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Securing Kenya’s Electoral Integrity: Regulating Personal Data Use

13 min read.

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.

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Securing Kenya’s Electoral Integrity: Regulating Personal Data Use

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 communication

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.

Content regulation

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.

Part 1. Securing Kenya’s Electoral Integrity in the Digital Age

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.

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By

Abdulmalik is a legal researcher and consultant who holds a law degree from Strathmore University. His research interests include content moderation, intermediary liability and more broadly, the nexus of social media and democracy. Abdulmalik has published academic articles in peer reviewed journals, and has previously consulted for the World Bank. He currently serves as a non-permanent member of the Strathmore Law Clinic’s Oversight Board. Dr. Isaac Rutenberg is a Senior Lecturer and the Director of the Centre for Intellectual Property and Information Technology Law at Strathmore Law School in Nairobi, Kenya. He is also an Associate Member of the Center for Law, Technology, and Society at the University of Ottawa, Canada.

Op-Eds

Towards a Joint Antimilitarist Struggle: From Israel to Europe

The struggle to demilitarize European borders needs to be part of a global antimilitarist struggle that resists agencies like Frontex but also takes on the global military-industrial complex.

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Towards a Joint Antimilitarist Struggle: From Israel to Europe

By the end of 2020, a total of 82.4 million people worldwide had been forcibly displaced from their homes according to the UNHCR. The number of forcibly displaced persons globally has doubled since 1990 and is likely to increase significantly in the coming decades due to a convergence of factors, including armed conflict and other forms of violence, as well as climate breakdown, which will compound pressures to migrate.

Displacement occurs in the context of a capitalist economic system in which profits are made both through the sale of arms that are instrumental in causing conflicts and wars, and through the militarization of migrant routes and borders. Alongside the steady increase in the value of the arms trade and the spiraling number of forcibly displaced persons, the market for border security is growing with an expected worth of US$65-68 billion by 2025. War is highly profitable and the war on migrants is becoming increasingly so too.

Israeli military technologies, central to a system of settler-colonialism, apartheid and occupation, are big players in the international arms industry. “Tried and tested” on Palestinians, Israeli arms are sold to states and private agencies around the world and Israeli arms companies are now established partners of European Union border security agencies, such as Frontex, supporting the militarization of EU borders.

The Israeli arms industry is part of a global process of border militarization in a world increasingly characterized by profit-driven conflicts and militarism, all leading to further displacement — more migration and more people seeking refuge. The struggles for freedom of movement and against militarism need to work on making these links clear so that we can tackle these challenges at the root.

Frontex and EU border militarization

Frontex has a huge role in the militarization of European borders, the criminalization of migrants and the monitoring of their movements. One of Frontex’s main objectives is to identify migrants and organize operations to return them to their countries of origin. The agency increasingly works together with third countries, such as Libya, Sudan, Turkey and Belarus, coordinating containment and deportation efforts beyond EU jurisdictions.

In 2020, humanitarian groups claimed the EU is using aerial surveillance to spot stranded migrants in the Mediterranean Sea, alerting Libya’s coast guard to intervene — a move that facilitates illegal pushbacks, while non-governmental rescue operations are actively prevented and criminalized. Intercepted migrants are placed in arbitrary detention facilities in Libya, where they face human rights violations including torture, sexual violence and denial of health care. Also, on the border between Greece and Turkey, human rights organizations have documented pushbacks of refugees to Turkey by official coast guard agencies, among them Frontex and national coast guards.

The expansion of the agency has been a staple of EU policy in recent years. Frontex has now secured a €5.6 billion budget until 2027, with plans to hire 10,000 armed border guards by the end of that period. Its budget has grown by a staggering 7,560 percent since 2005, with its new resources used to buy equipment including ships, helicopters and drones. Fortress Europe, meanwhile, is increasingly covered in border walls and fences: since the Berlin Wall was torn down in 1989, European countries have built or commenced building 1,200 kilometers of fencing — a distance almost 40 percent of the length of the US-Mexico border.

What does Israel have to do with it?

