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Sanitising Moi in the Age of Kenyatta, and the heroics of official revisionism

The revival of Moi Day marks a high point in Jubilee’s rehabilitation of the retired autocrat. Refashioned as a kindly, old gentleman who held the nation together in trying times, for Mzee Moi’s victims the latest attempt to celebrate official criminality is testimony of who exactly Mr Kenyatta sides with. By RASNA WARAH.

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Sanitising Moi in the Age of Kenyatta, and the heroics of official revisionism

Sometime in the early 1980s, my father, who owned a photo studio on Moi Avenue in Nairobi, became a life member of the KANU party. The 1000-shilling membership came with a certificate and pins, the kind worn on coat lapels, with Mtukufu Rais Moi’s image on them. My father dutifully framed the certificate and hung it strategically in his studio where his customers could see it. In the studio’s window, he placed a large photo of His Excellency sitting at his desk in State House – a photo he had taken shortly after Moi’s inauguration in 1978.

At that time, many Kenyan Asian businessmen became life members of Kenya’s ruling (and only) political party. It was a way of showing loyalty to a president who was becoming increasingly insecure about his grip on power. For Kenyan Asians, who have always been uncertain about their citizenship, and who have on occasion been threatened with expulsion, demonstrating loyalty to Moi was a kind of insurance, a survival tactic.

In those days, the overriding concern among Kenya’s Asian minority was that Kenya could go the way of its neighbours, such as Somalia and Uganda, and become a military dictatorship. The abortive coup staged by the Kenya Air Force on 1 August 1982 had left Asians fearful; many Asian-owned shops had been looted on that day and some of the poorer Asians living in neighbourhoods like Ngara and Pangani had been robbed and physically assaulted by looters who had taken advantage of the chaotic situation.

Barely ten years before the coup attempt, in August 1972, President Idi Amin had expelled 70,000 Asians from Uganda. There were fears then that Kenya might also “do an Amin” and get rid of its economically prosperous Asian community. So when the coup in 1982 failed, Kenya’s Asians were more than relieved. For them, Moi had averted an economic and political catastrophe that could have adversely affected their business interests, and they were grateful to him for that.

Because Moi had entrenched a patronage system where sycophancy was encouraged, wealthy Kenyan Asian businessmen and industrialists made it a habit of visiting State House and making donations to Moi’s favourite causes. This financial support was often rewarded with government tenders or with assurances that the donors’ economic interests would be protected.

The devastating consequence of this system was that it enabled corruption among some unscrupulous members of Kenya’s Asian community, who began using their close connections to Moi and senior government officials to enrich themselves and their benefactors by using dubious means. Crooked Asian tycoons, like the Goldenberg scandal’s architect, Kamlesh Pattni, and Ketan Somaia (who is currently serving a jail sentence in the UK for fraud) flourished during this period.

Because Moi had entrenched a patronage system where sycophancy was encouraged, wealthy Kenyan Asian businessmen and industrialists made it a habit of visiting State House and making donations to Moi’s favourite causes. This financial support was often rewarded with government tenders or with assurances that the donors’ economic interests would be protected.

It was, therefore, not surprising that when it became clear that Moi’s reign was coming to an end, a panic set in among many Kenyan Asians. What kind of future would they have in a post-Moi era? Would the new rulers punish them for their past crimes? How would they secure their business interests? Would the whole community pay the price for the economic crimes of a few? (They needn’t have worried: corruption had by then become a way of life in Kenya, and members of the Mwai Kibaki administration, like those in Moi’s government, were adept at using Asian businessmen as front men to carry out its own grand corruption schemes, such as Anglo Leasing.)

When it became clear that Moi’s reign was coming to an end, a panic set in among many Kenyan Asians. What kind of future would they have in a post-Moi era?

After a brief venting period, where Kenyans were allowed to express their anger at what Moi had allowed the country to become, a process of sanitising Moi began. The historical revisionism argued that while Moi had proved to be a dictator, he had in fact been a benevolent one, one who supplied primary school students with free “Nyayo” milk, the one who brokered peace deals with troublesome neighbouring countries, the one who ensured that Kenya remained an “island of tranquility” in a strife-torn region – a line of reasoning that Kenya’s Asian business community had also adopted to explain why they supported Moi.

This process of sanitising Moi has been escalating since Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto (both protégés of Moi), assumed power in 2013. President Uhuru makes regular visits to his political godfather in his Kabarak home, and images of the man who held an iron grip over the country for 24 years have begun appearing more frequently in the media. Moi is increasingly being portrayed as a kindly old man who once held the country together. His prophecy that Kenya would disintegrate into tribal factions under multipartyism even appeared to come true after the 2007 elections when the country appeared to be on the verge of civil war. Twelve years after KANU was ousted, on Moi’s 90th birthday in September 2014, local newspapers carried glowing tributes to the aging dictator, prompting Daily Nation columnist Macharia Gaitho to wonder whether about the shortness of Kenyan memories.

After a brief venting period, where Kenyans were allowed to express their anger at what Moi had allowed the country to become, a process of sanitising Moi began… This proces…has been escalating since Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto (both protégés of Moi), assumed power in 2013… It reached a crescendo this month when Moi Day was celebrated. The official reason given was that the day had not been de-gazetted…

This whitewashing reached a crescendo this month when Moi Day was celebrated, albeit amid controversy. The day has not been observed since the new constitution was promulgated in 2010. (The constitution does not recognise Moi Day as a public holiday.) The official reason given for its return was that the day had not been de-gazetted and so technically and legally, Kenyans had no choice but to recognise it. So, millions of Kenyans who had planned to be at work or school on 10 October had to stay at home because the government ordered them to. Many wondered: of all the public holidays that this government chose to recognise, why would it choose the one that brought back painful memories for so many Kenyans?

