Friday, March 8, 2013
And why should the Kenya media light the fire of post-election violence?
As I write this, I am not sure how the situation is going to be in Kenya in the next two hours. I write waiting alongside 40 million other Kenyans for the Chairman of the Independent Electoral & Boundaries Commission Issack Hassan to finally announce the winner of the Kenya Elections 2013.
I write in anticipation, I write in pent-up anxiety hoping for the best while expecting the worst, just like the next person who claims to be Kenyan.
That is the much I can say in terms of post-election turmoil. Am I disappointing the Western media by this calm sobriety? Apparently, because the western media it seems has been twiddling its fingers since Monday the 4th of March when Kenyans went to the polls waiting for when they could strike a match and set Kenya aflame.
The Washington Post, one of the most respected and celebrated Media in the globe has just lost my respect. Listen to this; Kenya Media Outlets Practice Censorship to keep election tensions down; Washington Post; March 7th 2013.
I am flabbergasted and on the same breath, I must admit that I am delighted. Yes! Flabbergasted by the audacity of the Washington Post to even imagine that calming tensions is a negative thing and delighted because having gone through the piece, I now realize that we the Kenya media need to shift base to the West to TRAIN THEM on what responsible reporting is!
I am a journalist. I seek to re-define the role of the media in conflict prone situations and therefore, from the above accusations of “calming tensions”, I plead guilty as charged.
I however have no apology to make and neither should the Kenya media. Tonight I celebrate the impressive performance by the media in Kenya. I affirm them for going out of their way to veer of sensationalism, inflammatory reporting and biased coverage. I raise their profile for finally understanding the two ethos of journalism; MEDIA SENSIBILITY and MEDIA SENSITIVITY. I commend them for embracing both and infusing them so reasonably in the coverage of the pre and post voting period.
You need to have been here in 2007 and 2008 to understand just how crucial these two aspects are. We were here. We saw the profession sink into polarization and commit the ultimate misconduct of sensationalism, inflammatory coverage and biased reporting.
We were present as journalists when society could not distinguish between our code of conduct and that of the ordinary hooligan in the streets. We ran amok just as the whole country lost its sanity. We stood accused - we still stand accused since one member of the profession actually remains a suspect before the International Criminal Court for having fueled the conflict. Today, five years later, the Kenya media has learned its lesson. It has matured and understands the call to media sensitivity and media sensibility.
Curiously, I realize that international media such as the Washington Post are yet to grasp this new reality that basically outlines the need for positive change through the media. They are alarmed by the calmness of the Kenya media, they wonder why television screens and newspaper pages are not bleeding. It is probably why in its skewed perception of the role of media in covering political processes, the Post and other internationals think coverage by the Kenya media is “dull and boring”.
As a journalist, I have keenly observed the pre and post voting climate within media houses. As authority calls, they have instructions to relay only results as conveyed by the IEBC. While they wait for results, they are conducting calm and sober analysis with intelligent guests within shows while on the other hand relaying messages of peace and urging for calm. They are reporting and updating Kenyans in a sensible and almost synchronized manner which I must say has contributed a lot to the sense of calm despite the hitches and prolonged wait over the final announcement for results. The Kenya Media has been sober and sensitive. It is obvious that they are so aware of what is at stake. Most importantly, they are aware that they hold the match that can easily flare up a fire. They understand just how delicate the situation is.
It is a matter of life and death. Literally. The media understands this. It is invoking its responsibility and sensibility lest they repeat the mistakes of 2007/2008. The Kenya media is mature enough to infuse sensibility and sensitivity in coverage and still remain professional in disseminating information to the public. Now, I know, this is the kind of professionalism the Washington Post or other international media outlets may not understand. It seems they are yet to grasp this new world order of journalism that deliberately seeks to make the world a better place.
We know the old journalism adage on the definition of news - it is when a man bites a dog and not when a dog bites a man. Well, to the international media, I have news for you; in Kenya right now, there are no men biting dogs and the Kenya media has no intention whatsoever to invent that scenario!
Despite this, the Kenya media, ranked as one of the best in this region is practicing as you read this and is doing it as professionally as it possibly can. Unlike yourselves living in the old-school mentality of stroking fires to create News, the media here has realized and redefined its role to help keep the peace and avert conflict and yes, this kind of approach does crown the bylines and pays the bills!
I sympathize with capitals of the world where parachute journalists flying in from western territories have landed and struck matches with their insensitive coverage and left the people worse than they were. I sympathize with the collateral damage of innocent civilians in areas of conflict across the world whom the western media in their skewed ideology dance on their corpses in the name of chasing big stories of conflict that are not “dull and boring”.
