Electing a Pope

New rules
Popes are elected by the College of Cardinals meeting in Conclave when the Apostolic See falls vacant.
Pope Paul VI significantly changed the rules for conclaves in 1975 when he promulgated the Apostolic Constitution Romano Pontifico Eligendo. He excluded all cardinals 80 years old or over from the conclave and made provision to prevent any bugging of the Sistine Chapel.
It was according to these rules that Albano Luciano, Patriarch of Venice, was elected Pope John Paul I and that a little over a month later, Karol Wojtyla, Cardinal Archbishop of Krakow, was elected Pope John Paul II. Pope John Paul II himself promulgated a whole new set of rules in 1996 in the Apostolic Constitution Universi Dominici Gregis.He has not departed radically from the traditional structure. But he has made some significant changes:

If no cardinal has been elected by two-thirds majority after a certain number of ballots, the cardinals may agree by absolute majority (half + 1) to elect the Pope by an absolute majority instead of a two-thirds majority rather than stay in uncomfortable, makeshift quarters in the Papal Palace, the Cardinals will stay in the Domus Sanctae Marthae, hotel-style accommodation in Vatican City the only remaining method of electing the Pope is by scrutiny, ie, silent ballot -- the methods of election by acclamation and by committee have been excluded (but were rarely used)the older cardinals are still unable to enter the conclave, but they are invited to take an active role in the preparatory meetings the rules on secrecy are tougher.

The maximum number of Cardinal Electors allowed at any one time is 120. The Pope cannot raise more than 120 men under 80 to the Cardinalate at any one time. (Of course, being Pope, he can also dispense himself with compliance with that rule! On the last two occasions, the Pope named new cardinals soon after the number of electors fell below 120. There were as high as 135 electors at some stages.) As at April 2005, there are 117 Cardinals eligible to vote in Conclave. (Only 115 of them entered the 2005 Conclave, as two of them were too ill to travel to Rome for the Conclave.)

The Pope dies

When the Pope dies, the Cardinal Camerlengo (currently Eduardo Cardinal Martinez Somalo) must verify the death, traditionally by calling the Pope three times by his name without response (although this is only a ritual &emdash; the death is verified by medical staff). He must then authorize a death certificate and make the event public by notifying the Cardinal Vicar for the Diocese of Rome (currently Camillo Cardinal Ruini). The Camerlengo then seals the Pope's private apartments. He would also arrange for the "ring of the fisherman" and the papal seal to be broken. He then makes preparations for the Papal funeral rites and the novemdieles, the nine days of mourning.

The Interregnum

During the interregnum, it is the Camerlengo who is responsible for the government of the Church. He must arrange the funeral and burial of the Pope. He directs the election of a new pope, assisted by three Cardinals, elected by the College of Cardinals, with three replacement Cardinals elected every three days.

All heads of the dicasteries of the Roman Curia are suspended from exercising their authority during the interregnum (and are expected to resign their posts immediately on the election of the new Pope). The only exceptions to this are the Cardinal Camerlengo, the Cardinal Vicar of Rome, the Major Penitentiary (James Cardinal Stafford), the Cardinal Archpriest of St Peter's Basilica and the Vicar-General for Vatican City (both offices are held by Francesco Cardinal Marchisano). These continue in their posts during the interregnum.

After 15-20 days of "General Congregations", sermons at their Titular Churches on what kind of Pope the Church needs, and mourning for the Pope after his funeral, the Cardinal Electors enter the Conclave to choose which of them will emerge as Holy Roman Pontiff.

The Conclave

The Cardinals must take an oath when they first enter the Conclave that they will follow the rules set down by the Pope and that they will maintain absolute secrecy about the voting and deliberations. The penalty for disclosing anything about the conclave that must be kept secret is automatic excommunication.

The Cardinals all take seats around the wall of the Sistine Chapel and take a ballot paper on which is written "Eligo in summum pontificem" -- "I elect as supreme Pontiff...". They then write a name on it, fold it, and then proceed one by one to approach the altar, where a chalice stands with a paten on it. They hold up their ballot high to show that they have voted, then place it on the paten, and then slide it into the chalice. The votes are then counted by the Cardinal Camerlengo and his three assistants.

Each assistant reads the name, reads the name aloud, writes it down on a tally sheet and then passes it to the next assistant. The third assistant runs a needle and thread through the centre of each ballot to join them all together. The ballots are then burned, as well as all notes made. If a new Pope has been elected, the papers are burned with chemicals (it used to be wet straw) to give white smoke. Otherwise, they give off black smoke, so that the waiting crowds, and the world, know whether their new Holy Father will soon emerge from the Sistine Chapel. On 6 April 2005, it was announced that, in addition to the white smoke, the bells of St Peter's Basilica will be rung to signal the election of the new Pope. This will avoid any doubt about whether the smoke is white or black.

