Ethiopia has taken centre stage over the last four years, with a Nobel Peace Prize winning Prime Minister propelled to power by a four-year civil protest movement quickly leading the country into multiple internal war fronts. The last two years, in particular, have seen many begin to wonder if the Ethiopian state itself will survive the compounding conflicts, given that they are rooted in a tumultuous, contested, and violent past. The most recent and significant development in the tectonic shifts that have been breaking social and political ground in the country occurred on the 22nd of January 2023.

Three Oromo archbishops of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church announced the formation of an Oromo Orthodox Church Synod, with 26 patriarchs appointed to lead the synod across Oromia. In stark opposition to the new synod, a large number of Ethiopian Orthodox Church members, particularly those of an Amhara ethnic background, have been coming out in protest at the breaking up of the church, citing it as a violation beyond politics, and a breach of holy religious law.

The government, which has been supportive of the Oromo Synod has – in the manner in which it regularly responds to any expression of civil dissent – responded with state violence, shooting at protesters and, for a short while, shutting down the Internet and telecommunication services.

On the 13th of February, the Oromia Media Network reported that the new Synod is in the process of supporting the formation of synods of other national and ethnic identities, naming the Gambela, Gumuz, Sidama, Gurage, and Gamo as amongst those that will be forming their own Orthodox Church Synods in the near future.

Historical context

The Ethiopian Orthodox Church has existed since the 4th century and belongs to the broader body of Orthodox churches that include the Coptic, Syrian, and Armenian Orthodox churches, and the Syrian Orthodox Church of India. The liturgical language of the church is Ge’ez, a Semitic language originating from northern Ethiopia and Eritrea, with Amharic also being used in the church today. Orthodox believers make up approximately 30 per cent of Ethiopia’s population and Amharic, the language of the Amhara ethnic group who make up approximately 22 per cent of Ethiopia’s overall population, is the official working language of Ethiopia.

Language, and the social and political power that it comes with, is one of the reasons that supporters of the Oromo Orthodox Synod believe that this recent shift is necessary. Cultural marginalization has been the experience of the Oromo and other national and cultural groups in the country since the formation of the Ethiopian state in the 1800s, a formation that the Ethiopian Orthodox Church was instrumental in spearheading.

When Menelik II began his expeditions into the Oromia heartland with the intent of consolidating the new state of Ethiopia, the proponents of this project came across a people who lived, worked, and worshipped predominately in Afaan Oromo. In particular, they practiced Waaqeefatta, the monotheistic religion of the Oromo.

Cultural marginalization has been the experience of the Oromo and other national and cultural groups in the country since the formation of the Ethiopian state in the 1800s.

Even though the popular narrative is that Ethiopia was never colonized, one of the impacts that Menelik achieved with the support of the Showan Amhara conquerors who were armed by the West was the upheaval of Oromo religious, cultural and political practice. This was replaced by the church’s own religious beliefs, as they were considered the only way to effectively commune with God.

In Ethiopia, as in much of the world, religion has always had political undertones. Historical narratives recounting both Protestant Christianity and Islam being used by Oromos to counter the effects of cultural and political domination experienced through the combined efforts of the Orthodox Church and the Ethiopian state speak to these political undertones.

Is the split really unprecedented?

Politics pervades every aspect of life everywhere, and although we would like to think that spiritual matters are beyond politics, there is perhaps nothing as politically charged as the relationships religions have with people, with states, and with the desire for social change.

Schisms and splits that occur for political reasons are not a new phenomenon in the world of Orthodox Christianity. In the 17th century, a movement to establish religious uniformity between Greek and Russian Orthodox practice was met with resistance that eventually saw a split into “Old Believers” and the official Russian Orthodox Church.

The reason for the split was disagreement over the introduction into the Russian Orthodox Church of specific religious rituals that belong to the Greek Orthodox tradition. Although it began as a disagreement about religious protocol, it developed into a movement where different parts of Russian society began to voice dissent against the feudal order led by leaders in the church.

