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                  Politics

                  ‘I Will Crush You’: The November 18 Kampala Massacre

                  11 min read.

                  On 18 November, the insecurities of the past welled up in a bloody bout of peacetime carnage in Kampala – a massacre ignited by fear of a musician who has stolen the nation’s heart.

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                  ‘I Will Crush You’: The November 18 Kampala Massacre
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                  “If I can’t have you
                  I’ll go out of my mind”
                  -Whitesnake

                  Just how serious the moment was comes to you afterwards. Caught in the centre of the riot, the adrenaline high, the gauntlet of fire, smoke, tear gas and gunfire raging around you, you are shielded from the knowledge that this could be the day they kill you.

                  Afterwards, when you have escaped the bullet and the gas, and have made it home, and the adrenaline has worn out, the pain begins. What if I was among those that died?

                  It is the evening of trauma, the time for unanswerable questions. You look at the images coming in and think, a week ago, I stood by this mall searching for twine. I was at the same spot the retired lecturer, 71-year old John Kittobe, was cut down. How about the 15-year-old Amos Segawa, bleeding to death, killed on Kafumbe Mukasa Road where there are things I always need to buy?

                  There is more. The videos keep coming in. Where the yellow, sporty hatchback with the president’s poster drove into a crowd (Charlottesville-style) you too had wedged your way out between a Mercedes Benz trailer and an Isuzu Bighorn. At each Christmas, you regularly drive past the town the church laity Richard Mutyaba was killed in. And the sunny-faced Onesmus Kansiime was shot in a place I went past just a month earlier.

                  Is there a formula to empirically plot these events? How did the angels of death that roamed this bit of earth in mid-November bearing AK-47s look at a figure and decide that that body, that young man, that woman will die today?

                  Then comes the impossible matrix: what can I do to not be killed? Should I not raise a defiant voice, not write this article? But then none of those killed were rabble-rousers.

                  Talk, you die; keep quiet, you die

                  So why was it them and not me? Why did the shooting happen this week instead of last week when I was right there?

                  Then, survivor’s guilt: I should have been there holding the hand of that boy whose legs were crushed to smithereens. What right do I have to remain alive when they are all gone?

                  Perhaps this comes closest to answering these wearied questions: a sheer coincidence of missed appointments and of a malfunctioning carburetor that kept you parked by the roadside, you realise, was all that stopped you standing at the spot where the bullet went through Mr Kittobe.

                  Those that were killed led quiet, unprotesting lives.? Talk, you die; keep quiet, you die. How about the rest of us noise makers, who write articles like this, the makers of music, the poets and activists who are frequently warned, “There is a plan for you”.? Every day, you walk past your designated killer and even say good morning to him. “Your time will come. Be careful.”

                  You realise there is a bullet out there with your name on it. They just haven’t fired it yet.

                  The bridge

                  The hand of fate had me and a writer friend drive a few kilometers north of the city centre. Hard rain in the morning had kept me an hour behind my intended time of arrival. There were a couple of things I needed – and still need – in the downtown area that bore the brunt of the violence. But the rain had ruined my day so I cut the city centre out of my planned schedule.

                  Meeting done, and as the two of us were approaching the overpass at Bwaise at precisely 3 p.m, it was reported that Mr. Kittobe had been shot dead.

                  Every day, you walk past your designated killer and even say good morning to him. “Your time will come. Be careful.”

                  The pillars of black smoke rising everywhere did not yet register. A group of young men were running across the road hurriedly. But they do that in Kalerwe, no? A couple of police officers in heavy riot gear were waving their arms in command. That too has been standard? in the last 20 years.

                  But past the gentle curving section that takes you from the Kalerwe-Mpererwe junction, the pile of burning tyres is ominous. Before we get there, there comes the smell of tear gas and a single shot. Burning tyres, tear gas and gunshots – the macabre trinity.

                  We remember the news of the arrest of Bobi Wine and understand it fully.

                  The overpass raises the ground underneath us but we will never make it past it. We slow down. A young man shouts in urgent Luganda. We press on. At the top of the bridge, we see his point. Down beyond the overpass, the hundreds of unmoving vehicles are jammed. To our left, clogged up on Sir Apollo Kagwa Road, even more vehicles. To our right there is the actual event, the crackle of gunshots interspersed with shouts of heightened emotions. The only clear route out of this is behind us and it is filling up fast. We need to act.

                  Gunshots, and that eerie clarity when you know they are shooting to kill.

                  Now that we are fully aware, we start to notice, in every movement, an affirmation that the Museveni regime had not given up.

                  Something is building up, like an approaching storm. We must get out. We make the U-turn.

                  We never made it across the bridge. Below, a maelstrom. The uncrossed bridge, the bridge of burning tyres and missing phones.

                  Cassava, potato and banana gardens

                  The old Bwaise road is blocked by a massive, burning barricade. We swerve right in time to avoid the gridlock. I wrack my brain to remember the muddy, potholed backyards of Makerere Kavule, where I grew up in the 1990s. Lord, let it not be too far ahead. Just ahead, the biggest burning barricade we will see all day, in Makerere Kavule. The Lord is kind. We find the easy-to-miss byway.

                  “Enkuubo enfu”. The road is bad, a young man warns us.

                  “I know this place,” I reassure the poet and press on.

                  U-turns

                  Lesson learned: keep away from big, smooth roads. Cling to byways and earth ruts. You clamour up the back of Makerere hill on number one and number two, there with the ugly cassava and lianna side, with the burrs and forget-me-nots, the side of its hill that Makerere does not put on its admission prospectus. We intended to slingshot across the city westwards. But the Kikoni-Kasubi districts, from the ridge overlooking Makerere West, was a disturbed beehive of burning barricades and military and zero vehicular traffic.

                  An afternoon of U-turns. Rapidly back up, head directly south and at the Sir Apollo Kagwa Road (in Kampala you can’t escape Sir Apollo Kagwa, a relentless, tyrannical memory of the seminal betrayer of Uganda) and Makerere Hill junction, a sharp turn west. Cars rapidly going uphill on third gear, as quickly as they can before the inescapable Nakulabye junction is shut. And just in time to catch youths tearing the pavements, a troop of riot gear- and gun-wielding soldiers steadily pacing in their direction. The clash is inevitable. But the distraction buys us a few seconds. We shield behind a blanket of raging tyre fire and smoke, and leap onto Namirembe district.

                  From Sir Apollo Kagwa Road to Namirembe Cathedral, we have been in the open air of modern roads too long. Time again to dive out of sight on back roads.

