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Burning Ambition: Education, Arson and Learning Justice in Kenya
8 min read.In a newly published book Elizabeth Cooper examines the complex reasons behind the frequent cases of arson in Kenya’s boarding secondary schools.

I have just published a book about secondary school students’ experiences of education and fire-setting in their schools entitled Burning Ambition: Education, Arson, and Learning Justice in Kenya. The particular elephant that just entered this space then is that I am a Canadian-born researcher. And so, the first question you might ask is: “Why?”, and I don’t mean “Why are Kenyan students setting fires in schools?” I mean “Why did a Canadian researcher write this book? What could my book possibly offer Kenyans?”
For Kenyans already know why students have been setting fires in their secondary schools. There have been hundreds of media stories about school arson involving interviews with students, teachers and others. There have been government-appointed task forces in 2008 and 2016 that travelled the country to interview students, teachers, and others, and reported on their many findings. There have been Kenyan scholars publishing articles with their analysis. The country’s talented cartoonists have captured many of the issues at stake. The popular TV show Tahidi High has broadcast episodes dramatizing some of the ways students and others understand school fires. Indeed, most of the time when I speak to anyone in Kenya about the occurrence of students’ arson in schools, I hear astute analysis that combines a list of students’ school-based stresses and grievances with understanding that young people tend to lack peaceable options for safely expressing any dissenting views, and concern that young Kenyans have been exposed to many uses of violence to claim authority. Of course, I have also sometimes heard politicians and other authority figures denigrating children and youth as naturally wild and even evil. However, most thoughtful people see through such narrowed blame as a diversionary tactic by those who don’t want to seriously tackle a complex issue.
But there is no getting around it: students targeting schools with arson is a complex issue. Despite all the existing knowledge of contributing factors, the challenge of actually extinguishing this arsonist trend continues. In fact, the complexity of contributing factors often seems to make the task of prevention impossible.
When public discussions turn to what should be done, there is a common tendency to try to reduce the agenda to just a few concerns: perhaps reducing the emphasis on exam scores to mitigate students’ stress, or providing more psychosocial support to young people and opportunities for them to have their perspectives considered, or is it about closing boarding schools, or somehow eliminating the widespread use of violence in society? It’s understandable that it’s perplexing and daunting to know where and how to start tackling the danger of school fires when there are clearly so many contributing factors and an extensively multifaceted collective effort is required.
My book does not prescribe solutions. I couldn’t do this, even if I wanted to try. But that’s not because I don’t also have a good grasp of the situation. I think I do. Since 2013, I have been conducting research related to school fires by spending time in schools and at fire investigations, reading reports and court transcripts, and interviewing hundreds of students, former students, teachers, education administrators, and other community members. I hope these data and my analysis of them will provide fresh and nuanced ways for Kenyans to consider what’s happening among secondary students and where help might need to be extended.
But I can’t provide a plan of action for two reasons. First, I am not part of the Kenyan citizenry and these matters will require broad and deep societal participation—in families, schools, wider communities, and ultimately in political action. I can help support such engagement, but at the end of the day, I’m not embedded in Kenyan society and I’m not a Kenyan citizen to insist on holding Kenyan elected officials and public servants to account. Actions will need to be taken by Kenyans as this is the education system for Kenyan children and Kenyan society. And second, my book is a scholarly enterprise; it synthesizes research so as to inform—perhaps even to diagnose—but not to prescribe. As a researcher, I offer a coherent account of as much relevant data and focused analysis as I could muster. Ideally, this will feed into public policy considerations that Kenyans will pursue. These considerations are, of course, happening now, in relation to the future of educational reforms, and specifically the new competency-based curriculum (CBC). But a scholarly book is meant to stand the test of time and stimulate thoughtfulness beyond immediate events.
My book’s analysis situates Kenyan secondary students’ school arson in broader contexts, tracing historic legacies, global connections, and the complex psychosocial dynamics of young people’s apprenticing into their political selves. I hope it will be read by Kenyans, and those who care about what’s happening in Kenya, but I also want students and scholars and policymakers in Canada, the US, South Africa, Tanzania, India, the UK, and everywhere else to read it because there are lessons to be taken from the actions of Kenyan secondary students that are significant to all of us.