Younger Kenyans who came of age in the Kibaki era have little recollection of the Moi days and the retrogressive policies that stunted the country’s economic growth and development by several decades. I once asked a 30-something what he remembered most about Moi, and his answer was simple: the free milk his school got every Tuesday and Thursday, thanks to Baba Moi. He seemed vaguely aware that Moi had done some bad things, but he was not exactly sure what those things were.

While it is true that Moi allocated a large chunk of the national budget to education, and schools bearing his name flourished, he also entrenched mediocrity and corruption within the civil service that allowed the country’s institutions to decay. The “Kalenjinisation” of all arms of government, the wanton grabbing of public land, the siphoning of public funds through friends and cronies, the looting of Kenya’s treasury and other forms of economic sabotage became endemic during his tenure. Moi also oversaw austerity measures imposed by the World Bank and the IMF in the 1990s that led to the deterioration of public services, such as health. By the time Moi left office in 2002, the country was virtually on its knees.

For the people who paid a heavy price for opposing the Moi regime, the declaration of Moi Day as a public holiday was like a slap in the face. Some of these people, like the environmentalist Wangari Maathai (who defied his regime and was beaten black and blue for opposing the construction of a tower at Uhuru Park), my journalist friend, Wahome Mutahi (who spent one year in jail on trumped-up charges of sedition), and opposition leader Kenneth Matiba (who was arrested and tortured and developed a debilitating illness as a result) are now dead, but among the living, there are still those who bear the wounds Moi’s government inflicted on them. I am thinking in particular of the thousands of Kenyans who were tortured or illegally detained by Moi’s men because they were suspected of being dissidents belonging to underground movements like Mwakenya or because they resisted Moi’s authoritarian regime.

For the people who paid a heavy price for opposing the Moi regime, the declaration of Moi Day as a public holiday was like a slap in the face.

The genius of the Moi system is that it normalised everything. Nyayo House, which housed both the Immigration Department and Kenya’s slick new TV channel, KTN, was a site of unspeakable torture. In the torture chambers in the basement, Special Branch officers worked on the detainees. The most dreaded of them was James Opiyo. His name still sends shudders through his victims’ spines. Upstairs, people formed orderly queues for new passports on the ground floor, or read the news on the top floor. They were aware of what was happening in the basement. No one mentioned it or thought it was weird.

‘The Nyayo House basement was no ordinary police cell. In the water-logged rooms detainees stood naked for hours on end. One victim, George Odido, told the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission that he was left submerged in one foot of water for three days without food, and in total silence. Because of the fear of drowning, the detainees did not sleep. Many were crippled for life or suffered severe psychological trauma. Some of these detainees’ fake trials took place in the middle of the night, where compromised judges would hand them harsh jail sentences for crimes that they had not committed.

The genius of Moi was that he made everything look normal even when it was not. He turned Nyayo House, which housed both the Immigration Department and Kenya’s slickest new TV channel, KTN, into a site of unspeakable torture. In the basement of detainees Special Branch officers worked on them. Those applying for passports or reading the news were aware people being tortured downstairs…no one mentioned it or thought it was weird.

We must also remember than it was during Moi’s tenure that the Wagalla massacre in Wajir took place, a shameful “security operation” that resulted in the death of an estimated 4,000 ethnic Somalis in Kenya’s north-east. Moi was president when Foreign Affairs minister, Robert Ouko, was assassinated. And despite his rhetoric of ethnic harmony, his leadership saw the killing and expulsion of thousands of Kikuyus in Rift Valley Province prior to the 1992 and 1997 elections. Not to mention the many anti-government protestors who lost their lives at the hands of the police during demonstrations, such as Saba Saba.

There was also collateral damage. There were the mysterious deaths of people linked to Ouko’s death, including that of Hezekiah Oyugi, the head of Internal Security and one of the main suspects in Ouko’s murder, and Philip Kilonzo, who was the Commissioner of Police when Ouko was killed. One does wonder: if Moi’s government was capable of orchestrating the deaths of his own people, people who were loyal to him, then how many of his opponents were also made to “disappear”?

The Nyayo House basement was no ordinary police cell. In the water-logged rooms detainees stood naked for hours on end. One victim, George Odido, told the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission that he was left submerged in one foot of water for three days without food, and in total silence. Because of the fear of drowning, the detainees did not sleep.

For all those who suffered physical or emotional torture, illegal detention or financial ruin at the hands of Moi, the reinstatement of Moi Day is a painful reminder of not just what they lost during his rule, but also of how his shadow still lurks over Kenya.

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Rasna Warah

Ms Warah, the author of War Crimes, a sweeping indictment of foreign meddling in Somalia, and A Triple Heritage, among several other books, is also a freelance journalist based in Malindi, Kenya.

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Visas, Africanists and White Privilege

For more than a generation the term ‘Africanist’ has meant an implicit stranglehold by a mostly white and male cadre of academics and Western institutions on the tenor and direction of discourse on African affairs in the global academy and sectors such as conservation. RASNA WARAH argues that authentic African voices and narratives are and will continue to demonstrate the absurdity of this situation and herald the beginning of a substantive change of the old order.

