The outbreak of Ethiopia’s war on Tigray brought back deeply rooted childhood memories of the brutality of civil war in Tigray. But Mehari Taddele Maru is determined to use his horrendous childhood experiences for the greater good and contribute to pursuing justice to sustain peace.
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It has been almost three months now since the government of Ethiopia and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) signed the Permanent Cessation of Hostilities Agreement (CoHA) to end Ethiopia’s Tigray war that has led to over 600,000 deaths. The Biden administration described the agreement as a momentous step, while the European Union extolled the courage of the parties in signing the deal.
The Tigrayan population has endured the worst possible atrocities during the two years of the war in Ethiopia. One would expect the people to be jubilant about this much-touted breakthrough to silence the guns. In Tigray, on the ground, the deal has been met with cautious optimism and hope for a return to normalcy. People like me who have extended family in Tigray, and have seen the war stretch out over more than 700 days, have also breathed a sigh of relief.
Since it began on 4 November 2020, the civil war in Ethiopia has reopened old wounds and created new ones. For over two years, the population in Tigray has come under siege and suffered weaponised starvation. Tigrayans in other parts of Ethiopia have been discriminated against and have been subjected to arbitrary and unlawful detention. By 2021, the detentions had reached what could be described as an industrial scale, and the discrimination continues to this day; Tigrayans have been living in dread every day of their lives.
I am Tigrayan. I come from a family that have been victims of war. This is the third war that has been fought in Tigray in my lifetime. It is genocidal in nature and in its level of ambition, and by far the most devastating of any that I have witnessed. The United Nations International Commission of Human Rights Experts on Ethiopia (ICHREE) reported “widespread acts of rape and sexual violence against Tigrayan women and girls. In some instances, the attackers expressed an intent to render the victims infertile and used dehumanizing language that suggested an intent to destroy the Tigrayan ethnicity.” Like the overwhelming majority of Tigrayans, my entire family and I vehemently opposed this war on Tigray since the beginning.
With the experience of the brutality of civil wars deeply rooted in my childhood memories of Tigray, my first response to the war was a call for the immediate cessation of hostilities, and the commencement of a negotiated end to the war. Peace was, and still is, what I, like many Tigrayans, crave.
The harrowing experiences Tigrayans have suffered at the hands of both the Ethiopian and Eritrean armies and Amhara forces for well over two years have brought back painful memories of my childhood. In the 1980s, Tigray was at the centre of a protracted civil war, with the situation worsened by the 1984 Great Ethiopian Famine. My family, like thousands of others, was brutalised by the Ethiopian military regime and the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF). I was barely seven years old when I experienced catastrophic violations of human rights first-hand. My father and my maternal grandparents were attacked both by the government and by rebel groups and became the victims of forced disappearance by the TPLF. They disappeared, and I never saw them again. They are presumed to have been killed by the TPLF.
On several occasions over the past three decades, my family, individually and collectively, have submitted written and oral demands for redress to high-ranking officials of the TPLF and the government of Tigray. These requests have received no response. Instead, the disappearances have been dismissed as an unfortunate mishap that occurred during a revolt.
So, I empathise with those who, like me, have suffered and continue to suffer due to the civil war waged in various parts of the country.
The persecution of Tigrayans who like myself live outside Tigray is harrowing, and it is happening both on and offline.
As if that were not enough, the state has sponsored a slander campaign in the media, directed at the Tigray elite and other people deemed to be supporting the Tigrayans’ just cause. They have falsely accused me of being a member of the TPLF and of working in the security sector in the previous Ethiopian government. The army of anti-Tigrayan trolls continues with their coordinated character assassination. At one point, hundreds of tweets were posted within a few hours making false allegations that I am an “agent” of the TPLF. The allegations and the formulation of the tweeter character assassinations were the same, only posted from different, newly created Twitter accounts by media networks that are notorious for attacking Tigrayans. It has even been alleged that a think tank was established so that I could head it up and be an advisor to the former government.
The persecution of Tigrayans who like myself live outside Tigray is harrowing, and it has been happening both on and offline.
There have been previous attempts by some media outlets to incite public outrage against me and encourage attacks on my person. Extremist nationalists such as the Solidarity Movement for a New Ethiopia, Ethiopia Satellite Television (ESAT), and its splinter group, Ethio-Media 3600, both based in the US, have churned out fabricated reports to assassinate my character. These media outlets are the same ones that called for Ethiopians to “dry the sea and catch the fish” where the sea refers to the people of Tigray while the fish refers to TPLF and the Tigrayan elite, and later publicly called for the mass detention of Tigrayans in concentration camps. They do not care for the truth. They are hell-bent on attacking Tigrayans from all walks of life. No-one is spared, not even His Holiness Abune Mathias, the Patriarch of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.