As I describe in the introduction of Burning Ambition, globalized promises that education will transform lives through lifting people out of poverty and securing more prosperous futures have inspired children, families, and societies around the world to invest massive amounts of effort, money, and hope in schooling. Some hopes have been realized, of course. But the promises of success through education have also produced untold experiences of failure. In most cases, people’s experiences of disappointment with education have been discrete, both quiet and individualized. I cite examples taken from India, Uganda, Niger, Ethiopia, the United States, Singapore, and China, where researchers have documented young people’s feelings of having personally failed because they could not achieve the promised idea(l)s of success that they once believed were possible through schooling. Such a sense of individual responsibility for failure has made people blame themselves, leading to deep demoralization, anxiety, and in some cases self-harm. As I note, much of this global phenomenon of widespread disappointment with education’s failed promises is practiced in submissive ways, suggesting little immediate threat to the status quo.
Students’ setting fire to their schools can be understood as a departure from such individualized and submissive modes of despondency, I contend:
Secondary students in Kenya are challenging the existing complacency with the globalized agenda of “education for all” and its failures. As I argue throughout this book, Kenyan students’ collective acts of arson in their schools are in part a demand for fairer chances at success. They are not aiming to annihilate their chances for educated futures by taking destructive actions in their schools. Rather, they are trying to correct a system that they see as intolerably punitive and unfair. They mean for their actions to speak beyond their schools and reverberate through political society. Students’ collective contentious actions in schools serve as important critiques, if we accept with Tania Li (2017: 1248) that “Critique means prising open the capitalist world as we find it, and exposing its imminent tendencies—the waste, inequality and violence, as well as the growth—to critical challenge.” Kenyan high school students are demonstrating that submissive despondency is not the only possible response to failed, or suspect, developmental promise. (Cooper 2022: 5-6)
None of that analysis is meant to romanticize students’ arson. Some cases of school arson have been tragically deadly. As painful as those incidents were, they were the exceptions, however. In recent years, Kenyan secondary students have demonstrated time and time again that their actions are somewhat disciplined: the vast majority of cases have not targeted people, but instead infrastructure, and very specific pieces of school infrastructure. We need to pay attention to such patterns, and their exceptions, to better understand this phenomenon. That’s some of the work I do in Burning Ambition.
Such a sense of individual responsibility for failure has made people blame themselves, leading to deep demoralization, anxiety, and in some cases self-harm.
Between 2008 and 2018, more than 750 secondary schools were targeted with arson, and the chief suspects were the students of those schools. I came to this tally though a systematic counting of incidents in government and media reports, and it is likely an undercounting, due to the lack of systematic incident reports between 2009 and 2014. Students’ arson in secondary schools has occurred every year since 2008 (and many cases before 2008 which I also review in the book), with some noticeable spikes in 2008 and 2016, which I examine. Students have set fires in schools in all regions of the country, at boys’ schools, girls’ schools, and mixed schools, at government and private schools, at national, extra-county, county, and some sub-county schools, and schools that have high, average, and low median exam scores. Therefore, the underlying causes cannot easily be attributed to regional, ethnic, gender, or class distinctions.
The most glaring pattern is that students’ arson has almost exclusively occurred in boarding schools. The majority of fires have targeted dormitories, but other infrastructure has been purposefully set alight too. Paying attention to these patterns and exceptions provides important insights. For instance, quite obviously, we must look at how young people experience their boarding schools, and yet we can also note that many students attend boarding schools in other countries without such frequent collective arson. And so, we must also attend to how young Kenyan students think about arson and other acts of destruction as significant and useful for their aims.
The underlying causes cannot easily be attributed to regional, ethnic, gender, or class distinctions.
When students try to explain why they turn to arson in their schools they say it’s because it’s the only means they have to make their voices heard. And they have learned that to try to prevent or punish perceived injustices in their schools, arson can be effective. What kinds of ‘injustices,’ you might ask? All kinds. Sometimes these are neatly articulated by students: they might point to their perceptions of corruption or intolerably harsh treatment on the part of a principal, for example. Many times, their actions fill in some of the explanations: the majority (but certainly not all) of school fires are set around the time of so-called mock exams, and so it seems students act to avoid these. But not for the immediate reasons we might guess; students are fearful of doing badly on mock exams, yes; but what often undergirds that fear is not wanting to face the humiliation and punishments that go along with poor mock exam performances. We should not downplay students’ fears of feeling humiliated; students at boarding schools are engrossed in striving for success, and experiences of failure can be acutely demoralizing, especially so when these are made the focus of public humiliations, like at school assemblies.
