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Autocratic paternalist who dispensed patronage in the name of the state.
By Michael Holman
February 4, 2020
Although Daniel arap Moi, the Kenyan president who has died at the age of 95, lacked the aura that surrounded Africa’s founding presidents, he belonged in their ranks.
He was an autocratic paternalist who ensured his own survival by dispensing patronage in the name of the state, the government and the ruling party.
For Moi, like so many of the continent’s postcolonial leaders, these were one and the same thing. As a result, he leaves behind a country sapped by mismanagement and corruption and with lingering ethnic tensions.
When he took office in 1978 Kenya was still regarded as an African success story, although its reputation was becoming tarnished. Well before his departure from the scene, however, this judgment was being reversed, although some defend the Kenya that has since emerged as a successful African economy with a vibrant private sector and an innovative technological base.
Moi’s time in power spanned Africa’s transition from the cold war period, when most of its leaders played the role of protégés of the superpowers, to the subsequent rapprochement between Washington and Moscow, and the era of structural adjustment programmes and attempted democratisation of African politics.
Economic and political reforms, however, were painful exercises for most African governments, long used to running state-dominated economies and suppressing dissent.
Kenya under Moi provided the most striking illustration of why in much of the continent the two processes were incompatible.
Expecting the president to reduce the role of the government, and introduce transparency and accountability, was asking him to destroy the system that sustained him, and the ruling Kenya African National Union (Kanu). Patronage, whether through providing jobs within a growing state bureaucracy, or through the resources obtained by using his office for his personal benefit, was essential to Moi’s survival.
Few expected him to succeed Kenya’s founding leader, Jomo Kenyatta, and there was an attempt, which narrowly failed, to change the constitution and remove the provision under which the vice-president automatically took over when Kenyatta eventually died.
Even when Moi did take over in 1978, many thought his hold would be shortlived. Yet far from shaking his grasp on power, an abortive coup in August 1982 led to the consolidation of his authority as he grounded the air force and purged the army.
At the same time, the devastated Nairobi city centre, looted by mobs from the shanty districts, served to remind the Kikuyu middle class, Moi’s most articulate critics, of how much they had to lose.
Moi’s early years were tough. Born in 1924 in Sacho, in western Kenya’s Baringo district, his father died when Moi was two years old. The boy herded his family’s livestock until the age of 10, and only then began his formal education, at mission school.
After going on to train as a teacher, he entered the colony’s Legislative Council in 1955 as one of its five African members, going on to hold the education and local government ministerial portfolios before independence.
A member of the Kenya African Democratic Union, he lost office when Kanu won the pre-independence elections, but came back into the political mainstream when Kadu merged with the ruling party.
Selected as vice-president by Kenyatta in 1967, he seemed little more than a figurehead deputy. A member of the Tugen clan within the comparatively small Kalenjin ethnic group, he lacked a constituency of the size of the Kikuyu, Luo, or Luhya, the country’s largest ethnic groups.
As someone who was not associated with the Mau Mau rebellion of the 1950s, he was without radical credentials; and as someone never comfortable in public when speaking English, he had a low profile, and was underestimated by outsiders.
But once in office, he overcame his minority constituency by creating a coalition of smaller ethnic groups, while skilfully exploiting rivalry between Luo and Kikuyu leaders.
Nothing illustrated Moi’s political guile, as well as the ethnic base to Kenyan politics, better than the 1992 election.
Notwithstanding Kanu’s electoral abuses, the opposition lost because ethnicity shaped allegiances, even a quarter of a century after independence in 1963.
The election had been forced on Moi by the country’s donors, who in November 1991 had made the introduction of multi-party politics a condition of further aid.
Corruption had permeated Kenyan society, one-party rule seemed an anachronism, and human rights were being abused although not on the scale of many, if not most, African countries.
Moi bitterly resented what he saw as western double standards, its strictures and its moralising. “I have been mistreated by . . . the western world purporting to be fighting for democracy, when they have been fighting against me,” he told a crowd during the December 1992 election campaign.
Multi-party politics would only lead to an intensification of ethnic tensions, he argued, and the west would be to blame.
While he helped to ensure that his prophecy came true, by either encouraging ethnic rivalry or turning a blind eye to state harassment of opponents, the election outcome partly bore him out. The country voted along ethnic lines.
But he also felt deeply hurt by what he saw as an act of betrayal by the western powers, notably Britain and the UN. The west “has starved us for the past 12 months”, he said in the campaign, referring to cuts in aid flows.
It was possible to understand his angry bewilderment. Throughout his time as president, he had associated himself with the west’s cause, often being criticised by fellow African leaders for doing so.
He was the first African leader to volunteer troops for the Commonwealth monitoring operation in Rhodesia’s transition to Zimbabwe, he boycotted the Moscow Olympics, and maintained close links with Israel. He was cautious in his advocacy of sanctions against South Africa, and continued to provide military facilities at Nairobi and Mombasa to British and American forces.
By his lights, he kept to his side of the bargain, but although aid eventually resumed, the broken fences were never quite mended.
He was happiest on his farm at Nakuru, proudly showing off his cattle, a countryman at heart. On the stump, however, especially away from the city, and when speaking Swahili, he was a formidable campaigner, humorous and persuasive.
After the 1992 election, he continued shrewdly to handle domestic opposition, which had disintegrated in even deeper friction. He also managed to convince the donors, often against their better judgment, and certainly in the face of their experience, that this old African leopard would change its spots.
