Narok impasse reveals risk ‘regime change’ models pose

On April 2, 1917, President Woodrow Wilson went before a joint session of American Congress to seek a Declaration of War against Germany in order that the world “be made safe for democracy”.

Almost in a similar sense, the political impasse and violence that has recently engulfed Narok is a warning to the state to do everything within its power to make counties safe for democracy and development.

Narok risks becoming a “failed county,” a sad corollary of the ubiquitous “failed state” in Africa.

Trouble in Narok started brewing immediately after the 2013 elections. The conflict in Narok appears like a mundane political supremacy battle between the two political factions, one led by Governor Tunai and the other by Senator Stephen ole Ntutu.

But it all started when the larger Purko clan of Ole Ntutu lost the pivotal governor position to a “coalition” of smaller Maasai clans that swept Ole Tunai to power.

The ensuing clan-based power contest flowed into the courts. The Ole Ntutu camp lost the court battles to Governor Tunai, but has insisted on a popular action ostensibly calibrated to end up in “regime change” in Narok county government.

The struggle turned nasty and brutish on January 26 when Ole Ntutu led hundreds of locals in a demonstration to protest against alleged misappropriation of billions of shillings from Maasai Mara Game Reserve by the embattled Governor.

One demonstrator, Sikona Ole Muntet, was shot dead by police during the protests as Ole Ntutu and those in his camp were arrested, but released on bail as positions hardened.

The Narok impasse is casting a shroud over the romanticised view of the county as the epicentre of what some activists have enchanted as “Kenya’s revolution” wrought by the 2010 Constitution.

Last month, David Ndii effusively praised devolution as the silver bullet that is everywhere shooting down the ills of “imperial presidency”, silencing distributional grievances and ending accountability problems.

Narok seems to be vindicating those who portray the new counties from Makueni to Embu, Narok to Marsabit, Mandera to Isiolo as local versions of the “failed states” phenomenon at the international level.

Supremacy wars and power tussles within and between the various elite factions over county resources and opportunities have turned the counties into abodes of chaos.

As such, rampant allegations of corruption and mayhem in Narok are cutting short the celebrations of the “developmental county” as the motor of grassroots empowerment.

MISCALCULATION

Ole Ntutu, like many senators, is dissatisfied with the Senate as one of the new competing centres of power brought forth by the new Constitution.

But the senators are reaping the whirlwind arising from miscalculation of strategists during negotiations for the new constitutional dispensation.

In one of our usual think-tank discussions in December 2009, I suggested to Mr Kiraitu Murungi, then President Mwai Kibaki’s chief political strategist, that we push for an American-style senate — which prides itself as “the world’s greatest deliberative body” — as the pivot of legislative power above the House of Representatives and Counties.

“Theoretically, this idea is brilliant,” he said. “However, in reality, it is a death sentence to the proposed constitution. MPs will shoot it down; they cannot give away their power to a senate,” he said.

A powerful senate would perhaps have stabilised the new devolution system. But a great opportunity was lost.

What emerged was a feeble senate, drawing its existence and authority from the concept of devolution. Its mandate limited to the near-ceremonial role of safeguarding and promoting the interests of the counties.

Obviously, this is a far cry from the powerful American senate which is not tethered to the federal system and has the final authority to pass or reject bills and power to confirm presidential appointees.

It is also a stark contrast to the all-powerful and resourced county government headed by the governor.

Uncannily, during the 2013 elections, Kiraitu and other powerful and experienced political heavyweights across the country fell to the lure of the symbolic power of the new senate.

They left the governor’s seat to the more technocratic but political greenhorns — often from minority communities, sub-groups or clans.

RUDE SHOCK

In two years, the old hands have learned hard and bitter lessons in power. In June 2013, the senators had a rude shock when the National Assembly passed the Division of Revenue Bill in utter disregard of the proposed input from the senate.

The senators have quickly realised that real power rests with the governor. Having inherited some of the devolved powers of the “imperial presidency”, the governors are now the spider at the centre of a powerful web of patron-client relations oiled by control of billions of development shillings, power to appoint county executives and other workers and to give tenders and other opportunities to loyalists.

Efforts by senators to claw back on some of these powers have come unstuck. Their move to pass the County Development Bill, which created County Development Boards chaired by senators, sparked resistance from the governors and has since become a stillbirth.

Even in counties like Meru, where the senator and the governor appear to be in comity, the voters are no longer at ease. “We voted for the ‘empty’ senator’s position and gave away access to resources and jobs in the county governments,” averred one leader.

But in Narok, the Ole Ntutu camp is not ready to wait. Critics insist that the on-going conflict is a scramble for the county’s vast resources. But regime change approach through popular action can only slow down development and stifle democracy in counties.

Prof Peter Kagwanja is the Chief Executive, Africa Policy Institute, and former Government Adviser.