Such concerns are sometimes labelled as “petty grievances” in Kenyan public discourse, and castigated as not justifying the destruction of school property. This might be true, but that’s a moralizing argument and not a pragmatic one: the fact of the matter is students do turn to arson and destruction to make their dissent known. Students act with arson because they see it as their only way to achieve their aims of protest. How might they come to a different conclusion? Providing more space for young people’s views to be considered and even incorporated into educational planning seems a pragmatic place to start.
The most difficult part in all of this, I think, is that students are not always able to neatly articulate what they are protesting. Yes, sometimes they burn to avoid exams, but this is not an isolated fear; more broadly, students experience profound worry for their futures and doubt that their education will help them get very far. Yes, students sometimes act out destructively to punish what they perceive as moral transgressions in their own schools’ management, but their deeper frustration is with perceiving that the entire system—not just the schooling system—is rigged and unjust. Yes, boarding students sometimes burn their dorms to get a break from what some call their “prisons”, but is it any wonder that young people want to sometimes escape feeling isolated and always in competition with others, and instead want to enjoy feeling connected in affection and comfort with others? Isn’t it understandable that they want more from life, especially when they see that their intensive striving in school likely won’t be their ticket to a good life? Each young person is carrying around a bundle of worries and fears and frustrations. And those are legitimate; students do seem pretty wise to the world as it is now. Opening up more empathy and consideration to their feelings might actually help create a wiser world.
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Great Lakes and Horn of Africa in Flux: Which Way President Ruto?
Newly elected President William Ruto has his work cut out crafting a coherent political strategy to address the crises bedevilling the Great Lakes Region and the Horn of Africa.

On September 13, William Ruto was sworn in as the fifth president of Kenya following a tightly contested election that had to be adjudicated upon by the Supreme Court of Kenya. The inauguration ceremony was attended by almost 20 heads of states and governments including all the presidents of the East African Community. As the celebrations fade and the reality of the work that awaits sinks in, President Ruto has a full in-tray of regional security crises around the Great Lakes Region and the Horn of Africa that require his attention. To some observers, he has big shoes to fill—those left by his predecessor, retired president Uhuru Kenyatta who has been hailed by some for having an aggressive and assertive foreign policy agenda. This article analyses the key regional issues that President William Ruto must pay attention to as he emerges from the shadows as a Deputy President to become a full president of one of the anchor states in the Great Lakes region and the Horn of Africa.
First, President Ruto comes into office at a time when the East African Community has admitted a new member—the Democratic Republic of Congo. The inclusion of the DRC brings with it the challenge of the unending conflict of the Eastern DRC where the M23 and other rebel groups continue to cause havoc and destruction. Second, the conflict in Ethiopia between the Tigray Defense Forces and the Ethiopian government has been re-ignited once again, with reports of each side violating the ceasefire agreements signed earlier on. Third, South Sudan has recently extended the tenure of the transitional government for another two years, meaning that the elections scheduled for December will be postponed. The fledgling Revitalised Transitional Government of National Unity still faces an uphill task in bringing order and peace to the country. Fourth, Kenya remains a key player in Somalia, with its troops still forming a key part of the AU Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS).
DRC and the emerging regional security complex
The security challenge facing the Eastern part of DRC is of great interest because it is inextricably linked to the emerging regional security complexes within the Great Lakes Region. Therefore, it has the potential to engulf the entire region if not well addressed. Furthermore, this is the first time the EAC is being called upon to mobilise an intervening regional force to be deployed in a member state.
This comes against the backdrop of a bitter exchange of words between Presidents Felix Tshisekedi of DRC and Paul Kagame of Rwanda over who is responsible for the re-emergence of the conflict waged by the M23. This unending blame game between Rwanda and DRC threatens to sour the goodwill among the presidents of the EAC. President Ruto’s predecessor, former president Kenyatta, had laid a smooth path for President Tshisekedi to join the EAC and cultivated a very close working relationship that saw Kenya make an entry into the DRC market. This also led the Kenya Defence Forces to joining the UN peacekeeping MONUSCO mission. Kenya assuming the command role of the regional force in DRC was a culmination of these efforts by President Kenyatta to portray Kenya as a reliable ally of DRC.