It is important to set the record straight. I have never been, nor am I now, a member of any political party. I have never been a government official. The closest I came to being in government was when I served as director in the office of the president of Addis Ababa University. My career, spanning more than two decades, has been spent working in inter-governmental institutions, universities and think tanks.
In principle, though, it is my right to join any political party, including the TPLF. My decision not to join a party or serve in government is both personal and political. As a member of one of the families that have suffered double victimisation in the previous and current civil wars, I decided that my extended family’s quest for justice should not be misused to seek unjust revenge and unworthy political ends.
Unsurprisingly, Ethiopian politics is a pit of hatred and resentment. Political positions are defined and hardened by endless cycles of vendetta and reprisal. In a political campaign to delegitimise the previous government, all outspoken persons of Tigrayan origin and other critical voices have been the target of orchestrated character assassination, often based on fictitious stories.
Political positions are defined and hardened by an endless cycle of vendetta and reprisal.
These character assassination campaigns are in essence part of a bigger political picture in Ethiopia and its longstanding deep-rooted problems, part of what Francis Deng calls a “war of visions”; a struggle for the nature and future of the Ethiopian state.
Ethiopia faces, on the one hand, the scenario of loose multi-national federalism, where power rests in the hands of the constituent units, not with the centre. This scenario demands not only greater devolution of power and more autonomy, but also confederal arrangements, self-determination, and even, where necessary, independence from the country. As seen with the Tigrayan forces and with Oromo resistance, this scenario is a tangle of a war of survival, a defence against a predatory state, and a quest for self-determination and self-rule. Historically, Ethiopia has mismanaged its response to wars of resistance, as seen in the 1961–1991 Eritrean war of independence, which caused the fragmentation of the Ethiopian state and led to the secession of Eritrea.
On the other hand is the scenario of centralisation, the basis of which is to reclaim the quasi-unitarist powers that have been – at least de jure – dismantled over decades. This scenario brings back memories of Ethiopia’s highly contested history of forcible assimilation, ethnic domination and neglect of the periphery. The same unitarist style of governance, albeit retaining some vestiges of decentralisation, is what is now in the making, feeding on the extreme nationalism, quasi-imperial ambitions and military adventurism that have led to wars with far-reaching consequences for human security and state integrity. Proponents of this scenario are determined to secure and monopolise power through whatever means available. When convenient, they employ constitutional norms such as elections with no real competitive platforms; when necessary, they use unconstitutional, brutal, oppressive means, including waging genocidal war on those who resist. This is a vision of the old Ethiopian state that is inherently undemocratic, antagonistic to multiculturalism, and even fascistic. With the help of Eritrea’s Isaias Afwerki and his troops, these forces of centralisation and of power consolidation are the authors and owners of the current wars in Ethiopia.
The war of November 2020 is narrated as a war for the survival and the security of the population in Tigray on the one hand, and that of sovereignty and state integrity on the other. It morphed into a patriotic resistance that turned civilians into combatants. The sheer number of armies and forces engaged in the war on Tigray attests to the scorched-earth policies of the military operation. They came with massive force to wipe Tigrayans off the map. It was a clear campaign of ethnic cleansing and extermination of the Tigrayan people and their identity markers. Several international organisations, including the UN and Human Rights Watch, have established that ethnicity-based war crimes, crimes against humanity and elements of genocide have been committed in Tigray by the armies of Ethiopia and Eritrea, and by Amhara forces. Even the US government has confirmed that the ethnic cleansing of Tigrayans is ongoing. Thousands of Tigrayan women have been raped. Millions of Tigrayans remain displaced and systematically starved; tens of thousands have been extrajudicially killed through indiscriminate shelling and bombing. The conflict in Tigray has taken an unimaginable human toll since it first erupted in November 2020, and Tigray has been under a brutal siege for more than three years. According to Ghent University, as many as 500,000 Tigrayans have been killed in the war or have died from starvation. From the outset, the war has been marked by brutality and a stark disregard for civilian life.
The Tigrayan population remains largely in a communication blackout, allowed only a trickle of the essential public services necessary to sustain life. Humanitarian aid had been systematically blocked off and diverted, and still remains little compared to the need. Industries, factories and infrastructure have been destroyed. UNESCO-registered and other heritage sites, such as religious and cultural buildings, have been pillaged and desecrated.
