Thursday, 30 June 2016

LAWYER Donald Kipkorir WARNS Dennis Itumbi AGAINST ‘Ethnic’ Profiling the Luo Community on Social Media

LAWYER Donald Kipkorir WARNS Dennis Itumbi AGAINST ‘Ethnic’ Profiling the Luo Community on Social Media
June 7th 2016
By Donald Kipkorir
Dear Dennis Itumbi & Ngunjiri Wambugu :
I consider you my friends because we support the same Government but I disagree with your methods of supporting the Government. And true friends, tell the other when their zip is open in public. In your multiple daily postings on social media, it seems you take it that supporting the Government is abusing, vilifying, denigrating and delegitimizing CORD, the Luo Nation and Prime Minister Raila Odinga every minute. Kenya will never be a united Nation-State nor prosper if we don’t do deliberate efforts to bring all tribes together.
We have a Constitution that entrenches freedoms and rights of political thought, demonstrations and multipartism. CORD therefore have a constitutional right to demonstrate, picket and present petitions every Monday, nay, even every day and night. It isn’t a privilege of any Government. When people destroy property, arrest the individuals, but don’t try to demonize a whole people. The bible and our law is clear that responsibility is individual. Collective condemnation ended with Adolf Hitler, Idi Amin and Pol Pot.
History teaches us that power is transient and illusory and like a candle in the wind, it burns out. We must support our Government to succeed, but treat all Kenyans with utmost respect. To use the name of the Government to segregate part of the country through words that demean them isn’t higher calling. As professed Christians, there ought to be a line in the sand. Let politicians abuse each other, because that is their trade. But for us in the ring-side, we should offer advise that edifices, builds and sanctifies the country. I will never take a side that will destroy Kenya.
God bless Kenya. Read Matthew 5:1-12.

Wednesday, 29 June 2016

New York Times says it won't correct article on Uhuru's ICC case

Former International Criminal Court's chief prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo (left) speaks with his successor Ms Fatou Bensouda after her swearing-in ceremony as the new chief prosecutor in The Hague, on June 15, 2012.  PHOTO | AFP 
Former International Criminal Court's chief prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo (left) speaks with his successor Ms Fatou Bensouda after her swearing-in ceremony as the new chief prosecutor in The Hague, on June 15, 2012. PHOTO | AFP 

28.JUNE 2016
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State House had on Friday rebuked the paper for publishing on the collapse of the ICC case against President Kenyatta.
The New York Times is defending a story it published last week on former ICC Prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo.
In a statement Tuesday evening, the Times argued the article was both accurate and fair and would therefore not be corrected as demanded by State House.
“The Times makes every effort to ensure the accuracy of what we publish. Mr (James) Verini’s article was based on extensive interviews with dozens of sources in Kenya, The Hague and elsewhere and thousands of pages of court records, and was reviewed by editors and fact-checkers,” said the newspaper’s spokesman Jackson Chiappinelli.
“While The Times conscientiously corrects any factual errors that we learn of, we have not at this point found anything to correct in this article, and we continue to believe it is both accurate and fair.”
State House had on Friday rebuked the paper for publishing on the collapse of the ICC case against President Uhuru Kenyatta.
The article titled “the Prosecutor and the President” on the website and ““Trial and Error” in Print was published in the New York Time Magazine and featured former ICC Prosecutor Louis Moreno Ocampo, former Mungiki members and lawyers who gave views on why the case fell.
One of the running threads in the story was that Ocampo had underrated the ability of politicians to interfere with the cases, that the investigations had been second-rate and goes on to reveal that some of the Mungiki members had been prepared to testify against President Kenyatta.
"The New York Times continues its steady descent into the murky, rancid morass of gutter press and has abandoned all pretence of journalistic decency in pursuit of the Prosecutor's agenda," the statement from State House said.
“Relying on the fanciful accounts of unreliable individuals, discarding all attempts at balance and fairness, the Times plies a malicious, vindictive and unprofessional article on the ICC cases."
But the Times denied the charged, arguing it had made “numerous attempts” to seek comment from State House but were not responded to despite a promise to do so.
“Throughout this process, (President) Kenyatta’s representatives were informed of the subject of the article and did not at any point address it. A fact-checker for The Times Magazine also emailed Kenyatta’s chief spokesman and received no response,” the paper said.
The ICC had charged President Kenyatta with crimes against humanity relating to the post-election violence of 2008 in which 1113 people were killed and 600,000 others displaced.
But the Prosecutors dropped charges last year in January claiming they had not found enough evidence to take the case to trial.
Before that though, Prosecutor Fatou Bensouda had claimed witnesses had either been disappeared or forced to recant testimony.
(Editing by Joel Muinde)

WHY Secondary Students in Kisii BURNT Down School after CS Matiangi’s VISIT, Hon Sonko Could have SAVED the day

JUNE 28. 2016
By Gabriel O.

WHY Secondary Students in Kisii BURNT Down School after CS Matiangi’s VISIT, Hon Sonko Could have SAVED the day

I am reading in the news that Dr. Fred Matiangi, the Education Cabinet Secretary, yesterday drove into Nyamache Secondary School in Kisii County, ripped the students apart and warned them with dire consequences if they attempted to emulate their friends in Itieirio, who razed down 7 domitories the previous night.
The news is that the students did not even allow him to touch down Nairobi safely. No sooner had the abrasive CS left the school than the students, who had been sufficiently rained on by the CS, decided to put the warnings into the ultimate test – going on a rampage and setting some blocks on fire.
Let me tell you something.
The average High School student in this country do not know how Dr. Matiang’i looks like; and they don’t care. If you are looking for a generation that would weaken at the knees when Dr. Matiang’i is speaking, that generation is not this one currently in High School.
The reason those who went to school in the ‘90s and early ‘00s quake in their boots at the sight of authority voices like Matiangi is because we plucked that trait from home. My father was a no-nonesense disciplinarian, whenever he was summoned to school for a disciplinary matter involving any of his children he would arrive with a stick of his own – ready to beat us into a pulp. Severally, it was the teachers who pleaded with my father not to kill us in their sight. Some of us loved being in school a little longer because home was unbearable. And we were not alone.
But look at this generation currently in High School. They wouldn’t listen to authority from Nairobi even if they came with a fire-breathing dragon. This age-group can sing word-for-word the lyrics to all Diamond Platinumz songs. They know how much Kanye West is worth. If you are looking for a politician to send to a high school to ask them to tone down their panache, Dr. Matiang’i would be the last person to be sent to appeal to their emotional conscience. Mike Sonko would be a safer bet. Willy Paul would almost do the trick.
I know most of you don’t watch television that much, but I want to kindly ask you to take a bit of your time watching KUBAMBA – Sunday, starting 11am to 12.45pm, on Citizen TV. The show is modelled around taking new age gospel to High Schools all over the country, while appealing to their musical touch. The organisers have this idea of going with an Old Boy or Old Girl, who is of national repute, to offer them some motivational talk. That section is always the dullest. Jacob Ghost Mulee was taken back to his Ofafa Jericho School and the kids kept wondering when the session will end so that they can get down to an earthshaking jig. Wacha time ya ngoma ifike. You should see those children dance themselves silly; I have had to cover my face in disbelief the way they twerk their tail feathers dry.
The reason those kids from Nyamache burnt down their school even after being warned of dire consequences is because they have no attachment to Dr. Matiang’i or any government authority. The school administration can be rattled by tough talk from the Ministry of Education but the children would never be. If that child is expelled today, I can assure you here, and now, that their parents would find them a school tomorrow, without batting an eyelid. The children know this; that their parents will always have their backs in whatever they do. And if they ask for a transfer, their wish will be their parents’ command. You know its true.
Look, and please don’t ignore this: You and I know of children who miserably failed in their KCPE but because their parents are high up the government food chain, they are now in Public National Schools taking the space of poor children who could not afford school fees. They bought those places, with money that can buy a plot in Kitengela and leave me with enough loose change to throw a round to a million friends. You and I also know of those KCSE students who failed miserably but are now in Medical School, or Law School, or Engineering School, privately-sponsored. These are harsh truths we must confront, because it is where the rain started beating this hypocritical society.
These bad manners, of burning schools without a care in the world, begin right from home – and perpetuated by a murky system that rewards mediocrity and punishes hard work. I am ready to bet my last coin that the ring leader of that gang who went to torch school property in Nyamache comes from a background of privilege. He knows, like you and me, that even if he gets expelled, his parents will effortlessly work up the phone lines to get him a new school within no time. He has been brought up in a world of endless options, where a treasonable act is rewarded with a slap on the wrist. It is the same way this society deals with grand corruption, where those who loot public coffers get heavily rewarded with high-profile jobs.
“Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.” – Robert Fulghum

Sunday, 26 June 2016

SIAYA: Only 20 per cent of Siaya County residents have no formal education:

SIAYA: Only 20 per cent of Siaya County residents have no formal education:

By Isaiah Gwengi Updated Sat, June 25th 2016 at 11:57 GMT +3 SHARE THIS ARTICLE Send by mail Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Google Plus Share on Linkedin 

Vendors hawk farm produce to passengers aboard a Usenge bound bus at Akala market in Siaya County. 