Until the conclaves of 1978, each Cardinal was provided a throne and a table and a canopy (or baldachino) over their heads. Paul VI abolished the practice because, with the internationalization of the College of Cardinals, there was simply no room any more. Whereas there were only 80 electors before then, the number had risen to 120. The thrones used to be arranged in two rows, along the wall facing each other. The canopies and thrones symbolized that, during the sede vacante when there is no Pope, the Cardinals all share responsibility for the governance of the Church. To further this symbolism, once the new Pope was elected and announced the name he would use, the other Cardinals would pull on a cord and the canopy would collapse, leaving just the new Pope with his canopy aloft.

To be elected Pope, one Cardinal must receive at least two-thirds of the votes. Except that, under the new rules established by Pope John Paul II, if a certain number of ballots have taken place without any Cardinal being elected Pope, then the Cardinals may then elect by simple majority. This is an important change and may well be the most important change made. In the past, it has often been the case that a particular candidate has had solid majority support but cannot garner the required two-thirds majority, eg, because he is too conservative to satisfy the more moderate Cardinals.

Therefore a compromise candidate is chosen, either an old Pope who will die soon and not do much until the next conclave (which is what was intended with John XXIII!) or someone not so hard-line wins support. The difference now will be that if, in the early ballots, one candidate has strong majority support, there is less incentive for that majority to compromise with the cardinals who are against their candidate and they simply need to sit out 30 ballots to elect their man. This may well see much more "hard-line" Popes being elected. There will also be far less incentive for the Cardinals to finish quickly as in the past. After such a long papacy, they may need time to arrive at a strong consensus on what type of papacy the Church now needs. They will also be staying in comfortable lodgings, rather than sleeping in foldaway cots in hallways and offices in the Sistine Chapel. On the other hand, the Cardinals will be reluctant for it to appear as if they are deeply divided, so there will still be an overriding desire to have a quick conclave. (No conclave in the last 200 years has lasted more than 5 days.)

The cardinals vote on the afternoon of the first day, then twice each morning and twice each afternoon. If they have not elected someone within the first three votes, then they may devote up to a day to prayer and discussion before resuming. They may do the same every seven unsuccessful votes after that.

The Cardinals are not permitted any contact with the outside world: no mobile phones, no newspapers or television, no messages or letters or signals to observers. There will be regular sweeps of all relevant areas for listening devices. The Cardinals will for the first time be able to move freely within Vatican City (eg, taking a walk in the Vatican Gardens, or walking from the Domus Sanctae Marthae to the Sistine Chapel). Workers in Vatican City continue to go about their business during the Conclave. If they run into a Cardinal, they are forbidden from speaking to him.

Habemus Papam!

Once a Cardinal has received the required number of votes, the Dean of the College of Cardinals asks him if he accepts election and by what name he wishes to be called as Pope. On giving assent, the Cardinal immediately becomes Pontifex Maximus, the Holy Roman Pontiff. In the unlikely event that the Cardinal chosen is not yet a bishop, the most senior Cardinal present (the Dean or Sub-Dean usually) immediately performs the ceremony to consecrate the new Pope as a bishop.

The Cardinals then pledge their obedience to His Holiness in turn. The Pope vests in his Pontifical clericals (white soutane and skull cap) -- the Italian family business in Rome that makes all the Papal vestments has several different sizes prepared in readiness for His Holiness, no matter what his shape or size!

The Proto-Deacon of the College of Cardinals (currently Cardinal Medina Estevez) then steps onto the main balcony of the Vatican and declares to the World: "Habemus Papam!" "We have a Pope!" and tells the waiting world who has been chosen as the new pope and the name he has decided to take as Pope. His Holiness then appears on the Balcony and delivers his Apostolic Blessing to the city of Rome and to the World.

The Pope can ask the Cardinals to remain in Conclave one last evening. Both John Paul I and John Paul II did so, and spent their first evening as Pope with the Cardinals. A suite in the Domus Sanctae Marthae is kept free for the new Pope to stay in instead of returning to the room he occupied as a voting Cardinal during the Conclave.

Within a short time of his election, before the Cardinals return home, a formal ceremony of inauguration takes place at which the woollen pallium is bestowed upon him. The choir chants "Tu es Petrus" (Thou art Peter), the words Christ spoke to Peter when He told him he was the Rock on which Jesus would build His Church and asked him to feed His sheep.

One of the few things Pope John Paul I managed to do in his short papacy was to abolish the traditional Papal Coronation, which Pope John Paul II did not resurrect. Traditionally, the Pope would be carried around St Peter's Square on the Sedia Gestatoria (the Papal Throne) and have the Papal Tiara placed on his head. These last two popes have done away with the monarchic symbolism of the papacy (including the use of the Royal "we") in favour of a heightened concentration of their role as "Servus Servorum Dei" -- Servant of the servants of God. It remains to be seen whether a future Pope restores some form of papal coronation ceremony, even if it does not involve a full return to some of the earlier monarchic rituals.

5 Learning Points from the Kenyan Election 2013

Politics is more than elections

A few hours before an official winner was declared in Kenya’s election, New York Times correspondent Jeffrey Gettleman tweeted: “Raila REJECTS Kenyatta victory in Kenya election. A 2007 type scenario could be shaping up. This rhetoric is not unique: Throughout the week after the vote the media warned of a 2007-like crisis. But what this election has demonstrated is that comparing elections without looking at the process and politics of what happens between obscures more than it explains.

