meeting place. A total of twelve opposition leaders were jailed.

  Kenyans—thanks to domestic press coverage—and the international community angrily watched events unfold. The regime’s brutal behavior drew rebukes from across the globe, most importantly from donor nations. At a November meeting, twelve governments, including the United States, Britain, Japan, and others, threatened major aid cuts within six months if Kenya did not improve its performance on human rights and make economic and political reforms. Shortly before the announcement, the Kenyan foreign minister called the U.S. ambassador a racist in a news conference, saying, “I have told the U.S. ambassador that the Kenyan government is very unhappy with his personal behavior, that he is an arrogant man with contempt for Africans, his attitude is that of a slave owner, and he has no respect even for the head of state.”13 The attempt to play the race card made the regime seem even more desperate. It was, after all, Kenyans who had lost respect for the head of state.

  Under intense pressure, in December 1991, Moi finally announced that he intended to revise the constitution to allow political opposition to operate legally. An amendment was introduced a few days later and came into effect. But Moi left no doubt about the reasons for his change of heart. “It is because of the Western media set against us, because of the economic setting today. The trend of the world economies is being controlled by developed countries, and I didn’t want my people to be hammered and bothered for a long time.… Don’t you ever believe that multipartyism will produce stability in Africa. It will never.”14

  For a while it appeared that he was right. The country was hit with wave after wave of ethnic violence. And, indeed, much of it stemmed from the tribal underpinnings of the political forces. Members of the opposition belonged largely to the Luo, the second-largest tribe in the country. The Kikuyu, the most populous group, made clear that it would vote along ethnic lines. And the president’s own tribe, the Kalenjin, used the moment to settle grievances and seize fertile farmland in the Rift Valley. Non-Kalenjin farmers abandoned their land, leading to cuts in food production. In a matter of months, ethnic conclaves were hardening, with
the tribes determined to defend themselves and exact revenge on others.

  By the spring of 1992, the New York Times reported, “for the first time since independence from Britain nearly 30 years ago, fierce ethnic violence has raised the specter of civil war in Kenya.… Bodies were still being found today in bushes… and in houses after a wave of killings, burnings and terror by Kalenjin warriors.… Some who ventured back to retrieve their belongings… escaped death only by following orders… to chant an oath in support of the Kalenjin-dominated Government.”15

  The political system fractured further when FORD split along ethnic lines. Odinga, a Luo from western Kenya, led one faction and Matiba, a Kikuyu, headed the other. Mwai Kibaki, also Kikuyu, took the reins of the Democratic Party. Despite their mutual opposition to Moi, the two largest tribes remained wary of one another, always concerned that the other would gain the upper hand in the battle for political power.

  In this chaotic environment, it is not surprising that the country’s first multiparty elections in December 1992 failed. Moi took advantage of the opposition’s disarray and won the contest, which was widely regarded as tainted by cheating and vote rigging. The opposition refused to accept the outcome. Moi ignored them, governing with an iron fist over a decaying economy and a badly fractured country.

  But the calls for democracy did not end. Over the next five years, student protests, outcry from the Roman Catholic Church, and international condemnation pressured the regime. Events reached a crescendo on July 7, 1997, when riot policemen crushed pro-democracy rallies across the country. Two days later, the regime closed five university campuses in the Nairobi area, hoping to quell student activism.