Africa and Neoliberalism: Is neoliberalism the cause of contemporary social, political, and economic problems in Africa?

Although neoliberalism as a theory is Euro-American centered, its influence or practical aspects has greatly affected economies of African countries. Western institutions such as the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank (WB) have been major conduits for promoting market fundamentalism in African countries. In the 1980s and 1990s, they formulated policies, commonly referred as Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs), that led to economic adjustments such as austerity and scrapping of subsidies for important sectors such as agriculture, education, and healthcare, factors that finally wrecked economies of many African countries.

As I pointed out in my introductory article, reading David Harvey’s, A Brief History of Neoliberalism, Jamie Peck’s Explaining (with) Neoliberalism, and Michel Foucault’s The Birth of Bio-Politics, one learns that neoliberalism does not have a single definition because the concept cuts across multiple disciplines. But at its basic, neoliberalism refers to an assemblage of social-economic, political, and cultural relations that favor market-based initiatives.  According to Harvey, originators of neoliberalism leveraged the desire for individual freedom and dignity, which is ubiquitous in western societies (but not limited to it) to drum up support for the concept. They figured out that people are more willing and likely to support policies or frameworks that warrant personal liberty and freedom to determine their own lives however they wish.

Harvey further notes that from the beginning, proponents of neoliberalism, especially those based at Chicago School (the Economics Department of the University of Chicago), were against state interventionist theories such as Keynesian. Whereas Keynesian economic theory (which was advanced by British economist John Keynes) advocated for increased government spending and lower taxes as a means for addressing economic depression, Chicago School argued that the state was not competent enough to judge market initiatives because it had limited data, and that politicians could not be trusted to be impartial in planning the economy. Moreover, economic stagflation in Europe and America was blamed on Keynesian initiatives such as fixed exchange rates, heavy government spending on social welfare, and government intervention that hindered market competition. Neoliberalists argued that there is no such thing as society. They privileged individuals and families, and thus, justified the scrapping of state enterprises or social welfare programs geared to the benefit of society (as a collective). They proposed the idea of a neo-liberal state, one that operates as super-enterprise facilitating other sectors of the economy while ensuring market competition. As Harvey notes, “the freedoms it embodies reflect the interests of private property owners, businesses, multinational corporations, and financial capital” (7).

Scholars seem to agree that the common denominator for various interpretations of liberalism is the market. However, some scholars such as Jamie Peck have gone beyond the basic definition to explore how neoliberalism tends to operate differently from one geographical region to another with varying degrees of success. Furthermore, even the historiography of the concept of neoliberalism also tends to differ from one region to another. For instance, Ordo-liberals in Germany anchored their neo-liberal ideas on “social market economy’ and advocated for the creation of a social policy that can create and determine conditions for the market, which included “universalization of the entrepreneurship form and the redefinition of law” (Lemke, 2001: 195). In other words, they conceptualized an economic-institutional structure that encompasses the law of the land and even determines the nature of the state that can be established. Chicago School went further and blurred the line between the social and economic spheres.  As Lemke (2001) notes, they “attempted to re-define the social sphere as a form of the economic domain” (197). In other words, social phenomena that were not considered in monetary or economic terms were incorporated into the economy.

In other areas neoliberalism redefined the relationship between capital and labor, that is, it introduced the concept of human capital whereby people were no longer receiving wages for performing a task but “an income from a special type of (human) capital” (Lemke, 2001: 199). In this regard, people became entrepreneurs of themselves. Thus, a person pursuing education to acquire more skills was regarded as investing in self; increasing one’s human capital.

