This is a call to Kenyans of conscience to step back and reflect on the lies about education that are circulating in the media, the schooling system and government. Foreign sharks have camped in Kenya to distort our education. Using buzzwords such as “quality” and “global standards”, these sharks seek to destroy the hopes, dreams and creativity of young Africans, not just in Kenya, but in the whole region, and to make a profit while at it. With the help of local professors, bureaucrats and journalists, they spread hatred for education among the population. At the same time, they ironically create a thirst for schooling that makes parents resort to desperate measures to get their children into school, going as far as accepting violence and abuse in schools that causes children to take their own lives.
This insanity must end.
We must accept that education is a life endeavour through which people constantly adapt to their social and natural environment. Education is more than going to school and getting the right paper credentials. Education occurs anywhere where human beings process what they perceive, make decisions about it and act together in solidarity. That is why education, culture and access to information are inseparable.
However, since colonial times, both the colonial and “independence” versions of the Kenya government have worked hard to separate education from culture and access to information. They have done so through crushing all other avenues where Kenyans can create knowledge. We have insufficient public libraries and our museums are underfunded. Arts festivals, where people come together and learn from unique cultural expressions, have been underfunded, and by some accounts, donors have been explicitly told not to fund creativity and culture. In the meantime, artists are insulted, exploited and sometimes silenced through censorship, public ridicule and moralistic condemnations in the name of faith.
All these measures are designed to isolate the school as the only source of learning and creativity, and this is what makes the entry into schools so cutthroat and abusive.
But entering school does not mean the end of the abuse. Once inside the schools, Kenyans find that there is no arts education where children can explore ideas and express themselves. In school, they find teachers who themselves are subject to constant insults and disruptions from the Ministry of Education and the Teachers Service Commission. Under a barrage of threats and transfers, teachers are forced to implement the Competency Based training which is incoherent and has been rejected in other countries. Many of the teachers eventually absorb the rationality of abuse and mete it out on poor children whose crime is to want to learn. This desperation for education has also been weaponized by the corporate world that is offering expensive private education and blackmailing parents to line the pockets of book publishers.
Education is more than going to school and getting the right paper credentials. Education occurs anywhere where human beings process what they perceive, make decisions about it and act together in solidarity.
By the end of primary and secondary school, only a mere 3 per cent of total candidates are able to continue with their education. This situation only worsens inequality in Kenya, where only 2 per cent of the population have a university degree, and where only 8,300 people own as much as the rest of Kenya.
But listening to the government and the corporate sector, you would think that 98 per cent of Kenyans have been to university. The corporate sector reduces education to job training and condemns the school system as inadequate for meeting the needs of the corporations. Yet going by statements from the Kenya Private Sector Alliance (KEPSA) and the government, there is no intention to employ Kenyans who get training. The government hires doctors from Cuba and engineers from China, and then promises the United Kingdom to export our medical workers. KEPSA is on record saying that we need to train workers in TVET so that they can work in other African countries.
It is clear that the Kenya government and the corporate sector do not want Kenyans to go to school and become active citizens in their homeland. Rather, these entities are treating schooling as a conveyor belt to manufacture Kenyans for export abroad as labour and to cushion the theft of public resources through remittances.
The media and the church also join in the war against education by brainwashing Kenyans to accept this dire state of affairs. The media constantly bombards Kenyans with lies about the composition of university students, and with propaganda against “useless degrees”. The church has abandoned prophecy and baptizes every flawed educational policy in exchange for maintaining its colonial dreams of keeping religion in the curriculum to pacify Kenyans in the name of “morality”.
The government is now intending to restrict education further through the Competency-Based Curriculum (CBC) which seeks to limit education through pathways that prevent children from pursuing subjects of their interests, and by imposing quotas on who can pursue education beyond secondary school. At tertiary level, the government is devising an algorithm that will starve the humanities and social sciences of funding. It claims that funds will instead go to medical and engineering sciences, which are in line with Kenya’s development needs.
But recall that foreigners are doing the work of medical professionals and engineers anyway, so “development” here does not mean that Kenyan professionals will work in their home country. They will work abroad where they cannot be active citizens and raise questions about our healthcare and infrastructure.
The proposed defunding of the arts, humanities and social sciences aims to achieve one goal: to reserve thinking and creativity for the 3 per cent of Kenyans who can afford it. This discrimination in funding of university education is about locking the majority and the poor out of spaces where they can be creative and develop ideas. It also seeks to prevent Kenyans from humble backgrounds from questioning policies and priorities that are passed under dubious concepts such as “development needs” that are largely studied in the humanities and social sciences.
It is clear that the Kenya government and the corporate sector do not want Kenyans to go to school and become active citizens in their homeland.
