In memory of Olwenya Maina

The Kenyan film Country Queen opens with a disturbing scene that shatters a serene evening in a fictional village called Tsilanga. Men and women are winding down after a long day of toil whilst others are just starting. A herder is driving his livestock back home; children are squeezing what remains of the day into a favourite game, and in what appears to be Tsilanga Market, a few women in makeshift stalls are either making last-minute sales or closing up for the day.

Then the next frame shifts to three young children running into a homestead full of trees, where an old man in glasses, dressed all in white except for a sky blue sleeveless sweater, sits with a book in hand. But it is the frame that follows that puts the plot into proper perspective. One of the children who just entered the homestead alarms the old man, fondly called Mwalimu (Raymond Ofula), when she shows him a dead chicken. Mwalimu rises, shocked and agitated, and falters behind what appears to be his store. Just a few metres away, he spots dozens of his chicken, all dead. Overcome by shock, Mwalimu collapses. He is later discovered by his wife, still alive.

Art imitating life 

Country Queen premiered on Netflix on 15 July 2022 to wild excitement and praise from Kenyans. The six-episode drama series largely features notable household names in the Kenyan film industry, with rich experience in acting. However, it is the inclusion of other less familiar actors and actresses that strikes a balance in a film that imitates life with such powerful intensity, cutting deep into the wounds that have plagued Kenya since independence.

In the movie, Akisa (Melissa Kiplagat), an event planner in Nairobi, returns to her home village of Tsilanga after receiving the news that her father, Mwalimu, is seriously ill. Akisa has been away from home for a decade now following a bitter fallout with her parents after they took her baby from her claiming she was still too young to be a mother.

However, in Tsilanga, things have changed at a dramatic pace, and with alarming consequences for the villagers and the general environment. Possessed by insatiable greed and hunger for profits, Vivienne Tsibala (Nini Wacera) and her new husband Max Tsibala (Blessing Lung’aho), owners of Eco Rock, a gold mining company, have been buying land belonging to the villagers to expand their business, even if it means uprooting families. Akisa’s family, which is a direct victim of the mining company, vigorously wards off the company’s overtures against extreme odds, but pays a heavy price when Mwalimu succumbs to health complications due to the pollution caused by the mining firm.

Destruction of Tsilanga village

And in a shocking twist, Max, who is at the centre of the destruction of Tsilanga village and its environment, is also in love with Akisa, who at one point even introduces him to her mother, long after her father has been buried. Interestingly, not everyone surrenders to Eco Rock. There is sustained resistance from ordinary villagers led by Kyalo (Melvin Alusa) who will risk everything, including their freedom, in order to expose the exploitative nature of the mining company, even as other village elders and the local administration mount a pushback to protect the company. In the end, while the movie does not explicitly say so, it is obvious that Eco Rock has succeeded in fragmenting the Tsilanga community. Dozens of villagers sell their parcels of land and pack their meagre belongings to move to the city, much to Kyalo’s frustration.

Corruption, complicity and resistance

At the heart of Country Queen, which is acted in English, Kiswahili, Kamba and a bit of Sheng, is a world turned upside down by corporate greed and lust for power, supported by a cast of enablers – ordinary people, close family members, mainstream journalists and police officers. The revelation in the movie is not surprising. Indeed, it is true that the moral degradation of society is not always a one-way occurrence – where powerful people lord it over passive and innocent ordinary citizens. Instead, in the cycle of degradation, individual desires and fears often transcend the communal good. Joe (Olwenya Maina), a dedicated journalist keen to expose Eco Rock activities, finally accepts a bribe because he and his wife are unable to have a child, and their combined salaries cannot afford them in vitro fertilisation, an expensive medical procedure. Afraid that his wife will leave him, Joe accepts money from Ms Tsibala in exchange for not writing negative stories about her mining company.