The concept of neoliberalism has had its fair share of criticism from both the left and right critics in cultural studies, political science, economics, and other disciplines. The 2008 crash of the economy led to mass protests such as Occupy Wall Street that condemned neoliberalism as a cause of economic inequality in the US. But as Peck (2013) points out, neoliberalism is not the sole cause of contemporary social, political, and economic problems. He argues that it is one of the Others. My view is that neoliberalism as conceptualized favors certain classes of people who have taken advantage of the system and enriched themselves at the expense of the poor. Some countries such as the US have taken the neoliberal idea of freedom beyond their borders through instituting and adopting foreign policies that purport to promote freedom around the world. For instance, President Bush’s invasion of Iraq was pegged on the idea that they were liberating Iraq citizens from decades of oppression under Saddam Hussein. They sought to achieve this through liberalization of the entire Iraq economy, that is, privatizing key public institutions and adopting market-based initiatives for all sectors of the economy. They even sought to regulate labor by prohibiting unions and unionization. All these policies have not translated into “good freedom” for the oppressed. Instead, they have widened inequality and exacerbated suffering.

Works cited:

Harvey, D (2005). A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Lemke, T (2001). ‘The birth of bio-politics’: Michel Foucault’s lecture at the College de France on neo-liberal governmentality. Economy and Society, 30(2), 190-207.

Mamdani, M. (2007). Define and Rule. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Mantena, K (2010). Alibis of Empire: Henry Maine and the ends of liberal imperialism. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Peck, J (2013). Explaining with Neoliberalism, Territory, Politics, Governance, 1:2, 132-157.

Africa and Neoliberalism: A Short Introduction

Last semester I enrolled in a class on “Africa and (Neo)liberalism.”  As part of the course requirements, I kept a weekly critical journal about the class readings. The following series of articles detail my observations throughout the 15 weeks the class lasted.

What is Neoliberalism?

The recent academic literature on Africa is replete with debates on neoliberalism and its effects on the social, political, and economic lives of people of Africa.  But compared to other common concepts such as capitalism, socialism, democracy or even liberalism, this concept is yet to be definitively defined. Moreover, it has become an academic expression that is repeatedly and conveniently used by scholars to represent political-economic changes, particularly those influenced by World Bank and International Monetary Fund programs, commonly known as Structural Adjustment Programs (SAPs).

I first came across the concept of neoliberalism during a Medical Workers’ strike in Kenya. Medical health professionals and other concerned wananchi pointed out that the Kenyan government had become a neoliberal client state because of its plans to privatize health care. The government denied these claims and argued that their strategy was merely to collaborate with the private sector under the framework of established public-private partnership policies in order to provide excellent healthcare to the people of Kenya.  The government’s strategy hinged on the assumption that the private sector is more efficient in delivering public services, and it can easily be regulated. This idea that everything including public services can be privatized, monetized and be distributed in a market is perhaps the common denominator in all the definitions I read about neoliberalism.  As I wrote in my journal during the second week of class:

Reading Harvey (2005), Peck (2013), and Lemke (2001), one learns that neoliberalism does not have a single definition because the concept cuts across multiple disciplines. But at its core, neoliberalism refers to an assemblage of social-economic, political, and cultural relations that favor market-based initiatives.

But what I found more interesting is Jamie Speck’s discussion of neoliberalism as an analytic framework that is always becoming. Furthermore, this concept tends to operate differently from one region to another. In other words, how we discuss or analyze neoliberalism in the context of Africa need not necessarily resemble Eurocentric analyses. This view does not disentangle Africa or any region from the world economy. It merely shows that political-economic concepts are rarely one size fits all concept as they are interpreted and applied differently across the world. For instance, one question we discussed during a presentation on James Ferguson’s Global Shadows, is why Africa is poor despite its abundance of natural resources. I wrote in my journal:

Scholars confuse the issue of “political-economic inequality” in Africa with the concept of development. They divorce inequality from its global consideration and discuss it at the nation-state level as “development” issue. This articulation is inaccurate as it ignores the historical contribution of Africa into what we now call modernity or globalization. Furthermore, scholars who look at global capital flows often ignore Africa. Obviously, to them, Africa is not part of the global capital equation. The few who look at global flows in Africa, constrain themselves to capital related to mineral-resource extraction.