This whole process is one in which both EU security agencies and European states purchase military equipment, including small arms, drones, ships and cybersecurity technology as part of their border security policies — much of which is sourced within the EU. This is also where the Israeli arms industry comes into the story. As the Israeli Database of Military and Security Equipment (DIMSE) shows, Israeli arms play a significant role in the militarization of EU borders.

Israeli arms that have been purchased among others by Italy, Greece and Germany include drones, radar systems and patrol vessels. But even more interesting are the direct military and security relations between Israel, the European Union and EU security agencies.

While US “aid” to Israel’s security capabilities of around $3.8 billion a year is well-documented, the collaboration of the EU with Israel can often be overlooked by critics. As an EU-associated state, Israel has enjoyed close economic and diplomatic ties with the EU for many years. Through research and innovation funds, the EU has invested billions in Israeli companies and organizations, including arms manufacturers like Elbit, Verint System and Israeli Aerospace Industries (IAI). Among dozens of EU-funded projects since 2007, IAI and Elbit reportedly landed contracts to develop drones for European security agencies like Frontex and EMSA (European Maritime Safety Agency) to “autonomously” stop “illegal migrants” and “non-cooperative vehicles.”

After conducting test flights between 2018-2020, IAI was awarded a contract in 2020 to provide Frontex with the Heron drone for maritime patrols. As the Times of Malta reported, the EU border agency carried out a first test flight in Malta at the beginning of May 2021. Different flight reports showed Heron drones making operational flights at the Libyan border in June 2021.

The main issue here is that drones are an effective way to elude the EU’s obligation under international law to save the lives of those trying to cross the Mediterranean — as they were obliged to do when patrolling with ships. Furthermore, in the new arrangement, Frontex continues to be present in the area from the air so they can be aware of different migrant boats setting out from the Libyan shores and to feed that information to the Libyan Coast Guard.

Frontex’s move of pulling investment in maritime patrol vessels and diverting it to drones is a way to spend money without having the responsibility to save lives and enables them to organize pushbacks through third countries. Beyond Israeli drones, the EU is operating European air vehicles and testing new robot systems, including long- and short-range drones.

Israel is essentially a go-to for countries looking to secure and militarize their borders. Israeli companies, specialists and top military generals have become increasingly visible at border and homeland security trade shows in the past 20 years. In that time, Israel became one of the top-ten largest defense exporters in the world and a leading supplier and consumer in the border security industrial complex. Israel’s military industry has been lobbying for years to get a share of EU multi-billion euro spending on border militarization.

In February 2021, a group of European journalists published the “Frontex Files,” a list of meetings between Frontex and various lobbyists, among them Israeli security companies such as the above-mentioned Elbit, as well as Shilat Optronics and Seraphim Optronics, which specialize in facial recognition technologies. Another company involved in Frontex operations is Israeli Shipyards, which produces naval vessels.

Another development that international researchers and activists have been observing is the increase in the usage of surveillance technologies to track movement and personal data via smartphones. Immigration agencies across Europe are showing new enthusiasm for laws and software that enable phone data to be used in deportation cases. In this context too, Israel’s cyber technologies are in high demand, with the infamous spyware provider, NSO Group, having long been used by European intelligence agencies.

Cellebrite, another especially problematic Israeli company, is reportedly involved in numerous human rights violations worldwide and already has 7,000 contracts with government and private groups — including the national police of 25 EU member states. Privacy International reported that the Israeli company is advertising its technologies used to extract data from mobile devices toward a new target: authorities interrogating people seeking asylum. In 2017 Cellebrite’s technology was operated in a test-phase by the German Federal Office for Migration and Refugees. In 2018, it was reported that the British Police are using Cellebrite’s mobile forensic technologies to access the search history of suspects and that the UK’s Immigration Enforcement Authority made a £45,000 deal with the firm in the same year. Between 2014 and 2016, Cellebrite also participated in EVIDENCE (European Informatics Data Exchange Framework for Courts and Evidence), a lucrative research and development program from the EU.