Analysts, journalists and even political scientists tend to treat elections as fixed events. Elections are compared to other elections; electoral violence is compared to previous instances of electoral violence; and all other institutional progress (and digression) is swept aside. But in new democracies a lot happens between elections, both good and bad. Power arrangements are re-shaped, societal transformations occur, and political institutions are strengthened and weakened. In Kenya, there is a new constitution; there are new leading candidates; there is a new electoral commission; there is an integrated international community; there is a stronger and more ubiquitous press; there is a new national land policy.

There is one very simple point to be made: it takes a lot for a neighbor to kill his neighbor. Elections, and even disputed ones, do not provide the incentive to kill. They simply provide the context for a host of other factors to coalesce. Elections do not take place in a political vacuum.

It’s the campaign, stupid

Ethnic arrangements shape the electoral terrain. Programmatic and identity concerns influence voting behavior. But campaigns win elections. According to Ken Opalo’s weblog, Kenyatta’s strongholds registered over 87 percent turnout; Odinga’s registered 78 percent.

Kenyatta ran a well-oiled machine. This high turnout won him the elections. 

His campaign was impressive. TNA offices sprang up all over the country. Huge rallies inspired confidence that he could put on an impressive show. His campaign message offered hope and optimism: “I Believe.” In the middle of his pre-election rally at Uhuru Park, a friend turned to me and said, “If he runs the country like this, I would vote for him.”

Kenyatta was partnered with the best campaigners in the country. William Ruto is one of the most charismatic figures in Kenya; Mike Sonko’s version of hip-populism spans tribe and excites the youth. Being the richest man in Kenya undoubtedly also helped: Kenyatta was able to infuse huge sums of cash into his campaign in a very short time.

On the other hand, Odinga let down his core supporters by trying to push through six-piece voting arrangements. His campaign strategy relied on painting the opponents as international pariahs unable to govern the country from the ICC, rather than inspiring confidence in his own abilities to lead the country. Often, he seemed exhausted and out of touch. A dissertation needs to be written about what strategies work in African electoral campaigns. Similarly, why do Africans turn out to vote? A deep analysis of the 2013 Kenyan election is a good place to start.

The future is local

As political institutions strengthen across young African democracies, an interesting arena of politics will be at the local level. Kenyans anxiously watched results pour in from the races of county representatives, governors, and senators. As one former government worker told me, “I needed to see where across this country there are people I can work with. Where real reforms can be made so we can improve this country.”

Some analysts worry that Kenya will descend into decentralized majimboism; others worry that the country will develop unevenly like Nigeria. But the fact of the matter is that local political development in Kenya is unknown, and will be a fascinating area of research in years to come.

The collective capacity to get things done

The Kenyan elections confirmed that democracy is more than an electoral procedure—it is greater than majority rule. It confirmed that democracy is a form of collective agency, or as Stanford political theorist Josiah Ober explains, that it is closer to the original Athenian conception of the word: the collective capacity to get things done.

The 2013 Kenyan election was a collective endeavor: political parties supported the electoral commission and allowed them to do their work independent of political interests; the international community spent more than $100 million on logistical support; the media pressured the leaders to answer for their past in groundbreaking debates; civic education campaigns energized the grassroots. Kenyans participated and engaged actively in politics by attending political rallies, organizing local political associations, and holding their leaders to account. Longstanding leaders who did not deliver were voted out of office.

Kenyans demonstrated that democracy is more than a mechanism for counting votes, but rather a means of doing things together.

Land, livelihood, and interests

After Kenyatta’s victory, political science graduate student Kathleen Klaus tweeted: “#Uhuru:”For too long in Kenya we have talked about the Land Question – now we need to find the Land Answer.” #Kenya: let him not forget!” Klaus’s dissertation examines the relationship between land, political mobilization, and violence. Prior to the elections, analysts and commentators emphasized the land issue. During the voting process, commentators stressed the possibility of chaos and political violence.

But what Klaus demonstrates is that all of these factors are related, and must be dealt with in the Second Republic. Democracy is not consolidated because there was a peaceful election. Kenyatta will have to prove that Kenya is indeed an inclusive republic: economically, politically and socially.

Kenyatta owns large swaths of land across the country. Many Kenyans across the country see him as a “land grabber.” Residents across the Rift Valley and on the Coast still do not have title deeds and remain squatters on land they have lived on for several years. The price of land and other resources will continue to rise, contributing to competing land claims and inevitable winners and losers. It is important to deal with the underlying property rights issues now to avoid future conflict. Implementing the national land policy is a good place to start.

Understanding Kenya's Rejected Ballots

Kenya’s future now turns on the technicalities of electoral law.  As Katrina Manson of the Financial Times and Jason Straziuso and Rodney Muhumza of the Associated Press reported last night, factoring in the high number of rejected ballots in a calculation of voter turnout would reduce Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga’s share of the overall presidential vote. 