Clearly, there is a war against education and against Kenyans being creative and active citizens in their own country. For the 8,300 Kenyans to maintain their monopoly of resources, they need to distract Kenyans with propaganda against education, they need to limit Kenyans’ access to schooling, and they need to shut down alternative sources of training, information and knowledge. By limiting access to schooling and certificates, the 8,300 can exploit the work of Kenyans who have not been to school, or who have not gone far in school, by arguing that those Kenyans lack the “qualifications” necessary for better pay.
We must also name those who enable this exploitation. The greedy ambitions of the political class are entrenched by people who, themselves, have been through the school system. To adapt Michelle Obama’s famous words, these people walked through the door of opportunity, and are trying to close it behind them, instead of reaching out and giving more Kenyans the same opportunities that helped them to succeed. This tyranny is maintained by a section of teachers in schools, of professors in universities and of bureaucrats in government, who all fear students and citizens who know more than they do, instead of taking joy in the range of Kenyan creativity and knowledge. The professors and bureaucrats, especially, are seduced into this myopia with benchmarking trips abroad, are spoon-fed foreign policies to implement in Kenya. They harvest the legitimate aspirations of Kenya and repackage them in misleading slogans. For instance, they refer to limited opportunities as “nurturing talent”, and baptize the government’s abandonment of its role in providing social services “parental involvement”.
These bureaucrats and academics are helped to pull the wool over our eyes by the media who allow them to give Kenyans obscure soundbites that say nothing about what is happening on the ground. They also make empty calls for a return to a pre-colonial Africa which they will not even let us learn about, because they have blocked the learning of history and are writing policies to de-fund the arts and humanities. We must put these people with huge titles and positions to task about their loyalty to the African people in Kenya. We call on them to repent this betrayal of their own people in the name of “global standards”.
We Kenyans also need an expanded idea of education. We need arts centres where Kenyans can meet and generate new ideas. We need libraries where Kenyans can get information. We need guilds and unions to help professionals and workers take charge of regulation, training and knowledge in their specializations. We need for all work to be recognized independent of certification, so that people can be paid for their work regardless of whether one has been to school or not.
We need recognition of our traditional skills in areas like healing, midwifery, pastoralism, crafts and construction. We need a better social recognition of achievement outside business and politics. It is a pity that our runners who do Kenyans proud, our scientists, thinkers, artists and activists who gain international fame, are hardly recognized in Kenya because they were busy working, rather than stealing public funds to campaign in the next election. Our ideas are harvested by foreign companies while our government bombards us with useless bureaucracy and taxes which ensure that we have no impact here.
We need for all work to be recognized independent of certification, so that people can be paid for their work regardless of whether one has been to school or not.
Most of all, we need an end to the obsession with foreign money as the source of “development”. We are tired of being viewed as merely labour for export, we are tired of foreigners being treated as more important than the Kenyan people. We are tired of tourism which is based on the tropes of the colonial explorer and which treats Africans as a threat to the environment. And the names of those colonial settlers who dominate our national consciousness must be removed from our landmarks.
Development, whatever that means, comes from the brains and muscles of the Kenyan people. And the key to us becoming human beings who proudly contribute to society and humanity is education. Not education in the limited sense of jobs and certificates, but education in the broader sense of dignity, creativity, knowledge and solidarity.
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Pandora Papers: Worldwide Outrage Calls for Probes After Documents Revealed
The Pandora Papers, based on almost 12 million documents leaked from 14 companies that provide corporate services in offshore jurisdictions, expose some of the most prominent current or former leaders and politicians as beneficiaries of offshore accounts.
Hours after they were published on Sunday, the Pandora Papers revelations about how part of the globe’s elite has used offshore companies to evade taxes and park undeclared wealth in real estate and other assets have prompted outrage and calls for investigations.
“It’s beyond disgusting!” a Facebook user commented after having read the leak’s findings.
“Problem is the same people that make the laws to stop this type of money laundering are the same people that are doing it,” another complained.
Some said the findings were “disturbing” and “depressing,” but “unsurprising.”
The Pandora Papers, based on almost 12 million documents leaked from 14 companies that provide corporate services in offshore jurisdictions, expose some of the most prominent current or former leaders and politicians as beneficiaries of offshore accounts.
These include family members of Azerbaijan’s Ilham Aliyev, Jordan’s King Abdullah II, former U.K. Prime Minister Tony Blair, Czech Republic Prime Minister Andrej Babiš, Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta, and associates of both Pakistani Prime Minister Imran Khan and Russian President Vladimir Putin.