There are obvious and significant differences between the 17th-century Russian split and what Ethiopia is facing today, but in order to avoid viewing the split within the Ethiopian Orthodox Church as entirely unprecedented, we should see the formation of the Oromo Orthodox Synod in the larger context of movements that have taken place in the history of the church, whereby politics and faith have collided to create new institutions and communities.

Is this just about religion?

The formation of the Oromo Orthodox Synod has an impact on much more than just how people practice their faith. This event signals greater shifts that have been on the political horizon in Ethiopia for the last four years.

Opposition to the formation of the Oromo Orthodox Synod has been defined by language describing it as an affront to the church’s values of “oneness”; the full name of the church is the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, with the word “Tewahedo” meaning “to be made one” in the Amharic language.

The ideal of “oneness” or “unity” versus the reality has been at the heart of Ethiopia’s most critical political issues. The Ethiopian state has, in concert with the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, had a history of violently assimilating a deeply diverse people and, in the same breath, defining itself as a beacon of unity. What we must understand is that what might be a breach of oneness and unity for one people, is for another people an act of revolution and decolonization.

The solution to this crisis, in my opinion, is not for the formation of the Oromo or other prospective synods to be stopped. Instead, as I think is the solution to many of Ethiopia’s issues, people must be willing to hear stories from the other side of the political divide in order to better engage the social and political changes of the now, and of the future.

I think that this is just the beginning and that although separation, like all change, can cause confusion, grief, and uncertainty, it can sometimes be the boldest step we can take towards building a new social contract for togetherness, cohesion, and harmony.

On 30 January 2023, President William Ruto, through a special issue of the Kenya Gazette, recognised the Pemba community as one of Kenya’s ethnic communities. The long-awaited recognition was received joyously by the Pemba who are said to have arrived on the Kenyan coast in the 1930s. Their recognition as Kenyan nationals under the law puts an end to the community’s statelessness. Now the government must ensure that they are issued with national identity documents and registered as citizens.

Registration of stateless persons in Kenya follows a three-step process. The first is the application by an individual for naturalisation at the immigration office. If it is approved, the immigration office will issue the applicant with a certificate of nationality. A national ID card is then issued to anyone with this certificate without questions. Stateless persons born in Kenya can also use the certificate of nationality to obtain a birth certificate.

While the proclamation is a big step towards ending the marginalised Pemba community’s long struggle for Kenyan nationality and citizenship, their woes will persist if they do not receive identity documents. In Kenya, the identity card is the gate-pass to citizens’ rights and benefits. Therefore, granting nationality to the Pemba without immediately issuing them with national IDs continues to expose them to the discrimination they have faced as a stateless community.

The nationality and citizenship question relates to the link between an individual’s rights and obligations on the one hand, and the state on the other. The absence of this link renders an individual or community stateless. Statelessness leads to marginalisation and exclusion from the political and social-economic opportunities accessible to citizens.

The decision to recognise the stateless Pemba community demonstrates Kenya’s commitment to ending statelessness within the country. Their recognition followed that of other previously stateless communities, including the Makonde from Tanzania and Mozambique in 2017, and the Shona from Zimbabwe in 2020.

It is believed that the Pemba people entered Kenya from the eponymous island in the Zanzibar archipelago and ventured into fishing as their main economic activity. They settled within the ten-mile strip which was then under the sovereignty of the Sultan of Zanzibar. The Sultanate of Zanzibar was formally recognised as a protectorate and, therefore, not subject to the British Crown. Consequently, people living within the ten-mile strip enjoyed certain rights that those living in colonial Kenya did not.

The coastal strip became part of Kenya after independence, and its communities, such as the Pokomo and the Mijikenda, were recognised as citizens, with the exception of the Pemba.

In the report of a petition dated 19 November 2020 and presented to parliament on behalf of the Pemba by Hon. Owen Baya, it was claimed that the Pemba were part of the Mwambao (“coastline” in Swahili) United Front, a group comprising Arabs, Europeans and Swahili communities that had been opposed to the coastal strip coming under Kenya’s sovereignty at independence.

