Anarchy, and Wajakoyah

Hello!

Before I begin, I would like to explain what I'm trying to achieve here. In essence, this is the literary version of a photodump; a 'thought-dump' if you will. Each of the topics I want to address is a work in progress. These are not my fully formed thoughts, in the sense of being able to write long, thought-provoking pieces on them each. Instead, treat them as insights into the conclusions I will, eventually, reach; like an ultrasound of my mental processes. I felt it necessary, to begin with, this context because too often we engage with perspectives as if they are in their final form, unchangeable and unmoving. And I understand this impulse because this is how I engage with many of the perspectives that challenge my understanding of the world and sense of self. 

Anarchy: Granted, many of those perspectives actively call for the absolution of my human rights, but some do force me to think critically about the ideologies I subscribe to. For example, of late I have engaged a lot of anarchist schools of thought in light of the growing failures of the nation-state to protect the most vulnerable amongst us and, an apparent, unwillingness to do so. Whether or not this failure is inherent (i.e. a lack of capacity), contrived (i.e. a lack of will) or inevitable (i.e. too many needs, not enough resources) is immaterial to me when the consequences are the degradation of human life and the erosion of human dignity. Especially when one considers the fact that the nation-state is deeply beholden to the interest of capital. 

Yet, I cannot fully subscribe to anarchism because I'm not sure if humans can exist without being governed; which, I know, is weirdly authoritarian of me. And while I understand that this lack of imagination on my part is the result of a cognitive bias and that examples of successful anarchist collectives do exist in history (Revolutionary Catalonia from 1936-1939), all I have ever known is the gilded cage of the nation-state. So imagining something, anything else is damn near impossible. This makes responding to the primary criticism of anarchy that much harder. And that criticism is this: how an anarchist state will work in practice - a state that, in its genesis, will rely upon a human nature perverted by the needs of capitalism. I have found it damn near impossible to answer. Not because I cannot point to examples throughout history, but because I lack conviction. And when making an argument, conviction not rationality or reason wins the day. 

At least, on the internet and in politics it does. Nevertheless, the criticisms of anarchy force me to consider the very structure of human nature. If anarchy demands a willingness to be responsible for yourself and others, are humans capable of extending this ability to strangers? Do humans even want to? Or is the nation-state, and the tenuous bonds of nationality, the only way to curate this willingness? Perhaps all my 'erm-ing' and 'aah-ing' is indicative of my having fallen to this bad faith argument - for, as I have noted, capitalism has subsumed human nature to its own ends. Or perhaps, it is indicative of an unwillingness to fully commit to anarchism or the call to change, in general. It is a lot easier to hide behind the nation-state and the comfort of familiarity than it is to embrace radicalism and pave a new way forward. It's a lot safer too. Or perhaps, it is indicative of something far deeper, and scarier; of selfishness that makes anarchy impossible for me to practice; a failure I project onto the world. Though I believe anarchy is the only thing that can overwrite the power structures that define modern life, I also benefit from the very power structures I condemn. Therefore to abolish them would be to get rid of the privilege that has made my life easier. And I want a soft life; mi ni baby ghurl, please. But others should not have to be exploited in order for me to realise this vision. 

I suppose, in general, it is indicative of the dualities of man; the desire to the pampered and selfish, duelling fiercely with the moral obligations resulting from acknowledging the costs of my selfishness. Hopefully, we'll have clarity by the end of the year, or before I die; whichever comes first. 

Wajakoyah: This. THIISSS. This man is why I wanted to do a stream-of-consciousness blog post. Let me start at the beginning for the uninitiated. George Wajakoyah is one of the four Presidential Candidates in the Kenyan Election. And, unlike the two front runners, he is BRAND NEW. Not just because this is the first time he has vied for the Presidency, but because his platform is radical for Kenyan politics. Of course, he wants to legalise marijuana - which has pulled a significant number of youths to his side - and pursue snake farming as means to resolve Kenya's debt. But he also wants to suspend the constitution, and rule by decree for the first 6 months, close the dry ports and the SGR and impose the death penalty for corruption. And I feel as if not enough people are focusing on that second part, and prioritising the first. Clearly, there is wide acceptance of, if not excitement at, the prospect of legalising cannabis; an excitement shared by this author for a number of personal and political reasons. 

However, this promise cannot be overshadowed by Wajakoyah's promise to suspend the Constitution; the very Constitution Kenyans struggled to pass and fought to against amending through BBI. Now, suspending the Constitution, in and of itself, is an affront to democracy. And the fact that Wajakoyah was a Special Branch Officer during Moi's era - a time not known for its respect for the rule of law - merely agitates this affront. Put simply, what guarantee do we have that Wajakoyah will, like the Roman Dictators before Caesar, return the mantle of the State after six months? The fact that he is not offered a guarantee, to a nation still healing from the trauma of the Moi era, is weird; but the fact the country has not asked for that guarantee is even weirder. It suggests that Wajakoyah's value to the Kenyan electorate is as a protest vote. This begs the question: are Kenyans so tired of the two front runners that they turned to Wajakoyah to act as an emblem of their dissatisfaction? Are Kenyans so dissatisfied with the current system that they will turn to a man who, at the very least, is honest about their authoritarian tendencies? If so, how many people will vote for him? And who are his voters? 

I ask these questions not to dismiss Wajakoyah's candidacy or his platform, but to better contextualise the role he plays in our election. Is it possible that Wajakoyah might win? Yes. Yes, it is. He has provided Kenyans something to vote for beyond purple prose, and it is a message that crosses tribes. The only question is the extent to which Wajakoyah's message - or the desire to protest vote - can transcend the ethnic nature of Kenyan politics. And I do not have faith in the strength of his message, or perhaps have far too much faith in the pull of ethnicity.