Church’s silence is testimony of serious capture

Once upon a time, a man of the cloth openly stood up to the Kanu administration. And this was back in the days of surveillance and censorship, when people couldn’t whisper anti-government thoughts, even in front of their pets at home.

But there was an Anglican man called Manasseh Kuria, who knew no fear. 

One day, Archbishop Kuria called the ferocious anti-riot police ‘idlers’ to their faces. They had come to the All Saints Cathedral to ‘catch’ some protestors who had run there from Uhuru Park. The priest flatly refused the police entry. 

Soon thereafter, President Moi declared that ‘watu wengine’ (some people) are ‘playing with fire’ and should be careful or face consequences”. The Archbishop quickly responded. He told the president: “We are almost 2 million people in Nairobi, and we all have names!” He challenged him to mention those ‘watu wengine’ by their names. In the end, the president did not. Archbishop Kuria, like other church leaders of his era; Henry Okullu, David Gitari, Alexander Muge and Timothy Njoya, occupied a space of high authority. They spoke openly and confidently, even in the face of an imperious regime.

When they spoke, the leadership sat up and listened. It was a real instance of Vox populii, Vox Dei; The voice of the people being the Voice of God. 

Absolute legalism

These days, the voice of the people has been drowned out. We have now ‘backslid’ into a state of absolute legalism. This is because high trust institutions, such as the Church, have ceased to be relevant. They are not in a position to call those in authority to order. 

Since the institutions that moderate relationships have lost their moral high ground, we have been forced to fall back on man-made legislation, which is rigid. And in addition to the inflexibility of our laws, they are also highly selective. The application of legislation is now two-fold; the punishment and suppression of the poor, and lately a ‘mob-justice’ apparatus for the political class.  

A Ugandan professor once said ‘justice is for the poor, and the law is for the rich.’ Meaning the excesses of the rich are to be regulated, and the defenseless poor are to be protected. Prof Mutahi Ngunyi has argued that our system has convoluted this adage, and has made it the exact opposite: that ‘the law is for the poor, and justice is for the rich’. And the proof is in our courtrooms. They have become marketplaces for the poor. At any one time, Kenyan courthouses countrywide resemble chicken coops filled with ‘those hapless’ Kenyans ‘without means’.  

On the part of the ‘rich’ and the political class, legislation is weaponised to gain political mileage, settle scores and fix people. First, sensational court cases are staged, extended media circuses. They serve many purposes, but justice is not one of them. Secondly, the outcomes of judicial processes are so abstract, even the most educated mwananchi cannot paint the real picture for you if she tried. 

And this is the tragedy of an imposed order. Our systems of trust such as the Church have broken down. Now they have left us at the mercies of ‘biased’ benches and ‘discriminatory’ docks. Everything and anything is regulated using a system of law, which is progressively losing its currency. 

When is the last time a man or woman of cloth challenged the country’s leadership? Or pointed out our nakedness? Could the silence be an indication that they are naked themselves?  

The church, like the political class, has become a member of the mob justice cabal. They appear captured. The voice of reason is perpetually silent. Before this serpentine system swallows us whole, can a Manasseh Kuria, a Henry Okullu, a David Gitari, or an Alexander Muge please stand up and say something?

—The writer is a PhD candidate in Political Economy at SMC University and a Research Fellow at Fort Hall School of Government. dmaritim.tch@gmail.com