During the presidential election campaign in Kenya, President Ruto made comments describing DRC citizens as people who liked dancing a lot and wearing high-waisted trousers, and not involved in dairy farming, a comment that almost caused a diplomatic spat between the two countries. Therefore, as he takes his place in the EAC Summit, President Ruto has a lot to repair in terms of relationship building with his DRC counterpart who is a known ally of Raila Odinga, his competitor in the just concluded elections. Already, Ruto’s hands are tied by the EAC Heads of State Summit’s decision to nominate President Kenyatta as the lead of the East DRC peace efforts that he had initiated. President Ruto should therefore follow in the footsteps of his predecessor and emphasize the collective will and role of the EAC in addressing this complex security issue.
The restive Horn and IGAD competing interests
While President Ruto was preparing to be sworn in, the Tigray Defense Forces issued a press release agreeing to participate in the African Union-led mediation efforts. This was a departure from their past communications which were full of mistrust of the AU. At the time of writing, the African Union has organised a meeting of the parties to be held in South Africa. Prior to this, fighting was reported to have resumed, with reports that Ethiopian forces had attacked and bombed certain areas within the Tigray region. Further reports indicate that neighbouring Eritrea has also invaded the border regions, further complicating the conflict.
In Somalia, the threat of the Al Shabaab terrorist group remains real for both Kenya and Somalia, and there is a need for greater collaboration between the countries’ two leaders. Kenya still has its troops stationed in Somalia under the AU Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS). Besides the Al Shabaab terror threat, Kenya and Somalia are still embroiled in a maritime dispute following Kenya’s rejection of the ICJ ruling that favoured Somalia.
The Revitalised Agreement on the Resolution of the Conflict in the Republic of South Sudan (R-ARCSS) continues to face headwinds as there seems to be no clear indication as to when it will be fully implemented. The US’s withdrawal of support has dented confidence in the South Sudan peace process. Furthermore, the recent decision to postpone the elections until 2024 has thrown the prospects of a peaceful resolution of the conflict into doubt.
To address some of these challenges, President Ruto needs to visit some of the countries engaged in conflict. At the time of writing, President Ruto was scheduled to visit Addis Ababa, his first visit to a regional capital and the seat of the African Union. Second, he needs to visit Asmara to speak to one of the key actors in the Tigray conflict, President Isaias Afwerki who for the longest time has been treated as a pariah in the region. Subsequently, President Ruto should rally his peers to fully engage Eritrea on some of the regional security challenges.
Third, President Ruto should push the United States and the European Union to press the AU to treat the conflict with greater urgency. There have been reports that the AU, led by its Chair Moussa Faki, has been lethargic in responding to the crisis. These allegations were recently given prominence by former president Uhuru Kenyatta’s decision to skip the planned mediation talks in South Africa. In a letter outlining his reasons for skipping the talks, Kenyatta urged the AU to provide “clarity on the structure and modalities of the talks”.
President Ruto should rally his peers to fully engage Eritrea on some of the regional security challenges.
In addition to this, President Ruto should urge the international community to prevail upon the AU and Moussa Faki to drop former Nigerian president Olusegun Obasanjo as the lead mediator and replace him with former president Kenyatta. So far, the TPLF has expressed reservations about the role of Obasanjo whom they see as too soft on Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed. This is because, as a former head of state, Kenyatta lacks the political influence he previously commanded as a sitting president to call to order all the actors in the conflict. Therefore, without the AU/IGAD backing Kenyatta as the lead mediator, his mission will not achieve the desired outcomes.
Fourth, President Ruto will need to approach the Somalia case with a lot of caution because of the fluidity of the politics in Mogadishu. He will need to avoid the mistakes of his predecessors and treat Somalia as an equal despite the internal challenges the country faces. On the maritime dispute, President Ruto has to find a working formula which will benefit both Kenya and Somalia and diffuse any tensions that emerge from it. There are signs that relations will be better; in a recent interview on Al Jazeera President Ruto was full of praise of Somalia’s President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud, saying that he was ‘’more progressive and committed to fighting Al Shabaab”. This was a thinly veiled dig at his predecessor, President Farmaajo, whose tenure was riddled with diplomatic spats between Kenya and Somalia.
Kenyatta lacks the political influence he previously commanded as a sitting president to call to order all the actors in the conflict.
