My dear brothers and sisters, fellow
members of the Kikuyu community,
I have agonized over writing this
letter for some days now knowing just what politically charged times we live in
and fearing that what I have to say may not go down well with everybody who
reads it. But after weighing carefully the pros and cons, I came to the
conclusion that what has to be said must be said even if it proves unpopular in
some quarters because ultimately it is the truth that shall set us free. And
even if we may not agree on what the truth is, we owe it to ourselves to have an
honest conversation with the hope to moving forward together towards the truth.
My fellow Kenyans of Kikuyu origin, it
is time to come and let us reason together. Indeed the time for some serious
soul-searching and deep reflection has been upon us for quite a while now. It
is time to reflect and talk honestly about our community and the place it has
occupied in Kenya’s history and continues to occupy in Kenya’s body politic.
Our community is the largest ethnic
group in Kenya, and we have produced three of the four presidents that Kenya
has had since independence. Whether we want to admit it or not, in a country of
more than 40 communities, in a country which is so ethnically polarized as ours,
in a country where resources tend to follow power, for one community to produce
three out of four presidents in over half a century of independence is a big deal.
Our community also controls a significant
part of the national economy and we are by far the most successful group from
an economic point of view. By using the word “we” I am of course over-generalizing.
I am aware that there are many poor in our midst - hawkers and casual workers
in the cities, peasants and farmhands in the countryside, and the unemployed
youth all over. I am also aware that often, our people have borne the brunt of
the fallout from bad politics. From Molo to Burned Forest, from Kuresoi to
Likoni, our men have been killed, our women have been raped, our children have
been displaced. When the elephants have fought, we are the grass that has
suffered and we continue to bear the scars of our suffering. But to the extent
that when we have been called upon by our politicians to use our vote to ‘protect
our own’ we have readily heeded the call and often acted as a block, then this
generalization is justified.
Most of us who are economically successful
view our success as being the result of an enterprising spirit that
characterizes our community. Yet we have allowed ourselves to become hostage to
a siege mentality and to regard ourselves as the targets of “envious hatred from
less successful communities.” We point to the post-election violence of 2007
and 2008 and the Moi-era ethnic violence as the evidence that supports this
view. Those of us who hold this view have come to regard the retention of
political power as a prerequisite to our continued survival as a people, in a
country where others have become hostile to a point where they can even be
moved to contemplate genocidal violence against us.
Our politicians, professionals,
priests and pastors were at the forefront of the struggle for democratic rights
which President Moi trampled upon when he ruled this country for 24 years. At
that time, democracy was an important value to us. For example, when Moi
conducted farcical elections in 1988, which were targeted at muting our voice
and that of the Luo in national politics, we carried our grievances loudly and
for a long time. The ills of the 1988 elections are what motivated the
political rebellion which led to multi-party politics in 1992.
When the 2007 elections went horribly
wrong, which many people think was the only reason Mwai Kibaki retained himself
in power, our sentiment was that democracy was no longer so important, so long
as there was peace. A similar view has characterized our view of the 2013
elections, whose accountability mechanisms collapsed spectacularly. Instead of
addressing legitimate concerns raised at the time and since, we have continued
to arrogantly tell the rest of the country to “accept and move on!”
In the eyes of the rest of the
country, democracy is only important to us when it favours our interests, and
ceases to be so when we have political power. The names we are calling Raila
Odinga on social media and elsewhere, at home and in the diaspora, are the very
names that Moi called our leaders in the struggles for democracy in the 1980s.
In between this general narrative,
there are minor narratives, like that of Raila Odinga declaring “Kibaki tosha” and thereby significantly
boosting Kibaki’s chances of succeeding Moi at State House, and that of Kalonzo
Musyoka supporting Kibaki after the catastrophic 2007 elections, the only way
Kibaki maintained himself in power in that turbulent period. According to this
narrative, when his term ended, it was reasonably expected that the least that
Kibaki could have done was to return the favour, if not to Raila, then to
Musyoka. Instead, Uhuru Kenyatta, who had come full circle from being Kibaki’s
principal opponent in the 2002 elections and leader of opposition thereafter,
became president.
According to many observers of our country’s
history, Kibaki's apparent ingratitude is not just a personal attribute but a reflection
of our community. The “punda amechoka” remarks attributed to Raila Odinga refers,
however inelegantly, not only to this but also the longer history going back to
the relationship between Raila’s father, Jaramogi, and Jomo Kenyatta, which was also characterized by unrequited
loyalty of the former to the latter.
The manner in which the our current president
and his deputy went about constituting their government after the 2013
elections, reserving most of the important positions for our people, continues
to feed this growing sense of grievance against us.
In the face of the many unanswered
questions about the 2013 elections, our president has gone on to protect the
IEBC thereby presenting the country with the inevitability of another election
in 2017 under this body which his competitors have vowed will not happen since,
according to them, to allow it would be to volunteer to be led once again to an
electoral slaughterhouse with their eyes wide open.
Today, many view us as having a
relationship of horse and rider with the rest of the country including increasingly
even the Kalenjin, our bedfellows in Jubilee. The URP’s recent brickbats
against Cabinet Secretary Anne Waiguru, greatly disproportionate to her alleged
misdeeds, were based on this view.
President Kenyatta’s recent speech, in
which blamed the violence in Mpeketoni on the opposition, is significant
because in saying what he said, he sadly descended from the high position of
president of the republic, to the low position of our tribal leader. Instead of
uniting the nation, he chose to divide it.
The domination by our people of
government positions did not prevent, or save us from, the tragic events of early 2008. What our country desperately needs at this point is political justice.
Many see us as using our dominant political and economic position to prevent
the realization of this ideal. The vote is important and is the only thing that
will protect all of us from the mass violence we have experienced in the past. Our
current government has swept under the carpet the questions and doubts arising
from the conduct and outcome of the 2013 elections which, together with those
of 2007, have come to represent the view that no matter the efforts of others, our
community alone decides who becomes the president of Kenya, and does so using
whatever rules we choose.
But the question that we don’t seem
to want to address is this, what is the better guarantor of our survival,
retaining political power for ourselves by all means or creating strong
democratic institutions which will guarantee the rights of all Kenyans no
matter who happens to occupy the House on the Hill?
If Kenya is to have a future that
includes all of us, the pervasive fear that causes us to pour such scorn and
vitriol on Raila Odinga every time he seeks to have a conversation about that future must be contained or it will consume us all. The insults must stop,
the arrogance must cease, the myth that we are more equal citizens of this republic
whose vision of its future is the only one that counts must be debunked once
and for all.
We must find ways to reach out to
others and deal with them as equal stakeholders in the fortunes of the land of
our birth as we address the common problems threatening to tear our country apart. And if on
some point you feel differently; if you feel that I have been unfair to you
because I have lumped you together with those pursuing a vision of Kikuyu
hegemony over the affairs of our land, then it behooves you to join me in
calling out those who do so in our name. For at such a time as this, when our
country faces such existential challenges, remaining silent is not an option.
Yours sincerely,
Njonjo Mue.