                  In the backwaters of the Nateete-Mackway suburb, the air seems the most riotous – the giant barricades, youths clutching shirts, running, soldiers and police alert and trigger- happy. A quick left, and at the early Martyrs Church, searching an option route out west. It is more cassava, banana and potato fields and villagers watching curiously this unscheduled invasion of town cars in their shambas. But there are barricades even this deep. The difference is that there are no soldiers or police, so it’s a civilised pleading with the motorists – don’t cheat us poor people; don’t take our land.

                  The realisation comes that when the big moment of history approaches, there is no out of sight to fall into.

                  It is at the top of the ridge, just before Busega, when we feel out of the danger zone, that I realise how much trouble we had escaped.

                  After nearly an hour hunting through the sidelines of banana, yam and cassava fields for a way out of the city, a black Toyota Harrier stood thrumming ahead of us, not moving.

                  “Get out,” he yells.

                  ‘Mr Bobi Wine I arrest you because you do this so many times’

                  In the days that follow, when all the headlines have been scanned and radio analyses have been listened to, and the unwatchable videos have been watched and re-watched, we all know what we have always known: We Ugandans are being punished for falling in love with Bobi Wine rather than with the other one who considers himself the more attractive suitor. Has this not been the story for four decades now? That Mr. Yoweri Museveni, having failed to win at the ballot box, has lashed out in violence?

                  It is said that the most deadly thing that Milton Obote ever wielded was a microphone. And in 1980, it is said, his listeners never stood a chance when faced with his killer tongue.

                  Kizza Besigye is like that. He stands up and moves a hand. Not a word said but already there are tears streaming down faces. He speaks and something moves in the crowd, an almost metaphysical, transcendental transformation.

                  It is different at Mr. Museveni’s rallies. At your kindest, you might call him a policy wonk, a man who likes to string off measures, deliverables, reasons and figures. He does not speak to the heart. Without the military reining the crowds in, as happened on the day Daniel arap Moi stepped down in Nairobi, he will move his listeners to jeer and boo him. He does not have the words that will make people feel warm inside. He has a pathological fear of elections.? Thoroughly wooden, his best pick-up line is, “I will crush you.”

                  It is said that the most deadly thing that Milton Obote ever wielded was a microphone. And in 1980, it is said, his listeners never stood a chance when faced with his killer tongue.

                  At Besigye’s rallies, they jostle, push forward, slip and fall for the privilege of handing him some money, or a chicken. He makes them believe in something. But Museveni had him tear-gassed, beaten and blinded – to disfigure the face they found irresistible.

                  In Shakespeare’s play, Othello, the hatred-blinded Iago, unaccepting of the fact that someone he considers dark, ugly, without substance, and full of pompous emptiness can be attractive to someone else, says venomously:

                  He hath a daily beauty in his life that makes me ugly

                  But take Obote and Besigye and add them up. The combination is Bobi Wine, a man young enough to be Mr. Museveni’s grandson. Still the fear returns.? The reaction of Mr. Museveni remains the same as it was when he faced off against Obote and Besigye. The deeply fear that they will speak and win.

                  On 18 November 2020, the insecurities of the past welled up in a bloody bout of peacetime carnage that Kampala will not wish to remember. (Just in case we forget, at the end of 2016, scores were massacred in the West town of Kasese, the likely site of the coming pogrom should Uganda break down.)

                  Kiwaani

                  I have never taken the time to stream Bobi Wine’s music. After November 18 and 19, I wanted to find out just what it is that endears a country to him and so hurts the other man.

                  As good a track to begin with is Kiwaani. Upbeat and sad, delightful and morose, it was Bobi Wine’s breakout hit in 2009-2010. You start to see that Bobi Wine, unbeknownst to us who did not pay closer attention at the beginning, but who was already sealing the love deal. Whilst Museveni basked in his 2006 triumph and prepared for another “Rap” in 2009-10, Bobi Wine was already placing the winning hand.

                  It remains perhaps his quintessential song, an address that spoke to Ugandans in ways we had not been spoken to since Philly Bongole Lutaaya and Okot P’Bitek before him (an inheritor then of poet laureate burdens). Dulcet, rising, in pathos, long-suffering, there was a song telling us what we were feeling. Back then, lines in it were quoted repeatedly to explain why things were unbearable. Kampala, it declared, was the place of failure.

                  A deceptively laid-back track, Kiwaani opens in classic Kadongo Kamu (one-man guitar) melody, seemingly to hark back to a bygone age. This is followed by rapid, brief strings. Then comes the rescuing poetry.

                  A melody taken off a slum kid’s chant of sowaani (the plate at feeding time), repurposed to say Kampala wears sheds, Bobi Wine put it to good effect. And there he is, in his element, seductive, laying it on thick, simplifying and pre-digesting inaccessible lyrics, a distillation of critical discourse – postcoloniality, duality, deconstruction, neoliberal philanthropy. It is all there. There is just enough straight Luganda to make you get it. For the rest, you just have to speak ghetto to get it.

                  His coming of age mood was dense, chewy, accessible, personable.? He might have played nothing more beyond Kiwaani and stayed forever as the defining describer of Kampala. After you listened to that track, you could not take your eyes away from the dreadlocked lark.

                  A decade later, the melody is still haunting.

                  Mr. Money

                  Then there was the author of Mr. Money, at one time the undisputed anthem of Kampala. And you asked again, how did I not know how to put it into words what I see daily in this city? As if knowing what would become of him in later years, the young, twenty-something Bobi Wine had sung these lines:

                  Those who pursue me find me far ahead
                  Rich and poor, let this music touch you

                  Before he was a political prisoner, he was a prisoner of conscience, and he quotes his tormentors:

                  ‘Mr Bobi Wine I arrest you because you do this so many times
                  I arrest you and take you to SPC and charge you with idle and disorderly”

                  Mr. Money is in many ways, the song that really tells it as it is. He is in his element. But it is still safe territory. He is belting out the Kadongo Kamu man’s craft, telling stories, not the mash and splash postmodernity of Kiwaani.

                  But the essential Bobi Wine is there, as he always had been, and would be in later years –? rousing, exhilarating, musical, leading from the front.

                  I say man made money, money made man mad

                  He could have stopped at Mr. Money and been great.