The other side of the coin

The other side of the coin is the usage of these technologies and arms here in Palestine-Israel. Israel uses military and security technologies to maintain its system of settler-colonialism, apartheid and occupation. Israel’s violations of international law and perpetration of war crimes during its incessant attacks on Palestinians in Gaza in May 2021 are well documented and research by antimilitarist activists about which arms were used in the attacks on Gaza is in progress in order to track new developments in the Israeli military industrial complex.

Israeli security and military companies work in direct connection with the Israeli military, providing equipment and weapons for its operations. This relationship means that military operations in Gaza and the West Bank are used as a laboratory for Israeli arms companies, where they can develop, test and then market their weapons as “combat proven.” It will not be long before Israeli companies will promote their new equipment again as “battle tested,” after the latest attacks on Gaza — an assault in which at least 129 Palestinian civilians were killed, 65 of them children, over 1,000 homes were destroyed and over 1,000 more severely damaged, leaving over 8,000 people without a home.

For an arms industry that has relied for years on marketing “combat proven” products, the next battle cannot come soon enough. EU funding for these companies inherently fuels Israel’s capacity to sustain its war crimes and violations of human rights and International Law, making the EU complicit in those violations, as well.

This takes us back to the Heron drone, which Frontex is now operating in the Mediterranean Sea. Heron drones have a dark history of use against Palestinians. Already after “Operation Cast Lead” in Gaza in late 2008 and early 2009, an investigation by Human Rights Watch concluded that dozens of civilians were killed with missiles launched from Israeli drones. The Heron was also widely used in the last major outbreak of attacks in May 2021.

On June 1, less than two weeks after the ceasefire, Israeli Aerospace Industries (IAI) published a press release detailing a $2 billion sale of Heron drones. The press release read: “Drones from the Heron family are the most prominent of the IAI drones and played an important and crucial role in collecting intelligence in operation ‘Guardian of the Walls.’” CEO of IAI, Boaz Levy, continued: “The deal is a testament to our customers’ strong satisfaction with the Heron UAVs, including their operational and technical performance.”

Israel’s technologies, which are taking part in a system of apartheid, settler-colonialism and occupation, being tested on Palestinians and are sold to dictators around the world, are now also being used to prevent migrants from entering Europe. Among these thousands of people are of course Palestinian refugees that have been immobilized on Greek islands or pushed back to Turkey in their attempt to find some relative freedom and safety away from Israeli apartheid.

Towards a joint antimilitarist struggle

Sustaining a tradition of international cooperation among political movements is crucial in these times of economic and militaristic globalization. Solidarity actions and nonviolent interventions — both of which are acts performed by “outsiders” of a conflict in cooperation with parties in the conflict — are important, but even more significant is the formation of a joint struggle against militarism.

In the last few years, we have seen some formations of this joint struggle, one of which is the international campaign Abolish Frontex. In June 2021, actions in seven countries, including Belgium, Germany and Morocco, targeted the agency. The actions marked the launch of the international campaign, which calls to defund and dismantle Frontex and Europe’s deadly border regime. The network sees in modern borders colonial and racist constructs, institutionalized by the EU’s border policies.

The Abolish Frontex campaign calls for a halt to the militarization of borders and for freedom of movement, residence and livelihood for all. Crucially, the campaign also addresses the EU’s contributions to reasons that force people to move in the first place and the repression against solidarity activists in Europe. The campaign’s network is decentralized and autonomous and is composed of groups, organizations and individuals from inside and outside the EU, ranging from Senegal and Niger to Greece and Italy.

Veterans of the international joint struggle against militarism, War Resisters International Network has been active now for 100 years, with over 90 affiliated groups in 40 countries. International movements such as the Palestinian-led Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement, Black Lives Matter and Jewish Voice for Peace are some key examples of antimilitaristic movements that continue to build forms of internationalism that cut through separations between struggles.

On the local and somewhat less visible level, joint antimilitarist struggle must involve the identification of common cause between groups and opportunities to build coalitions. In the Israeli antimilitarist struggle for example, a variety of different political and activist groups collaborate with each other. Here, anti-occupation groups cooperate with religious Jewish groups in the fight against Israeli arms exports to countries that violate human rights. Antimilitarist groups collaborate with climate-change groups in a joint struggle that sees the connection between Israeli settler colonialism, the occupation of Palestine and the destruction of the environment in the region.