A recent report shows that 20 per cent of the county’s residents lack formal training. PHOTO: COLLINS ODUOR/FILE SIAYA: Only 20 per cent of Siaya County residents have no formal education, a study has revealed. According to a recent report by the Society for International Development (SID) and the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS), Ugenya constituency has the highest number of residents in the county with no formal education at 24 per cent. This is six per cent above Bondo and Rarieda constituencies, which have the lowest share of residents with no formal education. SID Programmes Officer Mary Muyonga said East Ugenya ward had the highest percentage of residents with no formal education at 25 per cent. "This is eight per cent above West Sakwa ward, which has the lowest per cent of residents with no formal education, while East Ugenya is five per cent above the county's average," said Mrs Muyonga. She was speaking during the launch of the report dubbed 'Exploring Kenya's Inequality: Pulling Apart or Pooling Together?' READ MORE Low cooking gas prices hand Kenyans boon ERC makes U-turn, slaps kerosene consumers with a Sh7.2 increase Nyanza teacher dies while trying to rescue miners The report further indicates that only 16 per cent of the county's population have a secondary education or above, with Siaya Township ward having the highest share of residents with that level of education or above, at 28 per cent. "This is almost three times above East Ugenya ward, which has the lowest share, while Siaya Township ward is 12 percent above the county's average," said Mrs Muyonga. Two constituencies, Bondo and Rarieda, have the highest share of residents with a secondary level of education or above, at 18 percent. This is five per cent points above Ugenya constituency, which has the lowest share of residents with that education level or above. Bondo and Rarieda are two percent above the county's average. Mrs Muyonga said that 64 per cent of the county's residents have a primary education. 

Saturday, 25 June 2016

The Prosecutor and the President

Luis Moreno-Ocampo, 64, former chief prosecutor of the International Criminal Court.
Michael Christopher Brown / Magnum, for The New York Times

The International Criminal Court embodied the hope of bringing warlords and demagogues to justice. Then Luis Moreno-Ocampo took on the heir to Kenya’s most powerful political dynasty.