                  Carolyn

                  He could even have stopped at Carolyn, and still been great. One of those required evergreen melodies no songster must go out without, Carolyn is a happy song, a party staple, like What A Wonderful World, or Here Comes the Sun, or the tenderest, caressing ballard of Tabu Ley’s Mireille Mwana, He is not only happy, he is doing happiness. There is Bobi Wine, happy, letting it rip; he is enjoying it, letting the melody run, run, run. A love song. A recollection of high school sweetheart nostalgia. A celebration.

                  But is he not channeling the late Kafeero with his slim, scanty-bearded, straw hat-wearing mien? What is he doing with the adungu, harp and rattle troupe? 1997 was a wonderful year.

                  She used to call me Master Bio because I used to handle money-o.

                  This man made beautiful songs. They love him for it. Before he stood for them, he serenaded them.

                  Kyarenga

                  The earlier joie de vivre expressed in Carolyn is resurrected in perhaps the most ambitious of Bobi Wine’s songs, Kyarenga, the eponymous song of the album for which the notorious crackdown of the 2018 launch cemented what would be the position of government going forward. Kyarenga is set as a love song. The strapping youth who has the village belle’s heart is challenged by variegated powerful and moneyed suitors. But he has the belle’s heart. The belle has eyes only for him.

                  This man made beautiful songs. They love him for it. Before he stood for them, he serenaded them.

                  The song, and the video (by this point Ugandan music videographers had come into their own), is a thinly disguised allegory of the moment, of the songster who has a nation’s heartbeat but is attacked and harassed by the powerful who think their position and money entitles them to love. Why force the nation to love you when who they want is me?

                  But does that explain this unhinged violent fear of voters choosing someone who steals their hearts?

                  Paradiso

                  The heavier, Mtukuzi-sampling opening, but Kiswahili-lyrics Paradiso pays homage to a different Uganda, Uganda, the East African country. A track with a kick, perhaps the lowest depth of Bobi Wine pathos. It speaks to the generation disinherited by neoliberalism, scattered in the face of the earth to look for fortunes, and returning, in the words of T.S. Eliot, to find alien people clutching strange gods.

                  Situka

                  The politically overt Bobi Wine comes out clear in 2015/2016. He releases Situka and declares,

                  When leaders become misleaders
                  And mentors become tormentors
                  When freedom of expression becomes target of suppression
                  Opposition becomes our position

                  If he was speaking to Mr. Museveni, he was also speaking to Mr. Obote, Idi Amin and the grandest of all Ugandan tyrants, Sir. Apollo Kagwa. And this is a point lost in the heat of the moment. The fight that has raised Bobi Wine was a century in the making. Mr. Museveni need not feel it is directed at him. When he is gone, that war will still rage on. The things we need Bobi Wine for are not the things we require Mr. Museveni for.

                  He is the Ugandan musician who broke through his art into the public consciousness. But also, in this era, he is music breaking beyond the point Bob Marley left it. We can hardly think of a musician, anywhere, in recent times, who has caused such a stir in an uncertain, frightened world.

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                  A.K. Kaiza is a Ugandan writer and journalist.

                  Politics

                  The History and Uncertain Future of Macadamia Farming in Kenya

                  The macadamia sector in Kenya faces many challenges that can be overcome through supportive policies and regulations.

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                  The History and Uncertain Future of Macadamia Farming in Kenya
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                  The Government in Kenya issued a blanket ban on the export of raw nuts in 2009 to allow local processors to gather enough materials for job creation in this labour intensive sector.

                  However, both the county and national governments have consistently failed to put in place all the necessary measures to support the macadamia sub-sector, which is rapidly emerging as an alternative cash crop to the declining coffee and tea sectors in the Mt. Kenya region. The crop has gained traction to non-traditional growing areas such as the Rift Valley and Western regions.

                  Although the macadamia nuts sub-sector has grown on its own since the ban was put in place, fears are now emerging that the country is likely to lose its grip on this niche market to new entrants due to the low quality of the nuts we have been producing.

                  In 2009, when Kenya banned the export of raw nuts, it had a firm grip on this niche market. There were only four other nut producing countries in the world –? Australia, South Africa, Kenya and Hawaii in the United States, with Kenya supplying about 20 per cent of the total global demand.

                  Between 90 and 95 per cent of Kenya’s macadamia is produced for export. Key export destinations for Kenyan macadamia are the US, the European Union, Japan, China, Hong Kong and Canada. This year, demand for Kenya’s macadamia globally declined by 40 per cent, according to the processors’ estimates, partly due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

                  New entrants who threaten Kenya’s global market include China, Guatemala, Malawi, Vietnam, Colombia, New Zealand, Mozambique, Brazil, Paraguay and Swaziland. In total, 15 countries in the world have joined the producing club in the last decade.

                  With funding and support of the Chinese government, the International Macadamia Research and Development Center, established in Lincang, China, now holds more market potential for macadamias than any other country on the planet, recording an 11-fold increase in macadamia consumption between 2012 and 2018.

                  A global macadamia nut symposium held in China two years ago, which was poised to be held in Kenya next year but cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic,? noted that as the global macadamia industry continues to grow, the need to deliver exceptional quality nuts will be more critical than ever.

                  The Nut Processors Association of Kenya (NutPAK)’s Chief Executive Officer, Mr Charles Muigai, said that this is where the biggest challenge for Kenya’s market competitiveness in the global arena lies because farmers are not faithful to producing quality nuts due to the low support the sector receives from the government and other actors.

                  With funding and support of the Chinese government, the International Macadamia Research and Development Center, established in Lincang, China, now holds more market potential for macadamias than any other country on the planet, recording an 11-fold increase in macadamia consumption between 2012 and 2018.

                  Value Chain Analysis for Macadamia Nuts from Kenya 2020, a report of the Netherlands’ Centre for the Promotion of Imports from Developing Countries, cited climate change, the impact of pests and diseases, poor good agricultural practices (GAP), lack of access to inputs, use of unsuitable or old macadamia varieties and immature harvesting as Kenya’s main undoing.

                  At a critical point of transition, following the ban, there was no functioning formal association of macadamia farmers. In 2009, the Ministry of Agriculture (MOA) initiated the creation of Macadamia Growers Association of Kenya (MGAK), which has remained without an office or a budget.

                  The macadamia sector, unlike tea and coffee, has evolved without any regulation or policy support from the government. The only main intervention was in 2009, when a ban was effected and again in 2018 when the ban was anchored in legislation.

                  History of macadamia farming in Kenya?

                  The production of macadamia nuts in Kenya traces its history from 1944 when a European settler called Bob Harries introduced the crop from Australia in his estate near Thika town for ornamental and household consumption purposes.