One such group, the Israeli feminist and antimilitarist New Profile, sees parallels between the local struggle for the demilitarization of Israeli society and the importance of an international joint struggle against militarism, placing an intersectional feminist angle on the political agenda. Aside from local activism, education work and support of military-service objectors, New Profile is a part of WRI, Abolish Frontex and other international coalitions and groups.

The struggle to end militarism is necessarily global

Militarism is characterized by hierarchy, discipline, obedience, order, aggression and hypermasculinity and is defined by the norms and values of traditional state military structures. It is not limited to the armed forces, as other institutions take up its values and practices — whether police or security agencies, such as Frontex.

Militarism around the world will continue to sustain the racist, violent structures and borders that look to uphold a colonial and oppressive status quo. It is not just an “issue” for peace organizations and movements, as it is tied to much of the oppression and violence experienced today worldwide. We need to demilitarize the institutions and structures that sustain this status quo. This must take place as part of a radical international joint struggle where activists collaborate and learn from one another.

The struggle to demilitarize European borders, for instance, needs to be part of a global antimilitarist struggle that resists agencies like Frontex but also takes on the military industrial complex, as exemplified by the Israel-EU nexus. It needs to look at global and local structures and processes of militarism and conflicts that not only produce the technology to create borders, but also are at the root of why people need to flee in the first place.

Such a struggle involves not being stuck in only “solidarity” work: movements against militarism need to promote a fundamentally different social, economic and political order. That is, they need to put capitalism, racism and patriarchy on the political agenda — issues that are often avoided by political organizations and movements in the Global North because they require acknowledgement of our own contradictions and privileges, a questioning of our way of life and a commitment to concrete changes.

If we aspire to building a sustainable alternative to a world of profit-driven militarism and violence, we need to see it as part of the deeper challenge of overcoming global capitalism and racist colonial power relations. Therefore, the antimilitarist struggle must accentuate the relation between international feminist, anti-racist, anti-colonial, queer, anti-capitalist and anti-fascist struggles on one side and target the allied opponents of progressive values and basic human rights on the other.

This piece was previously published by Progressive International.

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Burying the Lede: Kenyan Media Smothers Pandora Papers Story

Reporting on the Pandora Papers leak has robbed the country of the opportunity to use the revelations as a catalyst for change.

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Burying the Lede: Kenyan Media Smothers Pandora Papers Story

The publication of the Pandora Papers, a massive investigation into how world leaders and public officials use offshore tax havens to hide assets worth hundreds of millions of dollars, has caused a bit of a stir in Kenya. However, by and large, the reaction of the Kenyan media has served to shed more darkness on an already obscure subject.

Among those whose overseas financial arrangements have been exposed is the family of President Uhuru Kenyatta, whose father, Jomo Kenyatta, was Kenya’s first president. That the Kenyattas, and other political families, have been stashing massive sums of money abroad will come as no surprise to anyone with a passing knowledge of Kenya’s history. Easily the richest family in the land, there have long been complaints about how that wealth was (and continues to be) acquired and the revelations about where it is kept will simply add more fuel to the fire.

Even before he became president in 1964, Jomo Kenyatta was known for his problematic relationship with other people’s money. In his book Kenya: A History Since Independence, historian Charles Hornsby notes that as far back as 1947, people had noted Kenyatta’s “desire for money and difficulties in separating his personal financial affairs” from those of the institution he was running. These traits would attain their full expression during his 15-year rule and beyond.

Functionally broke when he entered State House, by his death in 1978, his family would boast, according to the US Central Intelligence Agency, “extensive holdings of farms, plantations, hotels, casinos and insurance, shipping and real estate companies,” with members of the family occupying major public office and influential posts in large foreign-owned industrial companies doing business in Kenya. The family would also be deeply involved in the ivory and charcoal trade that decimated Kenya’s elephants and forests, as well as in smuggling.

That the Kenyattas, and other political families, have been stashing massive sums of money abroad will come as no surprise to anyone with a passing knowledge of Kenya’s history.