Nakuru is a lakeside city in Kenya’s Rift Valley, a destination for safari tourists and part of the Great Rift, the tectonic seam that gave birth to humanity and will one day rend Africa in two. Kenyans often refer to the valley simply as the Rift, a nod not just to the millions of years of volcanic tumult that produced its magnificent landscape but also to the centuries of tribal warfare it has seen.
In December 2007, Eric, a day laborer now in his late 20s, who asked to be identified only by his first name, was living on the outskirts of Naku­ru with his wife and young daughters, in one of the shanty neighborhoods tourists don’t see. That month, Kenya held an election. It was to be only the second truly open contest in the country’s history, but typically for Kenyan politics, it was cleaving along tribal lines. The incumbent, a conservative bureaucrat named Mwai Kibaki, was a member of the Kikuyu, Kenya’s predominant tribe. His challenger, Raila Odinga, Kenya’s foremost liberal provocateur, was a Luo, who historically were the Kikuyu’s main rival for power. Odinga had assembled a broad ethnic coalition, capitalizing on resentment of the Kikuyu.
Nakuru was majority Kikuyu but had a sizable population of other tribes. As the election approached, Eric, a Luo, became anxious listening to his Kikuyu friends, who insisted Kibaki be returned to office at any cost. The Kikuyu had liberated Kenya from colonialism, they insisted, and the country was rightfully theirs. Other tribespeople were demanding the president be forced from power. “We were just agreeing with what they were saying,” Eric told me, when I spoke with him recently. “We were afraid that if we did not, it would come to fighting.”
After Kibaki was declared the winner, death squads led by members of the Kalenjin tribe loyal to Odinga’s coalition set to massacring Kiku­yu throughout the Rift Valley. Then men with a Kikuyu criminal gang, called Mungiki, began retaliating. Soon word came that the gang had arrived in Nakuru. “They came to revenge,” Eric heard. By day they set up roadblocks, where they stopped civilians and murdered and raped them in plain view; by night they assailed homes.
Eric took his family to a displaced-persons camp next to the police station, but there was no food, so they left. He was asleep one night in early January when he heard voices outside his home. He got under his bed. A group of men entered and told him to come out.
“I’m Kikuyu,” Eric said instinctively.
They demanded to see his identification. He said he’d left it at work. They spoke in the Kikuyu language to him, to see if Eric could answer. He knew only a few words. “Asha,” he kept saying: No.
One of the men found Eric’s ID. His family name is clearly Luo. The intruders began beating him. One asked if he was circumcised. (Circumcision is a Kikuyu tradition and point of pride.) Eric cried that he was. They tore his pants off.
“You lie!” they yelled.
“I pleaded with them,” Eric told me. “ ‘Leave my life, please. In God’s name.’ They could not hear that. They went ahead with their plan.”
A man forcibly circumcised him with a machete. Then they hacked at Eric’s arm and head until he lost consciousness.
The violence spread across the country. Though Kenya is among the most developed places in Africa, for two months, death and torture were meted out with machete, club and knife. People were dismembered, gang-raped, burned alive in homes and churches. Many men were, like Eric, forcibly circumcised. Kenya was brought to the brink of civil war. The official number of dead was between 1,100 and 1,200 by the end of February 2008, when international envoys brokered a truce, though Kenyan investigators say the real figure is probably much higher. Roughly half a million people were displaced; many never returned home. It was the worst crisis Kenya had faced since its fight for independence a half-century earlier.
In 2010, the International Criminal Court, the Hague-based tribunal created in 1998 to try the worst atrocities on earth — war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide — announced plans to charge six Kenyans for orchestrating the postelection violence. The most important suspect was Uhuru Kenyatta; the son of Kenya’s first president, Jomo Kenyatta, he was considered by many Kikuyu to be their natural leader. The court’s chief prosecutor, Luis Moreno-Ocampo, sought to charge Kenyatta with five counts of crimes against humanity, for inciting murder, rape, forcible transfer of people, persecution and “other inhumane acts.”
During his tenure at the I.C.C., which ended in 2012, Moreno-Ocampo examined atrocities in a dozen countries and brought cases in seven. But the Kenyatta case has come to define the court and, many would say, has permanently discredited it. Moreno-Ocampo accused Kenyatta of suborning the Mungiki to kill innocent Kenyans, but he also believed Kenyatta’s crimes emerged from a tradition of impunity in Africa, one that would continue unless he stepped in. He saw prosecuting Kenyatta as a way to change not just a country but an entire continent and, in some small measure, the world. “These were not just crimes against innocent Kenyans,” Moreno-Ocam­po said at the time. “They were crimes against humanity as a whole.”
Kenyatta, now Kenya’s president, not only denied the charges against him but also called the I.C.C. “the toy of declining imperial powers.” It’s a view other African leaders increasingly claim to share. Today Kenyatta is leading a push at the African Union to abandon the court. In April, an African Union committee considered a plan to demand that heads of state be immune from I.C.C. prosecution, among other potentially crippling measures. At a summit conference next month in Rwanda, it will continue a discussion about collectively withdrawing from the court. With all but one of its open cases related to crimes in Africa, this would almost certainly relegate the I.C.C. to permanent irrelevance.
In October, I met Moreno-Ocampo at the InterContinental Hotel in Vienna to discuss the Kenyatta case. I found him in the lobby bar, slouched low in an ornate settee, in jeans and a black long-sleeve collarless shirt. Except for the MacBook Air propped in his lap, he looked like a detective in a 1960s French movie: mussed gray hair, bristling eyebrows, rakish trimmed beard. When I phoned to arrange the meeting, we (mostly he) talked for more than an hour. He was ingratiating, telling me, “You’re doing a very important story.” But in Vienna he was at first circumspect — he’d received word from colleagues that I was asking questions. He didn’t stand but extended a reluctant hand from the settee, nodded and smiled knowingly, as though we’d already met.
He soon relaxed, and we talked for most of the rest of the day. As our conversation grew more candid, he sank further into the settee, eventually almost lying down, his feet on a cushion. At one point Moreno-Ocampo, who is 64, took hold of his laptop and summoned YouTube. He pulled up a clip from a Kenyan comedy program called “The XYZ Show,” which lampoons figures in the news with puppets.
“Have you ever seen this?” he asked me. Moreno-Ocampo was a running character, and the real man adored the show. He turned up the volume, unconcerned about the other patrons looking over in annoyance, and laughed loudly. “Brilliant!” he said. “Great.”
Moreno-Ocampo explained that argument was his birthright. His youth in Argentina was punctuated by coups that divided his family. He went to law school “because my country was a mess,” he said. In 1976, a military junta, claiming Argentina was in the grip of a Communist insurgency, took control. The junta, which killed, kidnapped or tortured more than 20,000 Argentines, counted among its members one of his uncles. After it was ousted, its leaders were put on trial. In 1984, Moreno-Ocampo, then in his early 30s, was made deputy prosecutor. (He indicted his uncle.) His performance in court established his reputation, though some Argentines were put off. Miriam Lewin, a journalist who was tortured and later testified, told me that while Moreno-Ocampo appreciated the momentousness of the trials, his idealism was undone by his arrogance. “Many survivors didn’t want to come forward and talk because they were afraid for their lives,” she said. “He didn’t seem to understand that.”
The junta leaders received stiff sentences, but in 1990 they were pardoned by a new president. “I was furious,” Moreno-Ocampo told me. “The trials were not just about the crimes. It was a way to change the country.”
Notions of human rights that transcend borders originate in antiquity, but the first international war-crimes tribunal, historians believe, did not take place until the 15th century. The first large and truly successful one was not until almost 500 years later, at Nuremberg. After the Cold War, human rights became a centerpiece of Western foreign policy, at least nominally, and in the 1990s, the United Nations Security Council set up criminal tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda. Sierra Leone, Cambodia and Lebanon followed. In June 1998, diplomats from 160 countries gathered in Rome to discuss a permanent international criminal court.
African diplomats were particularly intent. On top of the genocide in Rwanda, the 1990s had brought civil wars or campaigns of systematized violence to the Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, Sudan, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Somalia, Algeria, Burundi, Niger, Ivory Coast and Chad. Atrocities were committed by officials who also controlled their countries’ justice systems. For its Western proponents, an international criminal court was largely a matter of conscience. For Africans, it was a way to fight impunity. “We wanted ways of enforcing good government in Africa,” Betty Murungi, a lawyer in the Kenyan delegation in Rome, told me.
When the court was formed, it was, one observer wrote, “an international epiphany.” It was also, it seemed, a great moment for Africa. Senegal was the first country to ratify the court’s founding treaty, the Rome Statute. Archbishop Desmond Tutu called the I.C.C. “Africa’s court.” Today, 34 of the court’s 124 member states are African, the largest contingent after Europe’s.
In 2003, after the I.C.C. received the 60 ratifications it needed to begin work, Moreno-Ocam­po was appointed chief prosecutor and moved into the court’s offices in a white metallic tower in The Hague. Member states had the ability to refer atrocities within their borders if they felt they could not handle investigations, as well as to refer them in other member states. The Security Council could refer investigations anywhere. And Moreno-Ocampo had the power to open investigations without any referral if he could show an atrocity had been committed and wasn’t being redressed.
In one of his first speeches in The Hague, Moreno-Ocampo announced he was monitoring the violence in Congo and invited its government to make a referral. The Congolese president did so several months later. Then the president of Uganda, Yoweri Museveni, approached Moreno-Ocampo. Joseph Kony, whose Lord’s Resistance Army had torn apart northern Uganda, had proved uncatchable. Perhaps the I.C.C. might force him out of the bush? Moreno-Ocampo began investigations in both countries. He was pleased: His first two inquiries addressed major atrocities in Africa, the continent that most concerned him and human rights advocates, and each had begun by invitation.
