Imperial Reckoning

by Caroline Elkins

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  About the Author

  Caroline Elkins is an assistant professor of history at Harvard University. Born in 1969, she received her undergraduate degree at Princeton University, where she graduated summa cum laude as an African history major, and went on to receive her master’s degree and Ph.D. in history from Harvard University. She speaks Kiswahili and some Kikuyu and has spent nearly a decade traveling and working in rural Africa, particularly in Kenya, where her research has covered various aspects of the late colonial period. Her research has won numerous awards, including the Fulbright and Andrew W. Mellon Fellowships, as well as a fellowship at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study. She and her research were the subjects of a BBC documentary titled Kenya: White Terror. Aired in November 2002, the controversial film won the International Red Cross Award at the Monte Carlo Film Festival.

  Acknowledgments

  IT HAS TAKEN ME NEARLY A DECADE TO COMPLETE THIS BOOK, DURING which time the list of those who have provided me with intellectual, practical, and personal support has grown to considerable size.

  While this project began in 1995, my love for African history started long before, during my undergraduate years at Princeton. It was there that I first met Bob Tignor, who inspired me to follow his career path, something I have never regretted. Over the years Bob has been a guiding light, providing encouragement and gentle criticism and always leading by example. During the course of my research for this book, I had the pleasure of spending nearly a year at the Public Record Office in London with Bob, who was there working on his own project. Together, we spent countless hours over lunch and during our commutes talking about African and imperial history, family and politics, and the latest sports standings back in the United States. Since then Bob read various drafts of this book, offering his wisdom and support. I will forever be indebted to him.

  All of the research and writing for this book was done during my time at Harvard, first as a graduate student and then as a faculty member in the history department. To reconstruct a period of history that has been largely purged from the official archives takes a lot of time and considerable resources. On both counts, Harvard was extraordinarily generous. I first arrived in Cambridge in 1994 largely to work with Leroy Vail, whose work on oral history and tradition, as well as on resistance, was pathbreaking. Like Bob, he inspired by example while doing his best to temper the renegade intellect of his graduate student. It was Leroy who was convinced of the importance of this project, and of the need for me to be careful and exhaustive with my research; it was he who insisted that I must perfect my languages, live in the field, and interview survivors. It is the only way, he would remind me, to understand history from the Africans’ perspectives. Sadly, Leroy did not live to see me finish my research. During my fieldwork I received an early morning phone call in Nairobi with the news that he had succumbed in his valiant struggle with lymphoma. As I was writing this book, though, his hand guided me many times and left an imprint on many a page.

  There are many other people at Harvard to whom I am deeply indebted. Emmanuel Akyeampong has been a true friend and steadfast supporter of this project, first as an adviser and now as a colleague. Susan Pedersen offered sound advice, tough criticism, and great friendship. I am also grateful to Liz Cohen, who stepped in at several important moments in the writing of this book to provide invaluable guidance and support. And finally, the African studies crowd at Harvard is one of the most encouraging groups of people a young scholar could hope for. Everyone was extremely understanding of my absences as I finished this book and, even more remarkably, insistent that I stay away from teaching and administrative duties so that the story of detention could finally go to press. To Bob Bates, Suzanne Blier, Skip Gates, Ulla Larsen, Suzanne Grant Lewis, John Mugane, Pauline Peters, Kay Shelemay, Lucy White, and, of course, Emmanuel, thanks is but a small recompense.