Today, they have fingers in almost every pie in the Kenyan economy and the family has continued to exploit its privileged position to milk Kenyans. In 2017, one scholar described a partnership between the family’s bank and Kenya’s largest mobile service provider to offer mobile loans to adult Kenyans at extortionate rates as “the extraction of surplus on a national scale for the substantial benefit of one politically connected family.” Within the first 14 months of the arrangement, the bank was dispensing over 24,000 loans daily at an annualized interest rate of 90 per cent, and over 140,000 borrowers had been blacklisted by credit reference bureaus for defaulting on the loans.

Where does all the money extracted from poor Kenyans go? Kenyans got a clue in 2007 when Wikileaks, the whistleblowing website, leaked a report by Kroll, the international risk consultancy. In one of its first major scoops, the website released details of the 110-page investigation into the looting of Kenya during the regime of Daniel arap Moi – who succeeded Jomo Kenyatta in 1978 – that had been commissioned (and buried) by Moi’s successor and Uhuru Kenyatta’s predecessor, Mwai Kibaki.

The report revealed how Moi’s family had created “a web of shell companies, secret trusts and frontmen” to funnel over US$1.3 billion into nearly 30 countries including the UK. It is notable that the Pandora Papers leak has shown that the Mois and the Kenyattas shared the same consultants – from the private wealth division of the Swiss bank UBP – who helped them hide their money overseas.

Given the above, it is surprising that Kenyan media has opted to frame the release of the papers as an issue of legality rather than ethics. The repeated refrain is that there is no evidence the Kenyattas broke any laws, with short shrift given to questions about the advisability of allowing public officials who are paid to fix local problems to not only stash money abroad, boosting foreign economies, but, perhaps more importantly, to hide their ownership of it. When the Kenyattas and others who have relatively easy access to public money can effectively disguise what they own in a confusing, Matryoshka doll complex of foreign briefcase companies and foundations, how can the public ever trust that it is not being robbed? This is even more so the case given the ongoing attempts to extradite two former officials for laundering close to US$10 million in illicit bribes through the British tax haven of Jersey.

It is surprising that Kenyan media has opted to frame the release of the papers as an issue of legality rather than ethics.

The Pandora Papers come as Kenya is engaged in a discussion on wealth declaration laws prompted by the government’s public outing of the riches belonging to Kenyatta’s deputy, William Ruto – another politician linked to the massive looting enterprise that is the Kenyan government – after the two had a falling out. Kenyatta and his cronies have been trying to undercut Ruto’s bid to succeed him as president in next year’s elections by exposing the fallacy of Ruto’s cynical and populist attempt to paint himself as one with the common masses he is suspected of robbing.

Kenyan public officials and their immediate families are required by law to file wealth declaration forms every two years, but in a typically self-defeating move, the declarations are kept confidential with penalties of up to 5 years’ imprisonment for publishing or otherwise disseminating the information. It is thus unclear whether Kenyatta and other politicians have actually complied with the law and declared the assets they have hidden abroad.

The Pandora Papers also present an important opportunity to discuss the culpability of Western professionals, banks and jurisdictions in enabling the accumulation and camouflaging of illicit funds by public officials and their families. According to Tax Justice Network Africa, for every dollar of development aid that comes to the continent, ten dollars have left in the form of illicit financial flows, tax evasion and avoidance, as well as corruption. And much of this money ends up in Western economies – as both the Kroll report and the Pandora Papers have demonstrated.

“Tax havens play a facilitatory role in human rights abuse by providing an avenue for hiding and laundering money which has been . . . acquired under dubious circumstances” such as corruption, writes Robert Mwanyumba of the East Africa Tax and Governance Network. And it is the countries that shout the loudest about corruption that run and benefit from these havens. The British Virgin Islands, where the Kenyattas incorporated one of their shell companies, is part of what has been described as the “Spider’s Web”, which the Tax Justice Network describes as “a network of British territories and dependencies [where the UK government has full powers to impose or veto lawmaking] that operates as a global web of tax havens laundering and shifting money into and out of the City of London.”

