01 Feb 14 | News and features, Politics and Society, Zambia
(Photo illustration: Shutterstock)
By Paul Carlucci for Think Africa Press, an online magazine that offers commentary and in-depth analysis from leading African and international thinkers.
Lusaka, Zambia: A little over two years ago, when Michael Sata was campaigning for Zambia’s top office, he promised that, if elected, he would finally bring to an end a decade of abandoned legal reform and deliver the country a definitive new constitution. Not only that, but he would do it within 90 days of taking power.
Sata’s election campaign was successful, and soon after taking office in September 2011, the new president − along with his Patriotic Front (PF) government − tasked a committee of lawyers and academics with drafting the document.
Things soon slowed down however, and it is only now − several shrugged-off deadlines later − that Zambia seems to be nearing the completion of its constitutional process. Though that’s not to say things are necessarily moving smoothly. In December 2013, the government blocked the constitutional committee from releasing its final draft to the public, insisting it be sent to the government alone, while allegations have emerged that Sata has changed his mind about Zambia’s need for a new constitution, believing instead that the existing one can simply be amended.
The government has rejected these claims, asserting that Sata’s commitment to a new constitution remains “unshakeable”, and his two-year-old promise continues to loom large in the psyche of an increasingly outraged brigade of critics. After the 2014 budget revealed a skew of alarming numbers and the global rating agency Fitch downgraded the country’s credit rating, the PF’s economic success story lost its celebrated momentum, leaving it with little more than a narrative of heavy-handed autocracy.
Many of the government’s opponents have closed in on the constitution as a panacea for all that ails the country, a movement that culminated in a major demonstration at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Lusaka and which took a sensational twist on 15 January when the outspoken Zambian Watchdog published what it claims is a leak of the final draft.
A torrent of official statements followed as the drafting committee denied originating the leak, the police vowed to clamp down on what they termed a ‘cybercrime’, and the government vowed to track down and punish the perpetrators of the leak. The cabinet, which is meant to be deliberating the final draft, also claimed it hasn’t yet received its copies of the document.
Talking the talk
While the authenticity of the leaked constitution is uncertain, it doesn’t stray far from the publicly available first draft, or even from previous drafts commissioned under past administrations. Zambia’s electoral system is addressed, requiring candidates to garner over 50% of the vote to hold presidential office, while parliament would be composed of members elected through a combination of first-past-the-post and proportional representation.
The draft Bill of Rights − which includes classical first generation rights as well as social, economic and cultural rights − is also more clearly articulated than it is in the existing constitution, and it seems to be these protections, more than technical changes to governance structure, that the opposition is longing for. They complain that their protests have been menaced by police and ruling party thugs, that critical media outlets have been persecuted by the government, and that the general population, especially outside the capital Lusaka, slogs through a life of poverty, illiteracy and environmental degradation.
Indeed, tackling these problems is crucial, but here’s the rub: there’s more than enough substance in the existing constitution to transform human rights in the country. That’s not the issue. The real problem is that successive administrations, including those headed by members of the now opposition Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD), simply cast off their legal responsibilities when it suits them. What needs to be tackled is Zambia’s tradition of impunity, which dates all the way back to the era of its independence president, Kenneth Kaunda.
When Zambia was granted independence in 1964, it started its new life with a multiparty framework, led by Kaunda’s United National Independence Party (UNIP), which had won 55 of 75 seats in the pre-independence elections. But this wasn’t to last. In 1972, keen outmanoeuvre political opponents both inside and outside the ruling party, Kaunda banned all political parties apart from UNIP. In 1973, he formalised one-party rule in a new constitution that also that consolidated state power in the president’s office.
It was only 18 years later when Zambia was choked by debt and was facing mounting pressure from the international community that Kaunda commissioned a hasty legal review. That move led to the establishment of the 1991 constitution and multiparty elections that brought MMD leader Fredrick Chiluba to power.
Not a lot has changed since then, despite the reform commissions that have been mandated, the reports that have been produced, and the many amendments proposed. One amendment that has been passed was a provision barring candidates with foreign parentage from running for the presidency. Chiluba, assisted by Sata, who was then a member of the MMD, managed to force through this provision in 1996, effectively blocking Kaunda, whose father was born in neighbouring Malawi, from returning. The amendment still exists today, but the kinds of reforms that would hold leaders more closely to account have remained elusive.
