on crisis patriotism

notes on Kenya and the United States

i.

Every Friday morning, my entire primary school—Nairobi Primary—would line up in semi-military rows, watch the Kenyan flag being raised, sing the national anthem, and recite the loyalty pledge.

I pledge my loyalty
to the president and the nation of Kenya
My readiness and duty
to defend the flag of our republic
My devotion to the words of our national anthem
My life and strength
in the task of our nation's building
In the living spirit embodied in our national motto
Harambee
and perpetuated in the nyayo philosophy of
peace, love, and unity

I have written the pledge in the rhythm in which we spoke it, though I had mostly forgotten the words and had to look them up. Still, I remember the rhythm. I can hear our voices raised in chorus.

ii.

Friday assembly was special.

Typically, lower primary—from pre-primary to standard 3—would have their own assembly and upper primary—standard 4 to 7 (before the 8-4-4 system) or standard 4-8—would have their own. In lower primary, we sang charming songs, including this colonial classic:

I wish 
I was
in monkeyland
the place
where I
was born

The colonials who must have left us this song surely chuckled as they watched us inherit and love it. It took me a long time to realize how toxic it was. (But, you will say, it’s a playful song! A song for children! And I will judge you. I will not judge you kindly.) In upper primary, we sang hymns and every class had the chance to lead one of the services. We would prepare songs and skits.

In any case, on Fridays, the entire school would be assembled. The flag would be raised. We would sing the national anthem. We were gathered as those who witnessed the Kenyan flag being raised. We were gathered as those who sang the national anthem. We were gathered as those who recited the loyalty pledge. We understood gathering through these practices. We understood Kenyanness as these practices.

iii.

In high school, we no longer recited the loyalty pledge. Still, every Friday, we gathered to witness the flag being raised and to sing the national anthem.

iv.

A common Kenyan vernacular is that we were “conditioned.”

Conditioned: to train or influence a person or animal mentally so that they do or expect a particular thing without thinking about it. (Dictionary)

Sometimes, I worry that we use “conditioned” to avoid the political, social, intellectual, and emotional work of thinking through how we should live together. To avoid imagining freedom. To avoid practicing freedom. I worry that conditioning can be an alibi.

Yet, I do think over 12 years of watching a flag being raised and singing the national anthem and over 7 years of reciting a loyalty pledge produced an orientation to Kenya and to power. Kenya is to be defended. Against all enemies.

When president Uhuru Kenyatta and his deputy president William Ruto were being tried at the Hague for crimes against humanity, this sense that Kenya had to be defended—and the presidency had to be defended—was activated, sometimes in surprising ways. People who had marshaled others to work against Kenya’s post-election violence in 2007-2008 now claimed that Kenya was being attacked by western regimes during the Hague trials. Kenya had to be defended. Even if that meant abandoning the victims of the post-election violence.

In another register, while Kenyans online are known as fierce critics of the state—well, of corruption—Kenyans will attack any other people who dare to criticize us. Something is activated. An impulse to defend something that is held sacred as Kenyanness.

We might call this digital patriotism.

v.

During the 2008 post-election violence, I was part of a group of writers who were trying to write against the violence and imagine a different kind of Kenya. Or, at least I thought I was.

The call at the time was to “save Kenya.” It was to “defend Kenya.” It was to “protect Kenya.”

Gatherings of concerned Kenyans would start by singing the national anthem. We would be reminded that it was a prayer. “O God of all Creation / Bless this our land and nation.” In most gatherings, it would be sang in Kiswahili: “Ee Mungu nguvu yetu / Ilete baraka kwetu.” As wikipedia helpfully points out, the Kiswahili and English are not exact matches.

In Kiswahili, the words translate as: “O God, our strength / Bless us.” The Kenyan flag was treated as sacred. We were gathered as those ready to defend and protect Kenya. While many of us were decades past the days when we recited the loyalty pledge, we practiced what it had taught us. We defended Kenya. We pledged our loyalty.

vi.

The calls to defend and protect Kenya came in the middle of failing political transformation. In 2002, Mwai Kibaki had won the national election, defeating the dictator of my youth, who had ruled for 24 years. Kibaki had promised to adopt a new constitution within 100 days of taking office, a constitution that would safeguard against the possibility of another dictator in Kenya. 100 days passed. Nothing. By the 2007 election, it was clear that Kibaki would not be a transformative president. He was great for neoliberalism. And that’s about it.