Mwambao identified with the Sultan of Zanzibar to protect their privileges as laid out in the 1895 treaty with Britain. Some of the benefits they sought to safeguard included control over land by the elites, staffing of administrative posts and the free exercise and preservation of the Sharia along the coastal strip.

Despite their objection to the unification of the ten-mile strip with mainland Kenya, the coastal protectorate was transferred to Kenya in an agreement between Colonial Secretary Duncan Sandys, Sultan Seyyid Jamshid, Kenya’s Prime Minister Jomo Kenyatta, and Zanzibar Prime Minister Mohammed Shamte on 8 October 1963. The agreement stated that “the territories comprised in the Kenya protectorate shall cease to form part of His Highness dominions and shall thereupon form part of Kenya.”

The Independence Constitution did not guarantee that anyone residing in Kenya prior to independence would be recognised as a Kenyan. The Pemba, among other groups, were required to provide proof that they had been born in Kenya and to show their parental lineage. However, in the spirit of Pan-Africanism, the Kenyan government had, immediately after independence, directed the registration as citizens of people born or residing in Kenya but who could not prove their parental lineage.

By the end of the two-year window within which the registration exercise was to take place, about 20,000 people had applied to register as Kenyan citizens, the majority being of South Asian origin. In contrast, some African communities, including the Pemba, ignored or did not understand the implications of the directive, thereby missing the opportunity. Although they possessed the colonial and independent Kenya identity cards famously known as Kipande, the Pemba became stateless immediately after the 1st generation national identity cards were introduced.

The Independence Constitution did not guarantee that anyone residing in Kenya prior to independence would be recognised as a Kenyan.

Two significant reports highlight the challenges faced by stateless communities in Kenya. The first is the Katiba Institute report on Participation of Ethnic Minorities and Marginalised Communities in Political and Other Governance Processes: realities and approaches. The second is the report on the Public Petition No. 41 of 2020 regarding recognition of the Pemba people of Kenya as Citizens of the Republic of Kenya.

The latter report notes that, as a stateless community, the Pemba people were denied access to resources and opportunities at the disposal of their Kenyan neighbours. They could not access healthcare services, missed out on education and other social services, could not register births, businesses, bank accounts, and sim cards, and were excluded from formal employment. The former report adds that their marriages were also unrecognised under Kenyan law.

As a result of their marginalisation and exclusion from Kenya’s political and socio-economic spheres, the Pemba people began to demand recognition and protection of their human rights. In the 1970s and 1980s, their elders visited the Kwale and Kilifi district commissioners, pleading that the community be issued with national IDs. Despite unsuccessful attempts during President Daniel arap Moi’s era, their struggle almost bore fruit during Mwai Kibaki’s time as president. Members of the Pemba community were allowed to apply for IDs in a process that, however, did not go beyond the taking of fingerprints.

The report on the public petition presented in parliament reveals that the Pemba resolved to register themselves as a Community-Based Organisation and used it to print self-identification cards that they would present whenever faced by law enforcement agents. The report does not explain how the Pemba succeeded in registering a CBO without IDs. Their call for recognition began to gain momentum as they used the CBO to petition their respective county governments and area legislators for cultural and social inclusion.

Members of the Pemba community were allowed to apply for IDs in a process that, however, did not go beyond the taking of fingerprints.

Petition n° 41 of 19 November 2020 was the culmination of their struggle for identification and citizenship and was put before parliament by Hon. Owen Baya, Member of Parliament for Kilifi North. As a result, the Administration and National Security Committee was mandated to investigate the petitioners’ claims and report back to the National Assembly within sixty calendar days. Accordingly, the twenty-seven-member committee visited and held public hearings on 12th March 2021 in Kilifi and Kwale counties, where over 5,000 members of the Pemba community reside.