For the Ethiopian, Amhara and Eritrean forces, sovereignty is an absolute weapon, and a licence to wage genocidal war in the name of territorial integrity. However, under international law, sovereignty has long been construed to be a responsibility to protect. The sovereignty of the Ethiopian state has not only failed to protect civilians all over the country, but it has been used as a weapon to exterminate Tigrayans, particularly as the hostile Eritrean army and the Amhara forces were invited to participate in the war and occupy parts of Tigray.
From the outset, the war has been marked by brutality and a stark disregard for civilian life.
Resistance wars for survival can only end when the security of the populace is guaranteed. Robust mechanisms to ensure the security of all people facing a perpetual threat from state and non-state actors are vital to prevent a relapse of war and sustain peace.
The civil wars in Tigray and in other parts of the country have created bad blood, not only between current generations, but also for generations to come. Peaceful coexistence should be possible, but only if there are independent investigations to establish the truth, and mechanisms to guarantee justice and that such a genocidal war does not break out again in the future. For the sake of sustainable peace, perpetrators should be held to account, and justice delivered to the victims.
A war of scenarios can be resolved only through a comprehensive and all-inclusive dialogue and negotiations. The first step towards this would be recognition that there can be no military solution to wars such as the one in Tigray or the on-going ones in Oromia and other regions, and that sustaining peace requires justice for the victims. In this spirit, I am one of the many Ethiopians who have repeatedly called for truth, justice, dialogue and reconciliation in Ethiopia as the only way to a peaceful resolution to never-ending conflicts. Since 2011, I have written and presented several proposals for an all-inclusive national dialogue. Previous governments have been unwilling to heed these calls.
In 2020, without an inclusive national dialogue, the federal government postponed the elections and extended its term of office and those of the regional governments. I vehemently opposed the decision. I also supported Tigray’s decision to conduct its elections within the constitutional timeframe, despite the federal government’s decision. Furthermore, I strongly condemned the use of force by the Ethiopian and Eritrean governments against regional states, including Oromia, Somali and Tigray.
Raising my voice against oppression has meant that my family is once again facing peril.
My life has come full cycle, but I remain unbowed. More than anything, my childhood experience has influenced my keen interest in protecting human rights, addressing displacement, and promoting human security measures in general. I refuse to be a prisoner of my family’s loss. I refuse to become accusatory and embittered. I avoid a life of self-pity. Crucially, the experience has fuelled my determination to try to help bring about a political governance that is protective of human rights in Ethiopia, and in Africa as a whole. This commitment was amply reinforced during my early years at Addis Ababa University as a Student Union president and subsequently at the universities of Harvard, Oxford and Giessen, and now leading a programme that trains young African leaders at the European University Institute. I struggled, until eventually I formulated a personal philosophy of life centred on a commitment to establishing human rights-protective governance systems and eradicating poverty. This philosophy is based on the maxim of Mahatma Gandhi: “An eye for an eye makes us all blind.”
I have concluded that those who have lived through catastrophic events have two paths to choose from: the unprincipled, vicious life of a “villain-victim”, or the worthy life of a “hero-victim”. I chose the latter: to use my horrendous childhood experiences for the greater good and contribute to a peaceful country and a more peaceful continent. I will do what I can to put an end to situations in which children are compelled to grow up parentless in an environment of conflict and violence.
I struggled, until eventually I formulated a personal philosophy of life centred on a commitment to establishing human rights-protective governance systems and eradicating poverty.
Desmond Tutu once said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” In the same way, no one should be allowed to remain neutral in choosing between war criminals and victims, war and peace, justice and impunity. I side with victims over war criminals, I choose peace over war, justice over impunity.
“And that is why I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation”, said Elie Wiesel in his Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech in Oslo. He added, “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the centre of the universe.”
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Prof. Mehari Taddele Maru is currently a Professor Migration Policy Centre and Academic Coordinator of the Young African Leaders Programme at the School of Transnational Governance and at the European University Institute in Florence, Italy. He is also a Fellow at the United Nations University Institute on Comparative Regional Integration Studies (UNU-CRIS), Bruges, Belgium.
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Kenya must raise the bar in service provision now so that we can gain enough ground for our children to enjoy affordable and quality services from public institutions.