The Pandora Papers come as Kenya is engaged in a discussion of wealth declaration laws prompted by the government’s public outing of the riches belonging to Kenyatta’s deputy, William Ruto.

In fact, according to the Financial Secrecy index 2020, two-thirds of the top 12 most important financial secrecy jurisdictions are either in the US, Western Europe or British Overseas Territories. When treated as a single entity, the UK and its web rank at the very top of this index of abettors of theft and corruption.

The reporting by Kenyan media, therefore, does Kenya and Kenyans a great disservice. By focusing on the legalities and ignoring the ethics, it strips the issue of its potency as a driver of change and allows politicians to detract from what is important. Already, President Kenyatta has welcomed the Pandora Papers as “enhancing the financial transparency and openness that we require in Kenya and around the globe”, and acknowledged that “the movement of illicit funds, proceeds of crime and corruption thrive in an environment of secrecy and darkness.” One would be forgiven for thinking that it is not his own and his family’s lack of transparency about the source of their wealth, as well as their attempts to cloak the funds “in an environment of secrecy and darkness”, that is in question.

In the final analysis, whether the revelations contained in the Pandora Papers will move the needle on local reform to eliminate financial secrecy and Kenya’s participation in global efforts to rid the world of tax havens, will depend on whether the media can change course. The question our journalists must confront is whether they will remain a lapdog for local elites or become the people’s guard dog.

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Undaunted Father Dolan: Missionary or Rebel With a Cause?

In his new book, Father Gabriel Dolan explains his life’s work in Kenya and why he chose to speak truth to power.

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Undaunted Father Dolan: Missionary or Rebel With a Cause?
Photo: Flickr/Maina Kiai

Six weeks after the coup attempt of August 1st, 1982, a young Irish priest arrived in Kenya to take up his first missionary posting in the Catholic Diocese of Lodwar in Turkana, a deeply impoverished and marginalised region in the semi-arid northwest of the country. Gabriel Dolan couldn’t have come to the country at a more challenging time. President Daniel arap Moi was tightening the screws on all forms of opposition to his rule, and the country was rapidly descending into a dictatorship.

But Father Dolan was not daunted by the many obstacles his missionary work in Kenya would likely face. Instead he saw them as an opportunity to carry out Christ’s vision by empowering the millions of people in the country who had been neglected and oppressed by the state for years. Like the many liberation theologians in Latin America who fought against dictatorship in the 1980s, he had a vision of a people being free of poverty, violence, ignorance and oppression. After seeing the dire conditions in Turkana, he founded the Catholic Justice and Peace Commission, which became an important vehicle through which the people of the region could voice their concerns. As so began a journey that would see Dolan not only become a thorn in the flesh of powerful Kenyan politicians but the country’s elite clergy as well.

The Catholic priest’s human rights work in Kenya over the last forty years, which almost got him killed, has now been captured in his book Undaunted: Stories of Freedom in a Shackled Society – a scathing indictment of Kenyan society and its political leaders. In the book Gabriel Dolan describes his work in Lodwar, Kitale and Mombasa, three very different part of the country with their unique challenges, but ones he was familiar with, poverty being one of them. Like colonised Kenyans, the people of Northern Ireland had experienced landlessness and evictions under the British Crown. Poverty and homelessness were ever-present threats during Dolan’s childhood. His father worked as a farm labourer and the family lived in a house that lacked electricity and running water. When the landlord sold the farm, the Dolan family couldn’t find another home for months due to discriminatory housing policies that favoured the ruling elite. That heartbreaking childhood experience, he says, instilled a compassion in him for the thousands of people in Kenya who face the threat of demolition and eviction on a daily basis.

It is, therefore, no surprise that much of Father Dolan’s work revolves around land and housing rights, which in Kenya are extremely volatile issues that have been festering beneath the surface for decades. He does not mince words when he blames post-independence leaders of perpetuating land alienation and displacement that marked the country’s colonial history, and for failing to implement policies that would reverse skewed land distribution.