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Visas, Africanists and White Privilege

An article published in Africa is a Country has generated some discussion online on the wisdom of holding conferences on Africa in Western countries – places that are becoming less accessible to African scholars, writers and researchers because of their punitive, African-unfriendly visa requirements. Haythem Guesmi, in the article titled “The gentrification of African studies”, wondered why the African Studies Association’s annual meeting and the annual conference of the African Literature Association are routinely held at North American venues.

Guesmi, a PhD candidate in English Studies at the University of Montreal, was commenting on the absurdity of situations where conferences focusing on African issues are held in Europe or North America and have panellists exclusively from the Western world – people who by virtue of their skin colour or nationality have easy access to these venues, a privilege that citizens of African, Asian or Latin American countries do not have. (A reason why I get so irritated when Kenyans who have acquired US, Canadian or European passports ask me why I am obsessed with citizenship. One so-called Kenyan activist even had the audacity to tell me that if she got into trouble with the Kenyan authorities she would immediately rush to her embassy for protection – a luxury she knows I do not have because of my Kenyan nationality.)

Guesmi, a PhD candidate in English Studies at the University of Montreal, was commenting on the absurdity of situations where conferences focusing on African issues are held in Europe or North America and have panellists exclusively from the Western world – people who by virtue of their skin colour or nationality have easy access to these venues, a privilege that citizens of African, Asian or Latin American countries do not have.

Gone are the days when leading academics from around the world were invited to the University of Dar es Salaam – the incubator of revolutionaries in the 1970s and 80s – to present their research findings; today, African scholars need to be endorsed by a Western institution before their research can be viewed as credible. (Given the declining academic standards at many African universities, this is understandable, but it still doesn’t explain why seminars and conferences also have to take place in the West.)

“This reality,” wrote Guesmi, “has generated numerous difficulties for Africa-based academics and scholars who are now forced to pay exorbitant, non-refundable visa fees in foreign currencies not always available to them and struggle to secure international travel funding. The resulting displacement and exclusion of continent-based Africanists have undermined the true purpose and identity of African studies; a pathological process commonly identified as gentrification.”

The marginalisation, or what Guesmi calls “gentrification”, of African scholars from the field of African studies has led to an absence of Africans from public discussions and intellectual debates. “In the news or in public venues, there is an embarrassing preference to invite white Africanists to comment on every single topic, ranging from women’s oral culture all the way to electoral violence, and anything in between,” noted Guesmi.

Representation and misrepresentation

However, this form of exclusion and marginalisation also exists within the continent. For instance, in a recent article, Mordecai Ogada lamented the near-absence of black Africans in the field of conservation in Kenya. “Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience,” he wrote.

Those of us who are living and working in Africa are constantly reminded of how little our views or opinions are valued when we attend conferences where all the leading “experts” on a panel are white or foreign. I have witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions, particularly when the topic is about Somalia. I dare not claim to be an expert on Somalia (even though I could claim expertise, having written two books about the country) but I have often been in situations where the so-called Somalia “experts” in panel discussions have only a limited or one-sided view of the war-torn country, yet they are the ones who are flown into Nairobi to speak at such events. Somalis tend to remain mere spectators, and their views on their own country are hardly ever sought. (The fact that these seminars and conferences are taking place in Nairobi, and not in Mogadishu, is a problem in itself.)

Wildlife conservation is the one field where highly qualified black Africans are routinely supervised by white practitioners of far lesser technical pedigree or experience

This means that Somalis are not allowed to be experts even on their own societies. This is the reason why Somali voices have been rendered largely invisible in much of the academic scholarship and literature on Somalia, which imply that Somali scholars as not good enough to be taken seriously – especially on subjects to do with their own country. As one of many examples, an anthology titled Globalizing Somalia published in 2013 has not even one Somali contributor; all except one of the authors is white and either American or European.

Sometimes, for the sake of “diversity” or “representation”, a few Somali scholars or analysts may be included in a collection of essays or in panel discussions. However, in my experience, only those scholars or analysts who do not deviate too far from traditional narrative about Somalia (civil war, terrorism, piracy, pastoralism and the like) are invited to contribute; in other words, they gain visibility through conformity.   Radical thinkers, or those who actively reject racist of distorted representations of Somalis, are rarely invited.

This means that Somalis are not allowed to be experts even on their own societies. This is the reason why Somali voices have been rendered largely invisible in much of the academic scholarship and literature on Somalia, which imply that Somali scholars as not good enough to be taken seriously – especially on subjects to do with their own country. As one of many examples, an anthology titled Globalizing Somalia published in 2013 has not even one Somali contributor; all except one of the authors is white and either American or European.

For example, when a journal called Somaliland Journal of African Studies came out recently, many Somali academics wondered why none of the researchers and academics on the journal’s editorial and advisory boards were ethnic Somalis. Markus Hoehne, a member of the journal’s advisory board, explained the absence of Somalis by arguing that he “did NOT come accross [sic] many younger Somalis who would qualify as serious SCHOLARS – not because they lack access to resources, but because they seem not to value scholarship as such.”

