• This totally undignified scheming for more money, which our MPs engage in every so often, is but a symptom.
Not that long ago, I had a job which required me to guide and counsel would-be political pundits on how to write effective commentary.
And one point I found myself repeatedly making was that expressions of outrage are all very well. But it is not enough to unleash a stream of fury and vitriol on the politicians that have upset you. So go beyond that and try and give some kind of explanation as to why events have taken such a turn.
Explain, for example, why MPs are forever seeking to raise their emoluments.
Or why MCAs regularly hold governors hostage by refusing to pass the county budgets – unless and until funds are set aside for the MCAs pet projects, such as “benchmarking trips” to Europe.
For it is easy enough to spill out a few paragraphs of choice insults aimed at elected leaders. But it is far more useful – and offers more value to readers – to explain the dynamics of why these things happen as they do.
So, taking my own advice, I shall try and shed some light on one of the issues which has inspired the deepest outrage over the past week or so: The continuing attempts by MPs to use any means, fair or foul, to greatly increase their harvest of public funds.
I shall do so by repeating a story I once heard from a friend of mine who – almost a decade ago now – left the public service where he had a job in middle-management and joined an NGO that offered exceptionally good remunerations.
In this case, the locals had assumed that the only reason that my friend had invested in this highly conspicuous car, was that he had an intention of offering himself as a candidate for the next parliamentary election. And so, these mostly very poor villagers had come out to make their requests for support with long-overdue school fees; for help with medical bills; for the replacement of leaking roofs in schools and churches; all the usual things which villagers expect from “mheshimiwa”.
His new salary made it possible for him to acquire something he had long yearned for: A Sports Utility Vehicle. I believe it was a Toyota Prado.
He opted for a car which was being offered at a discount solely because of its colour: a bright red.
For in the Kenyan car markets, many of the buyers for such big expensive vehicles, are elected leaders and their cohorts, and their overwhelming preference is for shiny black giant SUVs, with deeply tinted windows.
Also, they would really rather have the ultimate gas guzzler – a Toyota Land Cruiser VX – if they can at all afford it.
Anyway, my friend travelled to his rural home a month or so after buying this bright red SUV. And to his immense surprise, just a few hours after his arrival there, a small group of villagers turned up at his gate and asked to speak to him.
Apparently, this big new car that he had bought had turned out to be a classic example of what behavioural scientists term “signalling”.
In this case, the locals had assumed that the only reason that my friend had invested in this highly conspicuous car, was that he had an intention of offering himself as a candidate for the next parliamentary election.
And so, these mostly very poor villagers had come out to make their requests for support with long-overdue school fees; for help with medical bills; for the replacement of leaking roofs in schools and churches; all the usual things which villagers expect from “mheshimiwa”.
In vain did my friend try to explain that he had no political ambitions.
The villagers were adamant that he must run against the sitting MP and replace that “msaliti” (traitor) who had never once been seen in the village since he won the election. But in the meantime, of course, there were all these personal problems to be addressed.
My friend later told me that listening to these extravagant expectations that were rolled out, his sympathy was almost entirely with this MP who had taken to avoiding his constituents.
Bearing this perspective in mind, I believe many will agree that this totally undignified scheming for more money, which our MPs engage in every so often, is but a symptom.
The actual systemic disease in our political system is that Kenyan voters expect far too much from elected leaders. They more or less demand all the benefits of a welfare state, directly from the MP’s pocket.