Fifth, President Ruto needs to be assertive on South Sudan leaders to fully implement the R-ARCSS agreement. Kenya seems to have taken its foot off the gas pedal when it comes to South Sudan. While Kenya continues to chair the Reconstituted Joint Monitoring and Evaluation Commission (RJMEC) through Maj. Gen. Charles Gituai, key observers agree that Kenya has since fallen behind Uganda and Ethiopia as the key player in South Sudan. Will he reverse the trend and have Kenya regain its foothold in South Sudan? A big decision will be whether President Ruto will retain former vice president Kalonzo Musyoka as Special Envoy or whether he will replace him.
While Kenya is often praised for its role as an anchor state in a region engulfed in chaos, its regional foreign policy does not appear to be based on a coherent political strategy. This lack of coherent strategy in its foreign policy has made Kenya vulnerable to international and domestic sources of instability. As President Ruto begins his tenure and embarks on a regional tour starting with Addis Ababa, the seat of the African Union, will he follow his predecessor’s footsteps or chart his own course?
Op-Eds
Supreme Court Ruling on 2022 Kenyan Presidential Poll Challenge
The Court set out neutral and objective framework principles to guide its adjudication of the case, reasoned closely and narrowly within those principles, and set out its chain of reasoning in a judgment on record.

To a comparative constitutional lawyer, Article 140 of the Kenyan Constitution is an interesting provision: it sets out, in some detail, the legal route by which a dispute around a presidential election is to be resolved. Read with Article 163(3)(a), it clothes the Supreme Court of Kenya with the exclusive prerogative – as well as the duty – to hear and decide a challenge to a presidential election, within fourteen days. Article 140’s mandatory and time-bound language precludes the Supreme Court from taking two paths, which judiciaries often take, to avoid entanglement in politics: declining jurisdiction to hear a dispute, or simply putting off a decision until the case becomes infructuous. Rather, Article 140 envisages that the Supreme Court will be the first – and final – arbiter of the most contentious of all political disputes.
This puts the Supreme Court in something of a bind. A large part of judicial legitimacy flows from a Court’s ability to stay out of political disputes, or to carefully negotiate political terrain when such questions are thrown up before it. The histories of independent judiciaries around the world have shown us that if a Court deals politicians too many setbacks, a backlash will not be far behind.
This bind is worsened by two things. The first is that complicated electronic technology has become integral to modern-day elections, and disputes around elections will therefore require the Court to assess competing claims around technology, presented by duelling sets of experts. This is a fraught exercise at the best of times, and becomes particularly fraught when a presidential election turns on the outcome. The second – and related – point is that many of the issues that arise in a presidential dispute will necessarily involve high degrees of judicial subjectivity. It is a truism that there is no such thing as a “perfect election”. In any election held at scale, there will be machine errors and human errors – somewhere, somebody will make a mistake, a computer will break down, a rule will be misunderstood or wrongly applied. There is no bright line for determining the point at which these atomised errors coalesce into something that undermines the integrity of an election. It is a matter of judgment, and like all matters of judgment, subject to attack.
To negotiate this bind, a court that is given the kind of task that the Supreme Court of Kenya has been given under Article 140, can do the following things: (a) articulate a set of objective and neutral standards concerning questions of evidence, and the threshold required to invalidate the results of an election; (b) hew closely to the submissions and evidence provided by the parties to the dispute; and (c) set out detailed and transparent reasoning for its decision, so that the losing party has the right to feel aggrieved, but does not feel cheated.
The unanimous judgment of the seven judges of the Supreme Court of Kenya in Odinga and 16 Others vs Ruto and 10 others – the challenge to the 2022 Kenyan Presidential elections, and the certification of William Ruto as the president-elect – reveals both the bind, and the Court’s attempt to negotiate it through the principles set out above. Faced with a series of allegations about the conduct of the 2022 presidential elections – ranging from hacking to physical manipulation of forms, and from voter suppression to technological breakdown – the Court framed its response along two lines: a standard of evidence and a standard of invalidity. With respect to the first, the Court held that allegations of impropriety would have to meet an “intermediate standard” of “clear and cogent evidence” – that is, something between the civil law standard of “balance of probabilities” and the criminal law standard of “beyond reasonable doubt” (the exception to this was when allegations of a criminal nature – such as fraud – were made in the course of the election petition).