Under the Twitter hashtag #CaddaanStudies (caddaan means “white” in Somali), Somali scholars reacted furiously to his remarks, and released a long list of Somali academics who had done serious research at prestigious institutions and who were recognised as experts in their fields (albeit by a small, but growing group of their peers). Safia Aidid, a historian, said that Hoehne’s comments reflected “a mindset in which the Somali is rendered passionately partisan, while the non-Somali researcher remains worldly and detached in his analysis.”

The other disturbing reality is that African scholars who do not wish to be “Africanists” and who would like to focus their research on countries or regions outside the African continent are even less likely to be taken seriously. If a Ugandan scholar studies the archaeological history of Scotland, for example, he might as well say goodbye to any recognition for his work. No Scottish institution will invite him to present his findings and his work will hardly ever be cited by researchers. This unfortunate reality forces most African academics to focus their work exclusively on Africa – a restriction that is never placed on European or North American “Africanists”, who are presumed to know more about Africa than Africans. The few African voices whose opinions are sought tend to be those who have more access to the Western world, or who are considered the “acceptable faces” of African intelligentsia, which leads to a homogenous view of the continent, a view that in essence reinforces negative stereotypes about Africa and which is unlikely to question the authority (and superiority) of Western scholarship.

White privilege and issue-based activism

The idea that Africans are not qualified to research or write about things non-African is one that the writer Aminatta Forna has grappled with. Forna, who has been described as a Sierra Leonean writer, even though she is half-Scottish and was born in Scotland, wonders where the “orthodox idea” that writers must only set stories within their own country of origin came from. “Writers do not write about places, they write about people who happen to live in those places,” argued Forna in an article published in the UK’s Guardian newspaper. “This is something that the labellers and their labels don’t understand either. [Chinua] Achebe did not ‘write about Africa’, he wrote about people who happen to live in Igboland. Likewise, I do not ‘write about’ Sierra Leone or Croatia; those places are settings for my characters.”

However, what writers such as Forna, who are based in the West and who hold European or North American citizenship, fail to recognise is the imbalance created by “white privilege” (which Forna also benefits from given that she has a white mother and grew up in the United Kingdom) that determines who can say what about where and how. White privilege allows white writers from Europe or North America to become experts on the rest of the world, but people who are not from the bastions of the Anglo-Saxon world are confined to being experts only of their region, their country of origin or their ethnic group – and even then, they are often dismissed as amateurs or not scholarly enough.

It is also important to recognise that Western academics and writers have access to more financial resources and influence than African academics and writers, and so their work has more chances of being published, which could explain the dearth of African contributors in scholarly journals. The lack of credible and respected journals based at African institutions also plays a part in devaluing African scholarship. And those that exist on the continent are almost entirely dependent on Western funding. This allows the Western world to set the agenda on what kind of scholarship on Africa is acceptable and what isn’t. Western institutions that fund research on the continent decide the tone, content and focus of research – and quite often the conclusions.

This also applies to activism, particularly on women’s rights, which tends to be issue-based, rather than taking a more holistic approach to the challenges facing Africans and how these might be overcome. As the Sudanese women’s rights activist Hala Al-Karib noted in a recent article published on the Al Jazeera website, “most Northern institutions reduce women’s rights and violations against women to a one-dimensional fight against FGM [female genital mutilation]…In this context, the rhetoric of gender mainstreaming becomes a box-ticking exercise while minimising the root causes of women’s subordination and the politics behind the subordination. The few publicly-aware activists become the outsiders, bearers of bad news, and are often labelled difficult – too political.”

Issue-based activism also tends to obscure the historical reasons for a problem. When I was in Kabul, Afghanistan, in early 2002 as part of a United Nations mission to assess the country’s developmental needs after President George Bush invaded the country following 9/11 and expelled the woman-unfriendly Taliban from the capital city, the chatter in the UN compound where UN officials and NGO workers were living was all about how the international development community could help Afghani women to abandon their burqas. For them, the light blue veil donned by women in the country symbolised everything that was wrong with Afghanistan; no one asked how the United States contributed to the establishment of the Taliban in the first place through its support of the Mujahideen during the war with the Soviets in the 1980s.

When poverty, underdevelopment or human rights abuses are depoliticised – i.e. taken out of the realm of politics – they become problems that have technical, not political, solutions, which Al-Karib believes is “extremely dangerous for the future of African women”. She says that the depoliticisation of the women’s movement in Africa “has already influenced generations of younger women in our part of the world, causing them to aspire to work for NGOs on women’s rights to claim social and economic privileges rather than making any meaningful change”.

Fortunately, a new group of young African writers and academics are emerging and creating their own spaces. The Kenyan literary journal Kwani? emerged as a response to the fact that few African writers had a space at home or abroad to publish their work. The online magazine The Elephant is another example of a publication that is filling an intellectual and journalistic void that mainstream East African newspapers, which are increasingly being captured by the state or are heavily skewed towards commercial interests, are not filling. Africa-based research institutions, such as The Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA), which has its headquarters in Dakar, Senegal, are also having an impact in global academic circles. Unfortunately, because most of these are funded by Western donors, their long-term sustainability continues to remain precarious.

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HOW TO RE-INVENT MONEY: Notes for cryptocurrency techno-warriors

Ultimately money is a social contract DAVID NDII argues. And though Bitcoin and cryptocurrencies may yet emerge as transformative disrupters of human and economic relations, certain fundamentals need to be in place if they are not to go the way of other fads past. History teaches us that ultimately monetary delinquency is one of the more reliable harbingers of revolution. If government makes a mess of our money, we can always behead the King.