A tradition of impunity
However, in many ways, the existing constitution does a lot of things right. It contains all the baseline requisites such as human dignity, equality before the law, protection from inhuman treatment, freedom from slavery, and freedoms of religion and expression. It also explicitly protects young people from various forms of exploitation. And under the Directive Principles of State Policy section, its clauses address employment, shelter, disability, and education. It does use some derogatory language, but so too do the current drafts of the new constitution.
The problem is that despite these legal mandates, correctional facilities are overcrowded and access to justice fails many prisoners in remand; there’s a long track record of beating, arresting, and criminally charging journalists, civil society leaders, and political figures who criticise government; poverty is endemic in rural areas, where education and healthcare facilities are also inadequate and the means of pursuing a gainful livelihood are largely absent.
When it comes to social and economic rights, many developing countries explain their failures in terms of cost. How can a poor nation like Zambia be expected to improve the lot of its direly undeveloped rural areas? How can it extend its meagre health and educational resources that far? How can it afford what human rights theorists call ‘positive rights’, those measures that require government action to protect and maintain?
Part of the answer is to dam the ever-bubbling backwaters of corruption, which divert enormous sums from the country’s development agenda. While corruption charges and trials do occur – usually motivated by political reasons – leaders from Chiluba to Sata have done little to substantively affect the diversion of public money from development to private bank accounts, while Chiluba in particular oversaw the country’s most notorious chapter of embezzlement.
Steak on the table
In the short term, real change won’t emerge from the government’s legal apparatus. It will have to come from outside. Protesting Zambians have chalked up victories before, as when public demonstrations played a role in dissuading Chiluba from seeking an unconstitutional third term. And if NGOs, beleaguered though they are by looming registration reforms, were to focus their efforts on mobilising not just urban Zambians, but also those people living in undeveloped areas, more tangible results could be achieved.
But it’s not just a case of focusing their efforts. It’s a case of refocusing them. The fight for a new and improved constitution is certainly a worthy one, but civil society organisations have made a holy grail of constitutional reform, as if delivery will automatically slacken the state’s grip on an array of levers it freely abuses, from stacking the judiciary with supporters to deploying waves of violent thugs in by-election campaigns.
The current opposition, meanwhile, is only too pleased to ally itself with activists, but given the MMD’s own history of unjust governance, the teaming up is clearly for self-serving reasons. Rather than giving politicians such an elevated podium from which to reinvent themselves, civil society would do better to zero in on specific rights violations and protest those on the same scale as they do constitutional reform.
The other piece of this puzzle is the international community. That’s a difficult prescription for a continent whose leaders routinely play their populations against what they frame as foreign interference, but sustained pressure from multilateral organisations able to reference even the current set of constitutional guarantees would help consolidate demands made in the streets.
None of this is to say that robust laws can’t lay the groundwork for a future of mature, responsive governance. A strong legal framework, no matter its current irrelevance, will make for useful terms of reference in a more developed future, and human rights theorists habitually point to ambitious laws as key components to equitable progress. Indeed, what is a pie in the sky today could very well become steak on the plate tomorrow. The point is that it will take more than a good-looking tablecloth to make that happen.
This article was originally published on 21 January 2014 at Think Africa Press and is reposted here by permission.
Paul Carlucci is a Canadian writer and journalist based in Lusaka, Zambia. He has reported from Ghana and Ivory Coast for Think Africa Press, IPS Africa, Al Jazeera English, the Toronto Star, and the Toronto Standard. His collection of short stories ‘The Secret Life of Fission’ is available through Oberon Press. Follow him on twitter @PaulCarlucci.
08 Jan 14 | News and features, Volume 42.04 Winter 2013
Dozens of protesters in front of the Sudanese Embassy in Rome October 2013 to protest of the alleged human rights abuses in Sudan (Image Marco Zeppetella/Demotix)
In the latest magazine issue of Index on Censorship the Bishop of Bradford Nick Baines reflects on his first visit to Sudan, a country whose leader strongly believes in one religion and one language for all.