The committee observed that the Pemba are an indigenous community most of whose members were born in Kilifi and Kwale. Consequently, they must have registration and identification documents in order to access their rights, privileges and benefits as Kenyan citizens. The committee therefore recommended that the Pemba be recognised as one of Kenya’s ethnic groups and that the Ministry of Interior and Co-ordination of National Government ensure they are issued with the relevant identification documents in line with the law and the constitution.

It is within this context that President William Ruto recognised and declared the Pemba to be one of Kenya’s ethnic communities. The president’s proclamation was also in line with Kenya’s pledge at the High-Level Segment on Statelessness in October 2019 to, among other commitments, permanently remedy statelessness in Kenya through legal reforms by 2023.

The Constitution of Kenya 2010 provides for the registration of stateless people and, in 2011, parliament passed a new Immigration Act that required the registration of stateless people within five years. However, by 30 August 2016 the registration of stateless persons had not taken place.

Now that the Pemba have been recognised as Kenyan nationals, the most significant next step is for them to be issued with national identity cards so that they may begin to enjoy their right to education, health care, social protection, and access to financial services and the formal labour market.

Otherwise, if they continue to be denied access to the rights, privileges and benefits enjoyed by all other Kenyan citizens, their long struggle for recognition as Kenyans will have been in vain.

The state of civil society in the post-2022 election period is a critical topic of discussion. This is because the civil society has increasingly become the alter ego of the Kenyan public and republic. Whenever the civil society takes a position on an issue or comments on a matter of public interest, a lot of whataboutism ensues. Demonstrations and other civic actions are questioned by the public and the government alike: “They want donor support”, we say, “They have been paid to do this”, we argue; “Why did they not speak when this and that happened”, we pontificate. Yet the work done by these organisations is critical. I will start with a short anecdote.

Herodotus (c. 484 – c. 425 BC), the Greek historian and geographer is aassociated with the myth of the phoenix – a mythological bird associated with the sun that dies in a “show of flames and combustion” and from the ashes rises again. In my creative writings, I conceive the sun as the “child of an idiotic mother” because no matter how much people curse it, the mother allows it to rise again in the morning of the following day. Have you ever imagined the mother of the sun saying “My child, these beings are not happy with you… stay here some”? We would not know day and night! So the sun rises every day. A bird associated with the sun burns to ashes and from its ashes, it rises and flies away – new and renewed.  Just like the phoenix, the sun that rises the following day is not the one of yesterday. But it is the sun.

And so it is with civil society.

In Kenya, the emergence and proliferation of civil society organisations and formations in the 1990s was predicated on the repeal of Section 2 (A) of the constitution that ushered in political plurality and the age of freedom to associate. Although some organisations like Kituo Cha Sheria, ICJ-Kenya, Federation of Women Lawyers (FIDA-Kenya), etc. already existed, they had little impact in the political sphere because of the draconian state that ran affairs in Kenya. The neoliberal culture to which Prof. Issa Shivji attributes the emergence of civil society has run its course. In his book, Silences in NGO Discourses, Shivji argues that the emergence of civil society is to blame for the death of revolutionary fervour that could have overthrown colonial and postcolonial demagoguery. True, the Hehe Rebellion in Tanganyika, the Mau Mau war, the Arab spring and other truly revolutionary movements were not organised as programmes of development partners.

This does not mean that the civil society has not achieved a lot. It has. But it only did this when it was catalytic as opposed to programmatic. The work done by the Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD) in the late 1980s and early 1990s could not have been achieved by civil society. The work done by the National Convention Executive Council (NCEC) and the National Convention Assembly (NCA) was only possible because the NCA negated the principles of civil society programming and instead took the form of socio-cultural dynamism dictated by the situations obtaining at the community level. For both FORD and the NCEC, the organising principle was radical change – not incremental gains. The two used popular political mobilisation and localised change agenda to build a national framework for creating a new Kenya. Civil society came to temper this radicalism with caution, asking for and working towards reform as opposed to revolution.

