Imperial Reckoning
Page 46
To defend the dilution technique to his critics in the House of Commons, Lennox-Boyd did what he did best: he obfuscated the facts, skirted the issues, and lied. He shrouded violence and torture in the camps inside the garment of Britain’s civilizing mission and the alleged success of liberal reform. The colonial secretary may have convinced himself and his supporters that this policy of legalized brutality was for the best, that they were saving civilization from Mau Mau savagery, but Barbara Castle, Fenner Brockway, and a growing list of MPs from the Labour Party would have none of it.
When news of Muchiri Githuma’s murder in Gathigiriri Camp made its way to London in early 1957, Castle was again snapping at Lennox-Boyd’s heels. She wanted to know “how many convictions there have been for assault on prisoners at Gathigiriri Works Camp…[and] how many prisoners have died as a consequence of ill-treatment?” 86 Her ire had been raised not simply by the beating to death of Muchiri Githuma but also by the farcical nature of the subsequent inquiry. One of the African rehabilitation assistants and several surrenders were eventually charged with murder and the case was heard by Justice Pelly Murphy in a Nairobi court. Despite evidence showing Muchiri Githuma had been “hung by the wrists” and beaten with “lengths of rubber or pieces of sisal,” the judge decided to acquit all of the accused of murder because he could not determine who actually dealt the blow that caused the prisoner’s cerebral hemorrhage. He did, however, find the defendants guilty of the lesser charge of assault causing bodily harm, and sentenced them to less than a year of hard labor. Neither Cowan nor any of the other Europeans in charge of the camp were held responsible for the crime, despite the fact that the judge “suspected strongly the orders were given and carried out with the tacit approval of the assistant’s superior officer.” 87
Castle refused to let go of this cover-up, only one of many, she believed. 88 She pushed Lennox-Boyd for an explanation of the evidence coming from the trial, arguing that the record showed there were at least twenty-seven other known cases of assault at Gathigiriri. Why had he not made the Commons aware of this? The colonial secretary shot back, with his usual aristocratic confidence, “I cannot agree with what the hon. Lady has said. If she cares to give us those details or come and see the Governor of Kenya, who is now in London, and give him personally the details, I shall be only too anxious, as is the Governor, that nothing should be covered up.” 89 Apparently, Lennox-Boyd must have gone back and had a clarifying word with Baring, because less than a fortnight later he admitted not to twenty-seven but to thirty-seven other cases of assault occurring at Gathigiriri. The colonial secretary assured the House of Commons that the incidents were appropriately taken care of in Kenya’s local courts of justice, and that those accused of beating the detainees, all of whom were African loyalists, had been sentenced to a few weeks in prison. 90
“Does not this reveal that there has been the most unsatisfactory state of affairs in this camp for a very long time?” Castle demanded. In light of his own candid revelations of thirty-seven assaults, it would have been laughable for the colonial secretary to argue that as usual these were isolated incidents. Instead he deftly shifted gears, imploring her to “see this in perspective,” that these were only “very minor cases of assault.” He went on to say, “The hon. Lady knows enough about the conditions and the type of men who are detained not to regard this very, very serious. She asked about the disciplinary inquiry…. The report is made to the Governor-in-Council, and I do not propose to publish it.” The Opposition was outraged, and another Labour MP cut in, demanding, “When the right hon. Gentleman [Lennox-Boyd] says that these were minor offences, is he aware that the offence was that hard-core detainees in this camp who did not confess were tied by their hands some three feet from the ground and flogged with strips of rubber cut from tyres until they did confess? Is this a minor assault?” “I was dealing with minor injuries,” he protested. “Only minor injuries were inflicted. The hon. Lady [Castle] should not draw from that the belief that there was widespread violence and cruelty at this camp.” 91
At the same time the colonial secretary was digging himself out of a hole on the Commons floor, he was authorizing the use of systematic violence and brutality in the Mwea camps. Moreover, the hard-core detainees were fighting back, even rioting, and the Opposition wanted to know why. In fact, MPs on both sides pressed Lennox-Boyd for explanations about the Mageta Island standoff, as well as riots at Manyani, Langata Prison, and the small-scale uprising at Mwea around the time of Gavaghan’s takeover. Their suspicions were justified. Lord Balniel and others questioned the colonial secretary as to whether “he can give an assurance that no pressure is being brought to bear on the Kenya Government to accelerate the pace [of release] beyond what they regard as desirable.” Lennox-Boyd, knowing full well that an all-out campaign had been launched to run down the Pipeline, replied, “I can certainly give that assurance. We all knew that when the Kenya government introduced the dilution technique it was bound to be followed by an increased security risk.” He then added, “No pressure of any kind is being imposed.” 92
The colonial secretary had clearly amassed an artful repertoire of responses to the allegations of abuse, misconduct, and obstruction leveled at him in the Commons. He would soon have to draw on all of them to defuse the bombshell that next landed on the colonial government. It came in the form of a letter from the political prisoners held at Lokitaung. On June 8, 1958, the Observer published a laundry list of allegations contained in a letter signed by all those detained there, with the notable exception of Kenyatta. In it, the political prisoners like Bildad Kaggia and Paul Ngei wrote they had “suffered a great deal” during their five years at Lokitaung. They were permitted no visitors, they were beaten, and “owing to insufficient and unbalanced diet…[they] bec[a]me prone to many kinds of diseases.” They went on to report, “Most of us have been ill many times, and some for long periods. Some have almost lost their eyesight.” 93 The motivation for the letter was not the food deprivation and illnesses, but rather a complete embargo of potable water instituted in late April by the camp commandant. In their publicly circulated letter the prisoners spelled out clearly what was happening.