This would potentially deny either candidate outright victory on the first ballot, sending the election to a second round next month.

The AP wrote:

“Nearly 330,000 ballots — the number keeps rising — have been rejected for not following election rules, raising criticism of voter education efforts.

The election commission chairman announced late Tuesday that those spoiled ballots, as they are called here, will count in the overall vote total. That makes it very difficult, given the tight race, for either top candidate to reach the 50 percent mark needed to win outright. A runoff election between the top two candidates is expected.”

First, let’s deal with definitions.  In the AP article, ‘spoiled’ and ‘rejected’ ballots are said to be interchangeable.  The FT classes ‘spoiled’ ballots as a sub-set of ‘rejected’ ballots.  In this KTN interview, the first panelist also gets it wrong, but is corrected by the subsequent speaker, Elisha Ongoya.

Spoiled (or as it is stated in Kenyan law, ‘spoilt’) and rejected ballots are different animals.  While neither category of ballot counts towards a candidate’s total, Kenya’s General Election Regulations explain:

“71.  Spoilt ballot papers. A voter who has inadvertently dealt with his or her ballot paper in such a manner that it cannot be conveniently be used as a ballot paper may…obtain another ballot paper in the place of the ballot paper so delivered and the spoilt ballot paper should be immediately cancelled…”

Put another way, a spoilt ballot is not a vote at all and does not count towards turnout.  A spoilt ballot never enters the ballot box.  If a spoilt ballot were to be counted towards turnout, it would effectively be counting the same vote or voter twice (as the spoilt ballot would have been replaced by a fresh ballot paper issued to the voter, and presumably correctly cast.)

A rejected ballot is something else.  It might be less confusing if it was called a rejected vote.  This is determined at the count.  Regulations 77 and 78 state:

“77. Rejection of ballot papers, etc.

(1) At the counting of votes at an election, any ballot paper –

a. which does not bear the security features determined by the Commission;

b. on which votes are marked, or appears to be marked against the names of, more than one candidate;

c. on which anything is written or so marked as to be uncertain for whom the vote has been cast;

d. which bears a serial number different from the serial number of the respective polling station and which cannot be verified from the counterfoil of ballot papers used at that polling station; or

e. is unmarked,

shall, subject to sub-regulation (2) be void and shall not be counted.”

However, sub-regulation 2 allows:

“(2) A ballot paper on which a vote is marked –

a. elsewhere than in the proper place;

b. by more than one mark; or

c. which bears marks or writing which may identify the voter,shall not by that reason only be void if an intention that the vote shall be for one or other of the candidates…clearly appears…and the manner in which the paper is marked does not itself identify the voter…”

Legal expert Ehuru Aukot suggests there may be other reasons for a ballot to be rejected, if, for example a ballot were to be cast in the wrong ballot box, but Regulation 78 is silent on this possibility:

“78. Rejected ballot papers

(1) Every rejected ballot paper shall be marked with the word ‘rejected’ by the presiding officer, and, if an objection is made…to the rejection, the presiding officer shall add the words ‘rejection objected to’.

(2) The presiding officer shall mark every ballot paper counted but whose validity has been disputed or questioned by a candidate or an agent with the word ‘disputed’ but such ballot paper shall be treated as valid for the purpose of the declaration of election results at the polling station.

(3) After the counting of the vote is concluded, the presiding officer shall draw up a statement showing the number of rejected ballot papers under such of the following heads of rejection as may be applicable -

a. want of security feature

b. voting for more than one candidate;

c. writing or mark by which the voter might be identified; or

d. unmarked or void for uncertainty,…”

Regardless of the reason, a rejected ballot, therefore, is a cast vote, the result of a voter attending a polling station and placing a ballot in the ballot box.  The ballot should be counted towards turnout, even if it doesn’t count towards a candidate.

If such a ballot were not factored into turnout calculations, it would inaccurately portray participation in the vote, even if unfortunately, the voter has probably with inadvertence lost their ability to elect a candidate.  While it’s too early to know why most votes were rejected, final polling station returns will be able to tell us more, and suggest whether there are reasons to question what appears to be a high number of rejected votes.

Had this vote been conducted under Kenya’s old constitution, there would not have been a debate on rejected votes.  Chapter II, Part I, article 5(3) f. of the repealed constitution states (italics added):

“the candidate for President who…receives a greater number of valid votes cast in the presidential election than any other candidate for President and who, in addition, receives a minimum of twenty-five per cent of the valid votes cast in at least five of the eight provinces shall be declared to be elected as President.”

Article 138(4) of the 2010 constitution, by contrast, says (italics added):

A candidate shall be declared elected as President if the candidate receives—

a. more than half of all the votes cast in the election; and

b. at least twenty-five per cent of the votes cast in each of more than half of the counties.

Valid votes cast’ are those that count towards a candidate, and do not therefore include rejected votes.  ‘All the votes cast’ is a different formulation, and rejected (and disputed) votes therefore matter in determining whether the constitutional requirement for election to the office of president has been met.