Freedom of expression is of universal importance, but its absence is sometimes more easily seen through the lens of a different culture. The familiar landscape of “home” can sometimes hinder a proper appreciation of the absence of freedoms, being outside of one’s comfort zone can heighten awareness of reality. In this article I want to approach the matter from the outside in.
Early in 2013 I visited Sudan for the first time. The diocese of Bradford has had a partnership with Sudan for 30 years, and I was linked for a decade with Anglican dioceses in Zimbabwe (in my previous post as Bishop of Croydon). I thought I could easily switch attention from one African country to another. The reality was different.
Zimbabwe is ruled by Robert Mugabe, a man so corrupt that even his own demise will not clear the path to a golden new age – there are too many people who need to be protected by power well into the future. Sudan is governed by Omar al Bashir, a man committed to the project of creating a single nation (Sudan) with a single ethnicity (Arab), a single language (Arabic) and a single religion (Islam). There is a degree of shameful incompetence about Mugabe’s manipulation of power and the consequent destruction of the Zimbabwean economy and the country’s political culture. But al Bashir knows exactly what he is doing. And he does it in the face of a serious indictment by the International Criminal Court (ICC) for genocide in Darfur: he feels untouchable
Since 99 per cent of southerners voted in 2011 for the division of Sudan into two independent states, Sudan and South Sudan, al Bashir has chosen to make the secessionists take responsibility for their choice – to some extent understandably. If they are so keen on having their own country, then they can go there… and then apply for visas to come to Sudan as foreigners. Harsh? Yes, but he could be seen to be compelling the South Sudanese to live with the consequences of their actions. Democratic choices bring consequences.
However, the real experience of this is the expulsion from Sudan of anyone deemed to originate in the south – even several generations ago. Those who remain – often because they are married to Sudanese – are prohibited from working. Apart from the human cost of this policy, the effect on the Anglican church (the Episcopal Church of Sudan, which has not divided along with the states) is an exodus of leaders, an increased dependency of those who remain on the goodwill and generosity of other Sudanese Christians. And this is happening alongside the ongoing genocide in Darfur, government violence in South Kordofan and Blue Nile state. Khartoum has had to absorb destitute migrants on an unimaginable scale.
Those displaced are almost exclusively African. They speak African languages (derogatorily referred to as “twittering” by the Arabs). They are mostly (but not exclusively) Christian.
My visit to Khartoum earlier this year ended when my wife and I left a Christian-owned guesthouse at 1am in order to get to the airport for the flight back to Manchester. Within an hour the guesthouse had been raided by the security services, all property confiscated, and all residents and guests taken in for questioning. Foreign guests were deported and the family that ran the guesthouse was removed; the father of the family is now prohibited from working. This might not sound too dramatic – especially in the light of reports from parts of the Middle East and South Asia where Christians are being targeted for violence or forced to convert to Islam – but it comes as part of a deliberate policy on the part of government to exclude Christians and force them to leave for the South. This necessarily puts pressure on Christians to keep quiet, but the bishops (in particular) continue to be unafraid to engage courageously with “the powers”.
It seems that al Bashir blames the international community for refusing to welcome him back into the fold by removing the ICC indictment after the peaceful transition to two states. Foreigners are to be removed, even when they provide essential services that cannot be provided locally. We met European medical personnel who had spent their working lives developing medical facilities in local communities, and who now found themselves thrown out, leaving medical provision severely weakened.
Why destroy social, educational and medical infrastructure simply in order to save face? Riots in September 2013 in Khartoum (initially about the removal of fuel subsidies) demonstrated that economic matters do not always serve the interests of the government of the day.
But there is a bigger question relevant beyond Sudan. How do we understand and clearly define the categories in which and through which we see political, religious and cultural phenomena? Getting the category wrong leads inevitably to miscomprehension, to a potentially dangerous misapplication of rhetoric/language… and this has political consequences.
My own diocese of Bradford has a high percentage of Muslims from south Asia. Immigration began in the mid-20th century in order to staff the textile mills of West Yorkshire. Many of Bradford’s Muslims originate from the region of Kashmiri Mirpur in Pakistan. This concentration necessarily affects how the community lives and organises in Bradford, how it is influenced by (and, in turn, influences) events back in Pakistan, and how it is understood by the non-Pakistani population in the city.