On April 23 the District Officer, Mr. C.L. Ryland, who is in charge of our prison, curtailed our water ration to two gallons per person. We appealed to him but he refused to listen to us. The following day the D.O. said we were not to get any water at all. We demanded to see him, but he refused. On the twenty-fifth we went to the well for our share of water. The D.O. came to the well and told us to draw our water from a nearby old and discarded well which had long ago been condemned by doctors and in which dogs’ carcases and filth have been thrown for years. Vehicles are also washed on the top of the well, the dirty and oily water and petrol returning into the well. The well has no lid and when it rains the flood collects rubbish and excrement into it. The D.O. told us the clean well is for Europeans only. Knowing very well that the water is unfit for human beings, we refused, and demanded the clean water which we have been drinking the past five years and which is now reserved for six Europeans only [officers and warders]. The D.O. maintains that we cannot get any water from the clean well. Now as we write this letter we are entering our fourth day without water in a desert while the now “European” well is full of clean water.
The detainees concluded their letter, “We consider this the most brutal and inhuman treatment ever compared to the Nazi concentration camp. As we have nowhere to appeal we now appeal to the High Court of World Public Opinion.” 94
Immediately Lennox-Boyd telegrammed Baring, assuring him, “We will now do our best to kill the allegations here.” 95 But with dozens of newspapers in Britain covering the story and demanding explanations, the colonial secretary was not going to be able to sweep these newest allegations under the rug so easily. The press awaited a response from the colonial government, which came on June 11 from Kenya’s Legislative Council. The colony’s new chief secretary, Walter Coutts, summarily dispatched all
of the allegations made in the Lokitaung letter, and concluded by reminding the members of Kenya’s parliament that
these allegations have been made by convicts who include the principal leaders of Mau Mau, men who were responsible for the collapse of law and order in the Kikuyu country, which resulted in the need for the Emergency to be declared. These were the men who inspired superstitions and fear among the mass of the Kikuyu…. It is clear from the allegations which have been made that these men succeeded in illegally smuggling a letter out of prison; it is equally clear that had they been held nearer the Kikuyu country, they might have tried to smuggle out more letters, letters which might well have caused further outbreaks of violence. 96
Nevertheless, several members of the Legislative Council could not contain their outrage. They were not white members, but rather the handful of African members. These men, including Luo members Tom Mboya and Oginga Odinga, were brought into the Legislative Council when the first limited African elections were held in early 1957, a concession to placate African demands for elected representation. This change, though, was by no means a move toward majority representation, and certainly not one that provided the Mau Mau adherents a say in government, as only those Kikuyu holding Loyalty Certificates could run for office and vote in elections. Mboya and Odinga pushed hard for fair treatment and release of political detainees, and refused to accept Coutts’s and the colonial government’s self-serving explanation of the Lokitaung letter. Mboya pressed the chief secretary, “Would not, Sir, the Government consider that in view of the fact that this is not the only allegation of its kind that has been made, that it is time we had an independent enquiry into the allegations that have been made because, Sir, I find it difficult to believe that all these allegations could have been invented.” 97 Coutts certainly thought—or at least expressed publicly—that the Lokitaung prisoners, and every other detainee in the Pipeline, had made up their stories of abuse and deprivation. He finally cut Mboya off, saying, “I have given a full reply, Sir, to all the points which were raised. I consider, myself, that the enquiry was full, and that we have done our best in this particular matter. I cannot agree with the hon. Gentleman that another enquiry is needed.” 98
Barbara Castle picked up the scent and demanded to know why members of Kenya’s Legislative Council, the colony’s highest legislative body, could not go to investigate Lokitaung for themselves. Colonial Undersecretary John Profumo brushed her aside, saying local ordinances dealt with issues of access to the camps. These were hardly the answers the press was looking for, and journalists joined in the demand for access to the prisoners being held at Lokitaung. They too were summarily denied, a practice the colonial government had observed with the press for years. Potentially unsympathetic correspondents were almost always denied access to the camps, and on the rare occasions they were allowed in, they were forbidden to speak with detainees, could not deviate from the guided tour, and could not question camp officials. In spite of the furor over the Lokitaung letter, the government certainly was not about to change its policies. 99 A resounding chorus of dissent soon followed, with publications like the New Statesman and Nation calling for, yet again, an end to the evasiveness and a thorough review of the detention camp system in Kenya. 100 “The case for regular inspection and supervision of prison and detention camps in Kenya by independent persons who are outside the government service seems overwhelming,” the New Statesman and Nation proclaimed. The editorial then continued:
This and other journals have published many allegations about these remote camps, particularly about conditions in Mageta Island. The matter has now been brought to a head by the Observer’s publication of a letter signed by five prisoners in Lokitaung gaol in the northern province of Kenya…. Mr Lennox-Boyd has been often questioned about similar allegations and has now reached the point of merely replying that he is assured by senior officials in Kenya that all such charges are baseless. Such answers, which are based on a Minister’s natural loyalty to his officials, can never satisfy either African opinion or thoughtful people anywhere; it is obvious that in these isolated camps shocking conditions and occasional atrocities are likely to occur and that when they are found by senior officials the Old Pals Protection Society is likely to come into operation. 101
Behind the scenes, the Old Pals Protection Society included some most unlikely members. Just weeks after the uproar over the Lokitaung letter Colin Legum, the Observer’s most celebrated African correspondent, received a letter from the detainees at Mariira Camp in Fort Hall. The paper’s editor, David Astor, quickly informed the colonial secretary of the illicit correspondence by personal letter. “You will recall your reproach when we published a letter from a Kenya gaol [i.e., Lokitaung] without having first sought the opinion or advice of your Department,” Astor reminded Lennox-Boyd. He went on to offer the colonial secretary the opportunity to respond privately to the Mariira letter’s contents, suggesting that he might hold off on publishing the illicit correspondence should he be satisfied with the Colonial Office’s findings. 102 The contents of the letter hardly presented new revelations to the colonial secretary or his staff. In it, the detainees offer specific details about their confinement, all of which are sadly familiar.