He never did.
Source: The Financial Times
By Michael Holman
February 4, 2020
Although Daniel arap Moi, the Kenyan president who has died at the age of 95, lacked the aura that surrounded Africa’s founding presidents, he belonged in their ranks.
He was an autocratic paternalist who ensured his own survival by dispensing patronage in the name of the state, the government and the ruling party.
For Moi, like so many of the continent’s postcolonial leaders, these were one and the same thing. As a result, he leaves behind a country sapped by mismanagement and corruption and with lingering ethnic tensions.
When he took office in 1978 Kenya was still regarded as an African success story, although its reputation was becoming tarnished. Well before his departure from the scene, however, this judgment was being reversed, although some defend the Kenya that has since emerged as a successful African economy with a vibrant private sector and an innovative technological base.
Moi’s time in power spanned Africa’s transition from the cold war period, when most of its leaders played the role of protégés of the superpowers, to the subsequent rapprochement between Washington and Moscow, and the era of structural adjustment programmes and attempted democratisation of African politics.
Economic and political reforms, however, were painful exercises for most African governments, long used to running state-dominated economies and suppressing dissent.
Kenya under Moi provided the most striking illustration of why in much of the continent the two processes were incompatible.
Expecting the president to reduce the role of the government, and introduce transparency and accountability, was asking him to destroy the system that sustained him, and the ruling Kenya African National Union (Kanu). Patronage, whether through providing jobs within a growing state bureaucracy, or through the resources obtained by using his office for his personal benefit, was essential to Moi’s survival.
Few expected him to succeed Kenya’s founding leader, Jomo Kenyatta, and there was an attempt, which narrowly failed, to change the constitution and remove the provision under which the vice-president automatically took over when Kenyatta eventually died.
Even when Moi did take over in 1978, many thought his hold would be shortlived. Yet far from shaking his grasp on power, an abortive coup in August 1982 led to the consolidation of his authority as he grounded the air force and purged the army.
At the same time, the devastated Nairobi city centre, looted by mobs from the shanty districts, served to remind the Kikuyu middle class, Moi’s most articulate critics, of how much they had to lose.
Moi’s early years were tough. Born in 1924 in Sacho, in western Kenya’s Baringo district, his father died when Moi was two years old. The boy herded his family’s livestock until the age of 10, and only then began his formal education, at mission school.
After going on to train as a teacher, he entered the colony’s Legislative Council in 1955 as one of its five African members, going on to hold the education and local government ministerial portfolios before independence.
A member of the Kenya African Democratic Union, he lost office when Kanu won the pre-independence elections, but came back into the political mainstream when Kadu merged with the ruling party.
Selected as vice-president by Kenyatta in 1967, he seemed little more than a figurehead deputy. A member of the Tugen clan within the comparatively small Kalenjin ethnic group, he lacked a constituency of the size of the Kikuyu, Luo, or Luhya, the country’s largest ethnic groups.
As someone who was not associated with the Mau Mau rebellion of the 1950s, he was without radical credentials; and as someone never comfortable in public when speaking English, he had a low profile, and was underestimated by outsiders.
But once in office, he overcame his minority constituency by creating a coalition of smaller ethnic groups, while skilfully exploiting rivalry between Luo and Kikuyu leaders.
Nothing illustrated Moi’s political guile, as well as the ethnic base to Kenyan politics, better than the 1992 election.
Notwithstanding Kanu’s electoral abuses, the opposition lost because ethnicity shaped allegiances, even a quarter of a century after independence in 1963.
The election had been forced on Moi by the country’s donors, who in November 1991 had made the introduction of multi-party politics a condition of further aid.
Corruption had permeated Kenyan society, one-party rule seemed an anachronism, and human rights were being abused although not on the scale of many, if not most, African countries.
Moi bitterly resented what he saw as western double standards, its strictures and its moralising. “I have been mistreated by . . . the western world purporting to be fighting for democracy, when they have been fighting against me,” he told a crowd during the December 1992 election campaign.
Multi-party politics would only lead to an intensification of ethnic tensions, he argued, and the west would be to blame.
While he helped to ensure that his prophecy came true, by either encouraging ethnic rivalry or turning a blind eye to state harassment of opponents, the election outcome partly bore him out. The country voted along ethnic lines.
But he also felt deeply hurt by what he saw as an act of betrayal by the western powers, notably Britain and the UN. The west “has starved us for the past 12 months”, he said in the campaign, referring to cuts in aid flows.
It was possible to understand his angry bewilderment. Throughout his time as president, he had associated himself with the west’s cause, often being criticised by fellow African leaders for doing so.
He was the first African leader to volunteer troops for the Commonwealth monitoring operation in Rhodesia’s transition to Zimbabwe, he boycotted the Moscow Olympics, and maintained close links with Israel. He was cautious in his advocacy of sanctions against South Africa, and continued to provide military facilities at Nairobi and Mombasa to British and American forces.
By his lights, he kept to his side of the bargain, but although aid eventually resumed, the broken fences were never quite mended.
He was happiest on his farm at Nakuru, proudly showing off his cattle, a countryman at heart. On the stump, however, especially away from the city, and when speaking Swahili, he was a formidable campaigner, humorous and persuasive.
After the 1992 election, he continued shrewdly to handle domestic opposition, which had disintegrated in even deeper friction. He also managed to convince the donors, often against their better judgment, and certainly in the face of their experience, that this old African leopard would change its spots.
He never did.
Source: The Financial Times