Many of us still believe that Raila Odinga won the 2007 election.

When we gathered as those who wanted to do something about the post-election violence, some of us wondered what Kenya it was that others wanted to save. Was the task to save Kenya or to reimagine and transform Kenya?

If I’m remembering correctly, those of us who questioned what it meant to save Kenya were told transformation would come after we saved Kenya. First, we preserve the old Kenya—we defend and protect it—and then we can discuss transforming it.

vii.

Moments of national crisis activate patriotic conditioning.

People who have never had to think much about the political realm—and, frankly, most people don’t think too much about the political, except during elections—fall back on their conditioning. Or, to stay with the language I am trying to use: their conditioning is activated. Most often, that conditioning is directed toward patriotism.

A nation is to be loved. A nation is to be protected. A nation is to be defended.

And, here, we must be clear: the language of the nation takes priority over the language of the state. The nation as natal. The nation as mother. The nation as home. The nation as family. The nation as (imperfect) union.

viii.

Was all that throat clearing?

Maybe.

ix.

We are told by USians that their nation is in crisis. That democracy is in crisis. That the U.S. is facing the worst crisis it has ever faced since it was founded—founded through genocide and slavery.

In response, some of the groups most targeted for harm by a flurry of executive orders and an avalanche of state bills, are insisting that their task is to save democracy.

Declarations are being made: We serve proudly in the U.S. military. We defend and protect America. We uphold American values. We stand against American enemies. We hate Russians. We stand against the Chinese. We love capitalism. We think prisons are great. We adore capitalism. We must defend U.S. imperial ventures, both soft (USAID) and hard (Africom).

—Black and Queer and Trans USians

Loyalty pledges are being activated.

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I am not an Americanist, so I leave it to the Americanists to describe how this particular loyalty pledge is being activated. I will simply note that one major conservative talking point—conservative not opposed to liberal or radical, not as political party, but as general orientation—is that “division” is bad: “one nation, under God, indivisible.” Here, “under God” is what creates unity.

In the simplest terms possible: while it’s absolutely true that white supremacy subtends the current administration, I would say that the pledge of allegiance has also been activated. And is now being used by people along the political spectrum, conservatives and liberals alike. (The radicals I know have zero interest in upholding U.S. imperialism.)

x.

The business people—hiss, boo—tell us that “crisis is opportunity.” Given that they are absolutely willing to destroy the earth and fuck over every living thing to make money, I do not listen to them.

Crisis activates training. We train to know how to respond during a crisis. We train so that our responses are almost instinctual.

We are also trained—conditioned—to respond in particular ways during periods of national crisis. Often, we are trained to demonstrate our patriotism, our readiness to defend our flag and nation. To uphold values understood as national, not simply personal.

xi.

Crisis patriotism gathers people. Often, it creates competition: different groups of people attempt to demonstrate that they love the nation more than other people. Love is pressed into service.

Crisis patriotism mutes dissent and critique. The overwhelming imperative to save a nation demands that those who critique the nation stay silent until the nation is saved. Freedom work is dismissed as unimportant, deferred until “things are stable.”

Crisis patriotism is activated in ways that we are often unaware of—this is why it is conditioning. It creates panic. It spreads through panic. Panic acts as a glue for crisis patriotism.

Crisis patriotism in the U.S. is often being described as resistance. I am a child of Kenya’s Land and Freedom Army, so I believe in resistance. And I have no patience for debates about whether resistance should be violent or not. But resistance without a transformative vision is simply conditioning that wants to restore a damaged—and damaging—status quo.

Crisis patriotism undermines freedom work. It demands allegiance. It demands loyalty. It demands a chorus of voices determined to save and uphold damaged and damaging institutions and practices.

Crisis patriotism impedes anti-imperial solidarity work. The desire to save the U.S. so it can continue to be a “benevolent” imperial power. I have no verb. That orientation defeats my abilities to write anything sensible. So [redacted].

Crisis patriotism feels like the only possible stance to adopt. Conditioning is activated. It takes a lot of work to recognize and fight against conditioning. It takes a lot of work—in community with others, in pursuit of international solidarity—to hold on to freedom dreams and practices that skirt the seductive, obligatory demands of crisis patriotism.