War is generally a series of small battles as opposed to a single onslaught; a series of small losses or victories. Folk wisdom abounds in maxims to the same effect: a stitch in time saves nine; usipoziba ufa utajenga ukuta (if you fail to repair a small breach, you will eventually have to rebuild the entire wall). I believe this is why 'divide and rule' is such a successful war strategy: keep the enemy so preoccupied with small battles they cannot see the gains you are making. The use of landmines during conflict effectively demonstrates the power of small crises: keep the other side preoccupied with attending to maimed soldiers while you make territorial gains. If you can plant more landmines than the enemy, the better for you. Throw civilian casualties and collateral damage into the mix to keep the adversary occupied for years after, not to mention that demining costs significantly more than planing the mines in the first place.
But this is not a blog post about landmines. This is about small battles; death by a slow bleed.
During Kenya's struggle for independence, hundreds of thousands of natives were herded into concentrations camps euphemistically referred to as reserves. This strategy served several purposes: a) the people so herded could easily be conscripted into forced labour b) means of production were severely restricted: the inmates could only gather food during limited hours under close supervision c) as a result, it was hoped, the inmates would have no energy to agitate against theft of ancestral land and other injustices.
We all know that the things didn't quite go according to the script. Kenyans found ways to fight back, and fight back they did. After about ten years of systematic massacres and other crimes against them, the Kenyan people wrested power from the colonists. Citizens were now free to pursue their destinies as free people.
The reality has largely failed to match the prosperity script used to galvanise Kenyans into resistance. How many massacres has Kenya experienced since independence? How much land has been stolen? How many people have been forcibly displaced? How many live in the cruel clutches of poverty, insecurity, marginalisation, and chronic under-development?
I do not posit that successive governments have intentionally created these problems to keep citizens subjugated. Such a position would be too conspiracy theory even for the skeptic in me. I am convinced, however, that someone or someones figured out a long time ago that by inaction, government could perpetuate preoccupation with micro-issues, thereby robbing citizens of the capacity to engage with larger issues. Fail to act on labour rights, and the poor will keep trooping daily to earn less-than-minimum wage, and get up the following morning to do the same. Fail to tame traffic congestion and behaviour on the road, and drivers and commuters will be preoccupied with getting home in the evening. They will then get up the following morning to do it all over again. Just getting through the day is work enough, as the brilliant Wambui Mwangi has expounded in 'Demon City.'
The average Nairobian has to battle mad traffic to get to work. If she is lucky to own a car, her going-to-work battles might involve only the following: gridlocked traffic and matatus driving on any part of the road or on the pedestrian walkway. Occasionally, she might have to grapple with dry hoses at her favourite fuel station. If she is not lucky enough to have a car, she has to contend with crude matatu crews who may decide to go on strike on her first day of work, or decide at a moment's whim that she should be dropped off three kilometres for the terminus, or hike the fare at the slightest hint of rain. If she is walking, she has to watch out for matatus and boda boda bikes driving on the walkway.
The average Kenyan then has to go home and worry about his safety and security. Will his home be burgled that night? No wonder we live in voluntary prisons, spending our nights behind ornate metal bars. A prison is a prison, no matter how well appointed.
The line between acceptance and abetting is very thin. Ask anyone who has tried to protest against an arbitrary hike in matatu fare. The dirtiest looks come not from the matatu crew but from fellow passengers. Like lambs to the slaughter we are silent. Where, then, will we find the energy to speak up against members of parliament and county governors who want to steal our money to buy themselves expensive cars while patients wait months in line for a chance to have dialysis?
The number of small battles is enough to make anyone despair. It is sincerely difficult to blame anyone for giving up on fighting. Given the limited amount of energy and time in a day, which battles do you fight, and which ones do you ignore? Sometimes you just want it to be over with so you can get to your fortified iron-bar prison, so that you can get up the following morning to do it all over again.
As Shailja Patel put it:
meaningless storms
in tiny tea cups
paper-cuts
that we endure
day in, day out
dayindayout
dayindayoutdayindayout
over and over and over and over and over and over and over again
daily ordinary interactions
one drop of blood at a time
until we bleed to death
exhausted
pissed-off
alienated
really sad
we are assured
that our concerns
are silly
minor
best forgotten
I choose not to despair. Our grandfathers fought some significant battles that aggregated into one large victory. There were many unremarked individual acts of courage and sacrifice, without which we would not be where we are today. We have their blood in our veins and their courage in our hearts. We can therefore push back a little. A little every day till large tracts of our ability to function as a decent nation and as decent human beings are won back. Every day we must get up and push back a little. And then do it again the following day. We must refuse to bow to arbitrariness, one small battle at a time; one human being at a time.