One of the first lessons I had to learn when I came to Bradford nearly three years ago was not to confuse ethnicity with religion. What might appear to be a phenomenon rooted in religious identity (certain modes of dress, for example) might actually be more appropriately understood as a cultural phenomenon that coincidentally becomes associated with religious identity. To confuse the two can be dangerous. What I have in mind here is where violence (in particular) is attributed to religion, when religious tagging is clearly a tribal badging designed to hide more cultural (or other) identity.
Examples of this can be seen in the Northern Ireland of the Troubles or the sectarian destructiveness of Lebanon. Although the categories cannot easily be extricated from one another, at least those who observe or comment on such events should have the intelligence to dig a little deeper into the categorisation of such phenomena before simplistically eliding culture and religion as if they were synonymous.
The point is that there are two dangers here: (a)that category errors lead to poor communication and confusion, and (b)that people might be reluctant to speak out on serious matters simply because they fear being accused of racism or simply getting it wrong. This doesn’t help anyone where honest and frank conversation is needed and mutual critique is essential to good relationships.
This takes us back to Sudan. It is not a simple matter – capable of easy explication or distinction – to work out what can be attributed to which category. Al Bashir’s policy seems clearly to create a political, ethnic, religious and cultural identity in which there is no place for diversity. One can assume that he is aiming at a myth of solidarity – that if everyone claims the same identity, they will buy into the same projects, have the same friends and enemies, defend the same categories and communicate in the same way. Of course, this fails to take into account the complex reality of human identity construction and how complex and diverse people interrelate and self-identify.
In one sense all this should not need to be articulated. If Muslim is blowing up Muslim in Pakistan or Afghanistan, then there is clearly more going on than mere “religion” or religious identity. Simply reporting atrocities as if they were political or cultural events (without reference to religious allegiance) is as naïve as to report on religion without reference to the ethnic, political, economic, social or cultural identities that shape religious expression.
This is not a plea for obfuscation or mitigation of religiously motivated violence. On the contrary, it is a plea for the sort of literacy that seeks to comprehend in order to know how to think about and respond to phenomena that might all-too-easily be capable of simplistic categorisation.
Language goes to the heart of this. Not only the language of explanation or reportage, but the ways in which language is (or particular languages are) seen to be totems of identities that are deemed to be inconvenient. In Zimbabwe identity is tied up inextricably with language: the Shonaspeaking government has demonstrated in past violence what it thinks of the Ndebelespeaking Matabele. In Sudan African languages – mostly spoken by Christians of African (rather than Arabic) origin – are being derided and squeezed out. This is one reason why some churches in Sudan put such high value on keeping their own languages alive, teaching them to both children and adults, working hard (with pitiful resources) to reserve their means of communication as an integral element of cultural and religious identity. Language is as much part of individual and common identity as is skin colour, and nobody should be compelled to lose their native tongue.
One of the most penetrating verses of the Old Testament is found in the book of Proverbs. Seized upon by opponents of Hitler during the 1930s and 1940s in Germany, it demands that we “open our mouths for the dumb” – that is, that those who have a voice must keep alive the songs and language of people whose voice is silenced by the exercise of corrupt power. The moral demands of this are clear here also. But, for that voice to be heard and understood, it is essential that intelligent consideration is given to ensuring that the categories of speech and identification are kept as accurate as possible.
Responding to religious phenomena as if they were merely “cultural” is as dangerous and misplaced as eliding all cultural phenomena as merely “religious” – and runs the risk of stopping people speaking truthfully and accurately when religion is the root of violence or cultural violence seeks to hide behind a religious facade. The world is more complex than that. We can and must do better.
26 Nov 13 | Africa, Digital Freedom
Amid concerns that the proposed African Union Convention on Cybersecurity (AUCC) will limit free speech online the drafters of the AUC have agreed to receive input from outside organisations.
The Web We Want, a campaign aimed at promoting an internet where everyone can participate in the free flow of knowledge, ideas, collaboration and creativity, put forward a proposal after criticism that the convention should not be passed until changes have been made to it.
The convention, which will be signed in January 2014, proposes the prevention of cybercrime in 15 African states “through the organisation of electronic transactions, protection of personal data, promotion of cyber security, e-governance and combating cybercrime”. According to the Norton Cybercrime Report 2012, South Africa ranks 3rd globally for the number of cybercrime victims, behind Russia and China.
