The EconomistFebruary 15th 2020 Middle East & Africa 432 Elections promised in 2003 never took
place.AlJazeera“isfreetocriticiseother
countriesbutnevertocriticiseQatar”,says
a media-watcherintheemirate.Thestate-
fundedchanneltrumpetstheSaudiwom-
enseekingasylumintheWest,butkeeps
mumaboutQatar’sownwomenseeking
asyluminBritain.“There’snoQatarioppo-
sition,” says itsacting director,Mostefa
Souag,whenaskedtoexplainthelackof
Qataridissentonhisprogrammes.
Qatarishavedoubtsabouttheemir’sde-
cisions.Theywonderwhyhesquandered
billionsonforeignventuresandarmsdeals
andstrugglestoreconcilewithSaudiAra-
bia, whichhas leda blockadeon Qatar
since2017.“Wewantfreedomofspeechfor
thepeopleoftheregion andthey’renot
happywiththat,”saystheemir,unironical-
ly.MostQatarisstaymum. “We’rescared,”
saysNajeebNuaimi,a formerjusticemin-
isterwhoisundera travelban.“They’lltake
yourpassportoryourpropertyandleave
youstatelessif youtalk.”
Themutteringisonlylikelytogrow.Qa-
taradherestoWahhabism,thesamecon-
servativeschoolofIslamasSaudiArabia.
Butitishosting football’sWorldCupin
2022.Localsworryaboutdrunkenfans,Is-
raeliflagsandpublicdisplaysofaffection,
amongotherthings.“Eachdaywegetclos-
ertotheopeningbringsmorediscontent,”
saysAbdelhamidal-Ansari,a formerdean
ofQatarUniversity.
Qatar’srulers havetransformedDoha
froma sandpitintooneoftheGulf’smost
stylishcities.It hasa cornicheofglitzysky-
scrapers,theonlyundergroundtobefound
anywherebetweenCairoandTehran,and
stunningmuseums.Justa generationago
womenwerekepthidden.Theystillcannot
travelwithoutpermission,butnowthere
arefemaleministers,judgesandambassa-
dors.YetQatarcannotclaimtobea beacon
ofopennessuntilitstopstryingtosilence
critics.Enlightenmentbeginsathome. 7N
airobi’s b-clubis popular with Ken-
ya’s gilded classes. Those unfortunate
to live within earshot are less keen, and last
October won a court ruling revoking its li-
cence. But legal orders matter little to polit-
ically connected nightclub owners. Few
Kenyans were surprised when cctvfootage
emerged on January 17th showing an mp,
Paul Ongili (pictured), propping up B-
Club’s bar at seven in the morning.
The mpdid find himself in a spot of
bother, though, when the clip then showed
him raise a pistol and shoot the club’s dj
through the neck. Mr Ongili, better knownas Babu Owino, was arrested and charged
with attempted murder, which he denies.
He was held for ten days. A judge then
set him free on bail, requiring that he pay
his victim’s hospital bills. He will remain
free during a trial that will presumably
weigh his claim that he mistook the dj, Fe-
lix Orinda, for an assassin, against witness-
es’ suggestions that they argued over penis
size. (After surgery, Mr Orinda remains too
unwell to give his version of events.)
If history is anything to go by, a trial
could take years and never reach a verdict.
This is typical for members of the politicalelite who get themselves into trouble, a fel-
low mp says wearily. While the press
watches, judges sternly remand them into
custody. But as attention wanders, they are
freed pending a trial destined to remain
perpetually snagged in procedure. “Babu
Owino has already served his sentence,”
the legislator concludes.
Once bail has been posted, there is no
end to the ways in which matters can be
strung out. Chris Okemo, a former energy
minister, and Samuel Gichuru, the ex-head
of Kenya’s state power utility, have man-
aged to drag out a case seeking their extra-
dition to Jersey on corruption charges
(which they deny) for nearly nine years. No
bigwig has gone to jail for decades.
Kenya’s president, Uhuru Kenyatta,
likes to blame corrupt judges for the ab-
sence of convictions. But lawyers say pros-
ecutors are at least as responsible, suggest-
ing that they leave loopholes or make
blunders for defence lawyers to exploit. It
is a system, cynics say, designed to benefit
the government in two ways.
For starters, the government can show
that it is responding to public anger over
corruption by arresting a big fish or two
without having to worry about them actu-
ally ending up in jail. Last year corruption
charges were brought against Henry Rot-
ich, a former finance minister, and Mike
Sonko, the governor of Nairobi, which they
deny. Some hailed the charges as evidence
of Mr Kenyatta’s intent to toughen up. Oth-
ers saw the arrests as an example of what
Wachira Maina, a constitutional lawyer,
calls “motion without movement”.
Second, it can be useful for the govern-
ment to leave politicians squirming on a
hook. Charges that have been shelved can
be dusted off if a politician steps out of line,
says one mparrested on suspicion of graft.
“It’s a good way of keeping us quiet.”
It also ensures that impunity flour-
ishes. Beyond the usual corruption, accu-
sations of violent crime by politicians are
becoming more common. Last year an mp
was briefly held on suspicion of shooting
her political rival’s uncle. The trial of a go-
vernor accused of murdering his pregnant
girlfriend in 2018 meanders on.
Justice is less kind to ordinary Kenyans.
A policeman last month stopped a motor-
ist, Mildred Owiso, for using her mobile
phone while driving and climbed into her
car. Mrs Owiso, a strong-willed social activ-
ist, protested: policemen usually only get
into vehicles when they want a bribe and
she had no intention of paying. A fracas en-
sued and members of the public came to
help her, sending the policeman packing.
People power did not prevail for long.
That night, ten tear-gas-lobbing officers
raided her house and arrested Mrs Owiso
and her husband on charges of incitement
to violence. For good measure, they also
killed her dog. 7NAIROBI
A culture of impunity for Kenyan bigwigs, another law for the restKenyaI shot the DJ