In my reflections as a journalist and a writer, I sympathize with a media that reneges from its responsibility to create and sustain harmony and peace through coverage in the pretext of exercising a people’s right to know. I condemn journalists who deliberately set out to strike matches and light fires that they can never control or put out.
In this space, I salute my colleagues in the media in Kenya for deliberately going out of the comfort zones of outdated journalistic practice to deliberately hold together the sanity of a nation on the brink of conflict.
I celebrate the Media Council of Kenya, the Media Owners Association, the Kenya Editors Guild and all professional Journalism bodies that have deliberately chosen the path of sanity in reporting to the detriment of cheapening the profession through inflammatory and sensational propaganda.
Thank you the media in Kenya for finally understanding your calling!
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Penning for change with Mildred Ngesa: Blood is in my hands…and yours too!
Penning for change with Mildred Ngesa: Blood is in my hands…and yours too!: Blood is in my hands as I write, for I have just taken supper from the comfort of my house while attending a burial. Blood is in my hands a...
Blood is in my hands…and yours too!
Blood is in my hands as I write, for I have just taken supper from the comfort of my house while attending a burial. Blood is in my hands and it is bothering me that I am still sitting in the comfort of my house, not angry enough to storm State
House, parliament or vigilante house on behalf of the people of Tana River.
The burial I attended while sitting in my cozy living room was sad and piercing. There was this woman in a black dress, seated on the ground; she was crying so wretchedly but no tears fell from her eyes; she was crying a cry much deeper than tears could express. I know you saw her too; her and the other woman, whom overcome by grief attempted to throw herself into the burning house which probably was smoldering to the ground with her family and kin.
I am shocked that I am still sitting up banging this piece with blood in my hands. I should be out there; running mad, running stark-naked mad for the banefullness of our so called government, duty bearers and politicians. Tana River burns with a vengeance and it is not burning on its own – someone struck the match and that someone is not the fighters who invaded the villages in the cover of darkness or at the break of dawn – no. Those who struck the match are powerful and connected, slimy and conniving, using their stature and positions. The match was struck by a bunch cowards, so bigoted by the own selfishness and evil depths, they would slay the innocent and cause mayhem and pain.
Blood is in my hands because in less than forty days, I will give the same fools a clean pass to the helm to hold the power to strike more matches and sanction more bloodshed. I am angry. I am raw inside. I wonder why I bottle it all in; I wonder why I join the band-wagon of the sympathetic bystanders, only lamenting about it and going back to business as usual. You and I read, watch and listen to yet another shocking killing from the Tana Delta and elsewhere in the country. We shake our heads and gesticulate. Sometimes we hung our shoulders in shame for a second – just for a second and then we erase the memory from our minds and get on with our lives because after all, Tana River is too far away from our radar.
At the burial that I attended from the safety of my living room, I watched a grown man cry out in mournful anguish. He mourned like a baby. He asked rhetorical questions; he pleaded for answers from you and I who were attending the burial from our living rooms. He implored us to stand-up for Tana Delta. He was desperate for you and me to do something – anything! But then, we are too far from Tana, Tana is unattainable. We are too busy with our lives in Nairobi and God-knows where else! We look at him with momentary sympathy and because his pain is too much to bear, we click the remote to a channel pumping up some comedy show! Yes, we are laughing right in the middle of a burial, we are laughing in our silence, we are laughing in our nonchalant detachment.
Tomorrow when you wake up, Nduru and Kibisu village in Tana Delta may be counting yet some more burnt houses. The grave diggers will have yet another long day. It will be too early for them to put down their shovels and jembes. They must be busy in Tana; there is an insatiable demand for graves here. Since July, they have had to dig over 200 graves. Tana Delta needs them. Sadly the reality for them is that they may be digging a grave for a slain son, a wife or a mother and that can never be lucrative for with every mound of soil they scoop for their dear ones, they too die a little.
You and I are dying too and we do not know it. We think we are living as human beings but we are chipping away, wilting in our silence. We are marching on with our lives with dirges and wails tucked somewhere in the pending files of our minds. We save the files and retrieve for later when we are ready to play the sympathetic by-stander card. Sometimes we quickly erase the files to clean our minds for what we consider happy and fulfilling but in all we do, we lose. We never win.