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HOW TO RE-INVENT MONEY: Notes for Kenya’s cryptocurrency techno-warriors

Ten years ago, an anonymous person or people known as Satoshi Nakamoto published a paper announcing a monetary innovation described as a peer-to-peer electronic cash system. “Peer-to-peer” means a system of exchange that does not require intermediaries, such as banks, to function. When we use a card to buy something at the supermarket, the holder’s account is debited and the account of the merchant is credited. There are at least three intermediaries to this transaction namely, the card-holder’s bank, the supermarket’s bank and the card issuer all who make some money from it, and there is of course the governments which are the ultimate guarantors of the payment systems we use.

The system devised by Satoshi Nakamoto known as Bitcoin became the progenitor of cryptocurrencies. Instead of the accounting systems of banks and other intermediaries, the cryptocurrency systems use a digital public register, known as a blockchain. When people transact, the transaction appears on the public register. The transaction’s security and validation services that we rely on: banks, card issuers, central banks and lately telcos and “fintechs” in the case of mobile phone payments platforms, is done by techies called “miners” who compete to verify transactions by solving puzzles. The miner who completes the verification first earns some bitcoins. So in effect, the claim that there is no third party intermediary is not quite accurate. What they have done is to replace centralized systems and authorities with a decentralized free-for-all system.

Bitcoin appeared have settled at around $1000 up until January 2017, when it began what was to become an unprecedented rise. In December 2017 it peaked at a little over $19,400. A year later it is down to under $4000. Bitcoin is now billed as the most spectacular financial bubble on record.

At the height of the cryptocurrency boom, enthusiasts were declaring fiat currencies history. Fiat money is a currency decreed by governments to be the “legal tender” in its jurisdiction and is one of three types of money that have existed in history. The other two are commodity and credit money. Commodity money is something of intrinsic value such as precious metals that is generally accepted for payment. Credit money arises when debt instruments typically issued by a reputable party such as a bank, wealthy enterprise or government becomes accepted for payment. The word “banknote” originates from the “free banking era” in the US, when promissory notes issued by banks were generally accepted as means of payment. Today’s prominent fiat currencies such as the US dollar began life as promissory notes issued by governments mostly to finance wars.

Bitcoin appeared have settled at around $1000 up until January 2017, when it began what was to become an unprecedented rise. In December 2017 it peaked at a little over $19,400. A year later it is down to under $4000. Bitcoin is now billed as the most spectacular financial bubble on record.

As Bitcoin soared, Initial Coin Offerings (ICOs) began to look uncannily like the prospectuses of South Sea Bubble companies (such as my personal favourite: “For carrying out an undertaking of great advantage; but nobody to know what it is”). Economists, who pointed this out, including this columnist, were dismissed as luddites who were stuck in old school thinking. Cryptocurrency and blockchain were the ultimate technological disrupter. We were on the cusp of a new economic architecture where the old rules would no longer apply.

Today’s prominent fiat currencies such as the US dollar began life as promissory notes issued by governments mostly to finance wars.

The cryptocurrency techno-warriors may yet have the last laugh. But to do that they would do well to learn a thing or two about the competition.

Up until they were colonized a century ago, my Agikuyu forebears were moneyless. In Elspeth Huxley’s irreverent parody of the Agikuyu’s early encounters with Europeans Red Strangers, this is what ensues when Muthengi is offered a job that pays five rupees a month: 

“I do not want these metal objects,” Muthengi answered. “What can I do with them? Why does he not give me goats?”

It is the same as if he gave you goats” the interpreter said. “You can exchange rupees for goats.”

“How many are needed to obtain a goat?”

One rupee will buy one goat?”

Muthengi could conceal his incredulity no longer. It was impossible to believe that the world held anyone so foolish as a man who would surrender a goat for a useless piece of metal possessed, it seemed, of no magical powers. But the thought of five goats a month burrowed like a mole underneath Muthengi’s mind. It seemed incredible, yet what if it could be true? Five goats a month, thirty goats a season, two hundred and ten goats in four seasons with the increase of one to each female in a season…it was impossible to encompass so many goats with the mind’s eye.

Muthengi accepts, dutifully converts his five rupees pay into goats every month, and becomes very rich.

In economics, we tend to look at money like Muthengi. Since money is not of itself productive people ought not hold on it longer than necessary, they would convert it to goats as soon as they are able. Money would be constantly changing hands, lubricating commerce. Why then, is money such a big deal?

To study questions like these, economists sometimes resort to reverse engineering to see whether we can build a model in which the thing in question arises “endogenously.” By “endogenous” we mean that it is not introduced by an outside agent, such as the mysterious Satoshi Nakamoto.

As Bitcoin soared, Initial Coin Offerings (ICOs) began to look uncannily like the prospectuses of South Sea Bubble companies. Economists who pointed this out were dismissed as luddites who were stuck in old school thinking. Cryptocurrency and blockchain were the ultimate technological disrupter. We were on the cusp of a new economic architecture where the old rules would no longer apply… The cryptocurrency techno-warriors may yet have the last laugh. But to do that they would do well to learn a thing or two about the competition.

Students of economics know that money serves three functions: a medium of exchange, a unit of account and a store of value. Our earliest ancestors were hunter-gatherers. We do not know for sure whether hunter-gatherers invented money. It is not evident that small bands of hunter-gatherers would find need to invent a medium of exchange, or units of account.

