Following is my review of the subject book written by Andrew Rice; published by Henry Holt & Co. New York, 2009.
This complex story uses the death of a prominent Ugandan chief at the hands of Idi Amin’s henchmen in 1972 as a mechanism to explore current Ugandan history along with the larger issue of justice. What is justice and who can obtain it or not and how? Further, why has Uganda seemingly chosen to avoid careful reckoning for atrocities that occurred over the past forty years? The answers are deeply embedded in Ugandan society, in the violence that successively swept across the nation and in the politics of power, then and now.
Journalist Andrew Rice spent several years in Uganda tracking down such issues and interviewing dozens of people at length, including victims, perpetrators, politicians, judges, lawyers, peasants and observers. The result is this extraordinary book that truly delves into the soul of Uganda and reveals passions of tribalism, religion, and politics. Rice holds up a mirror in which Ugandans can see themselves clearly (and certainly uncomfortably), but it is one that allows outsiders too to contemplate issues of guilt, complicity and accountability. It is a wrenching read.
The book investigates the death of Eliphaz Laki, a Munyanokle from Mbarara region who became a chief, i.e. mid-level government official, in the post-independence era. As was/is true of virtually all Ugandans, Laki’s success arose from his own virtues, but was also tied to family, friendship and tribal affiliations. Like many of his brethren Laki became involved in politics. An Anglican he was a supporter of Obote’s UPC, however, as a government official he retained his post following Amin’s 1971 coup d’etat. Things got complicated because Laki became surreptitiously involved with a young firebrand named Yoweri Museveni (today’s president). After Museveni’s aborted attack against the Simba Barracks at Mbarara in 1972, Laki was apparently ratted out. His name went on a list. He was seized from his office taken secretly to a remote ranch and shot. His body disappeared. His fate – a mysterious but certain death – was unfortunately common during the purges and atrocities of Amin’s suzerainty.
Thirty years later, Laki’s son, Duncan, intensified his quest to find his father’s body and to bring his killers to justice. Through a stroke of luck, Duncan was able to identify the actual killers, but that was not enough, he also sought wider truth; from them, but also from their superiors. The trail led to Major Yusuf Gowon, then deputy commander of the Simba Barracks, who later as a general became Amin’s Chief of Staff. But Amin’s northerners knew little about the western region where the complexities – ethnic, religious, party, personal - of Banyankole machinations defied outside comprehension. Who betrayed Laki to Amin’s regime and why?
Author Rice did a very successful job of rummaging through the history and the memories of Uganda’s last forty years. He ably recounted the reality including the climate of terror and suspicion as well as other events that marked Amin’s misrule, but he also understood the paradigm of impunity and spoils for the victors. As an outsider Rice was not automatically prejudiced to one perspective over another and he did present alternative views. Although there ultimately was a murder trial and truth was revealed, the law took its stubborn course against the backdrop of contemporary politics. Results were inconclusive both about the murder itself and also on the wider issue of justice. What is it and who is entitled to it? What does Uganda do next?
The title “The Teeth May Smile but the Heart Does not Forget” is a Kinyankole proverb whose meaning is obvious, but which assumes a greater significance when viewed against the layered strata of truth, untruth, reconciliation, hatred and justice in today’s Uganda.
On a personal note, I found this book as interesting as any I have read lately. Certainly those who know something about Uganda will find it fascinating as well. However, even readers without such background will get caught up in the superbly written, well paced story and will emerge with a better understanding of Uganda and of broader issues of morality and justice in today’s confusing world.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Poverty and Promise
This is a book review of Poverty and Promise: One Volunteer’s Experience of Kenya, written by Cindi Brown, published by Just One Voice, Surprise, AZ, 2008.
This is a heartfelt memoir of Cindi’s eight months as a volunteer assigned to the Tropical Institute of Community Health and Development (TICH) in Kisumu, Kenya. Kenya truly was an eye opener for Ms. Brown. In mid-life she left a comfortable regime at home and signed on with Volunteers in Service Overseas (I was not aware that the organization took non-U.K. citizens) for a two year stint in Kenya. She was assigned as a communications, public relations specialist to TICH, an indigenous organization that is achieving great success in bringing better health to communities in western Kenya through grassroots education and organization of health workers. Throughout the book, Ms. Brown mostly lauded, rarely criticized the institute and its personnel. Yet she found plenty of issues to write about, especially cultural differences such as how meetings were organized and conducted (beginning with prayer), a narrow focus on tasks, burdensome bureaucracy, and even in a relatively well functioning school, lack of daily urgency.
However, it was chiefly outside the institute that Ms. Brown found Africa. Kisumu was a bustling, teeming city where a mzungu lady walking around drew attention – some friendly and curious, other intimidating and threatening. Glue sniffing street children, bodacious booda booda (bicycle taxi) drivers, and those believing that she could/would solve their problems constantly called to her, sought attention, money or advice. Early on Cindi met and befriended Walter, less of a conman than most, whose heart was in the right place, i.e. trying to alleviate the plight of abandoned children. With him, Tonny and staffers from TICH, Cindi went into to slums and the rural areas to see and experience first hand the terrible poverty – no water or sanitation, plenty of disease, inadequate shelter, lack of clothing, no schooling, etc. – that was the plight of the poor. She attended funerals of those who died of AIDS and witnessed the horror that malady has visited upon Kenyans.