However, in the absence of a vibrant mainstream media ready to hold the powerful to account, citizen journalism and activism fill the void. One afternoon, Kyalo, Akisa’s first lover, sneaks into the gold mine area undetected, whips out his smartphone and livestreams Eco Rock’s activities, which include the use of child labour to dig for gold under harsh and deplorable conditions. His video goes viral and enrages the whole nation.  Joe, disappointed that he has been scooped, still remains conflicted but sticks to siding with the gold mining company. Like his equally powerful role in Nairobi Half Life (2012), another popular Kenyan movie that depicted the moral tensions that afflict individuals in a corrupt society, Olwenya reminds us that the thin line between good and evil, at times, depends on one’s material circumstances, and not the idealised notion of conscience.

Language as a weapon

The cinematic choice to use the Kamba language in Country Queen also builds into the argument of a citizen-centred role in challenging various power structures. Tsilanga is a typical rural area where people go about their ordinary lives quietly amidst tight communal ties. It is often external forces, as we see with Eco Rock, that threaten to ruin ties and damage the social fabric. When Kyalo mobilises a few villagers from Tsilanga to storm the gold mine, they chant in Kikamba, calling for the mining company to halt its activities and leave the village. The camaraderie among the demonstrators is warm and their resolute determination is evident, not just because they speak a common language against their oppressor, but because, as Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o reminds us in Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Language, there’s a cultural awakening happening in them at the same time.

Afraid that his wife will leave him, Joe accepts money from Ms Tsibala in exchange for not writing negative stories about her mining company.

The wider cultural shift is simultaneously occurring in the minds of a Kenyan audience that is gradually embracing local productions that depict their lived realities, as opposed to what Vivian Nneka Nwajiaku, in her review of Country Queen in Afrocritik, calls the tendency “to prioritise glamour for the sake of attracting foreign audiences”. Like Nairobi Half Life, which became a major hit because a broad base of Kenyans could relate to the events and lives of the characters, Country Queen pushes the boundaries even further, despite some of its contrived plotlines and narrative flaws. In the final analysis, the Kenyan drama series is a welcome contribution to the African popular culture scene as it attempts to carve out its own unique cultural identity, even as it borrows generously from the standard cinematic techniques, making it both local and of the world. 

Climate change, coupled with the slackening of food production systems due to the COVID-19 pandemic, has had a significant impact on Africa’s and, by extension, Kenya’s food security situation. The ravaging drought in Kenya’s northern and eastern regions, as well as the Russian invasion of Ukraine—both countries had been supplementing Kenya’s grain supplies—have exacerbated Kenya’s food insecurity as has the global food inflation. The price of maize flour, a staple in Kenya, has been steadily rising, and the World Food Programme estimates that nearly 4.4 million people were going hungry by the last quarter of 2022 (Kenya received a score of 23.5 on the 2022 Global Hunger Index, putting it in the category of countries facing serious hunger). On the other hand, unemployment remains high and household incomes continue to fall or remain stagnant. 

It is not surprising, then, that when President William Ruto took the helm, he proposed genetically modified (GM) maize as the go-to solution for the country’s starving populations, a proposal that sparked a heated debate that sharply divided Kenyans.

Indeed, one could say that Kenya was technically prepared for the decision with the passing of the Biosafety Act in 2009, which aimed to ensure accountability in the conduct of Genetically Modified Organisms (GMO) research in order to minimize potential hazards associated with GMOs and protect Kenyans from any health risks that may result from their development, transfer, and handling. However, this was not to be, as the importation of GMOs into the country was prohibited just three years later, following the publication of a study by Gilles-Eric Séralini that linked the consumption of GM foods to the development of cancer in rats.

Looking at Kenya’s current food situation, there is an argument to be made for allowing the importation of GMOs. With an ever growing population, climate stress in an agricultural sector that has a 95 per cent reliance on rainfall, as well as high input costs, and low productivity, among other factors, GMOs appear to be the much needed solution. However, given the differing perspectives on the subject, it is critical that all voices be heard, concerns addressed, and all stakeholders be involved in determining the root causes of underperformance in the sector before GMOs are introduced.

