The tricky business of civil society activism in East Africa

Most of Addis Ababa’s human traffic flows into coffee shops after work.

But, even as you take in the strong aroma of coffee or sample the bourgeois offerings of the famed eateries of Ethiopia, you are likely to notice something that is only unique here, something straight from a Cold War-era novel: unlike the political banter inside the coffee shops of Africa’s other cities — it has been argued that wherever two or three gather on the continent, politics is just a step away — Addis Ababa’s gathering spots are a different animal altogether.

“We don’t touch politics here,” whispered a friend when asked his opinion on the country’s political landscape recently. “Enjoy your cup of macchiato, chat up an Ethiopian woman if you are lucky to have one, then take your taxi to your hotel.”

POLITICAL DISCOURSE

We were seated inside the Cafe La Parisienne, a busy joint along the city’s Bole Road, and, being the true African that I am, I wanted to sample not just the coffee here, but the political discourse as well.

To the casual observer, Ethiopia’s middle class seems too cautious, timid even. Unlike Nairobi’s boisterous and rough-edged crowds, Addis engages itself in low tones, the talk remaining “safe”, and mostly about love and other fluffy stuff.

The patronage, like that of any other major African city, is predictable — a host of NGO workers, UN or AU staffers, and the “enlightened” folk who have something to say about everything. So, why are they not saying it?

The answer to that question lies somewhere between the relative timidity — some call it discipline — of Ethiopians and the coming elections in 2015.

MANAGE PUBLIC OPINION

That discipline seems stronger and firmer as the elections draw closer, which has made some observers note that the measures that Addis has taken to shape and manage public opinion may be the pith through which the sap of self-control, imposed or otherwise, flows.

For many, it is the 2009 law regulating civil society organisations (CSOs) that seems to have censored some of the previously vocal voices here.

After a day of trying to fix interviews with CSO insiders, we finally landed two. Five others turned down our request, explaining that it was safer to keep quiet. And one of those who agreed to speak asked to remain anonymous.

“It has become tricky these days,” Dr Agonafer Tekalegne, the braver one, said. “I am not sure my organisation will continue to operate in this country under these circumstances.”

Dr Tekalegne is the country director of the Malaria Consortium, an international NGO that has been working closely with the Ethiopian government to eradicate the vector- borne disease.

MOST IMPRESSIVE

So far, the organisation has managed to help the government fundraise for several malaria initiatives that have helped in the eradication of the disease across the country.

“We are talking to the government and they are considering our proposals,” said the optimistic medic.

The CSO law, enacted after the country’s hotly contested 2005 election, also regulates sources of funds and even spending.

It also touches on the organisations’ governance in what the government says is a measure to maximise their productivity in a country whose growth has remained one of the most impressive in the continent.

This way, cash meant for projects remains so, with only 30 per cent going to administration and research, which has aroused murmurs among some of the organisations.

“Unless you adhere to the rules, you cannot operate here,” said Dr Tekalegne. The malaria expert remains hopeful that something will be done to loosen up a bit, especially before the coming elections.

LOVE-HATE AFFAIR

“It is a political agenda, you know,” he noted, adding that other parties could easily dangle promises around it to woo voters.

Without support from international organisations, Ethiopian NGOs are expected to raise cash locally, but local donors have proved cautious and may not support advocacy work out of concern with their relationship with the establishment.

In the Ugandan capital, Kampala, a love-hate relationship between the government and civil society thrives.

President Yoweri Museveni has never shied away from criticising civil society, often describing the organisations as agents of foreign interests.

However, those that stick to social services and development, where most of them prefer to squat, are the president’s bosom friends as they play a critical role.

In recent days, any NGO that has tried to voice concerns against corruption, land grabbing, sexuality, and environmental degradation has had its share of rebuke.

DELIBERATE PLOY

Oil politics have also become a no-go zone. “Uganda’s government is putting serious pressure on civil society, particularly on organisations that might be seen as infringing upon the officials’ political and financial interests,” said Maria Burnett, a senior Africa researcher at Human Rights Watch.

Just like the Ethiopian case, most of the NGOs operating in Uganda have chosen relatively non-controversial areas after Kampala amended the NGO law to restrict the organisations.

Registration is now no longer a straightforward affair. Such roadblocks have been criticised as a deliberate ploy to force the civil society into self-censorship.

Out of frustration, some organisations jointly filed a case challenging the NGO Act in 2009. Years later, the case is yet to be scheduled for hearing. Understandably, the civil society is getting a little agitated.

“If your research raises a flag about people in power and how they are getting money out of this country, you are at serious risk,” protested one NGO.

MOI GOVERNMENT

“If you preach human rights, you are anti-development, an economic saboteur. You are not going to talk about land, oil, and good governance. This is just the beginning, but the tensions have been accumulating.”

The same passions are spreading into Kenya, which, though going through a rough patch, is still seen as the region’s most vibrant and vocal society. In recent times, Kenyan NGOs have had their day with the authorities.