“The families of the country’s three Presidents since independence jointly own around one million acres of the best and most valuable land in the country…Displaying most of your wealth before your citizens’ eyes makes you quite vulnerable in time of conflict and transition. It also provides a powerful motive to retain power at all costs because a radical change in leadership would put your property and businesses in real jeopardy. That message is often not understood by the Kenyan public despite their obsession with the politics of transition ” he writes.

Dolan documents various cases of housing rights violations and outright theft of public land by politicians, including a heartbreaking case where the Kenyatta family callously evicted people in Taita Taveta to secure 20,000 acres of land. Not only were the people violently evicted but their water supply was also deliberately cut off. Recent promises by President Uhuru Kenyatta to hand over some of the land to the original inhabitants also resulted in tears as the title deeds issued had no clear owner, with some titles having more than one family registered. Others were given titles to land that was already occupied. “How much land does one family need?” asks Dolan.

Father Dolan also wades into various timely topics that have impacted Kenyan lives in the last few years, including devolution. While not dismissive of the concept, he believes that some governors have started to act like mini dictators by milking their counties for their personal benefit. He has a particular bone to pick with Mombasa governor Hassan Ali Joho, who has been challenged in court by Haki Yetu, an organisation founded by Dolan, for taking on an expensive housing project on public land with little public participation, and without consulting the communities affected. Joho called Dolan “an enemy of development” even though it was clear that the project would have benefitted very few people and that private developers would be the biggest beneficiaries.

It is quite obvious that Father Dolan has been inspired by another Catholic priest in Kenya who was murdered for defending the rights of the poor. Although he barely knew John Kaiser, the American missionary whose mysterious death in August 2000 led to public outcry and a botched Commission of Inquiry, Dolan sees in Kaiser a man of God who was not afraid to speak truth to power, even if it meant exposing some of the country’s most powerful politicians. Father Kaiser’s revelations cost him his life, but as Dolan says, his death did not end the struggle for truth and justice in Kenya.

While reading the book, I couldn’t help wondering if it is Father Dolan’s deep faith that propels him to work for the voiceless or whether he is an iconoclast who uses the Church to carry out his rebellion. My feeling is that it is both – not only do Jesus’s teachings motivate him but Kenya’s highly unequal and unjust society provides him with a just cause. He is deeply inspired by Catholic priests in Latin America who laid down their lives to protect the poor, and by Pope Francis, who comes from the same tradition.

I envy Father Dolan’s faith, because those of us who work in the arena of human rights struggle with issues to do with religion. Many, like myself, abandoned organised religions years ago because we could not reconcile these religions’ deeply patriarchal and hierarchical structures with our advocacy for a just, egalitarian, and non-sexist world. So I expected a book that, while speaking for the poor and voiceless, would also be reverential towards the Catholic Church in Kenya. But Father Dolan has few kind words to say about Kenya’s clergy that he believes has been almost completely coopted and compromised by a rapacious political establishment.

“For the last ten years, politicians have been donating millions of shillings to Catholic churches and institutions in Kenya. Most of these ‘generous’ men – always men – have never explained the source of their massive wealth yet they have been linked to mega corruption scandals and land grabbing as well as the looting of the public coffers for decades,” he writes. As a result, Christianity has become an integral and vital part of a dysfunctional society and priests have become “commodities for hire”.

In defending his position, he quotes Pope Francis, who said: “The scandal of poverty cannot be adequately addressed by promoting strategies of containment that only tranquilize the poor and render them tame and inoffensive.”

He is also not afraid to criticize the global Catholic Church, which he thinks has veered off its original path of charity and mercy and become an extremely hierarchal, male-dominated institution. “If the Church had a more open, accountable and democratic structure for engagement with the public, would the evils of sexual abuse not have been avoided and the lives of thousands of children been better protected?” he asks.

Gabriel Dolan is a man of rare courage. I suppose one of the advantages he has over Kenyan writers and commentators is that he represents a powerful international religious institution that few Kenyan politicians would dare to take on. But as the case of Father Kaiser (who Dolan describes as a martyr) shows, even men of God in Kenya can be eliminated if they pose a threat to the status quo. By documenting his experiences, Father Dolan has done this country a huge favour. Present and future Kenyan generations will get to understand how and why we got to the place where we are at now.

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