                  He would, two decades later, found Bob Harries Ltd. to invest in the widespread expansion of the crop by introducing two key macadamia types – M. Integrifolia and M. Tetraphylla – and other hybrids from Hawaii and California.

                  In 1968, he grafted his own seedling nurseries to create a source for non-African estate owners and African smallholder farmers in Central Kenya’s coffee growing zones, namely, Embu, Meru, Kirinyaga and Thika.

                  He also initiated a campaign to have the government commercialise the crop. A feasibility study carried out in 1974 by the Food and Agricultural Organisation (FAO) that gave a nod to the viability of the sector convinced the government to support macadamia processing and marketing.

                  The government facilitated the creation of a joint venture between Japanese investors led by Yoshiyuki Sato and a Kenyan, Pius Ngugi, in setting up the Kenya Nuts Company (KNC), which today still runs the factory in Thika.

                  Sato had founded and run a textile factory in Nairobi since 1960 while Ngugi, a large-scale macadamia and coffee farmer from Thika, was in search of a market for his nuts.

                  The company would build a modern processing plant and establish its own macadamia plantations at an initial nuclear farm of about 400ha. It also set up a nursery for the propagation of adapted and grafted seedlings to supply out-growers.

                  By 1975, the company was processing nuts from its own estate as well as from other out-growers. It enjoyed a monopoly purchase right for in-shell nuts, sourcing 90 per cent of these from 140 smallholder coffee cooperative societies, as well as 47 additional buying centres.

                  Farmers delivered the harvest to cooperatives and collection centres and got a receipt with a pre-agreed price per kilogram. KNC would then collect the nuts when enough quantity has been bunched, and transfer the payments to the cooperative banks, where farmers collected cash by producing their receipts. Cooperative would earn a 10 per cent commission.

                  Japan continued to support the macadamia sector for over twenty years, culminating in the construction of the National Horticultural Research Centre where agronomists focused more on grafted seedling varieties. KNC multiplied these in their nurseries and by the time the Japanese left in 1997, it had distributed over 1.5 million seedlings.

                  Like the cashew sector, the macadamia sector was also affected by the liberalisation of economy. Being part of the private sector, KNC could not be privatised, which salvaged it from the decay that followed the cashew sector.

                  However, liberalisation accelerated domestic competition. In 1994, Peter Munga, the Equity Bank founder, opened a macadamia processing factory called Farm Nut Co. in Maragua, Muranga district. He had made some foray into buying coffee from farmers and realised that they were also selling macadamia at low prices. He decided to venture into marketing and processing the nuts.

                  Unlike his well-established rival, his firm lacked logistical infrastructure and links to cooperatives. The idea of brokers, who had played a marginal role by only collecting macadamia from distant locations, came in handy. With the entry of Farm Nut, the role of middlemen became predominant.

                  Like the cashew sector, the macadamia sector was also affected by the liberalisation of economy. Being part of the private sector, KNC could not be privatised, which salvaged it from the decay that followed the cashew sector.

                  Essentially, brokers would go directly to the farmers, offer better and direct prices than the cooperatives had done. Consequently, this significantly reduced farmers’ transaction costs of bringing nuts to collection centres as well as collecting their payments from banks.

                  Also, reduced volumes from the cooperatives increased processors’ transactional costs. It became more convenient for them to deal with the middlemen, and by the early 2000s, the cooperatives’ role in the macadamia supply chain diminished.

                  In the early 1990s and when the macadamia prices passed Sh30 mark per kilo in 1997, farmers in Central Kenya became more interested in macadamia farming due also to a fall in coffee prices. Production multiplied five-fold within six years only, crossing the 10,000 tonnes threshold in 1998.

                  The Chinese connection?

                  A dramatic shift in the industry would come in the early 2000s when China became a mass consumer of the nuts. The emergence of a growing middle class in China with an appetite for in-shell nuts and container ships increasingly docking in Mombasa, demanding to return with loaded cargo, tempted Chinese traders to venture into the export of raw macadamia nuts from the country.

                  The first Chinese in-shell exporter was a Mr Yang who contracted brokers in Embu in 2004. They transversed the region with loudspeakers mounted on their vans offering Sh40 (US$ 0.48) – twice what processors had offered. They would a year later spread tentacles to Meru, where they remained for close to five years.

                  Local processors would buy nuts mainly from Kiambu, Muranga, Kirinyaga, and Nyeri, where Kikuyu processors had established processing units and created networks with local communities who they hired for factory jobs. This helped to lock the Chinese out of these regions.

                  Estimates by the USDA Foreign Agricultural Service indicated that nearly 60 per cent of macadamia had been exported in-shell in 2008, implying that exporters had been able to purchase most of the crop from Embu and Meru. This posed a huge threat, bringing processors together to push the government to ban the export of raw nuts that finally came on 16th June 2009.

                  With the exit of the Chinese, and the creation of a processors’ and farmers’ associations, there was hope that the industry would get organised and get the necessary support.

                  Far from it. Both the farmers and processors would soon be left to their own devices, competing among each other to fight the Chinese who were still smuggling nuts out of Kenya. However, the competition and the need to create more volume saw processors heighten production five-fold in the last decade to reach close to 50,000 metric tonnes last year. They also grew in number from 5 to over 30, a move that saw farmers get an unprecedented Sh200 a kilo despite complains emerging that the quality did not justify this price.

                  This year, the sluggish global demand has driven processors away from the field, leaving behind brokers who are buying the nuts for as low as Sh50 a kilo. Joshua Muriira, the Chairman of the Meru Macadamia Farmers Association, said that the absence of processors is deliberate since they have conspired to offer Sh85 a kilo and it has nothing to do with the COVID 19.

                  The idea of an export ban has failed to fade away in Meru and Embu, where people still believe that were the Chinese buyers still available, things would be different. They started protesting from the onset when the prices dropped from a high of Sh100 a kilo to between Sh40 and Sh60 after the Chinese exit.

                  The processors blamed the poor prices on brokers and the resultant high share of immature nuts. A narrative was also pushed that if they started selling the nuts to processors directly – rather than via brokers – good prices would return.

                  After the first ban in 2009, the Chinese would a year later successfully lobby the new agriculture minister, Sally Kosgei, to lift the ban on raw nut exports for three months on 28 May 2010. The official rationale for the lifting the ban was “to facilitate the mop-up of the excess raw nuts with farmers”.