In a rather odd inclusion in the book, Ms. Brown detailed health ravages of a half dozen stricken individuals she visited in the Provincial (Russian) Hospital. They were all in various stages of dying from mostly preventable diseases or wounds that if properly treated early on would have posed few problems. I suppose the purpose of this section was to convince the reader that much of the issue of poverty related to the inability of a developing society to provide basic services to its citizens.
In contrast to the darker side of poverty, Ms. Brown found promise in the optimism of the people, their steadfastness and their faith. She viewed the work of TICH as enabling communities through grass roots training to conquer their own problems as well as its secondary mission of training community activists at the university level and above.
Juxtaposed amidst the daily grind of Kisumu, Ms. Brown added travelogue vignettes: one of a trip to Goma, Congo (which she found to be terribly corrupt and dangerous) for a graduation ceremony for a group of students from TICH; another chapter told of a coastal sojourn as a budget traveler in Mombasa, Malindi, Lamu and Zanzibar.
On a personal side Ms. Brown wore her feelings on her sleeve. She wrote candidly about what she saw and felt. She felt exposed and vulnerable as an outsider in Kisumu, but found some solace with new friends and especially with her Sikh landlady, a woman who also felt alone in the sea of Luo humanity. Finally, a mugging brought all these insecurities to fruition convincing Cindi to leave. Later by writing the book and dedicating the proceeds to TICH, she assuaged the guilt incurred by not completing her two year stint.
Volunteers who experienced many similar cultural encounters and those who know Kisumu will find that this book resonates strongly, but others too who understand poverty and are looking for ways to conquer it will find the book interesting.
Poverty and Promise reads a bit like the diaries and letters it was drawn from, but that was expected. Spellings of some Swahili and Luo words (askari and erokamano) are wrong, but Arizona editors were probably not conversant in those languages.
This is a heartfelt memoir of Cindi’s eight months as a volunteer assigned to the Tropical Institute of Community Health and Development (TICH) in Kisumu, Kenya. Kenya truly was an eye opener for Ms. Brown. In mid-life she left a comfortable regime at home and signed on with Volunteers in Service Overseas (I was not aware that the organization took non-U.K. citizens) for a two year stint in Kenya. She was assigned as a communications, public relations specialist to TICH, an indigenous organization that is achieving great success in bringing better health to communities in western Kenya through grassroots education and organization of health workers. Throughout the book, Ms. Brown mostly lauded, rarely criticized the institute and its personnel. Yet she found plenty of issues to write about, especially cultural differences such as how meetings were organized and conducted (beginning with prayer), a narrow focus on tasks, burdensome bureaucracy, and even in a relatively well functioning school, lack of daily urgency.
However, it was chiefly outside the institute that Ms. Brown found Africa. Kisumu was a bustling, teeming city where a mzungu lady walking around drew attention – some friendly and curious, other intimidating and threatening. Glue sniffing street children, bodacious booda booda (bicycle taxi) drivers, and those believing that she could/would solve their problems constantly called to her, sought attention, money or advice. Early on Cindi met and befriended Walter, less of a conman than most, whose heart was in the right place, i.e. trying to alleviate the plight of abandoned children. With him, Tonny and staffers from TICH, Cindi went into to slums and the rural areas to see and experience first hand the terrible poverty – no water or sanitation, plenty of disease, inadequate shelter, lack of clothing, no schooling, etc. – that was the plight of the poor. She attended funerals of those who died of AIDS and witnessed the horror that malady has visited upon Kenyans.
In a rather odd inclusion in the book, Ms. Brown detailed health ravages of a half dozen stricken individuals she visited in the Provincial (Russian) Hospital. They were all in various stages of dying from mostly preventable diseases or wounds that if properly treated early on would have posed few problems. I suppose the purpose of this section was to convince the reader that much of the issue of poverty related to the inability of a developing society to provide basic services to its citizens.
In contrast to the darker side of poverty, Ms. Brown found promise in the optimism of the people, their steadfastness and their faith. She viewed the work of TICH as enabling communities through grass roots training to conquer their own problems as well as its secondary mission of training community activists at the university level and above.
Juxtaposed amidst the daily grind of Kisumu, Ms. Brown added travelogue vignettes: one of a trip to Goma, Congo (which she found to be terribly corrupt and dangerous) for a graduation ceremony for a group of students from TICH; another chapter told of a coastal sojourn as a budget traveler in Mombasa, Malindi, Lamu and Zanzibar.
On a personal side Ms. Brown wore her feelings on her sleeve. She wrote candidly about what she saw and felt. She felt exposed and vulnerable as an outsider in Kisumu, but found some solace with new friends and especially with her Sikh landlady, a woman who also felt alone in the sea of Luo humanity. Finally, a mugging brought all these insecurities to fruition convincing Cindi to leave. Later by writing the book and dedicating the proceeds to TICH, she assuaged the guilt incurred by not completing her two year stint.