For Uhuru Kenyatta, rule was a birthright. His father, Jomo Kenyatta, was imprisoned by the British colonial government during the fight for independence. After Jomo was freed and elected president of an independent Kenya in 1964, however, his revolutionary impulses didn’t persist. He stocked the government and businesses with family members and fellow Kikuyu and “operated with little concern for the niceties of law,” the historian Charles Hornsby writes, “traveling with his inner circle from residence to residence like a medieval monarch.” Jomo’s portrait still adorns every denomination of paper money in Kenya, and his family is believed to be the country’s largest landholder.
After graduating from Amherst College in Massachusetts, Uhuru showed little interest in politics before 1997, when, in his mid-30s, he stood for Parliament and lost. In 2002, he ran for the presidency, on the strength of his name, and lost again. The man who beat him, Mwai Kibaki, had been a close friend of Jomo Kenyatta’s. Kibaki took Uhuru under his wing, later putting him in the cabinet and, it was clear, grooming him as his successor.
To many Kenyans, Uhuru — whose personal fortune, most of it presumably inherited, has been estimated at a half-billion dollars — embodies their country’s inequity. More than a quarter of Kenyans live on less than two dollars a day, according to World Bank estimates. So taken for granted are corruption and impunity that the country’s official and criminal classes are often indistinguishable.
Kenyatta’s rise coincided with the rise of Mungiki, the group Moreno-Ocampo would later accuse him of conspiring with in the postelection violence. Started as a tribal revivalist movement, Mungiki grew into a militaristic political fraternity and then into a criminal gang. Around the time Mungiki fought to take over the lucrative private bus lines that are the main form of transport in Kenya, in the early 2000s, the gang staged a massacre in northern Nairobi that left severed heads scattered in the streets.
By then, Mungiki was being described as a “state within a state,” with up to two million members, according to reports. They swore an oath of loyalty to the Kikuyu tribe and the Mungiki leader, a charismatic, ruthless man known as Maina Njenga. According to the I.C.C., new recruits “were told they would be killed if they violated the oath or left the organization.” When clashes broke out between Kikuyu and other tribes, Njenga dispatched his men to fight.
He also persuaded politicians to take the Mungiki oath. Paul Muite, a member of Parliament at the time and now a lawyer who represents Njenga and other members of Mungiki, which is still active, told me that almost every Kikuyu politician of consequence he knew during that era took the oath. For Njenga, it was “a way of collecting” power, Muite says. According to Muite and a former lieutenant of Njenga’s with whom I spoke, one of the politicians who took the oath, before becoming president, was Kibaki.
Some Mungiki members, including Njenga, supported Kenyatta’s 2002 presidential campaign. Kenyatta denounced the group and would later tell Moreno-Ocampo in court that “I have always publicly condemned and stated that I have no association whatsoever with Mungiki.” Njenga’s former lieutenant, however, described to me a series of meetings he attended with Kenyatta and Njenga in 2002, saying that Kenyatta was friendly with Mungiki. But, he added, Kenyatta didn’t like or trust Njenga.
In the 2007 election, Kenyatta did not run, instead supporting Kibaki in his race against Raila Odinga. By the close of Election Day, two days after Christmas, the vote was too close to call. The count was delayed. The tally center in Nairobi was mysteriously broken into. Then on Dec. 30, the government suddenly announced Kibaki had won. He was hurriedly sworn in, and a media blackout was imposed. Odinga instructed his followers to protest. By New Year’s Day, Kikuyu were being slaughtered. Mungiki began striking back in January.
The government did little to stop the postelection violence, but afterward, it set up a commission of inquiry. Known as the Waki Commission, it issued a 529-page report in October 2008. The Kenya National Commission on Human Rights, an autonomous government agency, published a comparably exhaustive report. Each was damning. Officials in Odinga’s party had planned violence months in advance, while envoys of President Kibaki met with Mungiki to plan retaliatory attacks. Security agents and the police had conspired with the gang. “There were no good guys,” a Waki commissioner, Pascal Kambale, told me. “There were only bad guys.”
Moreno-Ocampo, who monitored the violence as it was happening, traveled to Nairobi to speak with Kibaki. He encouraged Kibaki to refer Kenya to the I.C.C., as Congo and Uganda had made referrals. Government capacity wasn’t the problem, Moreno-Ocampo knew. Kenya was capable of trying the suspects. The problem was as it had been in Argentina: The government was the criminal. And not only the government. The National Commission on Human Rights report listed more than 200 suspected inciters and funders of the violence, including presidential cabinet members, legislators, businessmen, shopkeepers, farmers. In a moment of collective insanity, Kenyan society had turned on itself.
Still, Moreno-Ocampo continued to press Kenyan officials to begin prosecutions. In 2009, the Kenyan Parliament voted against a tribunal — unsurprisingly, as the Parliament itself was full of suspects — and Moreno-Ocampo requested that the I.C.C. judges allow him to open an investigation. They did. It was the first time he invoked his power to seek charges on his own authority, without a referral.
The challenges were considerable, he knew. It was one thing to investigate militias at the invitation of a government, but quite another to investigate a government. Yet Moreno-Ocampo felt this was what the I.C.C. had been created for — to fight impunity. “This is a different kind of case,” he told The Times in 2010. “This isn’t about militias. It’s about politicians and political parties. It’s about investigating leadership.”
Polls showed a majority of Kenyans approved of the I.C.C.’s intervention. An editorial in The Nation, Kenya’s main daily newspaper, said, “No one has ever come as close as [Moreno-Ocampo] to slaying the dragon of impunity in Kenya.” On the buses of Nairobi, where operators compete for fares by adorning their vehicles with icons — Jesus Christ, Tupac Shakur, Arsenal forwards — Moreno-Ocampo’s face appeared.
The I.C.C.’s preliminary examination in Kenya was based largely on the work of the Kenyan commissions. Each had heard testimony that Kenyatta was at meetings with Mungiki. The Waki report didn’t name Kenyatta, but the National Commission on Human Rights report did, saying that he reportedly “attended meetings to plan for retaliatory violence by the Kikuyus” and “contributed funds.” Kenyatta was considered by many Kikuyu, including many Mungiki, to be their leader, and was understood to be the richest man in the country. If anyone had the motivation and funds to back an ethnic war, Moreno-Ocampo’s investigators reasoned, it was Kenyatta.
Moreno-Ocampo had by now built important cases in Uganda, Congo, Central African Republic and Sudan. “The world’s prosecutor,” as he was dubbed, seemed to be everywhere: magazine spreads, cable news, Davos. His critics complained that he thrust himself into the limelight, and they had a point — he allowed four different feature documentary crews access to The Hague — but even they couldn’t deny that he put the court on the map.
By the time the preliminary examination in Kenya began, however, the other cases had stalled. Only one trial, that of the Congolese warlord Thomas Lubanga, was underway. The court’s lack of political and prosecutorial powers were partly to blame. The United States, China and Russia had refused to join it. George W. Bush openly tried to cripple it by, among other things, demanding immunity for Americans. And Moreno-Ocampo had none of the prosecutorial resources — subpoenas, surveillance, policing — available to his domestic counterparts. Alex Whiting, a onetime federal prosecutor in Boston who became Moreno-Ocampo’s prosecutions coordinator, told me the Kenyatta case “was like trying to prosecute an organized-crime case without the tools the Department of Justice uses to prosecute organized crime” — though, for this reason, Moreno-Ocampo’s temperament was an asset. “You have to have a big ego, because you don’t have much else.”
But Moreno-Ocampo himself may have been the greatest obstacle to the court’s success, members of his staff told me. They didn’t question his devotion — he often worked seven days a week, closely managing every case — but increasingly they questioned his judgment, which seemed always caught between that ego and his idealism. He inspired fierce admiration and dislike, sometimes in the same people. One attorney, who resigned because he couldn’t stand Moreno-Ocampo, nevertheless lauded the prosecutor’s commitment. Another, whom Moreno-Ocampo reduced to tears in meetings, defended him to me adamantly. When the journal World Affairs published a critical profile of Moreno-Ocampo, one former staff member attacked another in the online comments section.
In Vienna, I heard Moreno-Ocampo express remorse only twice. Once was when I asked about the atmosphere in The Hague. “It was a mess,” he acknowledged. “I fought with all of my guys, because I was involved in everything. That’s the problem: All of us were totally emotionally involved. If not, you’re not there.”
A larger problem was his vision of the court’s mission. He believed in the pre-emptive power of prosecution — “the shadow of the court,” as he liked to call it. In his inaugural address in The Hague, Moreno-Ocampo said the court’s success would be measured not by how many cases it tried but by how few. One investigator I spoke with said Moreno-Ocampo seemed to see the I.C.C. not as a forensic body so much as a “naming and shaming” organization, like Human Rights Watch or Amnesty International. And while it was true that the court’s small budget limited the size of his investigations, he was, some say, already more interested in prominence than evidence. A former court attorney told me: “He would see the leader of a state and say: ‘There must be evidence out there. Go get it for me.’ ”
The investigation in Congo began calamitously. Bernard Lavigne, formerly a French domestic prosecutor, became Moreno-Ocampo’s first lead investigator in Congo. “We accumulated a lot of information about one militia,” Lavigne told me. “Then suddenly, because of a political decision by Luis or his political committee, we were obliged to change our planning and our investigative work and concentrate on a new target. It was completely crazy. ... We put in danger a lot of people.” The case Moreno-Ocampo brought against Lubanga, for recruiting child soldiers, “barely scratched the surface of the conflict,” Paul Seils, the first director of Moreno-Ocampo’s preliminary-examination unit, says. Moreno-Ocam­po removed the lead attorney weeks before the trial commenced and clashed with the presiding justice, who accused him of trying to undermine the judiciary and pervert the Rome Statute.