Woven with Wambui Mwangi and Shailja Patel.
But this is not a blog post about landmines. This is about small battles; death by a slow bleed.
During Kenya's struggle for independence, hundreds of thousands of natives were herded into concentrations camps euphemistically referred to as reserves. This strategy served several purposes: a) the people so herded could easily be conscripted into forced labour b) means of production were severely restricted: the inmates could only gather food during limited hours under close supervision c) as a result, it was hoped, the inmates would have no energy to agitate against theft of ancestral land and other injustices.
We all know that the things didn't quite go according to the script. Kenyans found ways to fight back, and fight back they did. After about ten years of systematic massacres and other crimes against them, the Kenyan people wrested power from the colonists. Citizens were now free to pursue their destinies as free people.
The reality has largely failed to match the prosperity script used to galvanise Kenyans into resistance. How many massacres has Kenya experienced since independence? How much land has been stolen? How many people have been forcibly displaced? How many live in the cruel clutches of poverty, insecurity, marginalisation, and chronic under-development?
I do not posit that successive governments have intentionally created these problems to keep citizens subjugated. Such a position would be too conspiracy theory even for the skeptic in me. I am convinced, however, that someone or someones figured out a long time ago that by inaction, government could perpetuate preoccupation with micro-issues, thereby robbing citizens of the capacity to engage with larger issues. Fail to act on labour rights, and the poor will keep trooping daily to earn less-than-minimum wage, and get up the following morning to do the same. Fail to tame traffic congestion and behaviour on the road, and drivers and commuters will be preoccupied with getting home in the evening. They will then get up the following morning to do it all over again. Just getting through the day is work enough, as the brilliant Wambui Mwangi has expounded in 'Demon City.'
The average Nairobian has to battle mad traffic to get to work. If she is lucky to own a car, her going-to-work battles might involve only the following: gridlocked traffic and matatus driving on any part of the road or on the pedestrian walkway. Occasionally, she might have to grapple with dry hoses at her favourite fuel station. If she is not lucky enough to have a car, she has to contend with crude matatu crews who may decide to go on strike on her first day of work, or decide at a moment's whim that she should be dropped off three kilometres for the terminus, or hike the fare at the slightest hint of rain. If she is walking, she has to watch out for matatus and boda boda bikes driving on the walkway.
The average Kenyan then has to go home and worry about his safety and security. Will his home be burgled that night? No wonder we live in voluntary prisons, spending our nights behind ornate metal bars. A prison is a prison, no matter how well appointed.
The line between acceptance and abetting is very thin. Ask anyone who has tried to protest against an arbitrary hike in matatu fare. The dirtiest looks come not from the matatu crew but from fellow passengers. Like lambs to the slaughter we are silent. Where, then, will we find the energy to speak up against members of parliament and county governors who want to steal our money to buy themselves expensive cars while patients wait months in line for a chance to have dialysis?
The number of small battles is enough to make anyone despair. It is sincerely difficult to blame anyone for giving up on fighting. Given the limited amount of energy and time in a day, which battles do you fight, and which ones do you ignore? Sometimes you just want it to be over with so you can get to your fortified iron-bar prison, so that you can get up the following morning to do it all over again.
As Shailja Patel put it:
'A Brief History of Micro-Aggression' by Shailja Patel
meaningless storms
in tiny tea cups
paper-cuts
that we endure
day in, day out
dayindayout
dayindayoutdayindayout
over and over and over and over and over and over and over again
daily ordinary interactions
one drop of blood at a time
until we bleed to death
exhausted
pissed-off
alienated
really sad
we are assured
that our concerns
are silly
minor
best forgotten
I choose not to despair. Our grandfathers fought some significant battles that aggregated into one large victory. There were many unremarked individual acts of courage and sacrifice, without which we would not be where we are today. We have their blood in our veins and their courage in our hearts. We can therefore push back a little. A little every day till large tracts of our ability to function as a decent nation and as decent human beings are won back. Every day we must get up and push back a little. And then do it again the following day. We must refuse to bow to arbitrariness, one small battle at a time; one human being at a time.
Woven with Wambui Mwangi and Shailja Patel.
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