Ferguson goes to great lengths to explain how capital flows to specific enclaves in Africa while it bypasses national economies. In other words, it does not benefit all citizens. In this case, global is reconceptualized as a point-to-point connection as opposed to a focal point of convergence. As Ferguson indicates, there is a danger to this new conceptualization of global because it poses challenges in dealing with complex issues such as global warming, which does not work point-to-point.

Reading Ferguson contributed greatly to my understanding of capital and how neoliberalism manifests in Africa.  His discussion in a chapter about “paradoxes of sovereignty and independence: ‘real’ and ‘pseudo-nation-states and the depoliticization of poverty” enabled me to see that our understanding of global inequality and cultural differences should be examined from a global social, economic, and political perspective as opposed to the localization of such. Perhaps the story of Lesotho and Transkei illustrates this concept better. Despite Lesotho being a sovereign country, its economy, especially during apartheid, was worse than Transkei, a formerly Bantustan enclave in South Africa. Lesotho could not (and perhaps still does not) have an independent economy that is not dependent on its neighboring countries such as South Africa. As I wrote in my journal, all these underscores the fact that there can be no local culture that is divorced from the wider and encompassing sphere within which they are conceptualized and articulated. Thus, Ferguson concludes that anthropologists should reconsider ideas of “the field” as a unique site of culture.

During our third and fifth week of class, I realized that although neoliberalism is a recent phenomenon, its roots can be traced back to the era of slavery and colonialism. In other words, concepts of capital, capitalism, and neoliberalism are neither alien in Africa nor late entrants. On the contrary, capitalism is entrenched in the African past, and as Cooper points out, it has been slowly “coming.” Furthermore, as I reflected in my journal, slavery and colonialism are not departing point for African economy, or its entry into the world economy as African suppliers of slaves were not necessarily part of the global economy that this kind of trade created. In fact, they did not even know what happened to the slaves once they crossed the Atlantic (see Gikandi’s Slavery and the Culture of Taste).

Africa had its own economy that catered for their needs and adapted to its ecosystems, but slavery and colonialism disrupted this economy. Karuna Mantena’s Alibis of Empire and Mahmood Mamdani’s Define and Rule trace transitions that led to political-economic changes in Africa. Their discussions enabled me to understand how colonialism was conceptualized in the metropolis and how colonizers interpreted their “mandate.” Of importance here is the idea that colonial practices continue to have adverse political-economic effects in Africa. Ato Quayson’s book, Oxford Street Accra, in a way, is an exposition of some of these effects. Quayson employs a cultural lens to trace the genesis of Accra city and its development into a neoliberal city. The history he discusses situates Accra as a commercial coastal city that became the gateway to Gold Coast (now Ghana). The centrality of commerce or business in slavery and colonialism cannot be underestimated.

Over the course of eight weeks (the first part of the class), I learned a lot about neoliberalism including the concept of human capital and technologies of subjectivity, which most African scholars tend to ignore. These ideas provide new frameworks for interpreting economic changes taking place in Africa.

The following sections of my journal highlight some of the major points from class readings and discussions.

Simon Gikandi’s Slavery and the Culture of Taste (Part I)

Simon Gikandi’s Slavery and the Culture of Taste (Part I)

Contrapuntal analysis will show that even when the lives of enslaved Africans were located at the opposite pole of modern identity and when their objectification was at odds with the triumphant subjectivism of modernity, slaves were intimately connected to the political and moral economy of the modern world. It was difficult to imagine a modern identity that was totally detached from the Africans’ subjection (Gikandi, 2011: 81).