Jordan’s King Abdullah II, who was found by ICIJ to be the owner of 14 properties worth over US$100 million through a network of offshore companies registered in the British Virgin Islands and Panama — two notorious tax havens — saw the revelations as an attack against his country.
“There is a campaign against Jordan. It is not the first, and we are stronger than these campaigns,” he was quoted by local media on Monday as saying.
In its wake, Jordan’s Royal Hashemite Court said that the investigation’s findings contain “inaccuracies,” and have “distorted and exaggerated the facts,” adding that the Court “maintains its right to undertake the necessary legal procedures.”
The uncovered properties are located in some of the world’s most expensive areas; from Central London and Ascot in the U.K., to Georgetown and Malibu in the U.S., but the Royal Court said that those residences are “no secret,” and that it is “not unusual nor improper” for a head of state to have such properties, which are used by the King and his family during official visits, private visits, or to host officials and foreign dignitaries.
The Court also maintained that the properties were “personally funded” by the King, not the state budget or treasury, and that any connections made between the two are “baseless and deliberate attempts to distort facts.”
One of the most shocking stories in the Pandora Papers collection is OCCRP’s investigation about Azerbaijan’s President Ilham Aliyev’s son, Heydar, who owned four buildings in Mayfair – one of London’s most expensive areas – when he was 11.
All in all, nearly $700 million worth of properties in London are owned by Aliyev’s family and associates, according to the Pandora Papers.
“London, U.K. is historic Azerbaiyán… jajajaja,” a Facebook user joked.
In Baku, award-winning investigative journalist Khadija Ismailova summed up the essence of these revelations in a very sober Facebook post.
She commented on a video of a father carrying his daughter through a fast-water creek barefoot, to go to school. The young girl appeared 10 to 11 years old – the age at which Heydar would have had properties worth millions in Dubai and London, she noted.
“1,000 out of the 33 million spent on properties in London would be enough to build a bridge over this river,” Ismayilova wrote.
Oxfam International, a nonprofit group focused on tackling global poverty, took a similar stance.
“This is where our missing hospitals are. This is where the pay-packets sit of all the extra teachers and firefighters and public servants we need,” Oxfam International’s Tax Policy Lead, Susana Ruiz, said. “Whenever a politician or business leader claims there is ‘no money’ to pay for climate damage and innovation, for more and better jobs, for a fair post-COVID recovery, for more overseas aid, they know where to look.”
Elsewhere, authorities in Pakistan, the Czech Republic, Mexico, Spain, Sri Lanka, Australia and Panama have announced investigations against fellow countrymen mentioned in the project.
Pakistan’s Prime Minister Imran Khan “welcomed” the findings, and vowed to investigate and take action against those found to have done wrong.
“I call on the international community to treat this grave injustice as similar to the climate change crisis,” he tweeted. “If unchecked, inequalities between rich & poor states will increase as poverty rises in the latter. This in turn will lead to a flood of economic migration from the poor to the rich states, causing further economic & social instability across the globe.”
More than 700 Pakistanis, including cabinet members, ministers, financiers, retired generals, businessmen and media owners have been mentioned in the Pandora project.
The country’s Information Minister, Fawad Chaudhary, told OCCRP on Monday that the prime minister has set up a team “under his Inspection Commission to investigate the Pandora Leaks.”
Others couldn’t see any wrong in the findings.
Putin’s spokesman Dmitry Peskov said that the Russian government didn’t see “any hidden wealth in the Pandora Papers, no reason for official investigations.”
The International Consortium of Investigative Journalists said that its project identified “nearly 3,700 companies with more than 4,400 beneficiaries who were Russian nationals – the most among all nationalities in the data. The figure includes 46 Russian oligarchs.”
Cypriot President Nicos Anastasiades also denied wrongdoing in a statement issued after reporters revealed that a law firm he once founded and which is still named after him, had helped a Russian senator hide his assets.
While the Czech Republic said it will investigate those named in the Pandora project, Prime Minister Andrej Babiš, who allegedly transferred $22 million through offshore companies and bought a chateau on the French Riviera, said he expected an attack ahead of elections.
Babiš told CNN Prime News he bought the property with “taxed money.”
As the findings of the Pandora Papers reverberate across the globe, prompting calls for investigations and resignations, some reporters who took part in the project are beginning to feel the heat too.
Noël Konan, a journalist from the Ivory Coast and part of the Pandora Papers reporting team, is already facing pressure to drop a story revolving around his country’s politicians.
“I note, with great regret, that following the announcement of the imminent publication of my investigation, I am under pressure at the moment and some online sites are making publications in order to discredit my investigation,” he tweeted Monday.
Securing Kenya’s Electoral Integrity: Regulating Personal Data Use
The Data Protection Act needs to be fully operationalised As Kenya heads into the 2022 election cycle and a sensitisation exercise undertaken concerning the use of personal data in campaigns.