                  On 15 December 2010, when Kosgei yet again decided to lift the ban (Gazette notice No. 16229) for a period of over six months until 30 June 2011, quoting the same rationale, this time, NutPAK successfully challenged this in the High Court on 21 December 2010.

                  It was only in 2016 that the MP for Maragua, a region not known to produce macadamia in plenty, introduced a motion against the ban in Parliament, arguing it was hurting farmers. The house’s agriculture committee rejected the petition on the grounds that it was not in the interests of the industry.

                  There was evidence of continued presence of the Chinese in Kenya, even after the ban. On February 2017, seven Chinese macadamia buyers were arrested in Meru for allegedly doing business in the country without the required licences and documents. Embu and Meru farmers protested against their arrest in March 2017.

                  On one occasion, during the gubernatorial party primaries for the 2017 election, the gubernatorial candidate for Embu, Senator Lenny Kivuti, used the opportunity and joined the protests in Mutunduri in Embu North sub-county, accusing his opponent and current governor, Martin Wambora, of colluding with the domestic processor, Privam Nuts, and saying it was wrong for the police to “harass the foreigners because the latter were offering a better price to the farmers”.

                  On February 2017, seven Chinese macadamia buyers were arrested in Meru for allegedly doing business in the country without the required licences and documents. Embu and Meru farmers protested against their arrest in March 2017.

                  There were protests against the ban throughout 2018. In late January 2018, prior to the legal opening of the harvesting season on 20 February, the government, through the Nuts and Oil Crop Directorate, again arrested and deported eleven Chinese macadamia buyers in Meru who were buying at the stellar price of Sh170, and whose arrest was by opposed by several Meru MPs, farmers and brokers.

                  Areas of intervention?

                  The main opportunity for yield improvement, according to the Centre for the Promotion of Imports from Developing countries report, lies with supporting extension service providers, such as the Kenya Agriculture and Livestock Organisation (KALRO) and the Agriculture and Food Authority (AFA), to increase farmers’ capacities and to multiply and disseminate high-yielding macadamia seedlings that are suited to the different macadamia growing regions of Kenya.

                  There are two main areas of intervention for quality improvement. The first involves supporting processors who wish to obtain loans to buy crops in advance, thereby addressing farmers’ need for quick cash. The second is the implementation of region-relevant harvesting moratoria.

                  Upstream traceability of Kenyan macadamia is severely challenged by the large number of smallholder farmers and independent buying agents. Small plantations typify Kenya’s production system as opposed to other producers like China, South Africa and Australia, which have large plantation farming. Around 200,000 small farms in Kenya currently produce an estimated 42,500 tonnes of in-shell nuts.

                  Adopting traceability systems, some of which are part of mobile cash applications, could help in addressing this problem.

                  There are two main areas of intervention for quality improvement. The first involves supporting processors who wish to obtain loans to buy crops in advance, thereby addressing farmers’ need for quick cash. The second is the implementation of region-relevant harvesting moratoria.

                  Moreover, support should go to the creation of a registry of farmers, including data such as landholding size and age, number of macadamia trees and macadamia varieties and traders. This registry should be governed and accessed by members of the sector’s associations and AFA.

                  Communication and dialogue among macadamia stakeholders is lacking. Often, conflicting interests among actors lead to rivalry.

                  To address this, sector associations should establish, adopt and enforce codes of conduct to regulate the practices of sector players. Dialogue and transparency should be the ruling principles of this code of conduct. Moreover, all actors should discuss a multi-stakeholder strategy to address the challenges facing the macadamia sector.

                  Although some processors have links to European markets, the notion prevails among EU buyers that Kenyan macadamia nuts are of inferior quality. Moreover, processors regard the EU market regulations as more stringent than those of the US.

                  To address poor EU market access, the creation and marketing of a Kenyan macadamia brand should be explored.

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                  Politics

                  South Africa: The Culture Wars Are a Distraction

                  When our political parties only have recourse to the realm of identity and culture, it is a smokescreen for their lack of political legitimacy and programmatic content. It is cynically unpolitical, and it’s all bullshit.

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                  South Africa: The Culture Wars Are a Distraction
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                  Almost nine months ago, South Africa entered into a lockdown to curb the spread of COVID-19. The lockdown is still in place, but back then the restrictions imposed were incredibly severe: no one could leave their home unless to purchase food or medicine, and the now familiar category of “essential workers” were the only ones permitted to travel for work. Now that these rules have been lifted, some people are desperate to soak in the warm weather and taste a slice of normality. It’s easy to forget that the implementation of lockdown spelled confusion and disaster for most;? easier still, to ignore the fact that despite the gradual reduction of reported cases, the economic impacts are only really appearing now, and things are looking grim.

                  And so, the debacle unfolding last week over retail company Clicks’ use of a racist advert on its website, is the clearest illustration of the erratic consciousness which characterizes South African public life. The advert, selling the American hair care brand TRESemmé, depicted a white woman’s hair as “fine & flat” and “normal” while a black woman’s hair was described as “dry & damaged” plus “frizzy & dull.” It goes without saying that the ad is reprehensible, offensive, and deserves the outrage its sparked. Yet, this is not the first thing Clicks has done in the last six months which is objectionable—in April, its workers accused them of?forcing them to work without pay. It was also at one stage accused of price gouging, and, it wasn’t the only company implicated—across the board and throughout the lockdown, corporations partook in unfair labor and pricing practices in order to shift the economic burdens of the crisis to workers and consumers. Why did these practices produce little outrage?

                  The Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), South Africa’s third largest party and one officially styling itself as “Marxist-Leninist-Fanonian” (they copy the late Hugo Chavez’s Bolivarian movement in their red uniforms), has been leading the moral crusade against Clicks. In doing so they have been incredibly effective, beginning last week with country-wide protests at a range of Clicks stores, and ending it by reaching an agreement with Clicks’ holding company to remove all TRESemmé products from its stores to be replaced by locally produced ones, as well as to donate 50,000 sanitary pads, sanitizers and masks to rural settlements chosen by the EFF.

                  These actions marked the return of the EFF to South Africa’s political scene after a long hibernation during most of the lockdown. In its initial stages, the EFF’s most notable call was for people to be quarantined on Robben Island. As it then became apparent that the state’s socio-economic response was lacking, prompting a mass civil-society mobilization to organize food parcels, extend social grants provision and ensure that there was basic support for the poor and vulnerable, the EFF was glaringly absent. But, this is supposed to be South Africa’s working-class party, and much as some on the left have long been disabused of the notion that the working-class is whom they represent, for the most part it’s still believed that the EFF is radical in some meaningful sense.