While some of the arguments for and against GMOs are premised on misinformation, most are well-informed by existing research or are legitimately skeptical, especially given the gaps in the information available to the public. Take, for instance, the understanding of what GMOs are. Some sources claim that genetically engineering organisms is a completely natural process, while others claim that it involves unnatural alterations such as the blending of genes from unrelated species, including transferring genes between plants and animals.  In their online resource library, “Encyclopedic Entry”, National Geographic defines a genetically modified organism as “an animal, plant, or microbe whose DNA has been altered using genetic engineering techniques”. EU legislation on GMOs officially defines genetically modified organisms as “organisms in which the genetic material (DNA) has been altered in a way that does not occur naturally by mating or natural recombination”. This implies that the development of GMOs includes the artificial modification of an organism’s genetic makeup. They claim that the biotechnology technique used allows for the transfer of specific individual genes from one organism to another, even between unrelated species. As a result, animal DNA can now be found in plant DNA. Most GMO foods on the market have had their DNA altered to boost traits such as insect or virus resistance, herbicide tolerance, and nutritional quality.

GMO proponents argue that the genetic modification of crops and animals is an age-old practice. However, National Geographic clearly distinguishes between what it terms conventional methods, such as crossbreeding, selective breeding, and grafting, which are free of genetic modification, and present-day techniques that allow for direct clinical alteration of a microorganism’s DNA. While the latter is what should be at the heart of the GMO debate, the inclusion of both traditional and modern approaches in this debate has obscured the issues.

Equally important to those who argue for GMOs is the notion that not a single study has been published that has proven that GMOs carry health risks for consumers. Undeniably, many studies have been published that only highlight the health and environmental benefits of GMOs. There is almost universal consensus that there is no link between GMOs and such human health concerns as gene mutations, interference with organ health and function, transference of genes from GMOs to consumers, and negative effects on fertility, pregnancy, or human offspring.

Equally important to those who argue for GMOs is the notion that not a single study has been published that has proven that GMOs carry health risks for consumers.

On the other hand, those who oppose GMOs do so based on these health concerns, even though no studies have explicitly linked health complications to GMOs. They point to the fact that the safety of GMOs is an ongoing area of research, and it is not necessarily possible to prove beyond doubt that these products are safe for consumption, as new findings and insights may emerge over time. In general, the safety assessment of GMOs involves a range of studies and data collection activities, including toxicological studies, allergenicity studies, and environmental risk assessments. These studies can take a significant amount of time to complete, as they often involve long-term monitoring and data collection. Furthermore, no human participants were studied in any of the published studies due to ethical concerns, and one wonders whether these studies will stand the test of time given that some health complications, such as cancer, can take decades to manifest in humans. The question of who funds the studies also comes up during these debates, and some have wondered if it isn’t a case of “he who pays the piper calls the tune.”

The prohibition of independently-funded research on current GMO technology has also been raised in the debates. In his article Companies Put Restrictions On Research into GM Crops, Bruce Stutz highlights the frustrations that independent public researchers encountered in their quest to study GM seeds. Although they were later granted more freedom, they wondered if the move would change the course of research at all, or at least bring change to a GMO research  environment that is fraught with obstacles and suspicions.

The prohibition of independently-funded research on current GMO technology has also been raised in the debates.

There is a general belief that the person who feeds you has power over you. And since food security is considered a matter of national security, whoever controls your food production systems has your national security in their hands. For most opponents of the introduction of GM foods, the need to preserve local food production systems is perhaps the most pressing concern. In 2003 already, both the World Health Organization (WHO) and the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) predicted that intellectual property rights and patenting would cause problems. Although these protect technology owners by enabling them to benefit from their innovations, they create food dependencies—or what some have termed “food colonialism”—because farmers are required by contract to not save seeds for future planting and to instead purchase them from the GM firms. This creates a kind of global monopoly over agricultural food production and distribution that contrasts with conventional seed propagation methods where plants and seeds belong to everyone as a human right.

According to the FAO, smallholder farmers provide roughly 80 per cent of the food in Africa and in Asia. In Kenya, they account for 75 per cent of the total agricultural output. Furthermore, agriculture in general provides a source of income for smallholder farmer households. The feared uncertainties and lack of control for the farmers therefore portend a possible destabilization of household incomes, and by extension, a great challenge to the adoption of GMO technology.