  I am also grateful to the numerous friends and colleagues outside of Harvard who aided in my research and writing. First among them is John Lonsdale, whose contributions to this book, not to mention my intellectual development, are far too numerous to catalog here. He is the most gifted scholar I know, and one who combines brilliance with consummate good grace. This book would not have been the same without him. My sincere thanks also goes to several other Africanists who provided advice, read drafts, and, most important, shared more than a drink or two with me over the years. They are Jocelyn Alexander, Dave Anderson, Zayde Antrim, Kelly Askew, E. S. Atieno Odhiambo, Bruce Berman, Chloe Campbell, Marshall Clough, Jean Hay, Kennell Jackson, Joanna Lewis, Julie Livingstone, Meredith McKittrick, Joe Miller, Kenda Mutongi, Jeanne Penvenne, Derek Peterson, Bill Rich, Sara Rich, Parker Shipton, Megan Vaughan, Richard Waller, and Diana Wylie. To Terence Ranger, who offered generous support during my research days at Oxford and who, like Leroy, insisted that I provide plenty of room for African voices in this book, I offer my deepest gratitude. I am also indebted to John McGhie, Giselle Portenier, and the entire production crew at the BBC, who brought my research to the screen with the production of Kenya: White Terror in 2002. Throughout the filming and editing, John and Giselle strove tirelessly to get this story right, and I walked away from the project with a new understanding of myself and my fieldwork. I would also like to thank Anne Perkins, who stepped in during the las
t stages of my writing to offer incredible insight into postwar Labour politics. My sincerest gratitude, as well, to Sharon Sundue, who is my most loyal and trusted friend, not to mention a truly fine historian.

  My research assistant, Terry Wairimu, was a constant source of support, knowledge, and friendship throughout this project. We first met in the fall of 1998 and began what I would call our odyssey to find survivors upcountry. During our long car rides Terry never once complained of my hair-raising driving skills. Instead, she sat stoically in the passenger seat as I wove around potholes and passed cars on hillside curves, and discussed Kikuyu history, politics, and culture with me. Together we spent many a lengthy stretch in the field, often not knowing where we would sleep or eat, fueled instead by our shared interest in recovering the past in Kikuyuland. After our initial year of interviewing, Terry and I continued working together on this project as well as on several others, though we now spend most of our time talking about our children and our lives outside of work. Our friendship is one of the greatest by-products of the years of research that went into this book and one that will, I hope, last a lifetime.

  Over the years there have been several others in Kenya who provided encouragement, support, and good humor that sustained me through my work. Every time I am in Nairobi the Campaignes—Alice, Jonathan, Sylvie, and Nico—provide me with a true home. They always welcome me with open arms, even when I work late into the evening and track red dust through their house after spending the day upcountry. Njoroge Mungai, Christina Cole, and Petal and David Allen also offered great friendship, as well as a wealth of information about Kenya, past and present. Last but not least, the Nottinghams—John, Christopher, Muthoni, Fiona, Njambi, and the late Richard—gave their friendship, wisdom, and unending logistical support, particularly during my numerous follow-up research trips during the last few years. To all of them, my deepest gratitude and respect.

  During the course of my research several institutions provided funding. They include the Frank Knox Memorial Fellowship, the Krupp Foundation Fellowship in European Studies, the J. William Fulbright Fellowship, the Social Science Research Council, the International Dissertation Research Fellowship, the Foreign Language and Area Studies Fellowship, the Harvard University Cooke Fund, the Weatherhead Center for International Affairs, and Harvard’s Committee on African Studies. In addition, I would like to thank my department for generously allowing me such a substantial amount of leave time to conduct my research and to finish the writing.

  The staffs at several archives and libraries were instrumental at various stages of this work. Special thanks goes to Musila Musembi and his entire staff at the Kenya National Archives, Nairobi. Also extremely helpful were the librarians and archivists at the Rhodes House Library, Oxford; the Public Record Office, London; the British Museum, Colindale; the Seeley Historical Library, Cambridge; the School of Oriental and African Studies, London; the Presbyterian Church of East Africa, Nairobi; Imani House, Nairobi; the University of Nairobi Library, Nairobi; the Macmillan Library, Nairobi; and Widener Library, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