Look at your hands now, firm and strong meant for loving? Are they spotless clean, neatly manicured and polished? You don’t see any blood on them, right? Wrong! Unless you are ready to face the reality on your hands and actually see the blood in your silence and inaction, you will continue attending burials from your living room kidding yourself that the event you are watching are from a far away planet. Unless we are angry enough to revolt against these killings, then we are dancing stupid with the devil basking on our backs! The thing about killings such as those experienced in Tana Delta is that they come as a warning spewing out like an erupted volcano. The warning does not choose to whom the message hits. You and I are targets. Today it is Tana Delta; tomorrow it may be right at the comfort of your living room where you enjoy attending burials courtesy of your remote.
I write in anger and grief. I write in frustration and self condemnation. I write in disgust over this blood on my hands because as human beings, every single senseless killing diminishes us – especially when we do nothing about it.
House, parliament or vigilante house on behalf of the people of Tana River.
The burial I attended while sitting in my cozy living room was sad and piercing. There was this woman in a black dress, seated on the ground; she was crying so wretchedly but no tears fell from her eyes; she was crying a cry much deeper than tears could express. I know you saw her too; her and the other woman, whom overcome by grief attempted to throw herself into the burning house which probably was smoldering to the ground with her family and kin.
I am shocked that I am still sitting up banging this piece with blood in my hands. I should be out there; running mad, running stark-naked mad for the banefullness of our so called government, duty bearers and politicians. Tana River burns with a vengeance and it is not burning on its own – someone struck the match and that someone is not the fighters who invaded the villages in the cover of darkness or at the break of dawn – no. Those who struck the match are powerful and connected, slimy and conniving, using their stature and positions. The match was struck by a bunch cowards, so bigoted by the own selfishness and evil depths, they would slay the innocent and cause mayhem and pain.
Blood is in my hands because in less than forty days, I will give the same fools a clean pass to the helm to hold the power to strike more matches and sanction more bloodshed. I am angry. I am raw inside. I wonder why I bottle it all in; I wonder why I join the band-wagon of the sympathetic bystanders, only lamenting about it and going back to business as usual. You and I read, watch and listen to yet another shocking killing from the Tana Delta and elsewhere in the country. We shake our heads and gesticulate. Sometimes we hung our shoulders in shame for a second – just for a second and then we erase the memory from our minds and get on with our lives because after all, Tana River is too far away from our radar.
At the burial that I attended from the safety of my living room, I watched a grown man cry out in mournful anguish. He mourned like a baby. He asked rhetorical questions; he pleaded for answers from you and I who were attending the burial from our living rooms. He implored us to stand-up for Tana Delta. He was desperate for you and me to do something – anything! But then, we are too far from Tana, Tana is unattainable. We are too busy with our lives in Nairobi and God-knows where else! We look at him with momentary sympathy and because his pain is too much to bear, we click the remote to a channel pumping up some comedy show! Yes, we are laughing right in the middle of a burial, we are laughing in our silence, we are laughing in our nonchalant detachment.
Tomorrow when you wake up, Nduru and Kibisu village in Tana Delta may be counting yet some more burnt houses. The grave diggers will have yet another long day. It will be too early for them to put down their shovels and jembes. They must be busy in Tana; there is an insatiable demand for graves here. Since July, they have had to dig over 200 graves. Tana Delta needs them. Sadly the reality for them is that they may be digging a grave for a slain son, a wife or a mother and that can never be lucrative for with every mound of soil they scoop for their dear ones, they too die a little.
You and I are dying too and we do not know it. We think we are living as human beings but we are chipping away, wilting in our silence. We are marching on with our lives with dirges and wails tucked somewhere in the pending files of our minds. We save the files and retrieve for later when we are ready to play the sympathetic by-stander card. Sometimes we quickly erase the files to clean our minds for what we consider happy and fulfilling but in all we do, we lose. We never win.
Look at your hands now, firm and strong meant for loving? Are they spotless clean, neatly manicured and polished? You don’t see any blood on them, right? Wrong! Unless you are ready to face the reality on your hands and actually see the blood in your silence and inaction, you will continue attending burials from your living room kidding yourself that the event you are watching are from a far away planet. Unless we are angry enough to revolt against these killings, then we are dancing stupid with the devil basking on our backs! The thing about killings such as those experienced in Tana Delta is that they come as a warning spewing out like an erupted volcano. The warning does not choose to whom the message hits. You and I are targets. Today it is Tana Delta; tomorrow it may be right at the comfort of your living room where you enjoy attending burials courtesy of your remote.
I write in anger and grief. I write in frustration and self condemnation. I write in disgust over this blood on my hands because as human beings, every single senseless killing diminishes us – especially when we do nothing about it.
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