Countrywide protests, police killings, mass arrests and calls for the president to stand down. This is Kenya in 2024 – and, for many, it’s evoking memories of another era: the 24-year-rule of Daniel arap Moi.
However, Kenya is a very different country today with a new constitution, an array of institutional reforms and a freer media environment. This means that Moi-era strategies are no longer available to, or will no longer work for, Kenya’s current president, William Ruto.
During his presidency, which lasted from 1978 to 2002, Moi ruled with an iron fist. His obsession with control and loyalty, or at least subservience, presented a substantive shift from his predecessor, Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya’s first post-independence president.
It might be tempting to think that Moi’s 24-year rule – and the fact that it took 12 years for Kenyans to publicly demand an end to the one-party state during this time – reflected a lack of opposition.
I am a political scientist who has studied Kenya’s democratic transition for over 20 years. My research over this period, and particularly for my book I Say to You: Ethnic Politics and the Kalenjin of Kenya, illustrates that Moi’s longevity instead reflects effective strategies of repression and control.
Silencing dissent
Moi came to power in August 1978 after Kenyatta died. He promised to follow in his predecessor’s footsteps under the slogan “nyayo” (Swahili for footsteps).
This rhetoric found immediate demonstration in the retention of incumbent ministers. But Moi quickly showed his true colours, with nyayo reinterpreted as an official dictate to follow the president.
Only a year after he came into office on 7 October 1979, university students demonstrated against the government’s decision to bar two prominent politicians from standing for parliamentary seats in the forthcoming election. Oginga Odinga and Achieng Oneko had a reputation for criticising Kenyatta. The year after this, the Nairobi University Students’ Organisation was banned. The University Academic Staff Union and Kenya Civil Servants Union were deregistered. Ethnic associations were directed to wind up their affairs.
In 1982, after Odinga announced plans to form a new political party, a constitutional amendment was rushed through parliament. It legally rendered Kenya a one-party state.
Presidential interference reached new heights following an attempted coup d’état by rank-and-file members of the Kenya Air Force on 1 August. Although the coup was quickly quelled, the delayed response of the army and police revealed the dubious loyalty of their respective high commands. Student demonstrations in support of the attempted coup further exposed Moi’s insecure position.
Subsequently, the president’s predilection for personal control morphed into an obsession. He became hostile to criticism, dissent and opposition of any kind. He was increasingly reliant on loyal lieutenants. Known opposition politicians were arrested and student activism was delegitimised. Suppression of the media was accompanied by an increase in mass arrests, illegal detentions and state torture.
Moi also revived the ruling party, the Kenya African National Union (KANU). He added it to a growing arsenal of instruments of control. These included the provincial administration, intelligence and security forces, and local power brokers. He also developed an increasingly personalised system of patronage driven largely by presidential directives, appointments and “generous” donations to harambees (public fundraisers) around the country.
In 1988, a significant increase in blatant rigging was witnessed during the country’s “queue voting” elections. In an important sense, this election marked the beginning of the end for Kenya’s one-party state.
Rigging added to popular disillusionment with the Moi order. The removal of prominent politicians – such as Charles Rubia and Martin Shikuku – marginalised wealthy and popular elites who later came to help spearhead the pro-reform movement.
Public political spaces were squeezed and monitored as frustrations and grievances with Moi’s regime grew. To express their dissent, people turned to music and the pulpit. But even these platforms attracted state reprisals.
In May 1990, Rubia and ex-minister Kenneth Matiba launched a major campaign for the restoration of multiparty democracy. They were detained two days before a planned pro-democracy rally on 7 July. The demonstrations went ahead anyway, resulting in the infamous Saba Saba (saba is Swahili for seven) demonstrations that raged for three days in Nairobi and major towns in Central and Nyanza provinces.
In the face of the repression of these popular demands for reform – and with the collapse of the Cold War and a wave of democratisation in eastern Europe – donors announced the suspension of US$350 million of rapidly dispensable aid in November 1991.
Weeks later, Moi informed a KANU delegates conference that there was no alternative but to confront multiparty competition. A constitutional amendment was rushed through parliament the following week.
A mix of state repression and violence, electoral manipulation, and massive state expenditure was then used to ensure that Moi and KANU won the 1992 and 1997 elections. Moi was reelected with 36% and 40% of the popular vote in 1992 and 1997 respectively, against a divided opposition.
A different country
Kenya today shows some worrying similarities to this past – from police shootings and mass arrests to Ruto’s efforts to blame “outside forces” for the mass protests.
The country is a very different place, however.
For one thing, the constitution, adopted in 2010, safeguards the people’s right to protest and has provided for a more independent judiciary. The youth have focused their ire on a wealthy and corrupt political elite, and can mobilise and share information much more easily.
In this context, many of the old tactics that rely on a partially reformed security sector are backfiring.
Cases of police shootings and abductions have enraged Kenyans. Efforts by the regime to reach out to vocal voices in the protest movement have been rejected.
Ruto continues to make important concessions – from shelving the widely unpopular finance bill that sought to introduce new taxes to making changes to his cabinet. However, he will have to think more innovatively about how to address the country’s economic troubles and his crisis of legitimacy if he’s to address the protest movement. Since June 2024, the protests have led to the loss of life and destruction of property, taking a toll on the economy and creating a serious crisis for his regime.
Kenya has changed. Ruto will need to recognise this if he is to survive his first term.
Gabrielle Lynch received funding from the British Academy, Beit Fund (Oxford), Oxford University Press Surplus Fund, British Institute in Eastern Africa, Royal Historical Society, Department of Politics and International Relations (Oxford), and Balliol College (Oxford) for the research that went into her book - I say to you: Ethnic politics and the Kalenjin of Kenya - on which this paper draws.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