Simon Gikandi’s Slavery and the Culture of Taste explores eighteenth-century European and American archive to identify what was excluded from the “discourse of taste and the series of omissions, repressions, and conceptual failures that were its condition of possibility” (25). Gikandi’s uses this century as a reference point because it marks a period when issues of slavery and culture of taste were more prominent. This was also the age of enlightenment in Europe when individuals discovered the increasing significance of personal liberty. Moreover, this was the century when more slaves were shipped from Africa. As Olaniyan writes, “over half of all the enslaved Africans in 366 years of slavery were shipped out or disembarked” in that century. Arguably, this century was the most affected by the phenomenon of slavery. The presence of so many slaves in Euro-American society was bound to shape the lives of people in many ways.

Gikandi uses “culture of taste” to refer to institutions, norms, and practices of high culture in Europe and America. He notes that during this time to refer to one as a “person of taste” meant that the person is “highly cultured and of refined or sophisticated sensibilities” (xii). He reads the eighteenth-century archive contrapuntally to show that modernity cannot be read without incorporating slavery because they are two sides of the same coin. He demonstrates this point by pointing out that “slavery and the culture of taste were connected by the theories and practices that emerged in the modern period” (xiii). Gikandi aims to allegorically engage the archive through interrogating a series of following questions, such as:

What was the relation between aesthetic objects and the political economy of slavery? How do we read these two spheres of social life-one rooted in the realm of the aesthetic, civility, and taste, and the other in the political economy of slavery in the same register (Gikandi, 2011:35).

This essay explores some of the ways Gikandi has tried to respond to those questions. Gikandi reads Euro-American modernity, which is conceptualized as an era of personal freedom that allowed individuals to develop faculties for appreciating art, against the institution of slavery in Africa and the Caribbean. He discusses the story of Anna Margaretta Larpent, icon of social mobility in the culture of taste, writer of voluminous diaries, a woman attuned to the cultural sensibilities of her time; and Nealee, a faceless African woman slave in a coffle, bought for gold dust in a Bambara slave market, destined to die somewhere between Sego and the Gambia. On the one hand, Larpent enjoys her freedom – she goes to galleries, keeps a diary, has coffee in cafes and enjoys art. On the other hand, in Africa, Neale a slave woman howls across the Sahara Desert as her captors are determined to get her to the shore where she will be shipped across the Atlantic. Nealee and Larpent are players in the same era of modernity, albeit playing different roles. They show that although the slave master and the slaves occupied distinct geographies, they were connected through a single political economy.

Gikandi establishes that Nealee’s life, in a way, enables Larpent’s life. In other words, slavery produced sugar and other commodities that allowed and fueled a Euro-American culture of taste. As Gikandi points out, sugar more than anything was a major commodity of modernity. But while we can easily read Larpent’s story, Neale’s story is buried in accounts narrated by European masters, which raises a question about the extent to which we can rely on these narratives. How can we engage the archive when it is solely a product of European hegemony and racism? Gikandi examines this phenomenon through what he calls “the paradox of presence/absence.” Here, he notes that “the very social classes that were considered to be outside the domain of taste functioned as counterpoints of the ideals of polite behavior or even as figures of desires” (27). He shows that even though European masters wrote the archive, we can read it contrapuntally to reveal what is omitted.

Nealee’s life negates the achievement of European modernity. It questions the assumptions of the enlightenment and contests the whole idea of modernity. This kind of reading is conspicuously absent from European accounts of this century.  Perhaps the absence of slaves in Britain made it difficult for Europeans to conceptualize or represent slaves as integral to their society (Gikandi, 2011). It made it even harder for them to interrogate their freedom as a product of modernity of which slavery was a significant part. As Gikandi reflects, “it is clear to him that one of the reasons that slavery could not be included in the discourse of taste, even when it pervaded its cultural forms, is because it was not compatible with the epistemological categories that defined high culture” (37). For such a society, Larpent’s story of self-fashioning takes precedence as a visible form of life. Nealee’s story is invisible and has no place in such a society. Larpent’s way of life was important to her self-fashioning in public space, and this centers her in a “historical moment in which the rise of a culture of taste as the mediator of social position constituted an important mode of freedom” – an essential element of the age of Enlightenment (56).