In considering the various threats posed to electoral integrity by digital platforms, it is imperative to discuss the use and regulation of personal data. The link between access to personal data on the one hand and the commission of electoral fraud or voter manipulation on the other has been examined severally in academic articles and news media. The pertinence of this discussion in Kenya is clear considering two major developments have occurred since the last election cycle – parliament enacted the Data Protection Act (DPA) and approved the appointment of a Data Commissioner. The nature of our discussion in this article revolves around whether these changes are likely to result in a positive material change in the conduct of campaigns, and if not, what can be done to ensure this. We focus on the use and regulation of personal data in the context of political messaging/campaigning.
Political messaging is central to electoral integrity. How political actors conduct themselves in the dissemination and crafting of their messages can either promote or undermine a democracy. The aim of political messaging is often persuasion. Through their messages, political actors hope to convince voters to support their policy positions or candidature. In the not-so-recent past, political messaging in Kenya—and generally around the world—was aired through traditional broadcast media. Radio, newspapers, and television served as the primary means through which political actors could reach their audiences. The nature of these means of communication, and the context surrounding their use, often meant that political messaging was easily discernible from regular content. In other words, audiences could easily tell when they were looking at a political advertisement due to the overt nature of the means and message. Further, since these are mass forms of communication, there existed little opportunity for targeted messaging – differentiating the type of messages disseminated based on the receiving audience and thereby disguising the political aims sought through the message. This meant that the electorate often had a shared experience of elections because they were subjected to uniform persuasion tactics by political actors.
Nevertheless, even when using one-to-many forms of communication, there were attempts to use targeted messaging. During the 2007/8 elections, for example, some local language radio stations were used to fan the flames of ethnic violence by exploiting the homogeneity of their respective listeners to disseminate messages of hate. In another example, bulk text messages targeted at specific communities were used to divide Kenyans along tribal lines to the extent that the then Safaricom CEO, Michael Joseph, considered blocking text messaging services.
The premise of targeting is simple. With basic demographic information, a person crafting a message can do so in a manner that appeals to specific subsets of the target population with a view to persuading the recipients. The demographic information required for targeting is often clearly observable and easily obtainable—names, ethnicity, age, occupation, etc. Through targeting, the messages disseminated to members of one demographic may vary considerably from messages sent to the rest. Targeting has been shown to be practically effective, and in some cases beneficial. In Wajir, community radio has been used to educate the local community on the effects of climate change as it relates to them. The fact that the information has been presented in the community’s language Somali, coupled with the relation of the messaging to their lived experiences, has led to robust community engagement on the topic. In political contexts, targeted messaging may be used to raise awareness around key policy or legislative decisions to ensure affected individuals are involved in the decision-making process. However, it may equally be used to achieve undesirable outcomes as we noted in relation to the bulk text messages used in the 2007/8 elections.
Targeting and microtargeting: why split hairs?
One election cycle later, political parties involved in the 2013 elections had significantly increased their reliance on digital campaigning and engaged in more detailed targeting. With an increased rate of internet connectivity and smartphone penetration in the country, political actors were better able to reach audiences at an individual level. For example, messaging targeting younger audiences appealed to their concerns about unemployment, while older audiences were informed of candidates’ plans for national stability. This was perhaps aided by the fact that a lot more demographic information was readily available on social media, and there existed no legislation regulating the collection and use of such personal data. However, the use of this ordinary targeting did not reflect the state of technology at the time.
Through the introduction of social media, and the large-scale collection of personal data that takes place on such platforms, the nuance applied to targeting had considerably developed by the 2013 election cycle. The sheer amount and scope of personal data available to political actors through these platforms meant that the precision of targeting could be infinitely refined. Essentially, there was a shift from targeting to microtargeting, with the major difference being the amount and scope of personal data used. While targeting involves using basic demographic data to craft messages for subsets of the target audience, microtargeting makes use of a wider range of data points such as online habits gleaned from trackers on social media platforms. With a broad enough range of data points, individuals conducting microtargeting can create profiles on each audience member and tailor individual messages that are a lot more subtle and convincing than ordinary targeting.
If a political actor were deploying ordinary targeting, their messaging would focus on the homogeneity of the receiving audience, assuming that the factors that would persuade them lie in their homogeneity. In microtargeting, the audience, despite being homogenous, would be further broken down at a granular level, bringing out each individual’s unique profile, and the motivations behind their political positions. The messaging targeted at such individuals is often presented in a seemingly organic manner. For example, by tracking an individual’s social media use either directly or through analytic firms, political actors can create a profile on the said individual and use that to inform the type of online advertisements they would purchase and organically place on the individual’s social media feed. In essence, microtargeting campaigns hone in on the specific trigger points of an individual or small blocs of voters, seeking to influence their behaviour during campaigns and on voting day in subtle ways.