Volunteers who experienced many similar cultural encounters and those who know Kisumu will find that this book resonates strongly, but others too who understand poverty and are looking for ways to conquer it will find the book interesting.
Poverty and Promise reads a bit like the diaries and letters it was drawn from, but that was expected. Spellings of some Swahili and Luo words (askari and erokamano) are wrong, but Arizona editors were probably not conversant in those languages.
I Remember a Gift
Following is an expanded version of this vingette, an earlier copy of which was posted on this site a couple of years ago. This version was published in the January 2010 edition of the Foreign Service Journal.
I remember a gift. In 1986 as deputy director in the Office of East African Affairs. I was making a tour of U.S. embassies in the parish. I was in Djibouti, a small desert country at the southern mouth of the Red Sea. Neighboring Ethiopia and Somalia, then at relative peace, had been warring for years. That conflict had been compounded by drought and famine. As a result many thousands of ethnic Somali tribesmen from the Ogaden Region of Ethiopia had sought refuge in Djibouti. They were confined to United Nations run camps located in the arid hinterland of one of the most desolate nations in Africa.
A dusty, hot half-day’s drive from the capital, I visited one of the camps, which grouped several thousand refugees who had lived there for months; essentially on a moonscape. This refugee camp was a bleak and seemingly hopeless place. Yet, the elders of the camp committee greeted me graciously and guided me on a tour of their squalid domain. We wove in and out little lanes between the stick huts. Green plastic sheeting provided cover from the sun. Bags of U.S. donated maize and tins of vegetable oil were stacked in the food distribution warehouse. A one-tent school was operating. It had little more than a blackboard, but children sat in rapt attention as their teacher lectured, then they recited back. Outside the small clinic the day’s clients – pregnant women, wailing babies and those worn with the ills of the region - waited patiently. Inside, several refugee nurses dispensed what care they could. They proudly proclaimed that childhood immunizations were up to date. Flies buzzed incessantly.
Elders bemoaned their plight: their suffering from war and famine, their flight from their homes, especially their loss of goats and camels. They noted youths were bored in the nothingness of the camp and all were stymied by the inability to look ahead. They were compelled to live day-by-day. Of course, they asked for America’s help, especially in rectifying conditions in Ethiopia so that they might be able to go home.
However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump – provided by a grant from the U.S. government - and garden. We walked up a rock-strewn ravine past the cemetery where several new graves provided mute testimony to the ravages of disease and malnutrition. Beyond, nestled on the slope of the valley in a region where not a single blade of vegetation was visible for miles, was a small patch of green. The elders showed me how boys carried water from the new well to the plots where they had managed to coax several scraggly tomato plants and other vegetables from the hard earth. The chief pointed with pride to the first water melon, about the size of a small soccer ball. He then had it picked. He presented it to me with great ceremony and thanks for America’s concern and assistance. I was overwhelmed. The camp’s children were desperate for this sort of nourishment, yet it was given unhesitating to a stranger – to someone who obviously had no need for it. Yet, I had to accept. This was a gift from the heart. I managed to utter thanks and a few words of encouragement. We then shared the bits of melon.
In the years since, I have always been struck how people with so little and with such great needs could give so easily. Yet we with so much, find it hard to give a little.
I remember a gift. In 1986 as deputy director in the Office of East African Affairs. I was making a tour of U.S. embassies in the parish. I was in Djibouti, a small desert country at the southern mouth of the Red Sea. Neighboring Ethiopia and Somalia, then at relative peace, had been warring for years. That conflict had been compounded by drought and famine. As a result many thousands of ethnic Somali tribesmen from the Ogaden Region of Ethiopia had sought refuge in Djibouti. They were confined to United Nations run camps located in the arid hinterland of one of the most desolate nations in Africa.
A dusty, hot half-day’s drive from the capital, I visited one of the camps, which grouped several thousand refugees who had lived there for months; essentially on a moonscape. This refugee camp was a bleak and seemingly hopeless place. Yet, the elders of the camp committee greeted me graciously and guided me on a tour of their squalid domain. We wove in and out little lanes between the stick huts. Green plastic sheeting provided cover from the sun. Bags of U.S. donated maize and tins of vegetable oil were stacked in the food distribution warehouse. A one-tent school was operating. It had little more than a blackboard, but children sat in rapt attention as their teacher lectured, then they recited back. Outside the small clinic the day’s clients – pregnant women, wailing babies and those worn with the ills of the region - waited patiently. Inside, several refugee nurses dispensed what care they could. They proudly proclaimed that childhood immunizations were up to date. Flies buzzed incessantly.
Elders bemoaned their plight: their suffering from war and famine, their flight from their homes, especially their loss of goats and camels. They noted youths were bored in the nothingness of the camp and all were stymied by the inability to look ahead. They were compelled to live day-by-day. Of course, they asked for America’s help, especially in rectifying conditions in Ethiopia so that they might be able to go home.