In conversation, Moreno-Ocampo has a habit of ignoring criticism. It’s unclear if this is confidence or evasion. When I asked him about the censure, he described that judge as “brilliant” and “great.”
After the United Nations Security Council referred the atrocities in Darfur to the I.C.C. in 2005, the court charged President Omar al-Bashir of Sudan with crimes against humanity, war crimes and, later, genocide. The judges issued an arrest warrant. There is little question Bashir is guilty of the first two charges. He could be guilty of genocide too, but the court’s investigation was not the best proof of it. An attorney involved told me the prosecutor’s office did little independent work: Investigators never went to Darfur. When I brought this up, Moreno-Ocampo said: “Sometimes some of the lawyers are not going to understand the case. I’m sorry for them.”
Bashir was not popular in Africa, but he was the first head of state the court charged. This made other leaders, especially those accused of atrocities, nervous. It also vexed African Union diplomats who were trying to broker a peace in Darfur. (Muammar el-Qaddafi, whom the court would later charge with war crimes in Libya, was at the time the African Union’s chairman.) In 2008, the African Union passed a resolution that said charging African heads of state was an affront to the “sovereignty and integrity of the continent.” Bashir called the I.C.C. a “colonial court.” Self-serving though his position was, it caught on. Complaints about the I.C.C.’s “Africa bias” piled up.
Unbowed, Moreno-Ocampo pushed on in Kenya. In December 2010, he announced the suspects he wanted to charge. For the first wave of postelection violence, he named the chairman of Odinga’s party and Joshua Arap Sang, a radio host who had broadcast anti-Kikuyu hate speech. A member of Parliament, William Ruto, was accused of being the ringleader. For the second wave, committed by Mungiki and the police, he named Kibaki’s cabinet secretary, Francis Muthaura; the commissioner of police, Gen. Mohammed Hussein Ali; and Kenyatta.
Before announcing the suspects, Moreno-Ocam­po met with Kenyans including investigators and lawyers at the Serena Hotel in Nairobi. The lawyers approved of his desire to combat impunity and prevent political violence during the next election in Kenya. But they warned him that Kenya wasn’t Sudan or Congo. Its politicians were just as ruthless but more sophisticated. The suspects would try to kill the cases and discredit the I.C.C. So would President Kibaki’s government. Kenyatta, elevated to deputy prime minister after the postelection violence, was his protégé. “They’re going to fight back very, very hard,” James Gondi, a Kenyan lawyer who had interned at the I.C.C., told Moreno-Ocampo. But the prosecutor seemed unconcerned. He pointed out that he’d put away generals in Argentina.
Later, some questioned whether Kenyatta was as culpable as the case against him claimed. George Kegoro, the Waki Commission secretary, told me that when Kenyatta was questioned by the commission, he “saw himself as a peace­maker.” Pascal Kambale, the Waki commissioner, said that “irrespective of Kenyatta’s involvement, Mungiki was going to do what they did.”
In the I.C.C. system at the time, the prosecutor’s office collected enough evidence for the court to hold pretrial hearings, in which the judges would decide whether there were sufficient grounds to confirm the charges. If they did, the cases proceeded. This gave defendants ample time to destroy evidence and interfere with witnesses, a recurring problem.
By the time Moreno-Ocampo’s team got moving in Kenya, more than two years had elapsed since the postelection violence. Their investigation, which would go on for over four years, was far more rigorous than those in Congo or Sudan. They interviewed hundreds of victims and suspected perpetrators. But many witnesses who had opened up to the Kenyan commissions were no longer willing to speak.
Faced with a dwindling pool of evidence, Moreno-Ocampo’s team approached General Ali’s attorney with a possible offer: If Ali testified against Kenyatta and Muthaura, the charges against him might be dismissed. The Kenyan commissions had gathered strong evidence against Ali, but circumstances had changed. The attorney general had forbidden the police to speak to the I.C.C. According to Kenyan investigators with whom I spoke, other police officers who were involved in the violence had been killed. Ali turned down the offer. The judges didn’t confirm the charges against him. The prosecutor’s office later withdrew the cases against Muthaura and Odinga’s party chairman.
There was one group willing to help the court: Mungiki. Many gang members were gone — “killed or forcibly disappeared in an apparent cleanup operation,” the prosecution claimed — but some were still alive and willing to testify. Especially crucial were three confidential Mungiki “linkage” witnesses. One claimed he saw Kenyatta at meetings where attacks were planned; another, that he was told of these meetings, though he wasn’t present; and a third, that he met with Kenyatta beforehand to discuss violence.
The case hinged on these men. But some people in the prosecutor’s office worried about their reliability. Kenyatta’s attorney claimed in court that the first two witnesses tried to extort him in exchange for information that could aid the defense, and when he refused, threatened him. He showed little evidence of the claim, but neither did the prosecution dispute it. (“It strikes me as entirely plausible,” Benjamin Gumpert, an I.C.C. lawyer who worked on the Kenyatta case, told me.) Kenyans who knew the third witness, meanwhile, not only doubted his account but also questioned whether he was in Mungiki. Maina Njenga’s former lieutenant says the witness was never in the gang. There were arguments in The Hague over whether to use him. The former court attorney told me it appeared the man would say anything to get into the court’s protection program. But the case against Kenyatta was too thin to sacrifice him.
Moreno-Ocampo admitted to me that the evidence against Kenyatta was not as strong as he would have liked. But all he had to do for the moment was get through the pretrial hearings. After that, more evidence could be found. And he had a card up his sleeve: Maina Njenga.
Moreno-Ocampo’s team had considered charging the Mungiki leader. Instead, they had turned him. When Njenga was questioned by Kenyan investigators, he pleaded ignorance. But to the I.C.C. investigators, he came clean. He detailed the structure of his organization and its role in the violence. Njenga claimed to his lawyer, Paul Muite, that he had personally administered the Mungiki oath of loyalty to Kenyatta, though whether Njenga told this to I.C.C. investigators is unclear. Njenga was “very forthright,” Muite told me, and he later agreed to testify in The Hague.
Moreno-Ocampo cross-examined Kenyatta on Sept. 29, 2011. Kenyatta had traveled to The Hague with supporters, who filled the public gallery of the windowless blond-wood courtroom. Kenyatta was not required to attend the hearings, nor to testify, and some Kenyans had encouraged him to skip them in order to spite Moreno-Ocam­po. But he had a good reason to go: He intended to run for president, and he would use the trial as a campaign set piece, styling himself as a patriotic victim who had taken the fall for his sinister political opponents and been attacked by arrogant foreigners.
At first Moreno-Ocampo had been popular in Kenya. Once the charges were announced, however, tribal ranks closed. The defendants stoked fears of ethnic persecution. Privately, proxies did worse. “People would come in knocking on the door at night and say, ‘We know that your son is with the I.C.C.,’ ” Phakiso Mochochoko, who ran witness protection for the I.C.C., told me. “ ‘We’re going to burn down your house tomorrow.’ ” Witnesses and court personnel were exposed. The court’s Kenyan outreach coordinator received death threats. One victim’s attorney in the Kenyatta case left the country for his safety. Mochochoko says, “We have never had a case with this level of threats, directed not only at witnesses but anyone perceived to be witnesses, or perceived to be cooperating.”
But some of the indignation was genuine. There was a gulf of understanding between the court and Kenya, one Moreno-Ocampo, whose political guile was undercut by his political tone-deafness, never quite grasped. The court’s very mission involves trying atrocities that stem from cultural conflicts whose nuances its lawyers and judges, from their remove in The Hague, can’t hope to fully appreciate. “I’m not at all sure that international courts really are set up to understand the realities of the conditions they’re investigating,” Paul Seils, of Moreno-Ocampo’s preliminary-examination unit, told me.
Many Kenyans didn’t see why so few should stand trial for a social upheaval caused by so many. They thought the defendants were guilty and were proud of them for it. Kikuyu believed Kenyatta had protected them in a tribal war. Non-Kikuyu felt the same of William Ruto. And the Kenyatta case in particular had unsettling reverberations. Kenyatta’s father had been tried by the British for leading Mau Mau freedom fighters, most of them Kikuyu, whose rebellion in the 1950s precipitated Kenya’s independence. (Mungiki traces its origin to these guerrillas.) The court had no sound evidence against the elder Kenyatta, who denied any connection to Mau Mau. He was convicted anyway. Now his son was facing eerily similar accusations. For many Kenyans, the trial felt like a return to colonialism. Indeed, after the I.C.C. defendants were named, they came to be known in Kenya as the Ocampo Six, a reference to the Kapenguria Six, the group of suspects that included Jomo Kenyatta.
Uhuru Kenyatta knew he could portray his trial as a heroic struggle — but only if he upstaged Moreno-Ocampo in the cross-examination, which was being broadcast live on Kenyan television.
For his own part, Moreno-Ocampo had debated whether to question Kenyatta himself. He had never interrogated a witness in the Hague courtroom. He decided to go ahead only days before the hearing. “I could not delegate,” he told me: The case was too important. His preparations were bafflingly scant. When I asked how long he took to learn about Mungiki, the crux of the case, Moreno-Ocampo replied breezily: “Me? Two hours.” His staff was worried but knew protest was pointless.
As Moreno-Ocampo rose to begin the questioning, Kenyatta’s face stiffened. The prosecutor hadn’t been speaking long, however, when his team, next to him in the prosecution box, sensed something was wrong. Their boss was uncharacteristically awkward and hesitant. His queries were aimless. Kenyatta fended him off at every turn. He blamed Raila Odinga for the postelection violence and wedged in right­eous speeches. “Ultimately, violence does not help any particular situation, whether you are aggrieved or not,” he said.