There was a shift from targeting to microtargeting, with the major difference being the amount and scope of personal data used.
There is not enough publicly available evidence to assess the extent to which political actors in Kenya engaged in microtargeting during the 2013 and 2017 election cycles, perhaps other than the documented use of social media advertising. However, in both cycles, it is widely reported that Cambridge Analytica rendered its services to various political actors in the country. Cambridge Analytica’s involvement in Kenya—which it described as “the largest political research project ever conducted in East Africa”—entailed a large-scale gathering of Kenyans’ data through participant surveys. This, coupled with the personal data it had already improperly acquired through Facebook, ostensibly allowed it to carry out microtargeting. It claimed to be able to craft messages specific to individuals as opposed to broad demographics. In particular, it admitted to developing messaging to leverage voters’ fears of tribal violence.
The risk posed to electoral integrity by practices such as microtargeting are clear – an inability on the electorate’s part to discern organic content from political advertising calls into question their democratic autonomy and the legitimacy of political processes. The lexicon adopted by some commentators in relation to these practices—“digital gerrymandering” and “computational politics”—is therefore unsurprising. The progression of political messaging from a relatively transparent and clearly discernible practice which was uniformly applied to the electorate, to a subtle, insidious process which is based on a sophisticated level of differentiation is possible, in large part, due to the unregulated collection and use of personal data.
Personal data use in targeting and microtargeting
The idea that one can sort personal data based on certain traits and analyse it for purposes of targeting is not novel. Neither is the audacity of the attempt. In her book If Then: How One Data Company Invented the Future, Professor Jill Lepore chronicles how Simulmatics Corporation—a company founded in 1959—laid the foundation for the type of microtargeting Cambridge Analytica was engaged in. Simulmatics, through its “People Machine”, purported to be able to predict voter behaviour by making use of predictive models it developed using large swathes of personal data which it categorised into 480 subsets. Their aim was to breakdown voter profiles as granularly as possible, and to predict how each subset would respond to political stimuli. They sought to forecast voter behaviour and influence the 1960 US elections. They failed. In their pursuit of this aim, however, they foreshadowed and contributed to current microtargeting practices, which appear to be significantly more effective. They certainly highlighted the centrality of personal data to the development of such predictive models, long before average voters began publishing vast amounts of personal data on social media platforms.
As we previously discussed, the type and scope of personal data required to conduct regular targeting is basic. In Kenya, such data has previously been easy to obtain, with little-to-no controls on its usage. In everyday life, Kenyans encounter dozens of vectors through which their personal data is collected. From mobile money payments to entry logs at government buildings, Kenyans are forced to part with crucial personal data to obtain various services. The value of this personal data for commercial advertising has been recognised by data brokers who reportedly harvest such data for direct marketing. Political parties have also collected personal data from such brokers for targeting.
The lexicon adopted by some commentators in relation to these practices—“digital gerrymandering” and “computational politics”—is therefore unsurprising.
For political parties and candidates, the avenues through which they can harvest personal data are not limited to brokers. In an article on political microtargeting in Kenya, Hashim Mude helpfully identifies four additional avenues. The first of these is the register of voters which is publicly accessible during election periods by virtue of Section 6 of the Election Act. The second avenue is the membership lists compiled by the political parties themselves by virtue of their compliance obligations under Section 7 of the Political Parties Act (i.e., parties have to demonstrate that their composition is sufficiently representative). More traditionally, political parties also conduct direct collection through their grassroots networks – this is the third avenue. Finally, political parties are also able to collect personal data from other registered parties through the publicly accessible members’ lists under Section 34(d) of the Political Parties Act.
The data collected through these means primarily serves political actors in regular targeting; microtargeting would require them to gather a much broader set of data points to complement the basic demographic data they have access to. While political parties may not be able to gather such specific data sets themselves, they are often able to either contract analytic firms such as Cambridge Analytica to do so, or to leverage the data gathered by social media platforms by purchasing advertising whose audience is curated to fit the needs of the political party. This notwithstanding, evidence suggests that political parties primarily engaged in regular targeting, i.e., crafting and disseminating communications based on broad demographics such as ethnicity.