In conclusion, Gikandi’s project shows that the eighteenth-century archive is still relevant in African cultural studies. Engaging the archive creatively as Gikandi has achieved through allegory will lead us to new ways of understanding slavery and colonialism.

African traditions as an antidote to Judeo-Christian and Islam exclusivism: A reading of Wole Soyinka’s of Africa

African traditions as an antidote to Judeo-Christian and Islam exclusivism: A reading of Wole Soyinka’s of Africa

Wole Soyinka explores the concept of exclusivism in his book Of Africa.[1] Although he does not explicitly define what exclusivism means, we can deduce from his discussions that the term implies ideas that tend to create an ‘ingroup and outgroup.’ In Africa, those ideas range from notions of geography, boundaries, race, religion, migration, and ideology. These ideas are epitomized by what he refers to as “fictioning of Africa.” In Part One of the book, he examines four types of narratives that fictionalize Africa. These narratives written by foreigners as well as writers from the continent include (i) narratives of travelers and adventurers, (ii) narratives of traders, (iii) narratives of internal, power-driven fictioning by post-independent rulers, and (iv) revisionists narratives, driven by a desire to correct history. In Part Two of the book, he discusses African religions as an antidote to exclusivity.

Fictioning Africa

Travel narratives or travelogues defined Africa in a way that excluded it from the rest of the world. Soyinka points out that although Africa appears to have been known or spoken about in ancient writings, “no travel narrative has come down to us that actually lays personal or racial claim to the discovery of the continent” (27). This perhaps explains some of the ignorance or prejudice one reads in most travel literature about Africa. There seems to be a lack of complete knowledge about Africa. Hence, writers including African themselves often misrepresent Africa because rely on inaccurate travel accounts to construct their arguments.

Narratives of trade or commerce focus on the encounter of Africa with various traders from around the world. Soyinka does not take slavery as a departing point for discussing trade in Africa. Neither does he strictly focus on slavery as an idea of exclusion. Instead, he focuses on colonialism beginning with early instances of visitors to Africa and then the Berlin Conference that singled Africa as a piece of wealth to be divided among Europeans. Colonialism created boundaries that redefined Africans – locked them in enclaves that disregarded their traditions and lived experiences. The root of some of the present-day wars and conflicts of exclusivity such as those in Mauritania, Liberia, and Sudan among others can be traced to the creation of these boundaries. In other words, post-independence Africa inherited a legacy of discordant behavior that has led to dictatorships, genocides, and plundering of natural resources.

Of course, not all challenges in Africa can be traced to the demarcation of boundaries, as Soyinka points out, ideology is also crucial in understanding some of the problems affecting the continent. The cold war between the capitalist First World and communist Second World turned Africa into a playfield with catastrophic consequences. For instance, dictators such as Siad Barre of Somalia, a country with a single dominant religion and people of similar ethnicity, continued to massacre their own people because they received support from Russia and at some point, the West.

African writers have tried to move past the tragic history of Africa, but Soyinka argues that these writers ignore historical realities and tend to wish the past away. He counsels that Africa must confront the past because therein lie the roots of contemporary problems in the continent. He portrays South Africa and Sudan as countries that have glossed over race issues instead of tackling them. He particularly singles out Sudan as a case where racism has mostly informed government policies that exclude large populations in the country. For instance, the long civil war that ended with the succession of South Sudan was fought along racial lines – the Arabicized north against the Black south. The more recent violent conflict in Darfur where an ethnic cleansing militia, Janjaweed (which Soyinka compares with Ku Klux Klan in the US), backed by Sudanese government has sought to eradicate an entire ethnic group, is also a product of historical racism.