However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump – provided by a grant from the U.S. government - and garden. We walked up a rock-strewn ravine past the cemetery where several new graves provided mute testimony to the ravages of disease and malnutrition. Beyond, nestled on the slope of the valley in a region where not a single blade of vegetation was visible for miles, was a small patch of green. The elders showed me how boys carried water from the new well to the plots where they had managed to coax several scraggly tomato plants and other vegetables from the hard earth. The chief pointed with pride to the first water melon, about the size of a small soccer ball. He then had it picked. He presented it to me with great ceremony and thanks for America’s concern and assistance. I was overwhelmed. The camp’s children were desperate for this sort of nourishment, yet it was given unhesitating to a stranger – to someone who obviously had no need for it. Yet, I had to accept. This was a gift from the heart. I managed to utter thanks and a few words of encouragement. We then shared the bits of melon.
In the years since, I have always been struck how people with so little and with such great needs could give so easily. Yet we with so much, find it hard to give a little.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Killing Neighbors - Webs of Violence in Rwanda
A book review of Killing Neighbors – Webs of Violence in Rwanda, By Lee Ann Fujii. Published by Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 2009.
This is a scholarly tome that investigates individual motives behind the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Professor Fujii started with the premise that ethnic hatred, ethnic fear, or both, were key to enticing individuals to participate in the killings. Although she noted and elaborated on the facts that the overall climate that fostered genocide repeatedly stressed such themes, Ms. Fujii did not find those motivations operating at the individual level. Instead she discovered a complex web of motivations that varied from individual to individual.
The methodology of the research was to interview dozens of people from two separate hillsides (communities); one in the north where the civil war that preceded the genocide was fought and the other in the central zone that saw no violence until the genocide began. Many of those interviewed were prisoners who had plead guilty and were incarcerated for genocide activities. Presumably they spoke the truth because they nothing to hide. Others interviewed were family members of killers as well as survivors.
First there were differentiations by Hutu killers between Tutsi they knew, i.e. friends and neighbors, and those who were not known. Hutu killing mobs were always that - mobs. They were invariably groups that acted in concert where the power of collectiveness was overwhelming. Professor Fujii recorded no instances where one individual killed another. To the contrary when one-on-one encounters were described, respondents said that they warned the potential victim of danger.
Dr. Fujii found that familial and social ties were instrumental in compelling participation in killing groups. Individuals were usually brought in by local authorities or relatives, but some were recruited by peers. Some joined willingly, others were shamed into participation or intimidated into joining. Few envisaged booty and little was realized. Mostly Fujii concluded it was group dynamics that stoked the fires of genocide and kept them burning. Individuals who would not (and did not) act on their own became swept up in the group objective of elimination of the Tutsi.
Overall the book makes an important contribution into understanding genocide in Rwanda, but does it shed light on tribal violence elsewhere, in Kenya for example? Professor Fujii makes no extrapolation to that effect, but I will. First I would argue that the overall climate conducive to tribal violence in Kenya was similar, i.e. a perception of wrongs (in Kenya mostly having to do with land and other favoritisms) on the part of certain tribes with regard to others, plus the fear that such wrongs would only increase. A key difference was that the Kenyan national authorities were essentially seen as those in the wrong (the Kikuyu), thus the state did not advocate “ethnic cleansing.” Nonetheless, Kenyans, I believe, harbored a stronger sense of ethnic fear than did Rwandans and I suspect that was a motivation for participation in violence. However, the phenomenon of group dynamics was probably very much the same. Once enlisted in a mob, individual morals dropped aside and churches were burned, houses torched, people beaten and families chased from their homes and farms.
Overall, the scary conclusion from this study is that we, and our societies, live a lot closer to edge than we might suppose. We do not operate much from atavistic hatreds, but instead in response to current political events. It behooves us therefore to choose leaders that eschew tribal, ethnic, racial or religious differentiation in favor of inclusiveness. We must do so in order that our multifaceted societies can prosper.
This is a scholarly tome that investigates individual motives behind the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Professor Fujii started with the premise that ethnic hatred, ethnic fear, or both, were key to enticing individuals to participate in the killings. Although she noted and elaborated on the facts that the overall climate that fostered genocide repeatedly stressed such themes, Ms. Fujii did not find those motivations operating at the individual level. Instead she discovered a complex web of motivations that varied from individual to individual.
The methodology of the research was to interview dozens of people from two separate hillsides (communities); one in the north where the civil war that preceded the genocide was fought and the other in the central zone that saw no violence until the genocide began. Many of those interviewed were prisoners who had plead guilty and were incarcerated for genocide activities. Presumably they spoke the truth because they nothing to hide. Others interviewed were family members of killers as well as survivors.
First there were differentiations by Hutu killers between Tutsi they knew, i.e. friends and neighbors, and those who were not known. Hutu killing mobs were always that - mobs. They were invariably groups that acted in concert where the power of collectiveness was overwhelming. Professor Fujii recorded no instances where one individual killed another. To the contrary when one-on-one encounters were described, respondents said that they warned the potential victim of danger.
Dr. Fujii found that familial and social ties were instrumental in compelling participation in killing groups. Individuals were usually brought in by local authorities or relatives, but some were recruited by peers. Some joined willingly, others were shamed into participation or intimidated into joining. Few envisaged booty and little was realized. Mostly Fujii concluded it was group dynamics that stoked the fires of genocide and kept them burning. Individuals who would not (and did not) act on their own became swept up in the group objective of elimination of the Tutsi.