However it has been suggested that the convention should not be passed in its current form as it “dangerously imposes broad limitations on freedom of expression by permitting the interception of content data and traffic data on unfounded grounds, such as ‘where the imperatives of the information so dictate’”.
According to the Kenyan-based Strathmore University’s Centre for Intellectual Property and Information Technology (CIPIT) the convention could abuse Africans’ right to privacy, harm freedom of expression and place too much power in the hands of judges who, in the “public interest”, will have the authority to intercept individuals’ electronic communications without their permission.
Taking this into account this week will see an online discussion on the proposed changes to the AUCC by Kenyan and Ugandan stakeholders. Sponsored by KICTAnet, the Kenya ICT Action Network, and in partnership with Web We Want the five day digital event will call for a discussion of articles from the convention in need of further clarification and recommendations. The Web We Want has called upon international NGOs to put forward their concerns regarding the AUCC and internet freedom to be deliberated over the coming week.
This article was posted on 26 Nov 2013 at indexoncensorship.org
06 Nov 13 | Africa, Digital Freedom, News and features, Uganda
(Photo illustration: Shutterstock)
The number of Ugandans with internet connectivity keeps on increasing, especially because of the influx of cheap handsets with internet access from China. Today, over 990,000 Ugandans have Facebook accounts. This though, is still a drop in the ocean keeping in mind that the country has a population over 35 million. By comparison, almost 20 million have access to mobile phones with SMS capabilities. The current Ugandan regime seeks to have direct control over all these vital information dissemination tools.
The Uganda Communications Commission (UCC), a government arm set up as a regulator of the telecommunications industry, is the government’s barking dog in this endeavour, and has often been let loose to abuse digital freedoms in the country. Among other things, a directive was issued to all telecom companies to register phone and data SIM cards they sell, capturing all details about the buyer. The government also uses the option to transfer money via mobile phones, offered by many telecom companies, to monitor activities of opposition politicians and activists. With the enactment of the Public Order Management Act (POMA) into law recently, the Ugandan police has set up several bureaus in its different departments to monitor the social media, calls and SMS of individuals from the opposition and civil society, as well as journalists and other activists. POMA is a draconian law that has been enacted to limit the movements and gatherings of people without police permission, among other harsh provisions.
Since the government of Uganda liberalised the economy in the 1990’s, several telecommunication companies and other Internet Service Providers (ISPs) have been offering telecom services in tandem with the international developments in that industry. Today, the biggest ISPs are the South African MTN, the French Orange, Bharti Airtel, which has now merged with Warid Telecom, and the indigenous UTL. During the riots of 2009 and 2011, UCC asked all ISPs to block emails, SMS and Facebook messages that had any political content or that mentioned names of certain government and opposition politicians. Although some protested, they had to give in or risk losing their operation licenses in the country. It should be noted too that all the telecommunication companies in the country have political godfathers high up in the echelons of the current government. With this arrangement, ISPs are easily beaten into the “correct line.”
Among the different social media channels available today like Whatsapp, Twitter and e-mails, Facebook remains one of the most widely used and fastest growing social media channel. All others are used basically by what one could term as Uganda’s elite class. The Ugandan police, on behalf of the government, recently asked Facebook to provide them with information held about all Ugandans with registered accounts – a request Facebook turned down. Many Ugandans are today able to air out their grievances with government through Facebook, and this is one of the highly monitored social media outlets by the government. Critics have used this outlet to discuss issues with the public, and the regime is not happy with it. The government manoeuvres clearly indicate that it would very much love to have total control of the social media channels, but it is hampered by the fact that all firms controlling these channels are abroad and out of its reach and patronage.
Take the case of the now famous Tom Voltaire Okwalinga (TVO), a Ugandan blogger who is also very active on Facebook. He has written extensively about the abuses of government, and he is one individual the Ugandan government would pay any price to identify and apprehend. Despite the government’s efforts to identify him and the number of security operatives that have been deployed to apprehend this individual, TVO has developed a big following on Facebook, usually commenting on his exposés.
His case shows how, in the nutshell, the Ugandan government is trying to gain an upper hand in controlling and curbing digital freedoms in the country.
This article was originally posted on 6 Nov 2013 at indexoncensorship.org