Some members of Moreno-Ocampo’s team grew nervous. One member put his hands to his face; another shifted in her chair. This is just embarrassing, one thought. At one point Moreno-Ocampo, seeming desperate for the defendant’s help, asked: “So you have no information about the violence in detail?”
Fifteen minutes in, Kenyatta, cottoning to Moreno-Ocampo’s lack of preparation, relaxed in the stand. After Moreno-Ocampo asked a particularly ill phrased question, a wry smirk overtook the defendant’s face. Looking at the judges, he said, coolly, “I think the prosecutor does not understand our system.”
Moreno-Ocampo gained his footing halfway through the 45-minute session, when he asked about the cash payments Kenyatta had reportedly made to Mungiki. Kenyatta scoffed, but then overstepped, saying: “I wish I did have that amount of money.”
Moreno-Ocampo knew this was preposterous: Kenyatta is among the wealthiest men in Africa. He had an opening. “Can you describe to the court the amount of your patrimony?” Moreno-Ocampo asked.
Kenyatta chuckled and looked at the judges. “I did not understand what he has just asked,” he said.
Moreno-Ocampo, flustered, repeated the question: “Can you describe to the court the entirety of your patrimony? How much money you have?” The presiding judge frowned and told Moreno-Ocampo to move on.
When I asked Moreno-Ocampo about the cross-examination in Vienna, he responded tersely. “I took my decision, and I know why I did it,” he said. “I don’t think it was a big difference.” He commended Kenyatta’s performance, calling him “courageous” and “great.”
He never confronted Kenyatta with Maina Njenga’s statements. When I asked why, Moreno-Ocampo told me it would have been irresponsible. “I didn’t think I should expose Maina Njenga,” he said. “I cannot protect him.” There had already been multiple attempts on Njenga’s life. Many followers had been killed, as had his wife. It was clear that powerful people wanted him dead.
Though the charges against Kenyatta were confirmed, he had shown himself to be the defender of Kenya, its rightful president. Older Kenyans were reminded of the commanding performance his father gave in a courtroom a half-century earlier. He officially declared his candidacy after returning from The Hague. A campaign spokesman said Kenyatta was “anointed by God to lead the people.” A Nation editorial said he deserved the Nobel Peace Prize for ending the postelection violence.
The I.C.C. chief prosecutor’s term is nine years, and in 2012 Moreno-Ocampo left the court. “For me, it was an honor and a pleasure to serve the Kenyan people,” he said in his final news conference. The Kenya cases were important to him personally, “to do justice for the past” and “to be sure that the next elections are peaceful.”
The presidential election in March 2013 pitted Kenyatta against Raila Odinga. It was peaceful. Kenyatta won, with William Ruto as his running mate. It was assumed that they detested each other — Ruto, a member of the Kalenjin tribe, was formerly a close ally of Odinga’s and faced almost identical charges at The Hague as Kenyatta, only for ordering the deaths of Kenyatta’s tribesmen. But in running together, they had an unbeatable, if hugely cynical, message: hatred for the I.C.C. and, by extension, the West. “Kenyatta didn’t have some grand electoral strategy,” a campaign adviser to Kenyatta’s party, Peter Kagwanja, told me. “Today, if you want to win an election in Africa, you just have to have the West bash you.”
Kenyatta invited President Yoweri Museveni of Uganda to speak at his inauguration. Nine years earlier, Museveni asked the I.C.C. to prosecute the Lord’s Resistance Army, and the prosecutor’s office had built its best cases against Joseph Kony and his deputies. (One of them, Dominic Ongwen, is currently awaiting trial in The Hague.) But in his speech, Museveni, who was marking his 28th year in power, congratulated Kenyan voters for rejecting “the blackmail” of the I.C.C., which the West used “to install leaders of their choice in Africa and eliminate the ones they do not like.”
Kenyatta and Ruto’s alliance surprised Moreno-Ocampo. He knew they were smart, but “I never suspected they were so smart to create the ticket.” Once they won, the Kenya cases disintegrated. It had emerged that in 2009, the third key witness against Kenyatta, who claimed to have discussed violence with him personally, had been tracked down by two Kenyan men in California. They recorded a video in which he went back on his testimony. After the election, the prosecutor’s office dropped him. Several months later, the first two witnesses withdrew from the case. According to the prosecution, all three men were bribed. Paul Muite, who represents the first two witnesses, told me he believes this is true. There are now witness-interference cases pending at The Hague against three Kenyans. Muite added that even if they were paid off, the witnesses can never return to Kenya. Once the government “knows you’re a witness, you have literally signed your death warrant,” he said.
When countries join the I.C.C., they agree to submit their highest officials, even their presidents, to prosecution if the occasion arises. The Kenyan government showed early on it had no intention of meeting this obligation. At the United Nations, its diplomats lobbied, unsuccessfully, to have the cases suspended. The Kenyan Parliament voted to abdicate the court. Requests for information went unanswered. The attorney general refused to turn over phone, land and asset records of Kenyatta’s. One man who was investigated (though not charged) by the I.C.C. for trying to expose witnesses, Dennis Itumbi, now works in Kenyatta’s office. (Kenyatta’s office did not respond to requests for comment for this article.)
In December 2014, the I.C.C. withdrew the charges against Kenyatta. A news release blamed unreliable witnesses and the Kenyan government’s obstruction. In response, Kenyatta tweeted: “As they say, one case down, two more to go.” In April of this year, the cases against Ruto and Sang were vacated.
The Kenyatta case could technically be reinitiated, but it’s difficult to see that happening. The prosecution tried to recruit new Mungiki witnesses but couldn’t. People who had tried to help the court, like George Kegoro, the Waki Commission secretary, no longer trust it. Kegoro told me Moreno-Ocampo never seemed to appreciate the chances he and other Kenyans took. “They put a lot of people at risk,” he said. “Living as I do here, the best thing is to keep off someone like Ocampo.”
Moreno-Ocampo now divides his time between Buenos Aires and New York, where he practices at the firm Getnick & Getnick. After a decade in the spotlight, he has disappeared from view. Today it is hard to find anyone working in international justice to speak well of him. “He rushed into something in the belief it would give him publicity and credibility,” Cherif Bassiouni, an international lawyer and one of the drafters of the Rome Statute, told me of the Kenyatta case. “Instead he created a now almost impossible situation which has discredited the court.”
Even at The Hague, I found few people willing to defend Moreno-Ocampo. “There’s perhaps a risk,” the trial attorney Benjamin Gumpert said, “when you are concentrating first and foremost on the message a case is going to send, that more technical considerations, like are we actually going to convict this person, may feel more subsidiary.”
Moreno-Ocampo says he did everything he could to convict Kenyatta, but he didn’t dispute Gumpert’s characterization. The message a case sends, the shadow of the court — that was the goal. The problem with courts, Moreno-Ocampo told me, is they “believe the trials are the most important things. No. The most important thing is the prevention of crime.” He had set out to prevent future political violence in Kenya, and in this sense at least, the Kenyatta case was a success. “The suspect became president. But there was no violence in the elections.”
Kenyatta doesn’t look at it that way. In a speech to the African Union after his inauguration, he said, “The West sees no irony in preaching justice to a people they have disenfranchised, exploited, taxed and brutalized.” His efforts to banish the I.C.C. from Africa are backed by a growing list of African leaders. Among the most vocal, aside from Museveni, are the presidents of Zimbabwe and Rwanda, and, of course, Omar al-Bashir. That all of these men have been accused of atrocities of their own is not coincidental. But even President Jacob Zuma of South Africa, which was once the court’s main advocate in Africa, has joined the chorus.
What Kenyatta did not mention in his speech is that four of the court’s 18 judges are African, as is almost a fifth of its staff. Moreno-Ocampo’s successor as chief prosecutor, Fatou Bensouda, is Gambian and has been trying to mend the court’s relationship with the African Union. In The Hague, I asked her if she was troubled that almost all her cases concern Africa.
“No,” Bensouda replied. “I am an African, and a proud African for that matter. I love my continent dearly. But I cannot sit here and tell you that I’m not concerned about the trouble that my continent is in for the past I don’t know how many years. I’m very troubled by that.”
In Vienna, I told Moreno-Ocampo about Eric, the man attacked by Mungiki in his home. The day after the attack, Eric woke up in a Nakuru hospital to find that half of his left arm had been amputated. His head was slashed. His wife explained that, while he was being tortured, she and their daughters hid in a cupboard in the bedroom. Police officers rushed to their home and took the family to the hospital, where they lived for weeks, because it was too dangerous to leave.
They traveled across the country to the home of Eric’s mother, who still supports them. Eric can’t find work. Hoping for some compensation, he joined the case against Kenyatta. I asked him what he thought when he learned the case had been withdrawn. “I have not seen any justice,” he said.
The second time I saw Moreno-Ocampo express remorse was when I told him this.
“It’s awful,” he said, his face dropping. “I remember a lady in [Kenya] who, the only hope for her was us. And now I imagine how bad she felt. That I feel badly about.”
The former lieutenant of Njenga’s, like many Kenyans I’ve spoken with, says he regrets the violence but believes it was necessary. The Kikuyu, his tribe, faced a massacre, he is convinced.
The last time we met, I asked if he thought Kenyatta was guilty of the I.C.C. charges. He recounted a meeting he attended in January 2008, in the midst of the postelection violence, where Kenyatta was the chief guest and Mungiki were present. In the meeting, Kenyatta was careful never to mention violence explicitly nor the gang by name. But he collected cash donations. I asked the former lieutenant if it was possible Kenyatta did not understand violence was being planned.
“No,” he said, “it is not possible.”
I asked again.
“No,” he repeated. “With capital letters.”