Overall the book makes an important contribution into understanding genocide in Rwanda, but does it shed light on tribal violence elsewhere, in Kenya for example? Professor Fujii makes no extrapolation to that effect, but I will. First I would argue that the overall climate conducive to tribal violence in Kenya was similar, i.e. a perception of wrongs (in Kenya mostly having to do with land and other favoritisms) on the part of certain tribes with regard to others, plus the fear that such wrongs would only increase. A key difference was that the Kenyan national authorities were essentially seen as those in the wrong (the Kikuyu), thus the state did not advocate “ethnic cleansing.” Nonetheless, Kenyans, I believe, harbored a stronger sense of ethnic fear than did Rwandans and I suspect that was a motivation for participation in violence. However, the phenomenon of group dynamics was probably very much the same. Once enlisted in a mob, individual morals dropped aside and churches were burned, houses torched, people beaten and families chased from their homes and farms.
Overall, the scary conclusion from this study is that we, and our societies, live a lot closer to edge than we might suppose. We do not operate much from atavistic hatreds, but instead in response to current political events. It behooves us therefore to choose leaders that eschew tribal, ethnic, racial or religious differentiation in favor of inclusiveness. We must do so in order that our multifaceted societies can prosper.
Friday, October 30, 2009
An Expensive Education
Book review of a novel by Nick McDonell, Atlantic Monthly Press, NY, 2009.
The action in this novel unrolls in East Africa and Cambridge, Massachusetts. It is kind of an odd amalgam, but the story moves on in a satisfactory fashion and keeps the reader engaged.
Misperception, trust and betrayal are the core issues investigated. The tale begins with an armed attack on a Somali village that the protagonist, a newly minted CIA officer, seems to have unwontedly instigated. Following is a series of intrigues as he and others try to unravel the mystery of the motives for the massacre and who did it. Other characters include a Harvard academic, a brilliant Somali student - who happens to have had relatives in the village Рhis society coed girl friend, a jaundiced CIA chief and a panoply of various hangers-on. Although some characters have substance to them, most are fairly shallow as befits the speedy pace of the story. I thought the hero was a bit too perfect. His basic flaw was naivet̩.
On the one hand the novel is a spy thriller, but on another it is a satirical portrayal of Harvard – its politics, student life, clubs and old boy networks. As such the book appeals to Harvard insiders, but these aspects of it leave the rest of us a bit perplexed. The East African scenario appealed to me and by and large I found descriptions accurate. Author McDonell noted in a forward that he distorted tribes and geography, which he indeed did; shrinking distances and using wrong names for people of this or that tribe. I doubt, however, that many readers will catch these discrepancies. In one instance, however, he relates an incident in Nairobi and later refers to it as having occurred in Khartoum. Maybe he was just trying to see if we were alert?
Don’t read this book for political insight into the complex politics of terrorism, Somalia or Kenya. Nor should you believe that it accurately reflects how the CIA operates. Yet with those disclaimers, it remains a good yarn.
The action in this novel unrolls in East Africa and Cambridge, Massachusetts. It is kind of an odd amalgam, but the story moves on in a satisfactory fashion and keeps the reader engaged.
Misperception, trust and betrayal are the core issues investigated. The tale begins with an armed attack on a Somali village that the protagonist, a newly minted CIA officer, seems to have unwontedly instigated. Following is a series of intrigues as he and others try to unravel the mystery of the motives for the massacre and who did it. Other characters include a Harvard academic, a brilliant Somali student - who happens to have had relatives in the village Рhis society coed girl friend, a jaundiced CIA chief and a panoply of various hangers-on. Although some characters have substance to them, most are fairly shallow as befits the speedy pace of the story. I thought the hero was a bit too perfect. His basic flaw was naivet̩.
On the one hand the novel is a spy thriller, but on another it is a satirical portrayal of Harvard – its politics, student life, clubs and old boy networks. As such the book appeals to Harvard insiders, but these aspects of it leave the rest of us a bit perplexed. The East African scenario appealed to me and by and large I found descriptions accurate. Author McDonell noted in a forward that he distorted tribes and geography, which he indeed did; shrinking distances and using wrong names for people of this or that tribe. I doubt, however, that many readers will catch these discrepancies. In one instance, however, he relates an incident in Nairobi and later refers to it as having occurred in Khartoum. Maybe he was just trying to see if we were alert?
Don’t read this book for political insight into the complex politics of terrorism, Somalia or Kenya. Nor should you believe that it accurately reflects how the CIA operates. Yet with those disclaimers, it remains a good yarn.
Wildflower - An Extraordinary Life and Untimely Death in Africa
Book review of a biography by Mark Seal,Random House, NY, 2009.
The sub-title pretty well says it all; another vibrant, activist, female conservationist murdered by parties unknown - presumably because she thwarted their economic/political interests. Film maker and conservationist Joan Root’s story is a sad one from beginning to end and the maudlin aspects of it are drawn out by author Seal. Her life story has soap operatic aspects which Seal milked for all they’re worth.
