By Osoro Nyawangah
July 1969 was a month when Kenyan history changed forever.
For much of humanity, eyes were firmly fixed on the skies. Far above them, for
eight days starting on the 16th, three men left the bounds of earth, on their
way to set foot on the surface of the moon.
In Kenya,
though, eyes and thoughts were not cast skywards. Ten days before the moon
landing, all attention was on a little patch of ground on a small island on
Lake Victoria, the Rusinga Island.
On July
10, 1969, Tom Mboya was buried on Island. Five days before that, on a Saturday
afternoon in Nairobi, Tom Mboya had walked into a chemist’s shop. He had bought
a bottle of lotion and chatted to the Chhanis, the proprietors of the pharmacy.
He had then stepped out, straight into a gunman who fired two bullets into him.
Mboya was dead within the hour.
The alleged
killer a certain Nahashon Njenga Njoroge was hastily hanged at Kamiti Prisons
bringing the investigations to an end without answers to the most important
questions. Before he died, Njenga said “Why don’t you go after the big
man?”
So who was the big man who
put a hit on Tom Mboya? Thanks to Lee Njiru, a former Press Secretary to both
Kenyatta and Moi, we now have some fresh details about Mboya’s relationship
with Mzee Kenyatta.
According to Njiru, Mzee
Kenyatta liked Tom Mboya because he was a workhorse and an intellectual, but
Kikuyus did not like him because he was too clever. People did not like the
idea that the young man from Luo Nyanza was going to succeed Kenyatta.
But Mboya had irked a few
Kikuyu Mafias during a conference in Canada a few years before Kenyatta’s
release:
“Before Kenyatta left detention, one
time Mboya had gone to Canada, and when asked: “Who will be Kenya’s President?”
He said: “Kenyans will decide.” The Kikuyus noted that. They did not want any
grey area, the answer should be, “It is Kenyatta.” People thought Mboya would
succeed”
Lee Njiru also says that
tribalism was ripe in post-independence Kenya and people from Mt. Kenya had
been brainwashed and told that there was no way leadership would go to Western
Kenya.
“You know there was that divide that leadership must stay within Mt Kenya region. So as young people, you know, we had been brainwashed that a Luo should not lead this country. And you know there is that narrative even up to now.”
“You know there was that divide that leadership must stay within Mt Kenya region. So as young people, you know, we had been brainwashed that a Luo should not lead this country. And you know there is that narrative even up to now.”
With his
murder, Kenya was shaken as it had never been before, and hasn’t since. A
certain innocence was shattered. There had been political murder before — Pio
Gama Pinto had been shot dead four-and-a-half years before.
The late Cabinet Minister Tom Mboya with school children. |
But Mboya’s killing
shifted something fundamental in the Kenyan political firmament. Before July 5,
1969, one could console oneself about the possibilities of reconciliation among
a not-quite-fully-formed Kenyan political elite.
After
July 5, 1969, all myths were shattered. Whoever ordered the killing — and until
today this mystery has never been solved conclusively — had decided that they
were no longer taking chances on the succession of a president who was suddenly
showing his mortality. Jomo Kenyatta had been stricken the previous year.
Mboya’s
biography, written a decade after his murder, is subtitled The Man Kenya Wanted
to Forget. It is an apt title. Mboya is now, in the public imagination, merely
a street and a monument. What is perceived as his memory is perhaps a
misremembering.
Who,
then, was Thomas Joseph Odhiambo Mboya? Why was it said of him that his death
was when Kenya’s train came off the rails? Why, 50 years later, must we cast a
gaze back with great interest?
A file image of Kenya's founding President Jomo Kenyatta and his Economic Planning Minister Tom Mboya. |
Mboya was
a young man in a hurry. Even as he jostled politically with his cohort as Kenya
came to independence and after, he stood head and shoulders above them.
His
politics was essentially forward-looking. He had used his positions of
leadership in the labour movement to forge strong links within Africa and
beyond, giving him access to powerful networks, significant amounts of
financial resources, and an international profile that put him right at the
forefront of global affairs.