But one thing we are sure of is that hunter-gatherers grew old. They would have had to figure out some means of surviving in old age. One of these is to cultivate social bonds which obligate progeny to provide for the elderly. This is quite evidently true, but it is not entirely sufficient since not everyone will have children, and it is far from certain that children will survive to support their parents in old age. Thus, kinship-based old age security will result in some old people enjoying good care from their progeny, and others dying of destitution, quite an unsatisfactory situation.

Trading seems to be one of the things that we do naturally. Two hunter-gatherers, one who has caught an antelope and the other has harvested wild honey bump into each other on the way home. Can I have some of that, for some of this? Markets enable strangers to meet each other’s needs. Can the market find a solution for the old age security problem?

Table 1

Table 1

Now, imagine a small hunter-gatherer community with a population of two hundred people. Each person lives for two periods, youth and old age, and is endowed with three units of a consumption good, manna from heaven if you like, when young and one unit when old. As per the law of diminishing returns, consuming the first unit yields 20 units of happiness, the second yields 15 and the third yields 5 units. As shown in the table, if each person consumes only their endowment, they enjoy 60 units of happiness. If they can trade so that each person consumes two units in each stage, each person would enjoy 70 units of happiness in their lifetime.

In economics, we tend to look at money like Muthengi. Since money is not of itself productive people ought not hold on it longer than necessary, they would convert it to goats as soon as they are able. Money would be constantly changing hands, lubricating commerce. Why then, is money such a big deal?

This set up is called an overlapping generations model and is one of two devices that economists use to study long run economic dynamics (the other one is called an infinite horizon model). It was formulated by French economist Maurice Allais and refined by Paul Samuelson in a seminal 1958 paper titled A Consumption Loans Model of Interest with or without the Social Contrivance of Money. My set-up here conveys the gist of Samuelson’s model but the formulation and parameters are my own.

If the community can find a way to trade, everyone will enjoy 10 more units of happiness.  One way of thinking about this is as an increase in life expectancy from 60 to 70 years. The problem with this trade is that it cannot be conducted bilaterally, peer-to-peer if you like.  The young can support the old today, who will then die. For their own old age security, they will need the support of the next young generation which is as yet unborn. However, if society were to device a voucher, a receipt if you like, that is given to each prime-age adult in exchange for giving up one consumption good unit to support an old person, they can trade vouchers with the subsequent generation.

Be it a strip of buffalo hide, or a string of cowrie shells, a social security card or a promissory note, it stands to reason that once it’s invented each successive generation will value them, since everyone will also need to secure their old age with the successor generation. Individuals need no longer fear old age destitution on account of not having family support in their old age. In fact, this market system could have the unintended consequence of undermining the kinship system, as Alessandro Cigno observes in his book Economics of the Family:

“the growth of the financial sector (including in that the social security system, as well as banks, private insurance and the stock exchange) tends to coincide, in the development of an economy, with a sharp fall in fertility, the break up of extended family networks and a widespread reluctance on the part of the middle aged to accept responsibility of elderly relatives.”

Now that we have a theory of money, we can examine what attributes sound money should have. First, it needs to be trusted. Every voucher must be a legitimate store of value. It is not difficult to see that people entrusted with its production may be tempted to game the system by producing more vouchers than needed, and some people will find themselves with vouchers that command less than what they put it. Second, it should be possible to increase the number of vouchers in tandem with the population growth To see this, let us suppose the next generation increase to 110 people, an additional ten vouchers will be needed otherwise some of its members will be locked out of the intergenerational trade.

What then, are the lessons to be learned by people seized with the idea of re-inventing money?

One of the key requirements of sound money is a credible supply rule. In our simple model, the anchor is population growth. But it so happens that in our model population growth and economic expansion are identical, therefore it is the same as a money supply rule that is anchored on the size of the economy. Satoshi Nakamoto decreed that the bitcoin algorithm would cease after 21 million of them were mined. Why 21 million? Nobody seems to know. In effect, as a currency, bitcoin had the same flaw that undermined gold and silver, namely arbitrary supply that is unrelated to demand.

A second flaw is the tech-hype the cryptocurrency as the ultimate disruptive technology that would liberate society from the state-financial capitalist stranglehold. Because the value of technology innovations is highly uncertain, the value of bitcoin became entwined with people’s subjective guesses and predictions of what that value might turn out to be, as opposed to the economic fundamentals. We call this a sunspot equilibrium. For an asset purporting to be money, it is a highly undesirable attribute. It is this particular flaw that fueled the speculative bubble. This eventuality could have been mitigated by creating two assets: one that would profit from the innovation and one that reflected the economic fundamentals.

One of the key requirements of sound money is a credible supply rule. In our simple model, the anchor is population growth. But it so happens that in our model population growth and economic expansion are identical, therefore it is the same as a money supply rule that is anchored on the size of the economy. Satoshi Nakamoto decreed that the bitcoin algorithm would cease after 21 million of them were mined. Why 21 million? Nobody seems to know.

The third and perhaps fatal flaw is that cryptocurrency inventors failure to appreciate that fundamentally, money is a social contract. Social acceptance is what makes cowrie shells, beaver pelt, silver, gold or pieces of paper issued by government a currency. Of all our social contrivances, the one that money shares most attributes with is the state. It should not surprise then, that money has evolved into government-issued fiat currencies. But just like in governing, it does not mean that governments will excel in monetary affairs. In fact, the quality of a country’s money and governance tend to be closely correlated. Robert Mugabe’s ZANU-PF regime is but the latest to make a mess of both.