Without doubt Ms. Root’s untimely demise – she was murdered in her bedroom by contract killers in early 2006 – provides the premise and the denouement for the biography that Seal assembled. Recounted in detail, Seal described Joan as a gentle shy soul who searched for meaning and mission in life. Initially she found both in marriage to Alan Root. An indispensable partner she collaborated with him in the production of a long list of wildlife films that patiently and conscientiously detailed animals and events. Films included studies of lions, hippos, termites, gorillas, hornbills in a baobab tree, a balloon over Kilimanjaro and a dry season. The list goes on, but Joan was the producer, the organizer and the muse that kindled Alan’s filmmaking genius. The two won worldwide renown.
Despite their professional collaboration, after some years, Alan’s wandering eye led him to another woman. Abandonment – which was never total as the two continued to work together for a time and communicated for years afterwards - sent Joan into a downward spiral. She only rallied when she found a new mission: saving Lake Naivasha from the scourge of fish and animal poaching and pollution from Kenya’s burgeoning flower industry. Joan’s 88 acre estate on the lake was threatened by interlopers and fish poachers in the 1990s and 2000s as the population of the area exploded on account of the rapid expansion of the flower industry. Although the hot houses and intensely cultivated fields flushed chemical runoff into the lake, it was really the quintupled human population that pressured the lake. Excrement from pit latrines found its way into the water table, but non-employed young men (women were preferred by the flower growers for their more delicate fingers) found outlets in seining illegally for the smallest fish, poaching wild animals that traditionally visited the lake and in crime. The European estates that ringed the lake were trespassed upon and targeted.
Joan’s efforts to halt these threats to “her” lake (and property) drew her into a whirlpool of conspiracy and quasi-legal violence designed to reduce illegal activities. Clearly (in retrospect) Joan was in over her head. Instead of managing the process she became swept up in it. Ultimately as it all rotted around her, she became its victim. Should that have happened? Of course not, author Seal and Joan’s friends all offer testimony to that effect. The nobleness of her cause notwithstanding, left unanswered and unaddressed is whether mzungus like Joan should try to save Kenya from itself?
The book is an entertaining read, even though the outcome is known before the first chapter. No one has anything bad to say about Joan, but her letters and diaries reveal a bit more of her inner thoughts. I found lots of repetition about her character, but little insight into how she really functioned. She obviously did not handle men very well. Alan first and then vigilante chief David Chege walked all over her.
Author Mark Seal is a journalist and the book is, in fact, an expansion of an article written for Vanity Fair. It reads like that. It is laudatory, uncritical and designed to elicit maximum sympathy. Despite accolades to a fact checker in the acknowledgements, the reputable checker missed the evolution of Tanganyika. The book says that it is now divided into Tanzania, Rwanda and Burundi…tsk, tsk.
The sub-title pretty well says it all; another vibrant, activist, female conservationist murdered by parties unknown - presumably because she thwarted their economic/political interests. Film maker and conservationist Joan Root’s story is a sad one from beginning to end and the maudlin aspects of it are drawn out by author Seal. Her life story has soap operatic aspects which Seal milked for all they’re worth.
Without doubt Ms. Root’s untimely demise – she was murdered in her bedroom by contract killers in early 2006 – provides the premise and the denouement for the biography that Seal assembled. Recounted in detail, Seal described Joan as a gentle shy soul who searched for meaning and mission in life. Initially she found both in marriage to Alan Root. An indispensable partner she collaborated with him in the production of a long list of wildlife films that patiently and conscientiously detailed animals and events. Films included studies of lions, hippos, termites, gorillas, hornbills in a baobab tree, a balloon over Kilimanjaro and a dry season. The list goes on, but Joan was the producer, the organizer and the muse that kindled Alan’s filmmaking genius. The two won worldwide renown.
Despite their professional collaboration, after some years, Alan’s wandering eye led him to another woman. Abandonment – which was never total as the two continued to work together for a time and communicated for years afterwards - sent Joan into a downward spiral. She only rallied when she found a new mission: saving Lake Naivasha from the scourge of fish and animal poaching and pollution from Kenya’s burgeoning flower industry. Joan’s 88 acre estate on the lake was threatened by interlopers and fish poachers in the 1990s and 2000s as the population of the area exploded on account of the rapid expansion of the flower industry. Although the hot houses and intensely cultivated fields flushed chemical runoff into the lake, it was really the quintupled human population that pressured the lake. Excrement from pit latrines found its way into the water table, but non-employed young men (women were preferred by the flower growers for their more delicate fingers) found outlets in seining illegally for the smallest fish, poaching wild animals that traditionally visited the lake and in crime. The European estates that ringed the lake were trespassed upon and targeted.
Joan’s efforts to halt these threats to “her” lake (and property) drew her into a whirlpool of conspiracy and quasi-legal violence designed to reduce illegal activities. Clearly (in retrospect) Joan was in over her head. Instead of managing the process she became swept up in it. Ultimately as it all rotted around her, she became its victim. Should that have happened? Of course not, author Seal and Joan’s friends all offer testimony to that effect. The nobleness of her cause notwithstanding, left unanswered and unaddressed is whether mzungus like Joan should try to save Kenya from itself?