                  When the EFF first emerged as a political party in 2013, it was widely cheered as being a viable option to fill the void left in working-class politics in the wake of the Marikana massacre as the ruling African National Congress’ hegemony began to crumble. While the composition of its admirers included a diverse range—disgruntled local businesspeople, university students and the urban unemployed—its militant populist style was touted as left in orientation given its advocacy for policies such as nationalizing South Africa’s mines (which it is no longer that committed to), and land expropriation without compensation. (Two years later, as South Africa’s campuses erupted with #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall, the EFF won SRC elections on many campuses.)

                  Nowadays, the party has become too loaded with contradictions for it to be considered left-wing in any credible sense, both in its ideology and practice. Besides its lack of internal democracy and the cult of personality surrounding its leader Julius Malema, some of the EFF’s lead figures have been embroiled in various financial scandals including municipal tender fraud and the ransacking of a mutual bank primarily serving informal rural, friendly societies. Throughout its history, the EFF has never had any moorings in the organized working class; it lacks any trade union affiliation (it enjoyed some informal links to the Marikana workers union, AMCU, but it was never formalized), nor does it have any concrete ties to other social movements like those for the unemployed or in mining affected communities.

                  Despite this, it clings vehemently to the rhetoric of class, and proclaims its opposition to capitalism although playing almost no part in trying to build a working class movement in South Africa. How then, are they still venerated by most as progressive, and taken at their word by even their naysayers who believe them to be sincerely anti-capitalist?

                  What explains this is that the terms of radical politics in the public discourse, have shifted from a materialist, class-rooted mode, to an identity-based, culturalist one, and the EFF have contributed to this shift and are its biggest beneficiary. In South Africa, where race is deeply embedded in everyday thinking and experience, the EFF has capitalized and revived the idea that black people possess a distinctive, social identity, therefore constituting a “people” whose political and material interests are uniform.

                  By positing some homogenous “black interest,” the EFF is able to flatten the contradictions of its political project, which at this point looks simply like a kind of economic nationalism, less opposed to capitalism per se, and more opposed to the fact that South Africa’s capitalist class continues to be dominated by “white monopoly capital.” The EFF’s biggest problem isn’t that capitalism concentrates wealth in the hands of the few, but that this few are predominantly foreign, white or Indian.

                  In this crucial way, the EFF’s class project is actually just?continuous?with that of the ruling African National Congress, which since 1999 has been facilitating the rise of a supposedly patriotic, black bourgeoisie whose economic upliftment is meant to be synonymous with the progress of black people as a whole. South Africa’s political class in the main has never parted with this thesis. All that’s really contested, is how swiftly or not this is happening. According to the EFF—along with the Radical Economic Transformation (RET) faction of the ANC, led from the shadows by Malema’s former mentor and former president Jacob Zuma—it is not happening quickly enough.

                  In South Africa, where race is deeply embedded in everyday thinking and experience, the EFF has capitalized and revived the idea that black people possess a distinctive, social identity, therefore constituting a “people” whose political and material interests are uniform.

                  Instead of?being a serious challenge to the ANC’s apparently declining hegemony, the EFF is more accurately an expression of its resilience. The EFF’s sustained inability to articulate a coherent political identity on its own stems from the simple fact that rather than being fascist (as?some?proclaim), it simply is just a wandering faction of the ANC, its prodigal son.

                  Yet, it is Frantz Fanon himself who warns against thinking that this project of establishing a state-led, indigenized capitalism is in any meaningful sense progressive. As he writes in the?Wretched of the Earth:

                  Yet the national bourgeoise never stops calling for the nationalization of the economy and the commercial sector. In its thinking, to nationalize does not mean placing the entire economy at the service of the nation or satisfying all its requirements. To nationalize does not mean organizing the state on the basis of a new program of social relations. For the bourgeoisie, nationalization signifies very precisely the transfer into indigenous hands of privileges inherited from the colonial period.

                  Even if we could successfully transform the capitalist class so that it was demonstrably black, the underclass to which it is causally connected to, whose deprivation makes possible the other’s wealth, would still be black!?Framing inequality primarily as racial disparity misses that it is now actually intra-racial inequality that is contributing more to total inequality. But more importantly, it expresses a fundamentally misplaced concern about the problem. As Adolph Reed Jnr. and Walter Benn Michaels?recently wrote, “What we’re actually saying every time we insist that the basic inequality is between blacks and whites is that only the inequalities we care about are those produced by some form of discrimination—that inequality itself isn’t the problem.”

                  The racism that was on display in the advert approved and displayed by Clicks is very much present in our society. But, it is not the definitive issue of our time, nor does it have to be for us to give it appropriate concern and attention. In corporate workplaces, university settings, Model-C or private schools and hospitality venues like hotels or restaurants, racial discrimination and prejudice very much persist and must be opposed. But ultimately, these are also (elite) spheres where the majority of the country are excluded from altogether, and the consequences of the struggles for recognition operative in them have little bearing for the lives of most poor, black people.

                  Racism does have a significant bearing on their lives, but to paraphrase and modify?Stuart Hall’s turn of phrase, it is an experience of race lived through the modality of class. Consider how throughout most of the lockdown for example, dangerous stereotypes were peddled about the working class. When an increase of the child support grant was being considered, poor and working black people were often cast as financially irresponsible and bound to use the funds on drugs. When the lockdown began easing and returning workers refused to work in unsafe conditions, they were lazy and selfish. When the alcohol prohibition was lifted, and there were spikes in trauma incidents at hospitals, it was poor and working class people who were blamed. It was the middle class and ruling elite of all races and across the political spectrum that happily took part in this demonization.

                  By positing some homogenous “black interest,” the EFF is able to flatten the contradictions of its political project, which at this point looks simply like a kind of economic nationalism, less opposed to capitalism per se, and more opposed to the fact that South Africa’s capitalist class continues to be dominated by “white monopoly capital.”

                  As my friend and comrade Awande Buthelezi once eloquently put it to me (channeling Walter Rodney), in post-apartheid South Africa, it’s not so much that people are poor because they’re black, but they are black because they’re poor. What this means is that that the most egregious racialization, that is, literally treating particular groups as possessing characteristics inherent to their nature, happens concomitantly with their particular economic subjugation. What people now often refer to as “classism” is actually just racism by another word. The word classism was only popularized to accommodate the false notion that black people couldn’t be racist, not least against their own race—which misses the important point that while race isn’t real, racism definitely is. And to express contempt for working class people, treating them as if they were a cultural identity (an apparently primitive and conservative one at that), and not?an objective social relation rooted in political economy, is precisely to engage in racializing them. The basic insight of all this is that racial ideology provides the justification for continued economic exploitation. As the American sociologist?Oliver Cromwell Crox?explains, “to justify humanly degrading labor, the exploiters must argue that the workers are innately degraded.”