That notwithstanding, the civil society gained gravitas and when the Daraja Initiative of 1998 died, from its ashes rose the National Civic Education Programme (NCEP – later Uraia). The NCEP was very programatised – complete with a South Consulting Ltd. (associated with Carl Wesselink and Prof. Karuti Kanyinga) managing the programme and Price Waterhouse Coopers (PWC) as the Financial Management Agent (FMA). But the implementers radicalised it; while it was completely non-partisan by design and intent, its implementation nevertheless bore the political dissonance that led to the “Moi Must Go!” mantra.

From this time onward, the civil society moved into the organisational development mode – focussing on the professionalization and strengthening of systems – using the models of the Northern and Western counterparts. CSO coalitions on thematic issues were formed whose professional secretariats and “movements” are run like fully-fledged organisations. Strategic planning, organisational development, corporate governance, capacity-building frameworks, work-plan matrixes based on theory of change and SMART objectives, comprehensive policy frameworks and SWOT analyses became the hallmark of “serious” organisations. They also became a precondition for funding – and the funding is usually programmatic and budgetline-specific. And so the echo-chambers deepened. And creativity, passion, and impromptu action were severely curtailed. Bureaucracy was instituted.

And the sun rose, travelled the sky, and set.

This is not to say that important work was not done, no. A lot was achieved in this period. A civil society initiative, The Yellow Movement (a coalition including Citizens’ Coalition for Constitutional Change – 4Cs; Kenya Human Rights Commission – KHRC; Legal Resources Foundation – LRF; Education Centre for Women in Democracy – ECWD; NCEC; and many others) led the onslaught against the dismembering of the Bomas draft constitution by parliament. It was these efforts that defeated what is famously called the Wako draft constitution that was being forced on Kenyans in 2005. In the post-election chaos of 2007, the Kenyans for Peace, Truth and Justice (KPTJ) coalition can be credited with the inclusion of Agenda 4 in the negotiations for the restoration of democracy. This civil society coalition also led the push to punish those most culpable of fuelling the chaos (who later became known as the Ocampo Six). The members of the coalition – International Centre For Policy And Conflict (ICPC), Charles Ndung’u Mwangi, Public Corruption, Ethics And Governance Watch, Henry Nyakundi Nyang’aya, KHRC, and ICJ-Kenya Chapter – were  to further pursue the International Criminal Court (ICC) indictees Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto in a petition that sought to have the duo struck from the presidential ballot. In 2009 and 2010, the National Civil Society Congress (NCSC) initiated the Katiba Sasa! campaign that became the clarion call for the birthing of the new constitution. The civil society ensured that progressive articles on human rights, public participation, integrity in leadership, devolution of power and public finance management were retained in the constitution. That most of these remain unimplemented is the challenge going forward.

In my opinion, the greatest singular story of achievement for the civil society is the socialisation of the women’s agenda in a deeply patriarchal society and especially the inclusion of the principle of “not more than 2/3rds of either gender in elective and appointive offices” as a constitutional requirement. Although this is still facing resistance (despite a supreme court advisory to the president to prologue parliament), the solidification of the women’s movement owes its success to gender activists within FIDA-Kenya, the Centre for Rights Education and Awareness (CREAW), the Coalition on Violence Against Women (COVAW), ECWD and the defunct Gender Consortium, among other spaces. Significantly also, the civil society movement is credited with the birthing of the youth movement (The Youth Agenda and the National Youth Movement) and a plethora of other organisations and youth initiatives across the country.

The National Civil Society Congress (NCSC) initiated the Katiba Sasa! Campaign which became the clarion call for the birthing of the new constitution.

Over the years, organisations have been involved in community organising, budget tracking, social accountability research and education. These include the CSO-Network in Nyanza, the Centre for Enhancing Democracy and Good Governance (CEDGG) in the Rift Valley, the Mobilisation Agency for Community Paralegals in Africa (MAPACA) in Eastern Kenya, Inuka Ni Sisi! Ltd. and Umande Trust in Nairobi, Ujamaa Centre Kenya and Haki Africa in the coastal region, to mention but a few. They have kept the fire of good governance and democracy burning in community discourses across the country. This is monumental work.