42BN The cost in shillings of a 450km road to be built across three counties

Homa Bay Governor Cyprian Awiti (right) with KeNHA’s Project Manager Kefa Seda in Homa Bay town during a public participation on Thursday.
 Homa Bay Governor Cyprian Awiti (right) with KeNHA’s Project Manager Kefa Seda in Homa Bay town during a public participation on Thursday.

The Lake Victoria Ring Road project will start early next year and will be built in collaboration with the World Bank and the Kenya National Highways Authority.
The road will pass through Siaya, Kisumu and Homa Bay counties and end in Muhuru Bay.


Wednesday, 22 June 2016

Uhuru, Ruto should not have been free during ICC trial - Annan

Dr Kofi Annan during a press conference in Nairobi on October 11, 2012. In an article published by the UK-based Financial Times, Mr Annan criticised the ICC for not doing enough to protect witnesses from intimidation. PHOTO | NATION MEDIA GROUP
Former Secretary-General Kofi Annan during a press conference in Nairobi on October 11, 2012. In an article published by the UK-based Financial Times, Mr Annan criticised the ICC for not doing enough to protect witnesses from intimidation. PHOTO | NATION MEDIA GROUP 
The Kenyan leaders should not have been free during trial at the Hague, the former UN boss says. Former United Nations Secretary-General Kofi Annan has questioned the decision by the International Criminal Court (ICC) to allow President Uhuru Kenyatta and his deputy, Mr William Ruto, to remain free as their cases proceeded.
In an article published by the UK-based Financial Times, Mr Annan also criticised the court for not doing enough to protect witnesses from intimidation.
“The President and Vice-President were the ones in the dock and so they put lots of effort and resources into fighting the case,” Mr Annan said.
The ICC has a detention centre located within a Dutch prison complex in Scheveningen, on the outskirts of The Hague.
Among the suspects detained in the cells in the Netherlands as their cases proceeded are former presidents Charles Taylor (Liberia) and Laurent Gbagbo (Cote d’Ivoire) and a former vice-president of DR Congo, Jean-Pierre Bemba, whose sentencing is to be delivered today.
“I remind the Africans that it is wrong for them to say that only African leaders are put into the dock,” Mr Annan wrote in the Financial Times, adding that they “should not pretend that they were the first” or that the process is biased.
Mr Annan oversaw the mediation that led to the formation of a grand coalition government in Kenya after the disputed 2007 presidential election.
The chaos that erupted after PNU’s Mwai Kibaki was announced the winner by the now defunct Electoral Commission of Kenya led to the investigation and prosecution of six Kenyans, among them President Kenyatta and Mr Ruto.
However, all the cases collapsed due to lack of concrete evidence, with the prosecution, led by Fatou Bensouda, blaming the situation on witness intimidation, bribery and political interference by African leaders.

Doctors issue warning about LED streetlights

By Richard G."Bugs" Stevens The Converstaion

The American Medical Association (AMA) has just adopted an official policy statement about street lighting: cool it and dim it.
The statement, adopted unanimously at the AMA's annual meeting in Chicago on June 14, comes in response to the rise of new LED street lighting sweeping the country. An AMA committee issued guidelines on how communities can choose LED streetlights to "minimize potential harmful human health and environmental effects."
Municipalities are replacing existing streetlights with efficient and long-lasting LEDs to save money on energy and maintenance. Although the streetlights are delivering these benefits, the AMA's stance reflects how important proper design of new technologies is and the close connection between light and human health.
The AMA's statement recommends that outdoor lighting at night, particularly street lighting, should have a color temperature of no greater than 3000 Kelvin (K). Color temperature (CT) is a measure of the spectral content of light from a source; how much blue, green, yellow and red there is in it. A higher CT rating generally means greater blue content, and the whiter the light appears.
A white LED at CT 4000K or 5000K contains a high level of short-wavelength blue light; this has been the choice for a number of cities that have recently retrofitted their street lighting such as Seattle and New York.
But in the wake of these installations have been complaints about the harshness of these lights. An extreme example is the city of Davis, California, where the residents demanded a complete replacement of these high color temperature LED street lights.
Can communities have more efficient lighting without causing health and safety problems?

Two problems with LED street lighting

An incandescent bulb has a color temperature of 2400K, which means it contains far less blue and far more yellow and red wavelengths. Before electric light, we burned wood and candles at night; this artificial light has a CT of about 1800K, quite yellow/red and almost no blue. What we have now is very different.
The new "white" LED street lighting which is rapidly being retrofitted in cities throughout the country has two problems, according to the AMA. The first is discomfort and glare. Because LED light is so concentrated and has high blue content, it can cause severe glare, resulting in pupillary constriction in the eyes. Blue light scatters more in the human eye than the longer wavelengths of yellow and red, and sufficient levels can damage the retina. This can cause problems seeing clearly for safe driving or walking at night.
You can sense this easily if you look directly into one of the control lights on your new washing machine or other appliance: it is very difficult to do because it hurts. Street lighting can have this same effect, especially if its blue content is high and there is not appropriate shielding.
The other issue addressed by the AMA statement is the impact on human circadian rhythmicity.
Color temperature reliably predicts spectral content of light -- that is, how much of each wavelength is present. It's designed specifically for light that comes off the tungsten filament of an incandescent bulb.
However, the CT rating does not reliably measure color from fluorescent and LED lights.
Another system for measuring light color for these sources is called correlated color temperature (CCT). It adjusts the spectral content of the light source to the color sensitivity of human vision. Using this rating, two different 3000K light sources could have fairly large differences in blue light content.
Therefore, the AMA's recommendation for CCT below 3000K is not quite enough to be sure that blue light is minimized. The actual spectral irradiance of the LED -- the relative amounts of each of the colors produced -- should be considered, as well.

The reason lighting matters

The AMA policy statement is particularly timely because the new World Atlas of Artificial Night Sky Brightness just appeared last week, and street lighting is an important component of light pollution. According to the AMA statement, one of the considerations of lighting the night is its impact on human health.
In previous articles for The Conversation, I have described how lighting affects our normal circadian physiology, how this could lead to some serious health consequences and most recently how lighting the night affects sleep.
In the case of white LED light, it is estimated to be five times more effective at suppressing melatonin at night than the high pressure sodium lamps (given the same light output) which have been the mainstay of street lighting for decades. Melatonin suppression is a marker of circadian disruption, which includes disrupted sleep.
Bright electric lighting can also adversely affect wildlife by, for example, disturbing migratory patterns of birds and some aquatic animals which nest on shore.

Street lighting and human health

The AMA has made three recommendations in its new policy statement:
First, the AMA supports a "proper conversion to community based Light Emitting Diode (LED) lighting, which reduces energy consumption and decreases the use of fossil fuels."
Second, the AMA "encourage[s] minimizing and controlling blue-rich environmental lighting by using the lowest emission of blue light possible to reduce glare."
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Third, the AMA "encourage[s] the use of 3000K or lower lighting for outdoor installations such as roadways. All LED lighting should be properly shielded to minimize glare and detrimental human and environmental effects, and consideration should be given to utilize the ability of LED lighting to be dimmed for off-peak time periods."
There is almost never a completely satisfactory solution to a complex problem. We must have lighting at night, not only in our homes and businesses, but also outdoors on our streets. The need for energy efficiency is serious, but so too is minimizing human risk from bad lighting, both due to glare and to circadian disruption. LED technology can optimize both when properly designed.

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Kenya launches crackdown on foreign charity workers


Children in a class 
Some charities are involved in running schools and orphanages in Kenya
Charities, or NGOs, working in Kenya risk losing their licenses if they fail to comply with new tough rules about employing foreigners.
The authorities say that, with some exceptions, foreigners should not be employed if there are Kenyans who can do the job.
The large disparity between what foreigners and Kenyans can earn has also been criticised.
An estimated 240,000 people work for NGOs in Kenya, mostly local staff.
Kenya is a regional hub for NGOs, with aid agencies working in countries from Democratic Republic of Congo to South Sudan based in the country.
Charities play a large role in providing essential services in Kenya, observers say, with some running schools and clinics.
One international NGO told the BBC that higher pay for foreigners was essential as they are working far from home.
The new employment rules are likely to be met with criticism by some in the NGO world, which has been operating without much supervision from the authorities, reports the BBC's Abdinoor Aden in the capital, Nairobi.
Africa Live: BBC news updates from the continent
Challenging the 'white saviour complex'

'Ignoring the law'

Kenya's NGO board, an official body which oversees the work of the charity sector, says that some organisations have been flouting the law by employing expatriates without proper work permits.
It says that foreigners can only be employed when there is no Kenyan available with the same skills, or when they are essential to the running of the charity, or when they are committed to training people to replace them.
Research by the board suggests that expatriates earn four times the salary of locals for doing the same job with comparable skills and qualifications.

NGO tension - Abdinoor Aden, BBC Africa, Nairobi

The enticement of working for an NGO is evident in Kenya.
Jobs in aid organisations in Kenya are seen as among the most lucrative due to the pay and benefits compared to other jobs.
For a long time, tensions have been brewing between Kenyan and foreign staff, as many locals are angry over what they see as unfair treatment.
Expatriate employees enjoy large allowances, security, housing, a vehicle and comprehensive attractive medical insurance.
Many of the houses in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi are occupied by foreign aid workers and landlords are known to inflate the rent thereby excluding some Kenyans.
Some local staff feel their colleagues are pampered.
The government argues the new restrictions are needed to safeguard the interests of Kenyans.