This Camp…is a place where many wonderful tortures and maltreatment are meted to us by a South African born European, D.E. Hardy…. The Camp is hidden in a deep valley covered by a forest of wattle trees. No outsider or people around locally can notice what is going on there. Here is a camp comparable to none—perhaps the Nazi Concentration camps could be better. The Government pays no heed whatsoever, although deaths after severe beatings have been reported by us. The first death was of a detainee who on 23rd January 1958 was beaten by warders to death. On the 9th June a convict was battered to death. His name is Mwaura Gathirwa, and 3 others Kariuki s/o Mwangi, Githutha s/o Wahoga, and Irungu s/o Kariuki, were seriously injured and were rushed to Fort Hall Hospital unconsciously.
So far, we have written several letters to the Kenya Government about these cases and none of our letters has been answered. Nor do we see any improvement of the situation or action to stop these atrocities. For the first time in the history of our detention we [have] been denied water, bathing or washing. Here bathing and washing is restricted to once a week (Saturday). We do not have lights in our huts. We are issued with one shirt and one pair of shorts, and two blankets. The camp being very cold as it lies within the Kenya highlands, we find the life very hard. We receive very little medical care. A detainee is not to attend hospital treatment unless he is on the brim of dying. We get inadequate and very badly cooked food….
The only work we do, which is breaking stones in the quarry, is supervised very harshly. Everyone is forced to shout songs as he works. The day’s work commences at 6am. till 6pm., and in the evening everyone’s voice is completely gone.
In this camp about 50 detainees are cripples, having been beaten, and others suffering from asthma and poliomyelitis are forced to do heavy duties in the quarry. They must be carried by their friends if they cannot walk to the quarry where they remain the whole day. Their complaints are not considered….
We write this article to you so that the public in the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth may know how we are treated. Your paper is esteemed and impartial and is well known all over the world. We therefore hope that you will kindly implore all your readers to pray for us in our difficult times in our lives. 103
In response to Lennox-Boyd’s sneak preview of the letter, the colonial government’s spin team shifted into overdrive. Kenya’s chief secretary, Walter Coutts, led the internal investigation, at the same time fending off demands from Colin Legum for a full, unescorted tour of Mariira Camp. According to the local district commissioner, Commandant Hardy was a sound chap from Derbyshire, not from South Africa, who believed in “strict discipline and hard work” and whose attitude was that of a “headmaster of a preparatory school.” The DC then refuted and explained away every allegation made in
the letter. 104 Uncritically, the colonial secretary accepted these excuses and justifications and sent them along to Astor, though conveniently failing to mention that other similar letters from Mariira detainees already packed the government’s files in Kenya. Lennox-Boyd wrote the Observer’s editor a lengthy letter about the success of rehabilitation and the continuing releases of the hard core, dismissing all of the allegations as unfounded and addressing the issue of the two deaths. One detainee reportedly died of “natural causes,” while the other, after a brief skirmish with the guards, simply “collapsed and died.” The colonial secretary went on to describe exactly why this man had “collapsed and died”: “His body was sent to Fort Hall Hospital for a post mortem examination, and it was discovered that he had received a bruise on the head, but that his skull was not fractured. This was his only injury. The Medical Officer reported that the deceased had an abnormally thin lining of the brain, and that had he been a normally healthy person the blow he had received would not have been sufficient to cause death. An inquest was held in open court at Fort Hall by the Resident Magistrate, Thika, a professional member of the judiciary, who also visited the scene of the disturbance. His finding was ‘death by misadventure.’” 105 Remarkably, Astor seemed satisfied with the response, and much to the Colonial Office’s relief he published neither the Mariira letter nor Lennox-Boyd’s.