With respect to the second, the Court held that where the standard had been met, the next question was: did the improprieties reach a level where they materially impacted the outcome of the election? To an extent, this is a counterfactual question that is difficult to answer with certainty, especially in close elections; what would have happened if the improprieties had not taken place? But it is also an essential question; if an election were to be set aside on the basis of any impropriety, then we would be having election re-runs until the end of time. The standard of invalidity is, to an extent, a compromise, but a necessary one.
With this framework in mind, the Supreme Court’s analysis can be divided into two buckets. In the first bucket were allegations (such as fraud, switching of Forms 34A, and so on) that the Court found were not proven to the required standard. Importantly, in making this assessment, the Court primarily relied upon the competing affidavits of the parties (including upon internal contradictions within some of the affidavits). This is the second principle outlined above: as the Court stressed, in adjudicating the case, it could not travel beyond the quality of evidence provided to it by the respective parties. In the second bucket were allegations (such as printing errors and failure of voting kits) where the Court found that there had been lapses, but that it could not be shown that these lapses had materially altered the outcome of the election.
Perhaps the most significant part of the judgment, however, is the third principle. During the course of the hearings, the Court ordered a scrutiny of the IEBC’s servers – under the supervision of the Court’s registrar – in order to cross-check the veracity of some of the allegations. The results of the scrutiny report are discussed extensively in the judgment, with a candour that is not often found in the adjudication of such disputes elsewhere in the world. Indeed, on most of the issues that it framed, the Court set out its reasoning process – including mathematical calculations in some detail and with great transparency – allowing, in turn, for the foundations of its judgment to be scrutinised by the public.
It is trite to say that one may disagree – on substance – with the Court’s analysis on each of the three steps outlined above. Indeed, this writer believes – for example – that the Court’s holding that spoilt ballots be not counted in the determination of whether the winner of the election has crossed 50 per cent is open to critique. After all, why shouldn’t an individual be entitled to spoil their ballot and have their vote counted accordingly? Such disagreements are in the nature of things; the crucial point, however, is that the Court’s overall analytical framework – that is, the standard of evidence and the standard of invalidity – and the three-step analysis outlined above, is undoubtedly sound, and one of the only routes open to a Court to adjudicate high-stakes political disputes without being dragged down into the mire of political partisanship.
The results of the scrutiny report are discussed extensively in the judgment, with a candour that is not often found in the adjudication of such disputes elsewhere in the world.
It is in this context that the statement of Azimio that the Supreme Court presents a “threat to democracy” is a matter of some concern. As mentioned in the beginning of this article, around the world, clashes between the judiciary and politicians are not uncommon, especially when it comes to high-stakes elections. However, many of those clashes have occurred in contexts of judicial overreach, or where the Court instals a politician or validates an election in highly opaque or secretive proceedings. In the opinion of this writer, two things set apart the Kenyan case: the first is that the Constitution explicitly envisages the Supreme Court as the body that will resolve this dispute, and for good historical reasons (indeed, as the 2017 elections showed, the Supreme Court is capable of – and has – set aside an election in the past). And the second – and more important – thing is that, when you consider the judgment in Odinga and 16 others vs Ruto and 10 others from the perspective of global best practices in adjudication, it stands up to searching scrutiny. The Court set out neutral and objective framework principles to guide its adjudication of the case, reasoned closely and narrowly within those principles, and set out its chain of reasoning in a judgment on record. The Court’s judgment may attract criticism (even stringent criticism), and that is in the nature of things, but – respectfully – it does not warrant an attack. It is important to remember that the dispute resolution process under Article 140 requires an independent and strong Court that can act to invalidate a flawed presidential election (as it did in 2017). If that is gone, then it is an open question how future disputes can ever be resolved without serious problems.
Op-Eds
To Herd is Human
Those promoting veganism as a means of fighting climate change forget that in many parts of the world herding is the only realistic means of human survival and millions rely on it.

The war against animal agriculture, now spearheaded by fundamentalist vegans, is an attack on human diversity. Were it to succeed, it would wipe out streams of detailed knowledge and expertise about how to thrive – self-sufficiently – in almost all the landscapes and climates on earth. This knowledge has been accumulated gradually over many thousands of years and is irreplaceable. It’s where we truly connect to our non-human relatives. Eradicating it would reduce everyone to dependence on processed, factory-produced “food” and additives, and on the corporations that make them.
This is because healthy human nutrition from plants alone is only approachable in particular climates and landscapes, and even then important food supplements are needed. If everyone were to be restricted to this diet, the elites in charge of the manufacturers and supply chains would control human life.
