In an earlier phase of my career in journalism, I had the responsibility for selecting and editing opinion columns sent in by the public in the hope that these might be published in The Star.
There are two rather weird patterns that I remember from those days.
First is that there are plenty of Kenyans who have something to say and will explain their views very well in writing – well enough to be allocated space in the Op-Ed pages.
But a majority of such Kenyans, having once seen their articles published, seem to somehow have “got it off their chest” and thereafter generally never write again, even if encouraged to do so. At best they might send in one or two more Op-Eds, and then stop writing for publication completely.
That was puzzling enough. But even more puzzling, is that very few of such Op-Ed columns ever had a positive take on the flow of events within the country.
I would guess that the main theme of as many as 90 per cent of those articles sent in by readers (that is to say contributors who were not contracted by the newspaper to write regularly) could be summarised as “the country is going to the dogs”.
And it would be safe to say that other than writers who openly identified with the government of the day, or with the leaders in the opposition, most Kenyans offering a piece of political analysis to a newspaper, were moved by outrage and a feeling that evil days had come upon the republic.
As if that were not enough, it is precisely those doomsayers’ articles that were invariably the most widely read, and the most enthusiastically commented on, in the online edition. Yet rarely was this pessimism ever supported by facts.
So how do we explain this odd attitude?
Well partly, I would say that this contradictory attitude has its root in a certain well-established pattern of Kenyan politics. This is that for four years between elections, Kenyans are consumed with discussions on “issues”.
And while such issues are being discussed, any Kenyan government is bound to look bad. For there is invariably some corruption scandal to infuriate the public, or some absurd acts of incompetence from within the Cabinet or among the principal secretaries.
But then comes the fifth year and with it, a general election. And suddenly those very Kenyans who had been so eloquent in their criticism of the government – if it becomes clear that their regional support is aligned with the very government they have been abusing – quietly take their place behind their tribal chief and whichever political coalition he belongs to.
Apparently, here in Kenya, incompetence and corruption are only unforgivable if those responsible are from a rival tribal group.
However, that is only part of the explanation. A further dimension of this may well be simply that Kenyans have grown weary of seeing their hopes dashed by the leaders who promise so much and deliver so little. And they have come to expect the worst of their leaders – even as they cheer them at public rallies or line up to vote for them on election day.
When Mwai Kibaki was elected president in 2002, to replace the long-serving autocrat Daniel Moi, most Kenyans were delirious with joy, expecting real and fundamental change at last.
Five years later, in 2007, the country was in the grip of unprecedented election-related violence, which at one point threatened to descend into outright civil war.
During Moi’s rule, the country had never faced anything of this kind. There was election-related violence, yes. But not involving the eviction of hundreds of thousands and the murder of more than 1,000 innocents.
And general elections have since then been accompanied by some measure of violence.
Meaning that whereas under Moi, all we had to worry about was political repression and officially sanctioned corruption, now we still have those two, and have since added to it the fearful uncertainties that come with the election period.
This is surely reason enough for pessimism.
