Chapter One Introduction
Chapter One Introduction Imagine trying to cover Northern Ireland‟s troubles without using the words „Protestant‟ or „Catholic‟. Or reporting Iraq without referring to „Shias‟ and „Sunnis‟. The attempt would be absurd, the result unfathomable. And yet, in Kenya‟s post-electoral crisis, that is exactly what much of the local media doggedly tried to do. When we read an account in a British newspaper of shack-dwellers being evicted from a Nairobi slum, or see on the BBC gangs attacking inhabitants in the Rift Valley, we are usually told whether these are Kikuyus fleeing Luos, or Kalenjins attacking Kikuyus. But, in Kenya, this particular spade is almost never called a spade. No, it‟s "a certain metal implement". The "problem of tribalism" may be obsessively debated, the gibe of "tribalist" thrown with reckless abandon at politicians and community leaders, but it is just not done to identify a person‟s tribe in the media. The results, given a crisis in which the expression of long-running grievances has taken the most explicit ethnic form, can be opaque. When Mr Maina Kiai, chairman of the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights, addressed displaced people in Eldoret earlier this year, he was booed and heckled. Kenyan media reported the incident without explaining why. The answer was that the displaced he met were mostly Kikuyus, and Kiai, a vocal Kikuyu critic of a Kikuyu-led Government, is regarded by many as a traitor to his tribe. Sometimes, the outcome is simply bizarre. When one newspaper ran a vox pop in January, one entry was meant to capture vividly the predicament of a 15-year-old girl of mixed parentage.
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