Whether the elites would themselves live off the stuff they make is open to question. They could ensure some healthy food is still grown normally, including from animals, but it would likely be priced well beyond the reach of ordinary folk. Bill Gates, for example, now invests heavily in fake meat and dairy, promoting it vigorously whilst tucking into the real meat he loves.
Predicting the end of animal agriculture is nothing new. It was initially a fundamentalist Christian ideology preached over 100 years ago with the objective of cutting sexual desire! Were it ever realised, it’s no exaggeration to suggest it could signal the end of human life. After all, our adaptability and inherited knowledge are the only reasons our species survived and spread over the world in the first place, including into many climates still viewed by urban dwellers as hostile. Animal domestication has been central to human societies for tens of thousands of years.
Healthy human nutrition from plants alone is only approachable in particular climates and landscapes.
Whilst expertise in mechanics, science and industrial processes can be acquired from books, the flora and fauna we depend on is so subtly and delicately interrelated that it’s best seen at least as much through generations of direct experience as through classroom skills. Those who depend throughout their lifetimes on their own herding or hunting often rely on something which leans as much towards the instinctual as to the learned.
The risks in losing this vast body of expertise should be obvious. In spite of endless predictions, no one knows what the world will look like in a century or two, and wiping out knowledge of animal agriculture, as well as the myriad breeds it has produced, is bound to severely limit the options open to our descendants. There are many parts of the world where herding is the only realistic means of human survival and millions rely on it. The dependence on camels in the Sahara, reindeer in north Eurasia, horses in Central Asia, llamas and alpacas in the Andes, and goats and sheep in many environments, is well known. Areas that are unsuitable for crop growing, where agriculture is impractical or impossible – particularly in upland and arid regions – can support herding. Human life in vastly different climates can also depend on hunting, from tropical forests to the Kalahari to the Arctic, and of course more millions throughout the world rely on fish. Those who think that crops can replace these ways of life seem unaware of the reality in such places. As the climate changes, there may be many more zones in the future where humans can only survive if they live at least as much off animals as from plants.
In spite of all this, ending animal agriculture is now vigorously promoted by the mainstream media. Paradoxically, this is especially noticeable in apparently progressive forums, and where the propaganda is heavily funded by corporations and foundations, including by Bill Gates. The UN and the World Economic Forum support Gates’ dystopian dream and, as with most “good causes” nowadays, it’s inevitably presented as key in fighting climate change. Studies, and especially headlines, are routinely trotted out to support this highly dubious claim, often funded by corporate interests or their foundations, repeating one-sided or massaged data that can seem convincing at first sight.
Lots of people, particularly the young, swallow all this as an article of faith, and embrace the notion that ending all animal agriculture is about compassion for animals, as well as fighting for the climate. They rightly cite the undeniable horrors of massive industrialised agriculture but seem unaware or unconcerned that in much of the world animal agriculture is a very different thing indeed, practised on a much smaller scale and in the hands of local people who have derived sustainable livelihoods from it for millennia, and all this with little or no reliance on a polluting industry.
As the climate changes, there may be many more zones in the future where humans can only survive if they live at least as much off animals as from plants.
Those local people are, luckily for all of us, the real key to why the end of animal agriculture is unlikely ever to be realised. However much the elites seek to manipulate people and agendas, human beings remain individuals with their own beliefs and dreams just as much as they are conditioned social creatures who can, sometimes all too easily, succumb to short-term fashion and peer pressure.
Even the most vigorous and violent attempts at imposing total control over any population inevitably foster a resistance where, eventually, a plurality of belief and action is rekindled. Such human spirit, or whatever one calls it, proves time and again the overwhelming and resilient strength in human diversity.
The key lesson of history is that there is no single right way to live and be, and there is nothing in history to suggest any single way of life is ever likely to become totally dominant. That simple fact will save humankind from the dream of those who want to end all animal agriculture. It’s really a nightmare which points not towards an innocent and childish Garden of Eden of healthy plant-based diets and compassion for all creatures, but to the end of most human life. Indeed, that may well be what some campaigners seek. Fundamentalist environmentalists of the 1980s Earth First! movement believed that “Billions are living that should be dead,” and concluded, “Fuck the human race.” Perhaps the original stimulus, a fear of and disgust with human sexual desire and reproduction, is not so alien to the campaign being waged today by fundamentalist vegans.
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