Kenya Elects:Its Either Hope Or Despair

Many Kenyans will go to the polls on 4 March with a sense of trepidation.  Three of the four elections since 1992 have been accompanied by significant violence; 2002 being the exception.  On each occasion politicians used local grievances over land and inequality to label supporters of rival candidates as ethnic “outsiders”.  Militias were then used to force those same voters from their homes.  Thousands of people were killed in violence around the 1992, 1997 and 2007 elections and tens of thousands more fled.  Some of these supposed “outsiders” never returned to places where their families had lived for decades; many Kenyans endure rather than celebrate elections.

Those of a nervous disposition would have hoped that this would be a straightforward election.  That is (clearly) not the case as the final result is too close to call.  With President Mwai Kibaki retiring after two terms in office, Prime Minister Raila Odinga is the front-runner.  But his lead in the opinion polls is narrow and he will almost certainly not win the outright majority needed to avoid a run-off in to be held in a few weeks’ time.

Odinga’s main rival is Uhuru Kenyatta, who, if successful, faces the prospect of governing the country while mounting his defence at the International Criminal Court at The Hague.  He and his running mate, William Ruto, are accused of orchestrating the violence that followed the 2007 election.  Rather than standing aside, both decided to exercise their right – confirmed recently by the Kenyan courts – to contest the election, apparently in order to gain a position of greater strength vis-à-vis the ICC.  They promise they can run the country and mount their defences in court through the use of technology.

In 2007 the rest of the world barely noticed the election until violence broke out during the suspiciously prolonged counting process.  This time, however, Kenya has held foreign attention for months before voters go to the polls.  The question that nags both foreign and local observers is a simple one: has enough been done over the past five years to avoid a repeat of the violence that lasted for two months from late December 2007 and claimed the lives of nearly 1200 people?

Much has been achieved, most notably independent inquiries into the management of the election and the subsequent violence, a new constitution and an on-going reform of the judiciary.  But it is hard to escape the conclusion that these reforms are not enough to guarantee a peaceful election.  A collective psychosis has therefore gripped many, but by no means all, local and foreign commentators.

Threatening isolation and fearing further instability should Kenyatta win, a whole array of figures, from President Obama and Kofi Annan down to the local diplomatic corps, have felt the need to advise Kenyans on how to vote – most likely to no or ill effect.  Uganda – whose businesses are still waiting for compensation for goods destroyed during the 2007-8 violence – has made contingency plans in case of disruption to vital imports being transported along the routes that connect it to the Indian Ocean.  Foreign investment slowed in 2012 due to fears of insecurity.  Local businesses have been buying dollars in case the Kenyan shilling collapses if violence follows the election.

So why does this election seem to matter so much?  There is a flippant and, on one level, accurate response to this question; it doesn’t.  For those of a cynical persuasion, one elite politician with a dubious record in government and a limited commitment to solving the problems of their poorest constituents will replace another, regardless of the result.  The candidates hardly have major differences of opinion over policy and anyone who thinks that a victory for Odinga will solve Kenya’s problems with the ICC is in for a shock.  It will take a lot to budge Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto, who have access to enormous wealth and political leverage, if they refuse to go to The Hague, whether Kenyatta is president or not.  The ICC will be a constitutional and judicial leviathan, dominating the political landscape, for years to come.

But that does not really answer the question.  The election does matter.  To insist otherwise is to patronise an electorate that will turn out in great numbers and display euphoria and dismay in equal measure once the final result is announced.  The significance of the election can also be gauged from the international attention that this vote has garnered.  Viewed from abroad, Kenya has not seemed so significant since the end of the Cold War.  Its role in the Africa Union’s peace-building mission to Somalia has placed it on the front-line of global counter-terror operations and its economy is seen as the mainstay of a surging regional bloc encompassing North-Eastern and Eastern Africa.

There is another common and simple answer to the question of why the election matters; it’s ethnicity, stupid.  It is true that voting will, with some exceptions, follow predictable ethnic patterns, but ethnicity makes sense as a strategy for voters and leaders alike.

The voters know that there are not unlimited jobs.  

They also understand that land, at least in arable parts of the country, is under pressure for all sorts of reasons and that the state only has a finite amount of money for investment in development projects.  Clubbing together to protect what one holds while trying to work collectively to gain more wealth and influence is hardly irrational.  There may be better strategies for such collective action but ethnicity is what history has bequeathed Kenyans and ethnicity is what they have to work with.

For their part, the politicians are normally wealthy men and women seeking the votes of poor constituents.  Ethnicity provides a mechanism by which politicians can cross sometimes vast chasms of wealth and class to win the votes of individuals with whom they otherwise share little in common.  Kenya’s problem is that those in power have encouraged the divisions between groups to be violent and some of their supporters have followed suit; it is difficult to reverse back down that path.

For better or for worse, ethnicity is the way in which class, inequality and history are debated in Kenya.  Beneath the labels of Kikuyu, Kalenjin, Luo, Luhya or Maasai are very different versions of the past and ideas about current and future policies.  One can subject almost any of the great debates in Kenyan politics to such an analysis, but in the interests of brevity take, for instance, devolution.