Despite Cambridge Analytica’s implication that the scope of personal data it harvested enabled it to conduct microtargeting, the evidence that is publicly available seems to suggest that basic targeting through bulk messaging along tribal lines was the primary outcome of their operation. However, one of the material differences arising from their involvement was the vast amount of personal data they collected both directly and indirectly, likely rendering this regular targeting even more potent than usual. They were able to collect such data due to Kenya’s weak regulatory framework. As Cambridge Analytica’s CEO at the time explained, Kenya’s virtually non-existent privacy laws provided them a conducive environment for their activities. This is arguably one of the main reasons political actors have been able to get away with the improper harvesting and use of personal data for both targeting and microtargeting in the past. With the enactment of the DPA, it is hoped that this will change.
Towards regulation: is there a practical difference?
As a starting point, it must be noted that Kenya’s constitution guarantees every person the right to privacy. However, until 2019, Kenya did not have a centralised law detailing how this right should be respected and fulfilled, particularly in an increasingly digital age. The DPA therefore seeks to regulate the processing of personal data. By putting in place restrictions on the collection, use, sharing and retention of data relating to identifiable natural persons, the DPA is expected to mitigate the improper handling of personal data and safeguard the right to privacy. It applies to all persons handling personal data, including political parties and candidates.
Practically, the enactment of the DPA means several things for political actors seeking to make use of personal data. For one, the obligations introduced by the DPA would invariably hamper political actors’ ordinary collection and use of personal data. Since the DPA contains prescriptions at each stage of the data lifecycle (collection, storage, use, analysis, and destruction), political actors have to be a lot more careful. For example, while it was previously easy to collect personal data indirectly and indiscriminately, political actors now have to do so directly seeking the consent of the individuals to whom the data relates (data subjects).
In everyday life, Kenyans encounter dozens of vectors through which their personal data is collected.
The collection and use of personal data would also have to be grounded in a lawful basis. Further, the principles that underpin the DPA would operate to restrict some of the microtargeting practices political actors are engaged in. In requiring that political actors only collect and make use of the minimum amount of data required for the lawful purpose they are engaged in, the DPA forecloses, to some extent, microtargeting which relies on a wide scope of personal data. The DPA also brings the practices around personal data collection and use under the supervision of the Data Commissioner, with whom these political actors would be required to register.
It is not yet clear what tangible effects (if any) the DPA has had, or will have, on the practice of targeting and microtargeting other than, perhaps, a broader awareness of privacy rights among individuals. It is also too soon to measure this because the operationalisation of the DPA is, at the time of writing, still ongoing. To be clear, the DPA is fully in force and is binding. However, key components such as the draft regulations are yet to be put in place; they were only recently developed. Without these, the Data Commissioner would be unable to, among other things, register data controllers and data processors (in our case political parties and candidates) to ensure that their activities are monitored. The proposed regulations, for example, would require individuals and entities involved in canvassing for political support to mandatorily register under the DPA, enhancing the Data Commissioner’s visibility of such actors, and facilitating enforcement action (if required).
The fact that the DPA is yet to be fully operationalised has not prevented Kenyans from relying on it to hold institutions accountable. The Data Commissioner commendably provides the public with an opportunity to file a complaint through its website even though the regulations relating to compliance and enforcement are yet to be enacted. In June of this year, a large number of Kenyans discovered—through the Office of the Registrar of Political Parties’ (ORPP) online portal—that they were registered as members of political parties without their knowledge or consent. After receiving over 200 complaints, the Data Commissioner held a meeting with the ORPP to arrange for the deregistration of those individuals. Less than a month after the ORPP scandal, the guest list of an upscale hotel in Nairobi was leaked online for purposes of revealing that a certain politically connected individual had resided there for a period of time. Shortly thereafter, an advocate filed a public interest complaint with the Data Commissioner. In response, the Data Commissioner indicated that it would look into the possibility of a data breach.
The implications of these complaints to the Data Commissioner are twofold. On the one hand, it is a positive development that Kenyans are aware of the office and its mandate. However, on the other, it is concerning that the improper handling of personal data is still common nearly two years after the enactment of the DPA. Such practices are indicative of either the absence of a sufficient understanding of the DPA and its requirements, or a blatant disregard of those requirements, though the two are not mutually exclusive. Putting in place the systems and infrastructure required to operationalise the DPA is important. However, it may not be very effective if the culture around data use is not reformed.
The fact that the DPA is yet to be fully operationalised has not prevented Kenyans from relying on it to hold institutions accountable.
From the improper handling of personal data, it is apparent that broad sensitisation around digital rights is required. Innovative initiatives such as Nanjala Nyabola’s Kiswahili Digital Rights Project which seeks to “translate and popularise’” key digital rights terms into Swahili may serve as a useful starting point for the sensitisation of individuals. Indeed, one of the Data Commissioner’s functions under the DPA is raising awareness around data protection. Synergistic collaborations with academics, civil society, and even the private sector can greatly contribute to a better understanding of data protection concepts, and how various actors are to conduct themselves. These efforts may also increase the electorate’s understanding of how microtargeting works, and the steps they can take to reduce their susceptibility to targeted messaging, such as using search engines that do not allow trackers for example.