This is how it started: In the 1990s, most NGOs supported the then opposition to force President Daniel arap Moi’s government to repeal a controversial section of the Constitution that barred multipartyism.

They succeeded, but the gains they made were piecemeal. That became evident when the Narc administration took over the reigns of power in 2002, forcing a re-organisation of the sector.

FIZZLED OUT

Under Narc, the civil society fought, not for wider freedoms, but simple relevance. They could speak, but few people took them seriously. They fizzled out, but the push for a new constitution handed them a new, if not polarised, lease of life.

Later, the International Criminal Court issue, which later became a hot political cake, pitted the sector against Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto, indicted to stand trial at the ICC and who would win an election and sit at the top of the country’s pecking order.

Debate was framed around the issue of patriotism versus imperialism as there was a call for local trials of the suspects as opposed to The Hague trials.

In the course of the debate, civil society leaders like Maina Kiai, Prof Makau Mutua, and John Githongo, who supported foreign trials, were branded servants of the West. That complicated the relationship between this group and the new presidency.

TIGHT BUDGET

A year into the Uhuru-Ruto presidency, the country’s newly installed Parliament sneaked in the Kenya Public Benefits Organisations Bill.

Among others, the 2013 Bill proposed a 15 per cent limit on foreign funding for the total budget of Kenyan civil society organisations.

Also, all the foreign funding for the organisations, suggested the Bill, should go through a government body, which would have the power to decide which organisation got funding and for what purpose.

In Ethiopia, the CSO law also regulates the amount of cash to be received from international donors, especially for those organisations operating in advocacy. In this case, it is capped at a maximum 10 per cent.

Ironically, the Ethiopian government is still one of the most aid-dependent in the world, with donors providing over a $1 billion (about Sh87 billion) every year to support its national budget.

NOT WELCOME

Groups like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International withdrew after it became clear that their advocacy work and cash support to local NGOs, even for operational research, was not welcome.

It is not any easier for local groups in advocacy because they are not allowed to receive funding from Ethiopians in the diaspora, which has seen several of these agencies close shop or change to safer areas of operations like provision of health, education, and development work.

Failing to comply with the requirements puts the CSO and its leadership at risk of hefty fines, even dissolution. According to the CSO regulation, those who violate the law are punishable under the criminal code.

Penalty is not limited to employees but could affect members, volunteers, and receivers of services, complicating operations both for the organisations and the beneficiaries.

NO DOUBT
The law has had serious implications for the voluntary sector. According to multiple sources, it quickly shrank the number of registered civil society groups by 60 per cent a year after its implementation.

On its part, the government insists that the law is a good instrument of regulation and that it borrows from some of the best practices around the world.

“Overall there’s no doubt this legislation will help ensure clarity and predictability in the operations of all charities and societies and NGOs in Ethiopia,” says a government statement.

Assefa Tesfaye, the communication director at the Ethiopian Charities and Societies Agency, says the regulations are meant to ensure that local populations, on whose behalf CSOs fundraise, benefit from the cash.

Tesfaye dismisses criticism of the 10 per cent cap on foreign contribution to bodies involved in some areas, saying that “loyalty to external funding agencies and promoting external agenda goes against our sovereignty as a country”.

DISPUTED ELECTIONS

Other players in the sector disagree. “The only reason for such a repressive law is if it would be used to strangle Ethiopia’s few remaining independent voices,” observed Georgette Gagnon, who was Africa director at Human Rights Watch at the time the law came into force.

“Civil society has been decimated,” said another Ethiopian researcher who wished to remain unnamed because of the sensitivity of the matter.

“No government is perfect, that is why there should be room for the civil society to voice the concerns of those affected.” Coming after the 2005 disputed elections, the law is seen by many as a tool to manage dissenting voices.

In the elections, the ruling coalition, the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front, under the leadership of then Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, who has since died, faced a serious onslaught from the opposition. This was hitherto unimaginable.

In its report to the Federal Charities and Society Agency, the government organ that regulates Ethiopian civil society, Attos Consulting, says there are a number of challenges to implementing the law. The argument is corroborated by the Forum for Social Studies’ report, Civil Society at the Crossroads, which documents the country’s civil society movement history while framing it within the global context.

UNDER ATTACK

“The civil society is under attack across Africa,” argues Maina Kiai, a UN special rapporteur on the rights to freedom of peaceful assembly and association.

“(Yet it) is possibly the best mechanism we have to ensure pluralism, broad-mindedness, tolerance, civic participation, and democracy. It is not just a single voice, it is a chorus.

“If the government silences this chorus, it will have taken away people’s autonomy. Targeting foreign funding is an effective way to silence civil society.”

The examples from Addis Ababa, Kampala, and Nairobi show how badly off the region’s civil society organisations are.

They may have acted as the voice of the vulnerable for a long time, but the tightening state grip on them is squeezing the life, and energy, out of them.

— Andualem Sesay contributed reporting from Addis Ababa.