Soyinka sees these events in Sudan as a replay of the history of slavery whose roots were planted during the era of slave trade. As he points out, “those who wish to understand the undercurrents of the mind that breed and nurture the inhuman conduct of the Sudanese government against his own populace, notably now the people of Western Sudan, the Fur, would do well to take good note of the role of history in this scenario” (83).  Interestingly, African traders were cognizant of the fact that the past acts upon the present. Thus, they enacted different rituals such as forcing slaves to circle the “Tree of Forgetfulness” so as to forget about their homeland and their captors. But the ubiquity of contemporary conflicts of exclusion in the continent reveals the futility of these rituals.

My view is that Soyinka presents these ideas of exclusivity – how Africa has been conceptualized and articulated in a manner that excludes it from the rest of the world – as a foreground for discussing African religions as an antidote to exclusivity. As he argues, “African religions did not aspire to conquer the world” (25) or proselytize like Christianity or Islam. On the contrary, African religions are naturally accommodative and do not seek to dominate – they possess characteristics that shun exclusivity.

African religion as an antidote to exclusivity

Soyinka presents contemporary challenges and opportunities in Africa as a dialogue of different encounters between African, Islam, and Christian traditions, ideas that resonate with other scholars such as Edward Blyden, Kwame Nkrumah, and Ali Mazrui. These ideas were first articulated by Edward Blyden, a Pan-Africanist and a Liberian politician, in his book, Christianity, Islam and the Negro Race,[2] and they were later developed by another pan-Africanist and founding president of Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah. In his book, Consciencism, Nkrumah traces the origin of contemporary African religious heritage to three major forces: Indigenous traditions, Islam, and Euro-Christian impact.[3] Ali Mazrui expounds and propagates these ideas with great eloquence, passion, and persistence. In fact, most of his writings are informed by this worldview, which he calls “Triple Heritage”.[4] For Blyden, of the Judeo-Christian and Islam traditions, Islam appears as a favorable religion for Black people. He argues that Islam in its true observance, “extinguishes all distinctions founded upon race, color, or nationality” (92). Mazrui in his seminal work, The Africans: A Triple Heritage, explains that contemporary Africa’s triple heritage is composed of indigenous, Islamic and Christian legacies and that indigenous African religion is the most tolerant of the three religions. He attributes this to the communal nature of indigenous religions, which is different from either Islam or Christianity – the two religions are universalist in aspiration and are always seeking to convert others. Mazrui presents Nigeria and Sudan as the best embodiments of this heritage.[5] But this was before Sudan started its 30-year-old civil war, and Nigeria became a hotbed for Boko Haram terrorist activities.

Soyinka is likely to disagree with Blyden’s conclusions that Islam is an accommodative religion. The discussion on Sudan, Mauritania, and Ivory Coast highlights Soyinka’s thoughts on the contribution of Islam to exclusionary violence in those countries. Similarly, in an essay on “Religion and Human Rights,” which appeared in Index on Censorship,[6] Soyinka criticized Mazrui for his Triple Heritage project.[7] He castigated Mazrui for presenting Africa as a playground for Christianity and Islam while paying lip service to African deities, whom he (Mazrui) did not apparently think were relevant in the contemporary world. Furthermore, Soyinka contended that Mazrui, like Blyden, appeared to believe that Islamic civilization was the better of the three.

Soyinka is opposed to any religion that considers itself superior to others and thus “denigrates other people’s past in whom the present is very much rooted” (83). It is then clear what Soyinka is attempting to accomplish in Of Africa: At one level, he wants to redress what he considers as appalling ignorance and misrepresentation of the African continent through elevating its gods, and at another level, he wants to celebrate these gods as an elixir against exclusivity. He extends these arguments in an essay on “Religion Against Humanity,” published in Granta, whereby he points out that “adherents of African religions who remain passionately attached to their beliefs all the way across the Atlantic – Brazil and across other parts of Latin America – have not taken to wreaking vengeance on their presumed violators (Christianity and Islam) in far-off lands”[8] (the added emphasis is mine).