The subject of fierce debate in the years surrounding independence and in the early 1990s, devolution is a matter of great current significance too.  As well as choosing their member of parliament and the next president, voters will be electing representatives to fill newly empowered county administrations, new county governors and senators to represent the interests of their county in central government.

Many Kikuyu are skeptical about the value of devolution.  To some critics, this is nothing more than Kikuyu ethnic chauvinism.  Two of three presidents, Jomo Kenyatta (1963-78) and the outgoing Mwai Kibaki (2002-13) have been Kikuyu and so the community has been painted as unwilling to tolerate any devolution of significant powers from central to local government.  To be fair, neither president did much to dispel such criticism. 

 But with Kikuyu – to say nothing of the other major ethnic groups – spread across the country, many feel with good reason that central government is a better guarantor of their property rights and personal security than local authorities controlled by communities who see Kikuyu as an economic and political threat.  To many members of other, more economically marginal communities, such as Mijikenda at the Coast or Somali in the North East, an excessively centralized form of government is blamed for the uneven distribution of economic growth, improvements in living standards and investment in infrastructure.

The ICC and devolution are just two of the enormous issues that confront voters.  Others include strategies for continued economic growth, land reform, police reform, the on-going military intervention in Somalia; incidents of terrorism at home; a Coastal separatist movement; and the management of recently discovered oil and gas reserves.  The next government will (obviously) have tremendous influence over all these matters.  

Throw in regional integration and significant fiscal pressure and these are, truly, elections of great significance.

The time available for the next government to attend to any of these issues will, however, be dictated in large part by the conduct of the elections.  Much that is on the agenda will have to be sacrificed if, as with the past five years, time is lost mourning the dead and undergoing prolonged processes of transitional justice without any transition actually taking place.

Those hoping for dramatic change at this election or in the years to come will be disappointed.  Like most of the rest of Africa, Kenya had its Arab Spring – with all its attendant euphoria and disappointments – twenty years ago when the rest of the world was looking elsewhere.  Rather than revolution, a more modest hope for the future is simply for the next election to seem not to matter quite so much.  It doesn’t have to be like this every time, does it?

Kenyan Presidential Election Could have been About Issues ...But

Since multi-party democracy returned to Kenya in 1992, voting at election time has largely divided itself along ethnic lines. In 2007, when President Mwai Kibaki narrowly edged out Raila Odinga under a cloud of suspected vote tampering, the country descended into violence. The perception of blatant manipulation fomented bloodshed, as ethnic groups attached to the candidates attacked each other. Peace came slowly and only after a coalition government was formed elevating Odinga to Prime Minister.

In the aftermath, a country fearful of further division began making changes to the electoral process. Transparency was the watchword, with a new constitution establishing an Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission. A presidential debate was also introduced, so candidates could communicate their proposals and people had more opportunities to make a decision based on policy instead of affiliation.

The new processes finally acknowledged that the Kenyan electorate is looking for substance. But even with the new procedures and institutions in place, voters aren’t getting an issues debate – at least not from the frontrunners.

Raila Odinga, who is in the running again as the head of the Coalition for Reforms and Democracy (CORD), maintains a slim lead in most polls, though under the 50 percent margin that would avert a run-off election between the two top finishers. The other frontrunner, Uhuru Kenyatta – son of the country’s first president – heads the Jubilee Coalition, while six other candidates round out the field.

The Prime Minister’s campaign is convinced he can still win a first-ballot victory. If he does manage this, it will have to come from a huge turnout in his strongholds, though, because little effort is being made to change voters’ minds in other areas. As the candidate hopscotches the country, he is not using issues to engage undecided voters or the electorate that has defaulted to his opponents because of ethnic affiliation.

I have been following the campaign as it travels around Kenya via radio, TV and social media. Last week Odinga’s team announced a rally in Embu, a town in central Kenya at the edge of Kenyatta’s heartland. By noon a small crowd rested in the shade of the concrete grandstand, as the candidate’s team pitched tents and rolled out a red carpet. Though Odinga wouldn’t show up for another four hours, the group of voters had time to burn.

They were Kenyatta supporters almost to a person, but they were also unemployed and bored and several were willing to give Odinga a chance to persuade them why they should change their vote.

Specifically, they were looking for a jobs plan – an explanation of how Odinga would bring industry to Embu and its outlying areas so they could get to work. Instead, they got a series of speeches from local candidates and leaders excoriating Kenyatta, followed by a short message from Odinga himself. Job creation was mentioned, but only in broad strokes, as if he was just reading from his manifesto. Then the candidate was off, a cloud of dust from his helicopter coating the people sheltering in the grandstand.

The Odinga campaign is content to operate under the traditional system of personality politics. The real work went into building the national coalition, with an expectation that the ethnic bases would follow their leaders. It seemed Odinga was in Embu mainly to remind people that current Vice President Kalonzo Musyoka is running on the CORD ticket for the same seat. Embu is near Musyoka’s hometown. During the stop it was Musyoka’s face that was plastered on cars and hung on walls. That, more than issues, was supposed to convince Kenyatta supporters to change their vote.

