Beating protesters by police in IEBC saga a recipe for more violence

Recent protests in Kenya and, in particular, images of General Service Unit officers publicly beating and kicking people in broad daylight — as they lie face down on the floor, or as they run away in terror — has left me feeling simultaneously frustrated, angry, resigned and anxious.

According to many, these protesters are a threat to peace and security, and, thus, deserve the beating.

If someone engages in a criminal act, they should be arrested and charged in court, instead of being beaten on the street.

This appears to be an imperative that comes from popular moral codes; it is also one that is enshrined in Kenyan law. In short, while throwing stones at the police is clearly a form of assault, and looting a form of theft — and, thus, both illegal — Kenyans have a constitutional right to peaceful protest.

However, since this debate over a right to protest and a need to provide security has already been well-covered, let me move on to some of the other reasons why these scenes leave me feeling both emotional and emotionally drained.

The country is still more than a year away from the next General Election and, yet, people are already out on the streets protesting about them and, more specifically, about the country’s Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC).

For me, such activism — in a context where participants are fully aware of the possible consequences — reveals how many people have little, or no confidence in the electoral process and commission.

In turn, and as the anthropologist Liz Cooper has argued, the tendency for protests to be characterised by a level of disruption and violence reflects, not simply delinquency, but what people have “learned about how power and politics work”. Namely that “the demonstration of destructive potential works”, with popular grievances largely “neglected until they pose direct threats to public peace and financing”.

ADDRESS GRIEVANCES

The implication is that many people (albeit obviously not all) are out on the streets because they feel frustrated and angry, and powerless to effect change through more peaceful means.

Beatings will not address such grievances. Instead, it is likely to make people angrier, and, as history has shown, may encourage people to become involved in more organised acts of violence. In short, it is a bad strategy.

As an aside, I think it is also poor strategising on Cord’s part to have called the protests, as it reinforces a perception — widespread among many — that the leaders support violence. But let me leave that for another day.

At the same time, such brutality, which is meted out against Kenyan citizens in broad daylight in front of the domestic and international media, speaks of a deeply entrenched culture of impunity. These officers believe that they can do this, and that they can get away with it.

This should concern not only those who might want to participate in a public protest at some point, but all Kenyans. This is particularly because the violent suppression of protests goes hand-in-hand with other acts of impunity, most notably, the extrajudicial killing of youth labelled ‘criminals’ or ‘terrorists’.

Reports indicate that the number of extrajudicial killings in Kenya is not only extremely high, but increasing, with some experts suggesting that the country may have among the highest rates in the world.

Lives are cut short, with families left bereft, and many without a breadwinner.

Together with reports and rumours, the killings also exacerbate a sense of exclusion among already marginalised groups such as poor urban youth and residents of relatively under-developed areas, which further undermines security. For example, a sense of marginalisation and perception of security personnel as violators rather than protectors renders it easier to radicalise Muslim youth.

It also makes people less willing to share information with security agents lest they be branded potential criminals or terrorists themselves.

Once again, police brutality is a bad strategy, not just for those who suffer directly from it, but also for Kenyans more broadly.

Gabrielle Lynch is an associate professor of Comparative Politics, University of Warwick, UK. ([email protected]; @GabrielleLynch6)