For the use of personal data in campaigns, the involvement of political parties and candidates in these sensitisation efforts is especially crucial. As noted by the UK’s Information Commissioner’s Office (ICO) “the true ethical evolution of political campaigning in the long term will only be possible if political parties recognise that they are drivers in ensuring a high standard of data protection through the whole system”. In fact, the ICO proposed that such sensitisation be carried out by political parties and candidates in collaboration with electoral commissions (in our case the IEBC) and data protection authorities. By consulting with the two authorities, political parties and candidates would also be able to agree on standards that would guide their use of commonly held data such as that derived from the voter register and party membership lists. These efforts could perhaps even dovetail into public commitments by political actors to shun the improper use of personal data in campaigning. An example of such a commitment is the Pledge for Election Integrity developed by the Transatlantic Commission on Election Integrity.
The efforts to improve the culture around personal data use in campaigns could further be supplemented by regulation of the actual political messaging that results from this data use. The result of microtargeting campaigns is often political advertising that is precisely targeted and subtle. Kenya’s legal framework governing political advertising is currently underdeveloped. Aside from the Communication Authority’s (CA) guidelines on bulk messaging, there are no detailed guidelines on how political advertising ought to be carried out and how transparency can be achieved. The CA’s guidelines effectively aim to increase the transparency of political advertising done through bulk text messages. This is the aim of the regulation of political advertising – reclaiming the transparency lost over time through advancements in technology. Considering the subtle nature of messaging derived from microtargeting campaigns, an increase in transparency would likely contribute to restoring (or at least safeguarding) some level of autonomy for the electorate.
The CA guidelines would sufficiently cover the use of ordinary targeting in the form of bulk text messages as we head into the 2022 elections. However, further prescriptions may be required to deal with microtargeting conducted through social media. Such prescriptions could include disclosure obligations on the part of political parties and candidates when running advertisements. They could also include transparency obligations on the social media platforms which host these advertisements. For example, some platforms have taken to labelling accounts which are government-affiliated or are running political advertisements.
There are no detailed guidelines on how political advertising ought to be carried out and how transparency can be achieved.
Armed with the knowledge that a particular piece of content is sponsored by a certain political actor, a voter may at least have an opportunity to question the motives pursued. Authorities such as the IEBC and the Data Commissioner may be able to work with social media platforms to identify appropriate transparency tools that could be deployed in the forthcoming elections. Such a collaboration would have to be alive to unique local contexts. For example, applying labels to the accounts of political parties and candidates may not be sufficient considering the practice of hiring third party groups to push certain messaging online. One such group is known as the 527 militia, its name being derived from the amount of money each member is paid to run with a campaign – KShs527 (approximately US$5).
Heading into the 2022 election cycle, Kenya ought to do a few things. First, the DPA should be fully operationalised. Second, the Data Commissioner should collaborate with political actors and the IEBC to engage in widespread sensitisation around data protection and the use of personal data in campaigns. Third, political parties should commit to the proper use of personal data in their campaigns, perhaps even signing public pledges as a show of goodwill. Fourth, political advertising on social media platforms should be more closely regulated to ensure transparency. Finally, the Data Commissioner and the IEBC should work with social media platforms to develop appropriate tools that would be applied in Kenya to enhance platform accountability and transparency of messaging.
This is the second of a five-part op-ed series that seeks to explore the use of personal data in campaigns, the spread of misinformation and disinformation, social media censorship, and incitement to violence and hate speech, and the practical measures various stakeholders can adopt to safeguard Kenya’s electoral integrity in the digital age ahead of the 2022 elections. This op-ed series is in partnership with Kofi Annan Foundation and is made possible through the support of the United Nations Democracy Fund.
Conflict in Marsabit: Voter and Politician Locked in a Danse Macabre
The nature of the conflict in Marsabit has changed. Deaths are tallied, and ledgers of the unmourned dead are meticulously kept.
Counting the dead
Ninety-three deaths in the past year, the count has dominated national TV coverage of conflict in Marsabit, contributing to the trend of turning the effect of the conflict and the loss into a body-counting exercise.
A year ago, Saku Member of Parliament (MP) Ali Raso Dido spoke of the number of people killed in his constituency. On his list there were only the Borana dead; he did not include the dead from other communities. To him, as an MP, only Borana lives mattered and were worthy of raising on the floor of parliament.
In a lengthy response, his counterpart, North Horr MP Francis Chachu gave the number of dead in his constituency. He listed only the Gabra dead.