Thursday, 16 June 2016

Darum fliehen Nordafrikaner aus ihrer Heimat

Folter in Gefängnissen, Korruption, Verfolgung kritischer Journalisten – trotzdem will die Bundesregierung Marokko, Tunesien und Algerien zu sicheren Herkunftsstaaten erklären. Das ist umstritten.
Sind Marokko, Algerien und Tunesien sichere Herkunftsländer? Nachdem der Bundestag diese Frage Mitte Mai bejaht hat, ist im Bundesrat noch keine klare Mehrheit erkennbar. Die große Koalition kann sich bei der Abstimmung lediglich 20 Stimmen sicher sein – 35 sind nötig. Die Parteien der Bundesregierung versprechen sich davon schnellere Asylverfahren und eine Entlastung der Behörden.
Die Debatte gewinnt durch einen vertraulichen Bericht des Bundeskriminalamts (BKA), der der "Welt" vorliegt, an Brisanz: Während Menschen aus den Maghreb-Staaten lediglich 2,7 Prozent der Zuwanderer in Deutschland stellen, war laut diesem Bericht ein Viertel von ihnen Anfang 2016 als Tatverdächtige in Kriminaldelikte verwickelt.
Schwerpunkt sind Diebstahldelikte, gefolgt von Vermögens- und Fälschungsdelikten. Das BKA zählte im ersten Quartal 2016 bei Straftaten 67.150 Tatverdächtige, die aus dem Ausland gekommen sind. Allein 16.858 Tatverdächtige davon stammen aus den drei nordafrikanischen Ländern.


Als Bundesinnenminister Thomas de Maizière (CDU) im Februar dieses Jahres durch die Maghreb-Staaten reiste, zeigten sich sowohl Marokkos Innenminister Mohammed Hassad als auch Regierungschef Abdelilah Benkirane überzeugt: Marokko ist ein sicheres Herkunftsland.
Doch gerade die deutsche Opposition bezweifelt das: So soll es regelmäßig Verstöße gegen die Presse- und Meinungsfreiheit geben, einige Geständnisse von Angeklagten seien laut einer Arbeitsgruppe der UN mithilfe von Folter zustande gekommen. Dazu kommt der Konflikt um die Westsahara, wo die sogenannte sahrawische Befreiungsorganisation Polisario mithilfe militärischer sowie finanzieller Unterstützung Algeriens für einen unabhängigen Staat kämpft. Doch der Konflikt ist längst kein Anlass mehr, der Tausende von Menschen in die Flucht nach Algerien oder sogar nach Europa treibt. Im Gegenteil: Sahrawis ziehen vorwiegend aus der Westsahara in den Norden Marokkos, nach Tanger, Casablanca oder Rabat. Dort eröffnen sie Läden und Firmen mit ihrem guten Ruf als erfolgreiche Geschäftsleute.
Früher war Spanien das klassische Auswanderungsland für Marokkaner. Denn Arbeit in Marokko zu finden ist gerade für die junge Generation sehr schwierig – vor allem, wenn sie vom Lande kommen. Aber auch in den Städten rutschen noch immer viele Jugendliche durch das soziale Raster. Nach der Wirtschaftskrise in Spanien führt für viele junge Marokkaner der Weg weiter nördlich nach Europa, genauer gesagt nach Deutschland.
Marokkaner, die hier einen Asylantrag stellen, haben kaum Chancen, diesen bewilligt zu bekommen. Die Schutzquote, also der Anteil der Flüchtlinge, denen Asyl gewährt wurde, betrug im Jahr 2015 3,7 Prozent – und ist damit immer noch die höchste unter den Maghreb-Staaten. Es gibt Berichte, dass marokkanische Flüchtlinge ihren Pass wegen der geringen Aussicht auf Asyl in Deutschland wegwerfen und sich als Bürgerkriegsflüchtlinge aus Syrien ausgeben. Das soll mithilfe von biometrischen Daten verhindert werden. Insgesamt kamen zwischen Januar 2015 und März 2016 13.922 Marokkaner nach Deutschland – beinahe die Hälfte (48,48 Prozent) soll laut dem BKA-Bericht kriminell aufgefallen sein.


In Algerien sind ökonomische Faktoren ebenfalls der Hauptgrund für junge Leute, um nach Europa zu emigrieren. Der gesunkene Ölpreis auf dem Weltmarkt hat die schon angeschlagene Wirtschaft zusätzlich getroffen, zudem beklagen sich Algerier über die grassierende Korruption und Vetternwirtschaft. Mitglieder weniger Familienclans missbrauchen ihre Posten in Politik und Administration, um Verwandten und Bekannten zu lukrativen Geschäften zu verhelfen.
Bei Protestveranstaltungen werden zwar immer wieder Demonstranten verhaftet, aber es findet keine systematische Verfolgung statt, die Zehntausende ins Gefängnis bringen würde. Damit hat sich einiges seit der Zeit von 1991 bis 2000 geändert, als die algerische Armee einen blutigen Bürgerkrieg gegen die Islamische Heilsfront (Fis) führte – bis zu 150.000 Menschen sollen dabei ums Leben gekommen sein. Der Ausnahmezustand wurde erst 2011 aufgehoben, die Zahl islamistischer Anschläge ist mittlerweile deutlich zurückgegangen.
Algerische Flüchtlinge kommen vor allem aus verarmten Gebieten auf dem Land oder aus den Vororten der Großstädte. Ohne ausreichende Ausbildung haben sie in Deutschland auf dem Arbeitsmarkt kaum eine Chance, gut bezahlte Jobs zu bekommen. Sie schließen sich mit Freunden oder in Gangs zusammen, um meist über Drogenhandel schnelles Geld zu verdienen. Im 1. Quartal 2016 wurden in Deutschland 7986 Tatverdächtige aus Algerien von der Polizei ermittelt, von Januar 2015 bis Ende März 2016 kamen 17.718 Flüchtlinge. Die Kriminalitätsrate liegt folglich bei 45,07 Prozent.
2015 lag die Anerkennungsquote für Asylbewerber bei 1,7 Prozent. Die algerische Regierung hatte sich zwar dazu bereit erklärt, Flüchtlinge zurückzunehmen, "die wirklich Algerier sind und keine Bleibeperspektive haben", sagte Bundesinnenminister de Maizière Ende Februar. Ein Problem sei laut de Mazière jedoch, dass Algerien im Gegensatz zu Marokko nicht über so umfassende Datenbanken mit Fingerabdrücken seiner Staatsbürger verfügt, um die Identität von Flüchtlingen zu klären.


Die Revolution von 2011 hat in Tunesien alles verändert: Nach über 25 Jahren Diktatur gab es endlich wieder demokratische Verhältnisse mit Meinungs- und Pressefreiheit. Gleichzeitig erlitt die Wirtschaft des Landes einen heftigen Dämpfer. Terrorattentate im Bardo-Museum von Tunis und am Badestrand von Sfax brachten den Tourismus beinahe ganz zum Erliegen, dabei sind Feriengeschäfte eine der Haupteinnahmequellen Tunesiens. Alleine von Januar bis April fiel die Übernachtungsrate um 48 Prozent. Als Folge der wirtschaftlichen Misere stieg die Arbeitslosigkeit, besonders unter den jungen Menschen.
Perspektivlosigkeit und Unzufriedenheit treiben viele Tunesier nach Europa. Allerdings gibt es für sie in der Regel kaum Gründe, um politisches Asyl in Deutschland zu beantragen. Im nordafrikanischen Land könnten höchstens radikale Islamisten behaupten, sie würden systematisch verfolgt. Tunesische Salafistenorganisationen waren mehrfach für gewalttätige Demonstrationen verantwortlich, die Terrormiliz Islamischer Staat (IS) verübte Mordanschläge. Die Sicherheitsbehörden gehen mit aller Härte gegen die extremistischen Gruppierungen vor, und das wohl nicht immer im legalen Rahmen.
Aus Tunesien kommen unter den Maghreb-Staaten die mit Abstand wenigsten Flüchtlinge: 2531 Tunesier wurden von Januar 2015 bis März 2016 registriert. Die Schutzquote lag bei 0,2 Prozent und ist damit die niedrigste unter der Maghreb-Staaten; einer von 500 Tunesiern, der Asyl beantragt, bekommt dieses auch gewährt. Die Bundesregierung einigte sich Anfang des Jahres mit Tunesien auf ein Pilotprojekt, laut dem Tunesier in bereitgestellten Chartermaschinen zurückgebracht werden sollen, Deutschland stellt die begleitenden Polizisten und übernimmt die Kosten.
In einer Statistik sind Flüchtlinge aus Tunesien in Deutschland zumindest prozentual traurige Spitzenreiter: 2122 kriminelle Tunesier wurden in den ersten drei Monaten 2016 identifiziert. Gemessen an den Zuwanderungszahlen entspricht das einem Anteil von 83,84 Prozent.