I would like to return to something I have discussed before, and which I find surprisingly difficult to persuade many Kenyans to believe. This is that what determines electoral outcomes in Kenya is not some form of “tribal absolutism” - but rather the persuasive narratives that the candidates come up with.
For to believe in anything; to be willing to act; we need some kind of story to persuade us that this thing really matters.
As for our well-documented tribalism, you only need bear in mind that not even the largest tribe in Kenya – the Kikuyu, with about 22 per cent of the population – has anywhere near enough votes to elect “one of their own” to the presidency without some support from other parts of the country. This alone should make it clear enough that there is much more to this game than the raw demographics.
I think the best political narratives we have seen in recent years have been those that propelled President Mwai Kibaki to power in 2002, and then kept him there in 2007.
So let us ask: When Kibaki swept into power on his historic landslide win in 2002, what did the many from across the country really believe they were voting for? What exactly convinced them that their vote was important?
First, I would say the idea was that this elderly gentleman would preside over what we may call a “collegial ruling elite” – something almost like what is found in Switzerland, where the Swiss Federal Council serves as the collective executive head of government and of state.
It may not have been described in those very words, but most Kenyans definitely believed they were voting for something of that kind. The prospect of having the iron rule of one man (President Daniel Moi) replaced with the rule of a team of “regionally balanced” leaders was more or less irresistible to many Kenyans who had endured decades of misrule under Moi.
As it turned out, Kibaki proved only too willing to exercise - singlehandedly - the powers that the old constitution gave him. And come the 2007 election, there was no question of his successfully campaigning on the promise of collegial leadership.
But in the meantime, Kibaki had engineered a major economic revival: and so we had a change from the 2002 slogan “Kibaki tosha (which translates broadly to “Kibaki can get the job done)” to the 2007 “Kibaki: Kazi Iendelee (which translates roughly to “Let Kibaki continue the good work he has started”).
This was not bad as far as such narratives go. But the counter-narrative cooked up by his principal rival Raila Odinga - the accusation that the Kikuyu had “eaten alone” – was potent enough to neutralise the visible benefits of Kibaki’s first term in office.
Now let us consider the narratives currently at play, as we head into the uninhibited campaign period leading to the 2017 general election. As far as I can tell, at this point neither of the two main political players have come up with a winning narrative.
The Jubilee Party basically argues that theirs is the most united, inclusive and widely-supported political party in the nation. And they sneer at their opponents in Cord, as being led by a perennial loser, Raila. This falls short of being a concise and persuasive narrative. It does not answer the question, “So why should we vote for you?”
Cord’s response to this is to allege that the Jubilee government only ascended to power through a rigged election. And that once in office, many Jubilee leaders promptly raided the public purse.
Along with this are allegations that JP is a house built on sand; that it cannot successfully contain all those rival political ambitions within it; and that we may look forward to a fatal cleavage within its ranks before the next election.
This too is not persuasive. So, for the time being, we wait to see what either side will come up with, which answers this simple question: “So why should we vote for you?”