                  Why then, are people poor? It’s always been because of capitalism, and at the moment every single opposition force in South Africa treats it as its perennial premise. To borrow a phrase from?Karen and Barbara Fields, people treat apartheid as if its chief business was producing white supremacy rather than mining gold, diamonds and platinum. Our society is essentially classist, therefore it is essentially racist. But, what is liquidated in the turn of understanding social cleavages exclusively through identity is the class antagonism which actually grounds the material interests which shape political life—the antagonism between wage labor, capital, and the professional managerial strata in between.

                  In forever using race as a proxy for class, we ignore that race is no longer a reliable predictor for class position, and that this was always bound to become the case in a country where black people are a substantial numerical majority. The interests of black people are not, could not be the same, and to posit them as such is to make possible a public sphere in which actual working class interests are sidelined and ignored. With the public sphere now more or less being entirely the?vapid abyss that is social media, a significant portion of the country is excluded from public life; for example,?only 53% of South Africans have access to the internet.

                  The gravity of the issues facing the majority of South Africans such as skyrocketing unemployment,?a deepening hunger crisis,?water shortages?and drought, as well as the crisis of social reproduction which manifests in?escalating gender based violence?made last week’s debacle feel painfully myopic. South Africans have always known the magnitude of the challenges before us, but what we are still unwilling to admit is that we are in the grips of a global, systemic, and worsening capitalist crisis, not simply seeing through a passing pandemic or set back by temporary issues of governance and state incapacity.? In the face of all this, the EFF’s actions are nothing more than asking that corporations be woke in their profiteering, leaving production for profit unchallenged as the basic principle of social organization.

                  It is Frantz Fanon himself who warns against thinking that this project of establishing a state-led, indigenized capitalism is in any meaningful sense progressive.

                  No political party in South Africa today presents a credible alternative, not even the Democratic Alliance, the official opposition who recently announced that it was officially adopting a policy of “non-racialism”—which is as laughable as the EFF claiming to be Marxist-Leninist-Fanonian. The DA sits on a pretend moral high ground and professes to be against racial identity politics while being committed to it in practice.

                  This year, the DA has campaigned to have farm murders (of white farmers) be declared a national emergency and categorized as hate crimes, treading not far from the right-wing conspiracies that claim there is a white genocide ongoing in South Africa.? Rather than accepting,?as the evidence shows, that this falls part of the general pattern of violent crime and social disorder and that poor black people are crime’s main victims (a symptom of worsening poverty and inequality), the DA tries to construct some special victimhood for white South Africans, despite remaining firmly wedded to the current economic system.

                  The culture wars in South Africa are simply a battle for the soul (read race) of the ruling class, the political elite scrambling to be captains of the Titanic while the ship sinks and the world around it burns. It’s all a distraction, and what’s left of the progressive left must ignore it. It is only the working class and its constituent social movements presenting a credible vision for social transformation in the short and long term, emphasizing that the emancipation of the working class is the emancipation of all. That there is a way out—and not merely drifting aimlessly and precariously on a lifeboat trying to survive, but towards a society free of domination and exploitation, one that is truly non-racial and non-sexist.

                  It is exactly this universalist impulse driving the solutions being put forward by a collection of burgeoning movement coalitions, such as the COVID-19 People’s Coalition, the South African Food Sovereignty Campaign and the Cry of the Xcluded, and include things like introducing?a basic income grant for all, to?adopting a people’s climate justice charter?and?green new deal?that ends our original sin of mineral extractivism while shielding us from ecological catastrophe. As the old order crumbles, rather than present solutions underpinned by a substantive vision of what constitutes the good society, South Africa’s political class resorts mostly to empty and inane posturing. When our political parties have recourse to the realm of identity and culture, it is a smokescreen for their lack of political legitimacy and programmatic content. It is cynically unpolitical. It’s all bullshit.

                  And sincerely, there is no time for bullshit. The stakes are too high. The left re-emerging in South Africa must declare unapologetically: no war but class war.

                  This post is from a new partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

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                  Politics

                  Death by Pesticide

                  The government looks on as farmers and consumers are exposed to lethal pesticides that are banned in Europe but continue to be sold on the Kenyan market by European companies.

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                  Death by Pesticide
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                  Arrive in any remote village or town in Kenya and chances are high that the first thing you will spot is an agrovet shop stocked with all manner of pesticides. These chemical compounds are commonly used in agriculture and animal husbandry to kill pests, including insects and rodents, and to remove fungi and weeds and control disease vectors.

                  Synthetic pesticides are a child of the Second World War. In her book The Silent Spring, Rachel Carson notes that in the course of developing chemical weapons, some of the chemicals created in laboratories were found to be lethal for insects. The discovery was not entirely by chance as insects were widely used to test chemical agents intended for chemical warfare.

                  The association of synthetic pesticides with the Second World War has not deterred their usage across the globe. The Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) estimates that globally, about 4.12 million tonnes of pesticides were used in agriculture in 2018. In Kenya, where they are presumed to have been introduced during the colonial era, the demand for these pesticides (fungicides, herbicides, fumigants and insecticides) skyrocketed from 6,400 tonnes in 2015 to 15,600 tonnes in 2018.

                  This demand can be attributed to Kenya’s agricultural sector being heavily dependent on conventional methods of food production. This is often characterised by the heavy application of chemical pesticides and fertilisers in an effort to increase yields. For instance, in the larger tea and coffee plantations in Kenya, herbicides are seen as an effective method of weed control. A study by Chepkirui, Gatebe and Mburu reveals that small-scale tea growers in Bomet County preferred to use glyphosate to control weeds in the tea farms, with Roundup (distributed by Monsanto, now Bayer) being the most preferred at 53.7% compared to other formulations of glyphosate (Glycel, Touchdown, Wound-Out).

                  Glyphosate, a pesticide in the category of organophosphates, was first introduced in 1974 by Monsanto (now Bayer) and has been under great scrutiny for its ability to cause cancer. In March 2015, glyphosate was classified as probably carcinogenic to humans by the International Agency for Research on Cancer based on a positive association between exposure to glyphosate and cancer. One such case was Dewayne Johnson’s, a groundsman in the United States, where Monsanto was found liable for causing his cancer through exposure to Roundup.