Concerns have also been raised regarding GMO seeds developed through “genetic reuse restricted technology”, which also aims to limit the use of GMOs by activating or deactivating specific genes in such a way that second-generation seeds are rendered infertile. It was feared that GMO crops would transmit the non-regenerative trait to other organic crops through cross-pollination, putting non-GMO farmers at risk of losing control over their own crops. In addition, the use of a diverse crop mix is said to aid sustainability and biodiversity, both in terms of crop protection and the societal values placed on food. It is feared that GM seeds could potentially harm the many different indigenous varieties that smallholder farmers in particular cultivate.

The negative effects of GMOs do not end with farmers losing control over their crops. GMOs also have the potential to impact on exports of agricultural products to other markets and thus a country’s foreign earnings. Horticulture exports are one of Kenya’s main sources of foreign income. Indeed, by the end of 2021, the sector had become the country’s largest foreign exchange earner, generating KSh157 billion, up from KSh150.6 billion the previous year. Europe is Kenya’s main importer of horticultural products, accounting for 45 per cent of the country’s horticultural exports. The EU, on the other hand, strictly controls the entry of GMO products into its market and employs the precautionary principle via a three-pillar regulatory framework that includes pre-market authorization based on a prior risk assessment, traceability, and labelling. It is not surprising, then, that the lifting of the GMO importation ban in Kenya has alarmed EU buyers of horticultural products, and Kenyan exporters are now required to undergo additional certification to ensure that products shipped by them contain no traces of GMOs.

In contrast to GMOs as a solution to Kenya’s food problems, a careful look at issues affecting agriculture in Kenya suggests that technology may play a significant role in food production. Several studies conducted in Africa highlight under-mechanization and a lack of innovation as the main challenges confronting agricultural systems and thus food production. Farm work has become associated with toil, making it unappealing to the most productive segments of the population. Nevertheless, there has been progress in the mechanization of some processes along the value chain, as well as improvements in access to farm inputs, funding, markets, and digital agricultural services.

Farm work has become associated with toil, making it unappealing to the most productive segments of the population.

On the whole, Kenya’s food security situation is undeniably deficient. Many gaps exist in the food production systems, affecting sufficiency and exposing a significant portion of the population to hunger and malnutrition. Hence, in light of the above discussions and ongoing debates among Kenyans, Kenya’s food systems—no doubt like those of most African nations—require restructuring. They lack the resilience to withstand major shocks such as droughts caused by climate change, among other things, leaving Kenya extremely food insecure. The country lags behind in even the most basic agricultural innovations, such as irrigation, good input practices and technologies, market access information, aggregation and seamless logistics, innovative financing for smallholder farmers, post-harvest loss mitigation, and the adoption of local food varieties that are drought resistant, among others. As a result, while GMO is a modern technology, it is not what Kenya requires right now unless it is a quantum leap. The country has not yet applied all the technological solutions at its disposal. Is it any wonder then that most authoritative voices in Kenya’s agricultural sector have called for innovation, the empowerment of smallholder farmers, and their inclusion at the centre of food production as a way of alleviating the country’s food insecurity rather than advocating for the adoption of GMOs?

In this context, it appears that any significant agricultural innovations for Kenya—and by extension, Africa—will be those that take into account the role of smallholder farmers and the importance for them to have control over the innovations, as well as the conservation of existing food production systems, thereby enhancing food security as well as the protection of household incomes and livelihoods. In any case, the problems with Kenya’s food systems are primarily leadership-related, and unless this is addressed, GMO technology will be similarly mismanaged.

Finally, there are legitimate concerns as well as misinformation regarding GMOs, and their adoption will continue to be hampered as long as the fears are not allayed and the misinformation dispelled. Before pushing for GMO adoption, perhaps GMO-adopting countries should be allowed to conduct independent research and publicize the results. Furthermore, questions must be asked about whether GMOs are the solution to Kenya’s food problems and, if so, whether the right questions about the country’s food systems were raised before adopting GMOs as the solution.