The book is an entertaining read, even though the outcome is known before the first chapter. No one has anything bad to say about Joan, but her letters and diaries reveal a bit more of her inner thoughts. I found lots of repetition about her character, but little insight into how she really functioned. She obviously did not handle men very well. Alan first and then vigilante chief David Chege walked all over her.
Author Mark Seal is a journalist and the book is, in fact, an expansion of an article written for Vanity Fair. It reads like that. It is laudatory, uncritical and designed to elicit maximum sympathy. Despite accolades to a fact checker in the acknowledgements, the reputable checker missed the evolution of Tanganyika. The book says that it is now divided into Tanzania, Rwanda and Burundi…tsk, tsk.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It’s Our Turn to Eat: The Story of a Kenyan Whistle-Blower
A review of a book by Michela Wrong. Published by Harper, NY 2009.
If you only read one book about Kenya this year; this should be it. Author Michela Wrong has written the definitive exposé on how Kenya’s political elite have skewed their country’s political, economic and social system via tribalism and corruption so that it operates to their benefit, but to the detriment of the nation and the wanaichi. To flesh out this tale of greed, Wrong uses the saga of John Githongo, a respected journalist and NGO operative, who – because of his respectable credentials - was recruited into becoming Kenya’s anti-corruption czar following the election of Mwai Kibaki in 2002. Imbued with a zealous sense of purpose Githongo strove to cleanse the Augean stable mess left by the previous Moi and even Kenyatta administrations. He found, however, that no matter how noble the rhetoric, embedded practices were impervious to reform. Instead of correcting matters, the new cadre close to President Kibaki – including, as Githongo reluctantly concluded, the president himself– persisted in clever organized looting of the state. The justification for this was tribal, after years of exile while Moi reigned, it was again time for the Kikuyus “to eat.”
Even while following the story of one man’s enthusiasm and disillusionment, the author carefully dissects the Kenya polity. She notes, “The various forms of graft cannot be separated from the people’s vision of existence as a merciless contest, in which only ethnic preference offers hope of survival.” This leads to a comprehensive discussion of tribalism in particular how it is not an atavistic force arising from centuries of tribal struggle, but rather a manifestation of modernization. Colonialism, education, Christianity, urbanization, the cash economy – in fact all the elements of recent times brought Kenya’s various tribes into face-to-face competition. Whoever controlled power and the apparatus of the state were able to reward their “community” at the expense of everyone else. Thus common identity - rather than merit - became (and still is) the means of personal advancement. Up to a point, of course, looking after kith and kin is not pernicious, but Kenyans have never drawn a good line. Helping your cousins is one thing, but expanding beyond that to blatant theft coupled with denigration and stereotyping of others on account of their tribe has led to inimical politics, which have resulted in repeated rounds of tribal violence – with perhaps more to come.
Ms. Wrong made the point that urbanization in many ways de-tribalized Kenyans. Ethnic customs, language, etc. all succumbed to the polyglot mix of the cities, broader education and the impact of western culture. Kids, for example, did not speak tribal mother tongues or English or Swahili, but created “Sheng” for common communication. Identities were being forged more as “poor” or “affluent” rather than Luo or Kikuyu. Unfortunately, those evolutions were swept away in the political violence of 2007 where tribe became the sole criterion. In the aftermath of that violence, it is doubtful if Kenyans can regain the social cohesion that they previously enjoyed.
Some of the worst manifestations of tribalism and unbridled presidential power have been the scandals of Goldberg (under Moi) and Anglo Leasing (under Kibaki), in which hundreds of millions of dollars were blithely stolen from government coffers by those charged to manage resources properly for the people, i.e. the office of the president, the chief of the civil service, members of government and the judiciary. It was this latter scandal that Githongo uncovered. Most distressing for him was the fact that people he knew and trusted; lied, schemed and connived to cover up their shenanigans. When finally confronted with facts (Githongo secretly recorded conversations and ran a network of informers), they plead that it was all for the benefit of the Kikuyu “community,” in effect, it was their turn to eat. Indeed, something was very rotten in Kenya. Githongo fled for fear of his life.
The international donor community did not escape Wrong’s righteousness. The World Bank was singled out for marked failure to link new lending to reform, thus convincing Kenyans leaders that there were no real consequences for even spectacular corruption. Wrong found one hero in British High Commissioner (ambassador) Edward Clay who argued forcefully in public, and against the policy of his own government, that donors ought to hold Kenya accountable for proper management of all its resources.
Ultimately, Githongo’s story just sort of wound down, with no clear cut victory for the good guys. But the impact of the book did not stop there. Although part of the book has been serialized in the Nation, it is not available for purchase in Kenya. Booksellers apparently fear the wrath of the named. Even so, It’s Our Turn to Eat is a hot commodity. Copies are being imported privately, even apparently by USAID. Githongo’s recordings are available on the web where many Kenyans are listening. Ms. Wrong recently told a Washington audience that she had not sensationalized events, but reported even handedly. While she agreed that Githongo might better have told his own story, he was not ready when she was. He cooperated fully. Finally, as is mentioned in the book, Githongo’s daring set an example for other watchdogs and has certainly raised the bar for public scrutiny of elected officials. Evidently, thieves are more careful now, but the underlying structure of Kenyan politics which bred the system of tribal patronage and corruption has not changed. The struggle for seekers of change, fairness, truth and accountability has not ended.