                  Organophosphate pesticides (malathion, glyphosate, fenitrothion and chlorpyrifos) have been shown to be highly toxic to non-target species including humans, although they are still widely used in households and in agriculture. These chemical compounds were initially developed as human nerve gas agents in the 1930s and 1940s and later repurposed as insecticides.

                  Their insecticidal properties were discovered by a German scientist, Gerhard Schrader, in the late 1930s and soon afterwards the German government saw the value of these chemicals as new and devastating weapons in chemical warfare and the work on their development was declared a state secret. Some such as sarin and tabun were developed into deadly human nerve gases while others of a close chemical structure were used as insecticides after the Second World War.

                  Malathion is a neurotoxic organophosphate pesticide that has been classified by the International Agency for Research on Cancer as a probable carcinogen. Yet it is still sold in Kenya and is contained in 14 products according to information on the Pest Control Products Board (PCPB) website. Fenitrothion, another organophosphate pesticide that is known to be an endocrine disruptor (alters the hormonal system) and that is not approved for use in the European Union, was used by the Kenyan government to control the locust infestation that occurred in early 2020.

                  These and other organophosphates are responsible for thousands of cases of poisoning in Kenya. In 2016, R.K.A Sang and J. Kimani reported that 35 out of 716 individuals aged between 15 and 40 years attending Kericho Referral Hospital in March and April of that year suffered from organophosphate poisoning. These harmful effects are not only associated with organophosphates but also with other pesticides. For instance, a study to examine the impact of pesticides on the health of residents and horticultural workers in the Lake Naivasha Region found that horticultural workers who underwent a clinical examination exhibited more cardiovascular, respiratory and neurological disorders compared to other workers.

                  These pesticides not only impact our bodies but also the soil, food and water resources. Organochlorine pesticides (DDT, aldrin and endosulfan) were found in the soils in the Nyando River Catchment in 2015 despite being banned from use in Kenya in 1986, 2004 and 2011, respectively. Kenyan exports of horticultural produce have been rejected severally by the European Union for surpassing the maximum residue levels allowed. Sukuma wiki (kales) and tomatoes from Kirinyaga and Muran’ga counties were recently found to contain high levels of harmful pesticides.

                  Pesticides should therefore be a concern to us and their use and disposal should be more strictly regulated as they have the capability to enter and alter the most vital processes of the body in deadly and sinister ways. In Kenya, the PCPB, a statutory organ of the government, is responsible for the regulation, importation, exportation, manufacturing, distribution, transportation, sale, disposal and safe use of pest control products. It was formed under the Pest Control Products Act, Cap 346 of the Laws of Kenya. Since its enactment in 1982, this law governs the registration of many conventional chemical pesticides and biopesticides.

                  Currently, there are 19 active ingredients not listed in the European database and 77 have been withdrawn from the European market or are heavily restricted in their use due to potential chronic health effects, environmental persistence, and high toxicity towards fish or bees.

                  The Pest Control Products (Registration) (Amendment) Regulations, 2015 (Form A4 sections 3.7a, 3.8 and 3.9) require an applicant to show proof of registration of any new pesticides in the country of manufacture and in other countries. Also required is information on whether the new pesticide is registered in the country of formulation. It is therefore uncertain on what basis these pesticides were registered for use in Kenya.

                  Moreover, for any pesticide to be sold, used or withdrawn from the EU, it must be authorised in the EU country concerned as per Regulation (EC) No 1107/2009. This legislation regulates the introduction of pesticides in the EU market and lays out the rules and procedures for their authorisation.

                  Following the renewal of approval of an active substance, all pesticides containing that active substance must undergo a renewal assessment to make sure that products comply with the updated assessment of the active substance and with the new scientific and technical knowledge.

                  It is clear that some pesticide manufacturers do not register or re-register products they know would not be authorised in their home country within the EU but, for profit-making purposes, continue to produce and export those products to other countries such as Kenya. Manifestly, the PCPB does not carry out due diligence before approving such pesticides for use in Kenya despite its mandate to ensure that pesticides sold in the country have been assessed for safety to humans and the environment.

                  Pesticide registration standards in Kenya are often benchmarked against the European Union systems since the European Union follows a comprehensive regime and best practices in food systems as well as strictly applying the precautionary principle. Yet the fact is that the European Union is the second-highest exporter of pesticides to Kenya after China, and the products registered in Kenya, which have been withdrawn from the European market, are sold by European companies (77 products).

                  Despite there being 36 different European companies in the sector, more than half of the products (57%) are registered by BASF, Bayer Ag and Syngenta. Coincidentally, BASF and Bayer were part of the chemical companies that formed I.G Farben, a German chemical conglomerate, in December 1925. In the 1920s and 1930s, I.G Farben screened Zyklon B (a toxic gas made from hydrogen cyanide and originally developed as a pesticide) for Adolf Hitler’s programme to exterminate the Jews and used nerve gases on victims of the Holocaust in concentration camps. I.G Farben also specialised in the production of sarin and tabun, both of which are classified as organophosphates and were used as nerve gases in the Nazi concentration camps.

                  Kenyan farmers and consumers are highly exposed to lethal pesticides whose impact goes beyond altering the hormonal system of plants and insects and degrading the environment to also damage the immune and nervous systems of the human body. Given the financial muscle of the manufacturers, the use of these harmful pesticides remains unchallenged by the government agencies supposed to protect Kenyans.

                  It is on these grounds that civil society organisations such as Route to Food, Kenya Organic Agriculture Network (KOAN) and Greenpeace Africa are seeking support from members of the public through a petition to place a ban on these harmful pesticides and encourage the use of biopesticides and plant extracts in food production.

                  Biopesticides and plant extracts such as Neem, chilli and garlic are effective in the control of pests and diseases with no negative health and environmental impacts. Ecological and organic farmers have been using these ecological and traditional methods to combat pests such as the fall armyworm and they have proven to be efficient. These methods have also been shown to increase soil fertility without the use of harmful chemicals, improve farm biodiversity, encourage the use locally available resources (indigenous seeds) and help put producers rather than corporations in control of the food chain.

                  It is therefore time to advocate for these safe agricultural practices that guarantee us safe food, clean water and healthy soils. Our collective voice is critical in ensuring that our human right to safe food and to a clean and healthy environment, enshrined in our constitution, is upheld.

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