So many questions begging answers in the wake of the Garissa terrorist attack
What you need to know:
- Is it that officials do not care? Is it because of incompetence, corruption, or an institutional culture where security has historically been about control and order, rather than about service?
- Will the government actually close the Dadaab refugee camp? What would this mean for the hundreds of thousands of people who live there?
What will be done to tackle the fact that terrorists are largely Kenyan? - More importantly, however, many of the questions are speculative and there is nothing inevitable about the outcome. Instead, it is up to people — both as individuals, office holders and communities — to shape the country’s future.
Since the attack in Garissa a fortnight ago in which 148 people were killed, I feel angry, incredulous, distracted, uneasy, tired, hollow.
I cannot imagine the array of lives that have been lost, what the survivors and the friends and families of the deceased are going through, or what memories the scenes may have kindled for others. My head is awash with a stream of questions.
Was there intelligence of a possible attack? If so, why was additional security not stationed in the area? Even if there was no specific intelligence, were security officers not concerned that there might be another attack somewhere at some point, especially over the long Easter weekend? If so, why was transport not fuelled and ready to go?
How was it that government officials managed to fly to Garissa — and that they saw fit to travel in separate planes — while the elite Recce squad did not manage to arrive at the scene until 11 hours after? 11 hours! Why are relatives of security officers allowed to travel in police helicopters when there is a high risk of a terrorist attack (or indeed at any time)?
Is it that officials do not care? Is it because of incompetence, corruption, or an institutional culture where security has historically been about control and order, rather than about service? Is it because the government is too quick to jump to a defensive mode rather than to discuss, and learn from its mistakes? Or is it because of an uneasy mix of agency and institutions?
Why does it seem increasingly difficult for people to acknowledge the good things that the government is doing, but to simultaneously offer criticism of officials when they fall short? What can be done to counter the high levels of ethnic and political polarisation?
Why has more not been done to support the survivors and the families of those killed? Why have the most high-profile memorials been organised by civil society activists?
LARGELY KENYAN
Will the government actually close the Dadaab refugee camp? What would this mean for the hundreds of thousands of people who live there?
What will be done to tackle the fact that terrorists are largely Kenyan? How will further radicalisation be stemmed? Where is the natural justice in asking individuals and organisations to prove that they are not “terrorist entities”? How will ethnic Somalis be treated? What does it mean that Kenyan Somalis are regularly discriminated against?
How will the attack affect the country’s troubled tourist industry? What will people who currently rely on tourism do to look after their families?
What will happen to other agendas whilst people are distracted? For example, what will happen with police vetting? Or, if we take President Kenyatta’s State of the Nation address as the first day of 60, what will happen in the remaining 37 days about those who have had to step aside to pave the way for investigations into their alleged involvement in corruption? Will another opportunity be lost?
How can such questions — and the anger, frustration, and tiredness that so many people feel — be rendered productive? How can disaffection be channelled in a way that motivates oversight and participation?
And so the questions in my head go on and on, and around and around. These questions have no easy answers. Information about security operations is understandably scarce, while there is often no straightforward answer: real life is often somewhere in the middle, in the grey areas, in the overlaps between different actors, their motivations, vested interests, and the informal and formal institutions that guide them.
More importantly, however, many of the questions are speculative and there is nothing inevitable about the outcome. Instead, it is up to people — both as individuals, office holders and communities — to shape the country’s future.
It is for this reason that I have tried to articulate the knot that I feel in my chest and the swirl of questions that trouble my thoughts, rather than provide my views on what I think the answers might be. In short, because it seems critical that people discuss these questions, and that the responses are considered and substantive, rather than reactive or a mere performance of intent.
The writer is associate professor of comparative politics, University of Warwick, UK ([email protected]; @GabrielleLynch6)