It also explains the prominent inclusion of Moses Wetangula in the CORD alliance, with his influence in the Luhya community – the second largest in Kenya.

The decision to run on personalities and coalitions is clearly a strategic gambit. But Odinga has the team in place and the resources to run a different kind of campaign. To send volunteers out to explain his platform in detail. To take advantage of technology and provide savvy voters with a wealth of information and encourage them to engage more with the campaign. To run the kind of issues-based effort the changes to the political system were clearly trying to inculcate.

Ahead of the election, advisors said Odinga was focusing on engaging voters, participating in radio call-in shows and holding town hall meetings. But as election day draws closer, the campaign has shifted exclusively to rallies. Though largely substance-free, they project strength and pressure supporters to come out and vote.

It’s a strategy they’re convinced will work. And despite the changes to the system, it likely will. There has not been enough change to erase the notion that voting is an ethnic affair, even in an electorate that is demanding details.

In the aftermath of the country’s first-ever presidential debate earlier this month, polls tipped Kenyatta and Odinga as the night’s victors. The same continued on their second debate on 25th Feb 2013. While the two got the most screen time, they stuck largely to the platitudes they have been issuing at campaign rallies and in their literature.

On street corners in downtown Nairobi the following afternoon, though, it wasn’t Odinga and Kenyatta people wanted to talk about. It was Peter Kenneth. At a gathering of vendors, civil servants and students, calling itself the People’s Parliament, they were raving about Kenneth, the businessman turned politician, who used the debate to speak with precision about a range of issues and ask pointed questions of his opponents.

Viewers were impressed, but no one was planning to vote for him. The reason being that they don’t believe he has a real chance of winning. A vote for Odinga or Kenyatta felt like more of a guarantee of victory – even if that victory doesn’t necessarily come with the policies the voter is looking for.

Still, the chatter about Kenneth could signal the beginning of the end of the kind of campaign Odinga is running. If in five years voters find little has changed, they might start to ask more of a candidate than where he is from and who is in his alliance. A sparkling debate performance could then deliver more than a bit of street corner kudos.

Why The Next pope Should be African

26 years of my  life, i have met only four atheists in Africa. We Africans seem naturally networked to religion. All meetings — on politics, sport and even business — begin with a prayer. God is invoked on every occasion, private or public. Religion is comfortably woven into daily life. Amid the current economic boom that most African countries are enjoying, huge new numbers of churches are being built, some of them vast halls.

The Catholic Church, the largest Christian denomination, is part of the fabric of all African societies. Its schools, community centers and health clinics are trusted far more than state ones and often closer to the people. In wars in Africa it can be  found that Catholic parishes become refuges in which food and medicine are provided — like the monasteries in the chaos of early medieval Europe.

The priests, nuns and church workers who run them are often the best informed about what is happening and the most committed to the local community, unlike foreign aid agencies, which are forced to pull out when there is danger.The Catholic Church in Europe used to be like that, part of the warp and weft of society. And if it wanted to become so again, it should send for an African Pope.

The numbers and the zeitgeist dictate that the next Pope should come from Africa. The percentage of practicing Catholics in Europe and North America has declined steeply. According to a study conducted by the Pew Research Centre, since the 1960s four American-born Catholics have left the Church for every new member. In contrast the number of Catholics in Africa has grown from 55 million in 1978 to more than 150 million today. By 2025 that figure is expected to be 230 million. In the past five years, the number of men training to be Catholic priests in Europe and America has fallen by 10 per cent. In Africa it has risen by more than 14 per cent.

African history is largely untroubled by religious wars. Wherever religious wars are reported in Africa the cause is usually a dispute over land rights involving two communities that happen to be of different faiths. Religion per se is rarely the cause. That traditional tolerance however is now under pressure – not from atheism – but from externally-funded, exclusive fundamentalist religions in the form of Wahabi Islam exported from Saudi Arabia and evangelical Christian fundamentalism funded from the United States.

In Europe and the US the Church has become self and sex-obsessed, out of touch with modern views on sexuality and the rights of individuals and discredited by its failure to face up to its child-abuse scandals — the inevitable product of a celibate priesthood. That has undermined its credibility.

In Africa, where polygamy is still accepted, many priests have wives and children but that is often an open secret, not an issue that seems to trouble their communities.

Spiritual leaders have more pressing and essential issues to confront. In a rich continent full of poor people, death and disease are never far away. At a national level, Catholic leaders are respected and trusted when they speak out on social and economic justice — which many of them do with far more passion and credibility than their Western counterparts.

Would an African pope change the Church’s attitude to homosexuality? Highly unlikely but on social justice, both local and international, expect a far more forthright and vigorous voice. Above all an African pope could bring a revitalizing spiritual enthusiasm and passion. There are 16 African cardinals to choose from — though in theory the cardinals do not have to choose one of their number. The names of Cardinals Francis Arinze of Nigeria and Peter Turkson of Ghana have been mentioned.