He was on
the cover of Time in March 1960, when getting on the cover of
that magazine was a significant achievement. He was getting these international
accolades more than three years before Kenya’s independence. He was Kenya’s
foremost spokesperson on the international scene, leaving one with a lingering
sense of loss and of what might have been.
In Tom
Mboya: The Man Kenya Wanted to Forget, David Goldsworthy outlines how nervous
Mboya was becoming in the months and years before July 1969. While he had
engineered Kanu to position himself to take over (he was Secretary-General),
the enemies were circling. He was beginning to be regarded as an interloper by
the ethnic Praetorian Guard forming around Kenyatta.
They
allowed for a Joseph Murumbi, who served a hapless seven months as Vice
President because he was seen as a harmless dreamer. They allowed for a Daniel
Moi because he was an even safer choice, seen as controllable by the far more
urbane group around the President.
Mboya,
however, was none of this. He was ambitious and well-connected. He did, too
often for his own good, show an element of arrogance and disdain for the
parochial and the small-minded.
At the
same time, he was no longer trusted by the nascent opposition.
The
reason the vice presidency was serially vacant was because Kenyatta had
decisively broken with his erstwhile ally, Oginga Odinga.
But
because Mboya had been, unfairly or otherwise, seen as a stalking horse for the
conservative Kikuyu elements around Kenyatta, and because he had so brilliantly
outflanked Odinga and his allies, he was not acceptable to Odinga’s group. It
was then conveniently remembered that he was not quite Luo, seeing as his
Rusinga Island antecedents were actually Abasuba.
From this
precarious position, trying to thread the needle on a nervous political stage,
Mboya approached the 1969 elections knowing that matters were coming to a head.
His enemies were confident that they could diminish him further. And he knew
that it was not just political annihilation they were after. There was a
distinct possibility of physical danger. He confided in letters (which he was
so sure were being surreptitiously opened and read) that political forces in
Kenya were bent on cutting him down to size before fate made the presidential
contest an open one.
The
obvious question then is why, if he was steadily losing influence, was Mboya
important enough to kill? The reason, perhaps, lay in his character and
political skill. He was by far the most talented politician and the best
organiser in the country.
He could
call upon resources that few had access to. At this time, no one knew how long
Mzee was going to stay alive, and thus whatever plotting was going on was, in
essence, happening in the dark. You could try and isolate Mboya, but you knew
that you could not keep him down. The decision was thus to get rid of him,
permanently.
What
would have become of the man and his career had Mboya lived?
Would
Mboya have stayed patiently biding his time as Kenya’s politics went through
the sclerotic 70s — with rapacious personalities taking advantage of the
infirmities at the top? Would he have participated in the intrigues and
counter-intrigues of the middle of the decade, or would he have tired of these
and sought to deploy his prodigious talents elsewhere? It is intriguing to
imagine Mboya striding on the world stage, perhaps even as a UN
secretary-general, and coming back to resume leadership in Kenya once the path
was clear.
Let’s
indulge in some further counterfactual, and assume the inevitability of a
Mboya presidency. How would he have performed? Would he have patiently
consolidated democracy in the young nation, with all the messiness and
compromises necessary? Or would he have been impatient to carry out an
ambitious economic and developmental programme, ruthlessly casting aside those
who were incapable or insufficiently committed?
Of
course, this would have depended on when he ascended. Had it been in the 1970s,
a President Mboya would have had to deal with the oil shocks and economic
slowdown. Would Kenya have avoided the paranoia and lost decades of the 1980s
and 1990s? How would a former President Mboya have behaved as an elder
statesman?
A
creature of the global elite, traversing the world on missions large and small,
or a homebound sage, dispensing political wisdom? Or would he have tired of the
ceaseless decades of endless activity and retired quietly to an undisturbed
dotage?
But
counterfactual history is just that — the fertile imaginings of what could have
been. What is that Kenya’s greatest political talent was murdered 50 years ago.
The man
who designed Kenya’s flag, named Banki Kuu ya Kenya and founded Kanu, was shot
dead on a July afternoon before he reached the full flowering of his colossal
political, organisational and strategic power.
One
fateful month. When humanity reached for the heavens. And Kenya snuffed out our
brightest star.
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