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When discussing the state of government services, facilities and infrastructure, some Kenyans on social media propose that there should be a requirement for all public officers to use only government services. This would mean that our cabinet secretaries, our parliamentarians and even the president and deputy president (and their families) be restricted to seeking medical services at public hospitals, and to taking their children to public schools, and so on. The proponents of this policy expect that once high-ranking state officers experience the inconvenience other citizens endure in accessing services from public institutions, they would be more intentional about improving service delivery.
A step further would be for such a policy to also cover the counties. Perhaps if governors, senators, and county assembly members were restricted to only using the health facilities in their respective counties, they would commit more resources to ensuring that these facilities are well equipped, and that the human resource is compensated fairly and in a timely manner.
European nations which are often used as a benchmark for development and governance apply this to a good degree. Public services are efficient, and it is common for even the highest-ranking public servants to use public facilities. When former UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson contracted COVID-19, he was treated at St Thomas’ Hospital, a National Health Service (NHS) teaching hospital in central London. The NHS is the publicly funded healthcare system of the United Kingdom. This is the National Health Insurance Fund (NHIF) equivalent, and St Thomas’ Hospital would be the Kenyatta Hospital equivalent.
The parallel I can draw for Kenya is that at least our president completed his PhD studies at a public university. And there are many more cabinet secretaries (CSs), principal secretaries (PSs), ambassadors and parastatal heads who went through public universities and are top performers in their respective dockets. But on the other hand, we also have several governors who sought to attain undergraduate qualification from beyond our borders.
In contrast, we have had a former health minister seek medical services in another country during his tenure at the health ministry (his contributions to improving the ministry and the sector notwithstanding). I highly doubt the children of cabinet secretaries and other politicians, past and present, have been through public schooling up to the university level. And in December 2022, we took it a step further when the National Police Service and the Kenya Prisons Service ended their comprehensive medical coverage with the NHIF, in favour of a private service provider. Confidence in public institutions appears to be at an all-time low, even among other public institutions.
Kenyans are known to have high standards and high expectations. And rightfully so. We are the regional leader (largest economy in the EAC and COMESA in terms of GDP), and we know our potential to become a continental leader by all metrics. However, as we begin a new year under a new administration that just completed its first 100 days in office, I would recommend that we manage our expectations and start at the bare minimum. The bare minimum for me is a request to the recently appointed cabinet secretaries and county executive committee members to ensure human dignity in service delivery. We are years away from that ideal future where the president, cabinet secretaries and all other high-ranking public officers are confident enough in the system to entrust it with their families’ health and with their children’s education. But if we start raising the bar now, we can gain enough ground for our children to enjoy affordable and quality services from public institutions.
I highly doubt the children of cabinet secretaries and other politicians, past and present, have been through public schooling up to the university level.
The bare minimum for healthcare is for all public health facilities to be well equipped and functioning. Kenyans should not have to travel across counties or to the capital for basic medical services, or prefer private medical insurance cover over NHIF. A bare minimum would be county executives being nominated based on qualification and experience, and county staff being appointed based on the needs of the county in the specific functions they oversee.
In road construction, a bare minimum would be to have all tarmacked roads appropriately marked, well paved (with sidewalks/footpaths where required) and well lit.
Kenyans had to complain on social media about the danger of driving on an unmarked Ngong Road (from Junction Mall to Lenana School) for Kenya National Highways Authority (KenHA) and Kenya Urban Roads Authority (KURA) to act. And the action that resulted from the complaints was specific to that section. While driving to Karen on New Year’s Day, I was disappointed to see that the section of Ngong Road from the interchange after Lenana School to Karen roundabout remains unmarked. Even closer to the centre of the capital, sections of Ngong Road and Kenyatta Avenue around the NSSF building are in a similar state. Another problematic road section is the chaos that is Westlands roundabout including the matatu stages on Waiyaki Way on either side of the roundabout. If we are not meeting the bare minimum in the capital, we likely aren’t fairing any better in the counties.
I have no doubt that the transport CS, and the heads of KenHA and KURA all use these roads at least once a week. The least they could do, the bare minimum, is to ensure we can drive safely on these roads at any hour of the day. If the drivers or friends of these top officials are reading this article, please whisper to them (or share this article with them) and remind them that thousands of motorists and pedestrians are a few phone calls away from a significant positive change in road safety.
Tsilanga is the story of a community that is destroyed by greed and lust for power in a cycle of degradation where individual desires and fears transcend the communal good.
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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.
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.
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.
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.
There are legitimate concerns, and misinformation, regarding genetically modified organisms. Adoption of GMOs will continue to be hampered as long as the fears are not allayed and the misinformation dispelled.
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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.
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