Reviewed by Robert Gribbin, July 2009
If you only read one book about Kenya this year; this should be it. Author Michela Wrong has written the definitive exposé on how Kenya’s political elite have skewed their country’s political, economic and social system via tribalism and corruption so that it operates to their benefit, but to the detriment of the nation and the wanaichi. To flesh out this tale of greed, Wrong uses the saga of John Githongo, a respected journalist and NGO operative, who – because of his respectable credentials - was recruited into becoming Kenya’s anti-corruption czar following the election of Mwai Kibaki in 2002. Imbued with a zealous sense of purpose Githongo strove to cleanse the Augean stable mess left by the previous Moi and even Kenyatta administrations. He found, however, that no matter how noble the rhetoric, embedded practices were impervious to reform. Instead of correcting matters, the new cadre close to President Kibaki – including, as Githongo reluctantly concluded, the president himself– persisted in clever organized looting of the state. The justification for this was tribal, after years of exile while Moi reigned, it was again time for the Kikuyus “to eat.”
Even while following the story of one man’s enthusiasm and disillusionment, the author carefully dissects the Kenya polity. She notes, “The various forms of graft cannot be separated from the people’s vision of existence as a merciless contest, in which only ethnic preference offers hope of survival.” This leads to a comprehensive discussion of tribalism in particular how it is not an atavistic force arising from centuries of tribal struggle, but rather a manifestation of modernization. Colonialism, education, Christianity, urbanization, the cash economy – in fact all the elements of recent times brought Kenya’s various tribes into face-to-face competition. Whoever controlled power and the apparatus of the state were able to reward their “community” at the expense of everyone else. Thus common identity - rather than merit - became (and still is) the means of personal advancement. Up to a point, of course, looking after kith and kin is not pernicious, but Kenyans have never drawn a good line. Helping your cousins is one thing, but expanding beyond that to blatant theft coupled with denigration and stereotyping of others on account of their tribe has led to inimical politics, which have resulted in repeated rounds of tribal violence – with perhaps more to come.
Ms. Wrong made the point that urbanization in many ways de-tribalized Kenyans. Ethnic customs, language, etc. all succumbed to the polyglot mix of the cities, broader education and the impact of western culture. Kids, for example, did not speak tribal mother tongues or English or Swahili, but created “Sheng” for common communication. Identities were being forged more as “poor” or “affluent” rather than Luo or Kikuyu. Unfortunately, those evolutions were swept away in the political violence of 2007 where tribe became the sole criterion. In the aftermath of that violence, it is doubtful if Kenyans can regain the social cohesion that they previously enjoyed.
Some of the worst manifestations of tribalism and unbridled presidential power have been the scandals of Goldberg (under Moi) and Anglo Leasing (under Kibaki), in which hundreds of millions of dollars were blithely stolen from government coffers by those charged to manage resources properly for the people, i.e. the office of the president, the chief of the civil service, members of government and the judiciary. It was this latter scandal that Githongo uncovered. Most distressing for him was the fact that people he knew and trusted; lied, schemed and connived to cover up their shenanigans. When finally confronted with facts (Githongo secretly recorded conversations and ran a network of informers), they plead that it was all for the benefit of the Kikuyu “community,” in effect, it was their turn to eat. Indeed, something was very rotten in Kenya. Githongo fled for fear of his life.
The international donor community did not escape Wrong’s righteousness. The World Bank was singled out for marked failure to link new lending to reform, thus convincing Kenyans leaders that there were no real consequences for even spectacular corruption. Wrong found one hero in British High Commissioner (ambassador) Edward Clay who argued forcefully in public, and against the policy of his own government, that donors ought to hold Kenya accountable for proper management of all its resources.
Ultimately, Githongo’s story just sort of wound down, with no clear cut victory for the good guys. But the impact of the book did not stop there. Although part of the book has been serialized in the Nation, it is not available for purchase in Kenya. Booksellers apparently fear the wrath of the named. Even so, It’s Our Turn to Eat is a hot commodity. Copies are being imported privately, even apparently by USAID. Githongo’s recordings are available on the web where many Kenyans are listening. Ms. Wrong recently told a Washington audience that she had not sensationalized events, but reported even handedly. While she agreed that Githongo might better have told his own story, he was not ready when she was. He cooperated fully. Finally, as is mentioned in the book, Githongo’s daring set an example for other watchdogs and has certainly raised the bar for public scrutiny of elected officials. Evidently, thieves are more careful now, but the underlying structure of Kenyan politics which bred the system of tribal patronage and corruption has not changed. The struggle for seekers of change, fairness, truth and accountability has not ended.
Reviewed by Robert Gribbin, July 2009
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