Conclusion

Soyinka does more than present African religions as a panacea for religious fundamentalism exposed by the dominant religious traditions of Christianity and Islam. He comprehensively discusses Orisa, Yoruba religion and its place among the Yoruba people of Nigeria and those in the African diaspora. Orisa is an epitome of the accommodative spirit that Soyinka drums up support for.

It is likely that a different reading of Soyinka’s book might interpret his ideas as exclusionism. My view is that the comprehensive exploration of Yoruba religions and how they functioned in the society are meant to wade against [?] such a reading. The point here is that a religion that accommodates others is desirable to one that excludes.

Bibliography 

[1] Soyinka, W (2012). Of Africa. New Haven: Yale University Press.

[2] Blyden, E (1967). Christianity, Islam and the Negro Race. 3rd Edition. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press.

[3] Nkrumah, K (1970). Consciencism: Philosophy and Ideology for De-colonization. London: Panaf Books Ltd.

[4] Adem, S. “Ali A. Mazrui, the Postcolonial Theorist” African Studies Review, 57 no. 1 (2014), pp. 135-152.

[5] Mazrui, A (1986). The Africans: A Triple heritage. Toronto: Little, Brown & Company.

[6] Soyinka, W.  Religion and Human Rights, Index on Censorship, (1991), (5)88, pp. 82-85

[7] Ali Mazrui conceived “The Africans: A Triple Heritage,” as a Television series that aired on PBS, and was later published as a book by the same name.

[8] Soyinka, W. Religion Against Humanity, Granta (2012). 122

Trauma healing: when violence strikes and community security is threatened

When the Kenya Truth, Justice and Reconciliation (TJRC) released its reports in 2013, I was surprised that my country had committed atrocities to its own people at various times in our short history since independence. The worst was the Wagalla Massacre that claimed over 5,000 lives and wounded thousands. These blind spots in our history have been a major cause of agony among many marginalized people.

Stories of women and men who are unable to have children because of what the military did to them abound in our society. At the release of the reports, I was shocked that victims just wanted the Kenyan government to acknowledge wrongdoing and apologize.  Having lived through a post-election violence in 2007, which claimed the lives of at least 1,500 people, I felt that an apology was insufficient.  Reading Carolyn Yoder’s book on Trauma Healing has enabled me to understand that trauma healing is a unique process to every individual or community and that in order for healing to occur, other support systems, including government apology, are needed.

Yoder’s book has widened my understanding of the subject of trauma healing. I have learned about the close link between violence and trauma, and how it relates to some of the events I have experienced in Kenya. For instance, it was widely claimed that part of the reason Kenyans fought against each other in 2007 and 2008 was that of unaddressed injustices that have traumatized some communities since independence. Therefore, unresolved trauma is dangerous because at some point traumatized people can resort to revenge or to other violent means so as to give themselves a sense of ‘closure.’

Yoder’s discussion of the nexus between biology and trauma challenges my assumptions that trauma is just a social construct. Despite her explanation, I still grapple with questions such as whether trauma can be dealt with the same way people deal with depression or under what circumstances can a community builder recommend medical attention for trauma cases as opposed to a social process such a Transformative Community Conferencing or Restorative Justice.

Reading Yoder’s explanation about secondary trauma has enabled me to reflect on my experience as a teacher and education counselor in Nairobi. Most of my students and their parents had fled wars in their respective countries. Even though some of these children had not directly experienced the wars their parents fled from, their perspective about life was majorly shaped by their parents’ experience of war. The narratives parents passed down to children affected them immensely. Unfortunately, neither I nor any of my teachers really understood the concept of trauma especially, one associated with consequences of war. Such children need specially trained teachers to heal.

Traumatic events shatter the world as we know it and shape victims’ future world. For instance, with increased terrorist attacks and constant electoral violence, people in my community (and perhaps in all communities) constantly worry about their security. Every election year, people vote for leaders from their community because they assume that such leaders better understand people’s trauma, and therefore will help them heal. But the reality is that only one person can be a president. So, communities that do not get the presidency are always scared.

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