It may be difficult to recreate a sense of just how central human rights issues were to Ugandan politics, and therefore how instrumental they were in building and feeding the legend of the National Resistance Movement (NRM).

Between 1962 and 1986, Uganda was caught in an entrenched and mounting human rights crisis that characterized all her national life. Everything was about disappearances, detentions, bans, exiles and executions. It was our defining feature and something that, due to its very heart-rending nature, was also easily turned into media material.

This fully matured during the reign of General Amin where the combination of wholesale political exclusion, Western racism, and a mounting economic crisis led to a virtual carnival of language and imagery that really entrenched the notion of rights violations as being Uganda’s fundamental problem. The 1980-1985 anti-Obote war was merely the final point of that. Beyond the political differences, human rights violations were the struggle’s lowest common denominator: they were accessible, human, unifying.

This is where the NRM became important, because its unique selling point in Uganda politics was as being the entity that finally “found the medicine” that enabled the country to solve this problem and therefore allowed us to move on to other things. This is of course completely untrue as everyone can now see. However, the point is not that it has become untrue through some backsliding over the years; the point is that it was never true. All that has changed is people’s perception of the same things.

If we are to put it in modern terms, we would say that human rights was NRM’s “brand”; the thing that defined its public identity. So, what went wrong?

One perhaps needed to have been there, alive and aware, at the time of the NRA victory, to fully understand this.

However popular Robert Kyagulanyi is now as an inspiring insurgent figure, his popularity is nothing compared to that which a youthful and inspiring Yoweri Museveni enjoyed between 1985 and maybe 1990. This speaks to just how significant the arrival of the NRM was: Museveni, and the various smaller versions of himself to be found in his various war-hero commanders, were virtual gods.

Nothing wrong could be said about them. One risked insults, ostracism, physical violence and open ridicule for making even the most basic negative remark. And this not from the regime itself, but from ordinary members of the public. I know, because I was at the receiving end of all that throughout the 1980s and beyond (even at the extended family level). It’s what developed my interest in education issues, because it was then that I first fully realized that the Ugandan education system is designed to train people in how to not think, and therefore not reason, and that, in particular, there is nothing as manipulable as an excited [wo]man, especially one that considers themselves “educated”.

As said, the image is completely undeserved of course, despite what even some opposition and wider human rights activists say: that the regime has “started” human rights violations with the abductions and other things we now see. This is very uninformed in many cases. In other cases, it is just very intellectually dishonest.

NRM human rights violations began immediately after they took power and have never stopped. A good early example of the actual view of their leadership on the matter was the warning to “lock up [the media] under the [Milton Obote created] 1967 Detention laws, if they continue to malign the good name of the NRA” given by none other than new president Yoweri Museveni himself, on the 18th of February 1987.

NRM human rights violations began immediately after they took power and have never stopped.

The venerable journalist Tony Owana was one of the victims of the attitude back then. Other victims of the true nature of the NRM were Jacob Oulanyah who was among the students shot by the Ugandan police during a peaceful demonstration against Makerere University cost-cutting; and Charles Rwomushana, whose 1995 parliamentary ambitions were summarily crushed during the election campaigns by the violence from the supporters of his NRM big-shot rival.

As said, what has changed, in the main, is the wider public perception of the violations. So the real problem with these abductions is that the logic, framework and arguments for human rights were themselves abducted a very long time ago. And their custodians did not file any complaints at the time. Now these new victims do.

For example, Charles Rwomushana, despite his unfair treatment by the NRM (and incidentally having been, he claims, also among the aforementioned demonstrating students), went on to a long career in our famously partisan state intelligence services, and now spends his days as a media contortionist speaking for the opposition on the behalf of the government (I think. Or something).

The late Mr Oulanyah of course went on to become an NRM voice in his home area, and through them, was elevated to parliamentary speakership.

Mr Owana is a dedicated cadre of the NRM of decades. He once told me that his detention (in a military barracks) had been as a result of a news source misleading him with information. He did not seem to have an opinion on the manner of the detention itself.