Monetary delinquency is one of the surer harbingers of revolution. If government makes a mess of our money, we can always behead the King. Which is just as well that Satoshi Nakamoto had the foresight to be anonymous. Could be he/she/they knew something that their starry-eyed cryptocurrency enthusiasts did not.

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Shopping Mall Economics: A note on the value of the Kenya shilling

What does a recent spat between the IMF and the Central Bank’s Prof Patrick Njoroge, himself a veteran of the Fund, tell us about the state of the Kenya shilling? By DAVID NDII.

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Shopping Mall Economics: A note on the value of the Kenya shilling

Is the Kenya shilling overvalued or not? According to the IMF it is currently overvalued by 17 percent. In an unusually combative response to his former employer the Central Bank governor says that is only off-kilter by 5 percent and accuses the IMF of making Kenya a “guinea pig in its new approach.” The offensive claim, contained in the IMF’s latest report on the country dated October 2018, states as follows:

“The EBA-lite methodology for the exchange rate suggests that the external position is weaker than fundamentals. The current account approach shows that the current account deficit (both actual and cyclically adjusted) are above the norm (the CA gap is -2.5 percent), suggesting an overvaluation of about 17.5 percent of the real exchange rate. This can only marginally be explained by the policy gap. The REER approach also shows a similar-size of overvaluation, equivalent to about 18.0 percent. Again, the policy gap is marginal. Given the continued appreciation of the real exchange rate, the external position is assessed to be weaker than fundamentals. Regarding the last approach, the external sustainability approach, it was not possible to use it as the international investment position data is not yet produced by the authorities.”

This needs a fair amount of disambiguation. EBA is a needless acronym that stands for external balance approach for exchange rate assessment. The methodology is described in an IMF paper published in 2013 as an update of a previous methodology known as CGER. CGER is another needless acronym for consultative group for exchange rate assessment. This EBA thing appears to be what the CBK governor is referring to as a new approach.

The methodological spat is a red herring. Economic models are tools, not oracles. What we have here is workmen quarrelling over tools. Our top three economic mandarins are former IMF staffers. Surely, as former colleagues, they can sit together with their colleagues and their models and converge on an assessment as to whether the shilling is overvalued or not?

The IMF refers to three methodologies: the Real Effective Exchange Rate (REER), the current account and external sustainability approach. Of the three, the REER is the most intuitively understandable and also the one for which we have data. But what is this animal the REER?

The methodological spat is a red herring. Economic models are tools, not oracles. What we have here is workmen quarrelling over tools. Our top three economic mandarins are former IMF staffers. Surely, they can sit together with their colleagues and their models and converge on an assessment as to whether the shilling is overvalued or not?

Suppose bananas are retailing at KSh 100 shillings a bunch in Kenya. The Kenya/Uganda shilling exchange rate is one to ten. At this exchange rate and banana price, 20 percent of bananas are coming from Uganda. Suppose price of Kenyan bananas goes up to KSh 125 a bunch (e.g. because of increase in taxes), and exchange rate remains the same. Ugandans can continue to sell bananas in Kenya profitably at KSh 100 while many Kenyan producers cannot. In fact, Ugandans are likely to hike their price to let us say KSh.110 making Kenya an even more profitable market than their home market. Uganda bananas will flood the market and put Kenyan producers who are not profitable at Ksh. 110 out of the banana business. For the market to remain at the old equilibrium (i.e. 20/80 Uganda/Kenya market share) requires Kenya shilling to fetch USh. 8.00 so that to get USh. 1000 as before, the Ugandans will also have to sell their bananas at KSh125.

Its readily apparent that if our domestic prices go up faster than those of our trading partners, then foreign goods will keep becoming cheaper. But you cannot tell by just looking at the dollar shilling exchange rate. We need to factor in the price movements with every trading partner. The REER is an index that combines the relative exchange rate and price movements of all our trading partners.

If the REER is rising, our goods are becoming more expensive. We can expect to import more and export less. If this happens our trade deficit will widen. If the trade deficit continues to widen, we run the risk of defaulting on our international obligations in particular debt service and repatriation of profits and capital. This is where the IMF comes in. The IMF’s mandate is to maintain international financial stability. The IMF is a financial cooperative whose job it is to ensure members do not run into external payments difficulties, and to bail them out when they do, in order to keep global finance and commerce going.

The spat between the IMF and the CBK is therefore about our external creditworthiness. The key indicator for this is the current account balance. The current account balance has two components: trade and income. The trade account I have already mentioned. The income account consists of payments for “factor services” such as interest (use of capital), labour (e.g. for services of Kenyan troops abroad) and another component we call unrequited transfers (meaning money we have not earned) such as diaspora remittances, grant aid and such like. The external account in turn, has a third component, the capital account where, as the name suggest, we record investment transactions.

The spat between the IMF and the CBK is…about our external creditworthiness. The key indicator for this is the current account balance.

This is how it works. Kenya Airways buys an aircraft using a foreign loan. The aircraft is entered in the trade account as an import and simultaneously in the capital account as a capital inflow. The following day it ferries passengers from Lagos to Dubai. The income is recorded in the trade account as a service export. At the end of the month it remits repayment on the loan. The interest is recorded in the income account as a factor service payment and the principal is in the capital account as a capital outflow.