And again the sun rose, travelled across the sky, and set.

The overarching purpose of the civil society, especially the governance CSOs, has been the guillotining of the KANU oligarchy, the stream forming at Jomo Kenyatta’s feet, who, by amending the independence constitution to create a constitutional dictator and outlawing the Kenya People’s Union that was formed in 1965, visited unfreedom upon our land. This trajectory of righting the wrongs of the state and its operatives has been maintained – even when there have been significant democratic reversals: the IPPG betrayal in 1997, the Kibaki betrayal of the Bomas constitutional process in 2004, the stolen elections debacle in 2007/8, the failure of the leadership and integrity principle in the clearing of the ICC duo to run in the 2013 elections, and the failure by the government to implement the Constitution of Kenya since its promulgation in 2010 to date. The civil society has trudged on, making consistent efforts to customise the democracy project.

The sun rose, travelled the sky, and set.

The post-2022 elections period offers perhaps the greatest challenge for the sector, and this is attested by the loud silence ensuing, the stagnation of civic responsiveness and the tongue-tying anger and bewilderment that abounds. The problem is that even if you are an Azimio apologist and you hold the opinion that the Kenya Kwanza/UDA team did not win the elections fair and square, what do you say about the many people (about half of the voters) who supported them? Granted, the hustler narrative – a promise to alleviate the economic suffering of the poor and slay those who enriched themselves from the public coffers, the dynasties – was a strong narrative. And many people believed it – aided of course by the obvious isolation of William Ruto, the perception of persecution of Kenya Kwanza/UDA leaders and the near-fanatical call for citizens to defeat the “deep state” which “threatened to subvert” the people’s will in the elections. This narrative was populist, and the problem with populism is that it takes the wind out of the sails of the conscientious. Thus the civil society was left high and dry.

In my opinion, the greatest singular story of achievement for the civil society is the socialisation of the women’s agenda in a deeply patriarchal society.

The questions being asked are: How do you hold to account a regime that is clearly antithetical to the democratic principles that civil society espouses? How do you interface with a regime that represents populism but lacks realism? How do you support (whether positively or through constructive criticism) a regime that fails the basic test of good governance – that of fighting corruption so as to protect the public purse? What do you say to the brazenness of its members and its high-ranking officials? If you say I am pessimistic or I judge too quickly, be my guest and help me understand why the prices of basic commodities like fuel and flour have continued to soar and why taxation is growing. Hustlers are in tears. It will be a long five years indeed.

How do you hold to account a regime that is clearly antithetical to the democratic principles that civil society espouses?

On the petition filed by Azimio et al., the Supreme Court ruling (its badass language and poise) meant that very few progressives will expect fairness from the courts on issues of social justice. The judiciary is gone – either in fact or in perception. The fact that the president has been able to have his way with parliament on all counts – the leadership of the houses, the supplementary budget, the passing of his nominees for CSs and PSs, etc. – means that the august house is gone. So, what do we have? An oligarchy. And what does an oligarchy mean? That anything the president (and his men and women) says will be implemented. Welcome to the mid-1960s.

And so, before the sun sets to herald a new country, the civil society must quickly realise that the journey it took – from KPU in 1965, to the Karl Marx times at the University of Nairobi, to the Mwakenya and February 18th Movements of the early 1980s, to the Mageuzi movement of the late 1980s, to the Release Political Prisoners’ advocacy in the early 90s, to the constitutional reform efforts of 4Cs and NCEC, to the betrayed “No Reforms No Elections” campaign of 1997, to the uncertainties and convolutions of the last two decades – that this journey, has brought us to the edge of a precipice, and that it is imperative that the civil society become a phoenix, burning to ashes and from its own ashes emerging renewed and new to meet the challenges of starting a new journey in a new sunrise.