Kenyan protests and the smart way to deal with your ‘enemy’

In recent days, there have been some ugly scenes as Kenya police battled supporters of the opposition Cord as they held protests to demand the reform of the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission.

Beyond the political issues and the outcry and sharp debates on social media about police conduct, these have been classic confrontations.

If you are politically weak or disadvantaged (e.g. you do not have the benefit of State resources), your strategy must be to over-amplify your action. You have one main ally — the government.

It is a delicate balancing act for both sides. The opposition must not alienate the public by being too disruptive, but all it needs to do is to provoke the government just enough.

The government must not be seen to be weak, so it needs to respond.

But it needs to be careful that the police does not, as happened on Monday, go over the top and create big global headlines and viral videos of brutality.

In these situations, the party that has the most options is always the State.

Fortunately, the Kenyan Government does not need to look far to see how to profit from opposition activism.

There were probably more anti-government protests during the government of former president Mwai Kibaki than today.

Faced with a choice of letting the protests go on and undermine its authority or crack down on them, the Kibaki government chose to embrace them as proof that it had brought freedom to Kenya after the nightmare years of Kanu.

It was a masterful stroke. The result is that most of these protests passed without the drama and headlines we have seen this week.

MUSEVENI'S STRATEGY

This strategy can work in ways that are hard to imagine. A remarkable example came from Uganda in the late 1980s.

President Yoweri Museveni’s government, still fresh from the bush, faced several rebellions in the north.

The one by Joseph Kony’s Lords’ Resistance Army was to last nearly two decades.

Many people have forgotten, but the most professional rebellion then was by a group called the Allied Democratic Movement (ADM).

At that time the army commander was Salim Saleh (aka Caleb Akandwanaho), a bush war hero, and President Yoweri Museveni’s brother.

One day word arrived in Kampala newsrooms that Saleh was going to the jungle in the north, where ADM was based, for talks.

There were a few spots for journalists and we scrambled for them.

Everyone assembled in the north town of Gulu and on the morning of the talks, we set off in a convoy.

Saleh had only about half-a-dozen guards with him. And with that we drove, at God’s mercy as it were, deep into rebel territory.

Soon we came upon a rebel frontline. They were heavily armed, but word had been given that a negotiating party was coming, so after some radio calls, we were let through.

The ADM had made sure to put on a show of strength so, hearts in our mouths, we drove for a distance along a road lined with rebels pointing guns menacingly.

Finally we arrived at the camp of the ADM military chief, Angello Okello. He emerged, limping. Rickety chairs were put out, and we gathered around.

This was a risky enterprise. The army commander could have been killed without a fight, or held prisoner.

We presumed, therefore, that there were some very serious talks to be had to make all the risk worthwhile.

But no, there were no tough talks. After the introductions and small talk, Salim asked the guards who had travelled with us to “bring Afande’s presents”.

They went to the back of one of the pick-ups and brought crates of beer and a box of fine whisky.

Saleh opened the box, took out and opened a whisky bottle, and asked for cups.

He poured a drink for himself, Okello, and his top lieutenants, then brought out and passed around cigarettes.

Before long, there was loud laughter, high fives, and then it was time for us to go back to civilisation.

Within weeks, ADM ended its war. Okello came to Kampala, was given a nice house, big cars, lived a good life, and died peacefully some years later in his bed surrounded by plenty.

A war had ended. Saleh had driven into the enemy’s camp, broken bread, swigged whisky, and smoked cigarettes with them.

It is enough to fry the mind to think that, at the end of the day, that really is all it took.

The author is editor of Mail & Guardian Africa. Twitter@cobbo3