The net of the current account and the capital account are added together to give the overall balance. An increasing overall deficit depletes foreign reserves, while a surplus leads to a build up of reserves. Current account surpluses mean that a country’s savings exceed its investment; it can, therefore, export capital, like China. A current account deficit means that a country is investing more than its savings, in other words, it is importing capital (either debt, FDI, remittances, grants etc).

Chart 1

The country’s creditworthiness thus depends not just on trade but also on other financial flows, that are determined by factors other than trade competitiveness, both economic and non-economic. Complicated stuff.

Both the IMF and CBK agree that the shilling has appreciated, but they disagree on the magnitude. The IMF also implies that the appreciation is a reflection of policy action while the CBK maintains that it is a reflection of market forces. The IMF view translates to accusing the CBK of misleading the public by espousing a monetary policy that claims to target inflation, while in practice it is actually targeting the exchange rate. The IMF’s “smoking gun” is the fact that the NEER has flatlined for the past six years (see Chart).

Recently the IMF re-classified the Kenya shilling from a “floating” (meaning market determined) to “other managed arrangement.” This means the IMF is convinced that the Central Bank is propping up the shilling. What reason would the Central Bank prop up the shilling especially if it undermines the country’s competitiveness and solvency?

Foreign currency debt exposure is one reason. The interest payments on the first Eurobonds issued in 2015 ($185 million a year) has increased by KSh 3 billion, KSh 16 billion to KSh 19 billion on account of the depreciation of the shilling. Translate that to the total interest payments this year which are in the order of $1.4 billion dollars. The shilling has weakened by about three shillings to the dollar since the beginning of the financial year. The total interest payments this year which are in the order of $1.4 billion. This translates to a KSh 4 billion squeeze on a government that is already living way beyond its means. The last thing the Treasury wants to hear is that the shilling should be trading at about 120 to the dollar.

Recently the IMF re-classified the Kenya shilling from a “floating” (meaning market determined) to “other managed arrangement.” This means the IMF is convinced that the Central Bank is propping up the shilling. What reason would the Central Bank prop up the shilling especially if it undermines the country’s competitiveness and solvency?

Another reason is pressure to keep low interest rates. Interest rate is the policy instrument in an inflation-targeting monetary policy regime such as we claim to have. Central Banks are given statutory independence over the conduct of monetary policy to insulate them from such pressure so that they can raise interest rates when they need to, even when it is politically costly for the government of the dayParliament’s capping of interest rates two years ago is ample demonstration that political pressure on Central Banks is real.

Keeping interest rates artificially low puts pressure on the exchange rate. A weakening currency creates inflationary pressures, which is what the Central Banks are mandated to control in the first place. The Central Banks end up trying to meet incompatible objectives, low interest rates, low inflation and a stable currency.

This is precisely what happened from mid-2009 to September 2011. The Central Bank bent over backwards to accommodate the government’s economic stimulus meant to respond to both the post-election violence and the global financial crisis. Interests rate were driven to the floor. From mid-2010 to mid-2011 the benchmark 90-day Treasury bill rate was kept below 3 percent. The IMF’s charts show how this ended— with a very hard landing. The shilling which had been propped up at about 80 to the dollar, started unravelling in April peaking at KSh100 to the dollar in September. The Central Bank was forced to jack up interest rates in a hurry. By the end of 2011, the T-bill rate was heading to 20 percent.

The IMF seems to believe that, left to market forces, the shilling will depreciate in real terms. The IMF’s REER chart covers eight years, from 2010 to 2017. A longer timespan does not necessarily support this contention (see Chart). My chart goes back to the beginning of the liberalized regime in 1994. What do we see? The shilling has been appreciating in real terms since it was liberalized. Overall it has appreciated 157 percent, by 9 percent per year on average. This could mean that the Government has been propping up the shilling all these years, or that market forces are not working the way the IMF expects.

Chart 2

Many Kenyans have observed that we have become an importing country. One also hears policymakers lamenting that we are losing our markets in the region and blaming all manner of things. There is no mystery to it.

My [assessment is that] the shilling has been appreciating in real terms since it was liberalized. Overall it has appreciated 157 percent – by 9 percent per year on average. This could mean that the Government has been propping up the shilling all these years, or that market forces are not working the way the IMF expects.

But is the Central Bank propping up the shilling? That we cannot be able to tell that easily. There are lots of moving parts. It can also be on account of some trading partners manipulating their currencies: China, for example, is regularly accused of maintaining an artificially weak currency. China has a big weight in our REER and it’s been growing over time.

The ultimate question is whether it is sustainable. There are two parts to this, financial and economic. The widening trade deficit has been plugged by remittances and portfolio inflows (money flowing into the stock exchange and government securities), not all of it honest money, and lately, government commercial borrowing, the ubiquitous eurobonds and syndicated loans. As long as these keep flowing, the show can go on.

Why are we told the economy is growing and yet we cannot feel it? This is the shopping mall economy. How long can we keep that going?

The economics is a different story. This is the shopping mall economy. It is not good for employment and equity. It is not good for employment, or equity, or sustainable growth. It is part of the answer to the question that Kenyans keep asking: why they are told the economy is growing and they are not feeling it. This is the shopping mall economy. How long can we keep that going? Your guess is as good as mine. Governments are known to manipulate currencies and to distort financial markets generally. The IMF is known to (a) have more faith in market forces than warranted and (b) get the workings of those market forces wrong. What to do?

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