Again, the point was not that human rights were not being violated back then. Rather, that the then generation of young activists that saw the violations first-hand decided that they could live with them while in pursuit of other things.

A very pertinent example is a recent tweet by veteran women’s rights activist Winnie Byanyima who began her political career as a dedicated NRM cadre, before famously falling out with it and becoming an opposition stalwart. She was commenting approvingly after an encounter with one Ms Jane Francis Abodo, Uganda’s current Director of Public Prosecutions.

“@EBBairport lucky to bump into Uganda’s Director of Public Prosecutions & introduce myself. One of many brilliant young Ugandan women in senior public roles. I don’t usually agree with the man in the hat, but on giving young women opportunity to lead I [salute emoji] him!”

Those three short sentences carry a universe of meaning in regard to the death of human rights as a constitutional concern.

Of course “the man in the hat” being referred to is President Museveni. And indeed, he was present in the form of an official portrait hanging on the wall behind the two ladies in the photo accompanying the tweet.

This suggested the VIP lounge at the airport. Which would be the logical place for two high-powered personages (Ms Byanyima is currently the head of a United Nations Agency) to be while traveling.

Ms Abodo’s office currently sits at the heart of Uganda’s mounting human rights debacle.

First, the current wave of abductions is an attempt by the regime to sidestep the legal requirement of due process in which somebody is expected to be properly arrested, informed of the charge against them, detained in an official place, have access to both family and legal representatives, be presented in court within forty-eight hours, and have the state respect whatever rulings the court makes in the case.

With abductions, few, if any of these things happen. In the instances where – due to some kind of pressure – the abductees happen to end up presented in court, it is often well beyond the 48-hour deadline, and they are presented bearing visible signs of torture.

Second, some of the accused end up being sent on remand. But this is often because the state requests more time to complete its investigation against them. This has become a cycle in most of the cases.

Under Ugandan human-rights based law, the only destination for a person duly arrested is a court. And the only person that can determine that is the Director of Public Prosecutions.

This is simply not happening. Some abducted people, like the National Unity Platform activist Olivia Lutaaya, have not been seen or heard from by anyone at all in over two years. Others have been discovered dead, their bodies surreptitiously dumped in mortuaries. Others still have been found basically held hostage in secret places, where they remain even after discovery. Yet others lucky enough to have been presented in court, have become locked in the endless remand-court-remand cycle.

Under Ugandan human-rights based law, the only destination for a person duly arrested is a court.

In all these cases, the office of the DPP is in a position to make things better. As sanctioned by the Human Rights Enforcement Act 2019, it could refuse to proceed with any case involving any person who was not properly arrested; shows signs of torture or ill-treatment; has been held incommunicado at any one time, has been held beyond the constitutionally stipulated time; or whose case does not come with enough evidence to immediately proceed to full trial.

In short, Madam Abodo, as Director of Public Prosecutions could simply insist on a strict adherence to the constitutionally laid-down provisions concerning, well, prosecution.

She has not done this.

In the meantime, this wave of terror has had a chilling effect on political activism. Citizens simply know that if they fall into the clutches of the state, nobody can tell what will happen next and for how long.

Madam Byanyima is likely to be more aware than most of the meaning and impacts of such travesties, given that she is married to – and has struggled alongside – Dr Kizza Besigye, perhaps the most abducted, arrested, detained and otherwise officially mistreated opposition figure of modern times, in his 20-year quest to unseat that very same “man in the hat”.

It is not unreasonable therefore to have expected issues more pressing than the pleasure of seeing “young” (in fact, Madam Abodo is nearly 50) ladies being entrusted with “senior roles” to have been uppermost in her mind on catching sight of the official who is basically aiding and abetting these travesties and, moreover, doing so at the behest of a regime headed by the very one who appointed the delinquent official. Instead, she is saluting him, and effectively reducing the long-running opposition suffering at the hands of his regime to “disagreements”.

Citizens simply know that if they fall into the clutches of the state, nobody can tell what will happen next and for how long.