In the last cycle of conflict in Marsabit County, 75 houses were burnt down, and about 850 families were displaced. Governor Mohamud Ali called a press conference at which the list of the dead was the central theme of his statement.
Since the state has no official data on number of people who have died as a result of conflict in Marsabit, all these accounts are true, but they are also subjective and incomplete. Just why the counting is done, where to begin counting, who is to be counted and who does the counting are the concerns of these times.
In between the statistics informing politicians’ petitions to parliament, or forming the subject of a governor’s hasty press statement or the prop of a news story, there is a whole social milieu within which the conflict exists and how it is processed at the political and economic levels of grief.
A macabre dance between voters and politicians
Proximity to countries in conflict—Ethiopia, Somalia, and South Sudan—and the easy availability of Small Arms and Light Weapons have been the central explanation for the conflict in Marsabit County. While valid and, in some instances, correct, this explanation misses the fact of the banality of conflict in the county—a more insidious new lexicon that normalizes killing beyond the traditional boundaries of ethnic conflict is developing.
In the last cycle of conflict in Marsabit County, 75 houses were burnt down, and about 850 families were displaced.
This change in the ethnic conflict dynamic is a function of a perverse, mutually reinforcing loop involving politicians and voters, each egging on the other to visit more death and destruction on the opposite community. The hypercompetitive nature of local elections post-devolution significantly exacerbates this loop.
Thus, taking the “war” to the other community becomes a politician’s campaign pledge rather than the promise of building hospitals and schools or bringing about the desperately needed development. The more vociferous a politician becomes, the more likely he is to be elected.
This perverse incentive makes politicians more incendiary, making both the threat of violence and the violence itself politically rewarding.
Ancestral hatred theory
While it is often cast as anchored in ancestral hatred, there is something new about conflict in Marsabit. And because it is mutating even as we all watch, we sometimes miss it. What makes it unique is its banalisation.
Three aspects make recent conflicts in Marsabit distinct from the old ones.
One, the slow-burning, episodic nature of the conflict and the attendant “peace” meetings have come to be accepted as an immutable fact of life. But the peace-industrial complex has done little to end the conflict; instead, the conflict has mutated into something new, complete with a new lexicon and signals far more incendiary than the old conflict. This rinse-and-repeat cycle has spawned a coterie of peace entrepreneurs activated at a moment’s notice whenever violence breaks out.
This perverse incentive makes politicians more incendiary, making both the threat of violence and the violence itself politically rewarding.
Two, with increased competition over land and resources under devolution, this “new” conflict is increasingly framed in apocalyptic, existential language. As a result, voters prefer politicians who cast themselves as the “defenders” of the community from outsiders’ keen on taking their land and resources. Thus, voters lean towards politicians with a “warlord” mentality rather than those with a good development record.
Three, in this “new” conflict controlling the narrative is central, making the national media and the local-language radio stations the battleground. Where the national media frames the region as a godforsaken Badlands, local-language radio stations offer politicians a safe space from where to speak directly to their people unfiltered. WhatsApp and the ever-mushrooming Facebook groups act as a functional auxiliary for sharing media content. This interface has made the Marsabit conflict far deadlier on and offline.
Conflict as theatre
Every death in Marsabit is increasingly seen through the prism of cold arithmetic—losing and winning. This strips death of its meaning. Every death is accounted for on a ledger; it is a debt to be repaid with the death of another. Death is performance theatre, acted rather than mourned.
This theatre extends to the burial, measured by the length of the cavalcade of vehicles that accompany the body to the grave, and the promises made by politicians at his funeral or in their interviews in the local and national media. During a recent funeral, the number of vehicles contributed to the drama as cars stretched a kilometre from the centre of town to the cemetery.
Every death is accounted for on a ledger; it is a debt to be repaid with the death of another.
There was such silence in the picture that the silence was in our minds, but we know that the slow pace of the vehicles inching towards the cemetery had no connection to the past murders. In the prevailing mind-set, this image will replace that of the mad man whose throat had been slit at 8 p.m. near the market and who had tried to walk from the back of the police van into the hospital and failed—rising and falling, rising and falling.
Later, as the region’s leaders foam at the mouth on TV, everyone goes home with smaller versions of the same talk. Emotions are gauged through the metrics of tribe, place of murder, murder weapon, the known backstories of the casualties; many went unmoored as collaterals of the drama that people made of the conflict.
Part of the post-death package is “what have our leaders said?” This reaction is baked into the system of conflict, whether the said leaders are maintaining the honour of the tribe. Whether they have promised to even the score or repay the death debts. Their words are shared on and off line as a whispered social contract.
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