The last two Popes have tried to restore — even recreate — the Church as a conservative, European-centred institution, maintaining all the trappings of a secretive and authoritarian ecclesiastical monarchy.

An African Pope would be freed from this baggage. He could restore the Church’s universal vision by moving out of the Vatican and bequeath its magnificent — but almost exclusively European Renaissance — treasures to the world. 

He could then rebase the spiritual, emotional and geographical centre of the Church somewhere closer to a crossroads of modern humanity, a region where Judaism, Christianity and Islam began, a place where religion is most intensely felt, where the destiny of humanity itself may be forged: Jerusalem.

Mali...The Worst is Yet to Come

Retaking the north was the easy part. Now Mali faces guerrilla attacks, reportedly increasing cooperation between rebel groups, ‘the Tuareg problem’, and a divided government.

Early on during the French intervention which began in January 2013, many journalists in the international press were quick to note that Islamist militants had just “melted away” into the vast desert regions of northern Mali. As French jets attacked key strongholds, hundreds of Islamist fighters prepared convoys, which would escort leaders, weapons and fighters away from major towns.

Eye witness accounts confirmed suspicions that the militants’ departure was “orderly” and well-prepared. Their planned withdrawal may indicate their clear intention to redefine the nature of the conflict in Mali on their terms. Indeed, in a document allegedly left behind by al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) in Timbuktu, a senior commander admits that an international intervention would exceed the group’s capability and that they ought therefore to retreat to their “rear bases” for the time being.

Recent events have also shown that local and international troops should prepare for increased resistance and a protracted campaign. Malian soldiers faced the first wave of attacks when various suicide bombers targeted Malian army bases and checkpoints in the city of Gao. A day later, two militants (one Arab and one Tuareg) were intercepted with explosive belts strapped to their bodies. Malian troops were also tested by a significant counter offensive led by the Movement for Oneness and Jihad in West Africa (MUJAO) in the same city on 10 February.

As Mali’s northern provinces become more secure, Islamist militants will increasingly engage in targeted attacks, using asymmetric warfare to test international troops and regain the upper hand. The caves and mountains of the Adrar des Ifoghas region, for example, are ideal locations for militant groups to hide and prepare hit and run operations.

Another worrying development in recent weeks has been allegedly increasing cooperation between Islamist militant groups across West Africa. Locals in Timbuktu claim Nigeria’s rebel group Boko Haram had training camps in the city. A flyer from another Nigerian militant group, Ansaru, was apparently discovered in Gao in the abandoned home of Mokhtar Belmokhtar, the leader of the group believed to be behind the In Amenas attack on a gas plant facility in Algeria. And further suggestions have been made that Boko Haram militants might be using Chad as a rear base to prepare attacks. Chad has sent 1,800 men to fight alongside French and African troops in Mali.

Chad and other fragile states across the Sahel will struggle to police their highly porous borders as heavily armed gunmen move freely across them. The threat Islamic militancy poses to regional stability and beyond cannot be overstated. Mali’s neighbours face a direct threat from militants spilling over. Niger, for example, has agreed to allow the US to deploy drones from its airspace to help police its vast desert regions.

With over 4,000 French ground troops stationed in Mali, the number and size of their base camps growing by the day, and a deteriorating security climate, French forces are unlikely to fully withdraw from the region any time soon.

The deteriorating security climate will have an important effect on Western companies operating there. The tragic hostage crisis in In Amenas prompted security audits among Western companies throughout the region. Policymakers are already urging firms to assess, review and rethink security at their facilities in order to adapt to the mobile nature of these militant groups. French Special Forces have already begun securing vital uranium mines in Niger.

Back in Bamako, the alleged alliances developed over the years between the political elite, smugglers and drug dealers greatly undermined the country’s stability and development. More importantly, Mali and other states in the region will have to address seriously what some are now calling ‘the Tuareg problem’. This will require dialogue and political will to curb marginalisation and stigmatisation from which they and other minority ethnic groups suffer throughout the Sahel.

But divisions at the highest levels of the Malian state hinder Bamako’s ability to adequately address the concerns of Tuareg groups in the north. More recently, differences between pro- and anti-coup factions within the army led to outright clashes in Bamako. The Malian army has also used the French intervention to issue arrest warrants against Tuareg leaders and brush aside their demands. Malian troops are believed to have actively participated in reprisals against local Tuareg and Arab populations in the north. This behaviour, if it is not curbed, will only stoke the flames of ethnic tension.

Mali’s challenges require a multi-dimensional approach, which looks beyond simplistic interventionist agendas. The real roots of the current crisis have been overshadowed by the dominant “war on terror” narrative presented in the media. Beyond the restoration of order and some form of stability, Mali requires responsible and legitimate leadership capable of negotiating long term political solutions. 

The interim civilian government in Bamako alongside civil society and international actors should use the brief respite afforded to it by the presence of foreign troops to address the endemic corruption and legitimate grievances, which lie at the roots of this multifaceted crisis.