Supposed to be the NRM’s crowning moment, nothing in the new NRM constitutional dispensation was lauded more than the whole array of gender-based policies that were embedded in it. Nothing, not even the brutalities of the then ongoing war in the north could distract donor and intelligentsia attention from this.

One could therefore say that Ugandan feminism’s terminal destination was always that: to be perched in a big but fully impotent job awarded by a dictator, because the human rights “inclusions” of the new constitution simply served to create a bigger tent into which a greater array of middle-class interests could be accommodated in an orderly fashion.

And this is why a state that boasts a constitutionally-provided National Youth Council is seeking to crush a wave of youth-based activism, why it can claim this high level of women’s participation in national affairs while also disappearing a mother of a young daughter, not to mention the accusations of sexual assault by former abductees.

We can now begin to reflect on whether this was indeed, in fact, a betrayal: it was never about the status of human rights; it was always about the right to status.

In this respect, perhaps Uganda is now catching up with Kenya, the lead example of the sacrifice of fundamental rights on the altar of acquired petit-bourgeois respectability that first began with the debasing of the struggle for Independence.

A repeat was when Kenyan public discourse underwent something of a reboot following the 2007 post-election violence. Human rights concerns became more urgent, and a need to accommodate longstanding grievances among the wananchi was recognized.

In a sense, the anger of the ordinary people momentarily breached the then comfortable citadel of elite-owned Kenyan politics. With the successive presidencies of the very two men initially accused of having had a hand in fomenting the opposing sides of the violence, it seems an adjustment has been made in order to return to the old normal.

There is a silence around both the post-election violence and the failure to address the issues that caused it, and the lack of full accountability thereafter. There are, however, a lot more positions to be elected and appointed to, and a lot more opportunities to build careers on one platform or another created by the issues that arose from the violence.

As one Kenyan analyst just put it to me, “The post-election violence accelerated the birth of the donor-organized liberal 2010 constitution. A very distorted document, but consistent with postponing any conversation on federation by gifting elites on the periphery with guaranteed cash from the centre. The effect was to massively expand the political class, turning politics into a full-time career. Notice that the Bill of Rights have for all intents and purposes been trashed [and] there has been worse police brutality, including torture, murder and disappearances…”

There is a silence around both the post-election violence and the failure to address the issues that caused it.

Uganda’s current rising generation of political actors facing the brunt of the abductions and torture can be said to be paying the bill for a similar silence that their parent’s generation consumed in this manner, in two ways.

First, they young are engaged in a handicapped discourse because those in charge do not know the issue, and second because those that do, cannot tell them about it because of their past collusion. The most critical point missed, therefore, is that human rights are not “politics” as such; they are what comes up as an issue once politics fails. But to avoid, or even fix a human rights crisis, one must have a clear political program. It is very hard to develop one if one does not know the difference.

This was how the 1987-2002 war in northern Uganda was treated like an issue taking place in a foreign country among people we did not know. Those who know the politics that gave rise to the war were not telling, and those experiencing the actual violations of the war had no political understanding of it.

The 1995 constitution was where all this bad history was finally neutralized and this fresh thinking was formally institutionalized. It came with the broadest of definitions: youth, women, people with disabilities were all given space and consideration. The donors loved it, calling it the best constitution in the world. Human rights were at the very heart of the new constitutional order.

This was how the 1987-2002 war in northern Uganda was treated like an issue taking place in a foreign country among people we did not know.

That constitution is now the dead horse that Justice Sekaana was trying to get to stand up and walk with his admonishing of the State Attorney during a December 9th High Court mention of yet another case of abduction. “Release them, or charge them. They cannot be kept incommunicado,” he groused.

This, in country that wrote such a principle (again) into its constitution against a background of a whole Chief Justice having once been abducted. Justice Sekaana’s having to state the basics shows just how dead human rights now are.

And that is the thing: NRA in power was always going to be a human rights violator. It never really had a choice, given the expectations of the Western corporations that installed it in power. For them to get rich, the population must be either bought, or silenced. This makes human rights abuses the policy, not an accident.

Nothing went wrong, apart from us being a country of slow learners further burdened by absentee teachers.