  This book would not have been completed had it not been for the year that I spent at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study. There, Drew Faust, Judy Vichniac, and their staff created the closest thing to utopia that I can imagine. When I walked into my Radcliffe office in September 2003, it was the first time I had a place of my own away from my home and my department to write. But the beauties of Radcliffe extend far beyond the quiet time that it affords its fellows. It is a true community of scholars, writers, scientists, and artists who support one another in their endeavors, gently push one another to realize their best, and applaud everyone’s successes. Somehow the other fellows also had the uncanny ability to know when to leave me alone in my work, and when to pester me and offer advice. Though I am grateful to all of them, I would particularly like to extend my heartfelt thanks and admiration to those who read various drafts of this book, provided important analytical insights to my work, and, most important, gave me a shoulder to lean on during some of those long, dark days of writing. They include Amy Bach, Susanna Blumenthal, Jennifer Cole, Jean Comaroff, John Comaroff, Susan Eckstein, Anne Fessler, Jane Gaines, Jacquelyn Dowd Hall, Jennifer Harbury, Darlene Clark Hine, Chris Jones-Pauly, Jennifer Knust, Soledad Loaeza, Susan Moller Okin, Katy Park, and Irene Winter. I would also like to thank my Radcliffe research partner, Jennifer Kinloch, as well as the research help and editorial advice given to me by Liz Thornberry. Special gratitude as well goes to Lindy Hess for offering me her time and wisdom on many occasions.

  Several individuals were determined to see this book not just in print but in as near to perfect form as possible. Jill Kneerim, my agent, believed in me and in this project from the moment we first met. Every writer should have an advocate like Jill who pushes her project with such grace and zeal. My sincerest thanks to her and the entire staff at Kneerim and Williams. Vanessa Mobley, my editor at Henry Holt, was with me every step of the way during the writing process, providing incisive criticism and constant encouragement. Her eye for detail and desire for perfection carried over into much of this book. I would also like to thank everyone at Henry Holt who worked with us to make this project a success. They include John Sterling, Maggie Richards, Elizabeth Shreve, Denise Cronin, and Daniel Reid. At Jonathan Cape my editor, Will Sulkin, provided invaluable insights and support, for which I am very grateful. My toughest critic of all, my dear Uncle Jake, read through every draft page of this book and held no punches in telling me what needed to be improved and what needed to go. There is no doubt that this book became substantially better after it was carved up, more than once, with his red pen.

  There are two remaining groups of people to whom I owe far more than gratitude. The first comprises the hundreds of men and women who survived the camps and villages and who so generously shared their lives, their homes, and countless meals with me. My deepest admiration and thanks for their bravery and willingness to return to a period in their pasts that was, as many of them said, as painful today as it was some fifty years ago.

  And finally there is my family. Nothing I could possibly say or do would begin to thank them for the understanding, encouragement, and love that they have given me over the years. The final stretch of writing was particularly hard on everyone around me. I was absent for days and sometimes weeks at a time. My husband, Brent, not only took over at home but also kept cheering me on, telling me to write the best book that I possibly could. In his good hands our two young sons, Andy and Jake, thrived despite my absence, and, together, the three of them knew how to pull me away from my work when I needed it most, making me laugh and relax in the sheer joy of their company. Then during some of the toughest hours my mom, better known as Mimi, swooped in and rescued us all with home-cooked meals and countless hours of babysitting. Mary Lalli (aka Dos Mimi) was often never far behind, offering up one of her gourmet meals and lively company. I’m not certain who among them is happiest to see this book finally completed. I know, though, that of everyone it was Brent who shouldered the lion’s share of our domestic life, not to mention his own career, while never once complaining. Apart from being my husband, he is simply the most wonderful person in the world.

  Note on Methods

  TO CREATE THE EVIDENTIARY LATTICE FOR THIS BOOK, I DREW UPON a wide range of written and oral source materials. It is therefore important to outline the considerations of method that shaped my research agenda and analyses.

  Three sets of questions drove my inquiry. I first wanted to re-create and explain the structure of the Pipeline and the Emergency villages: how this detention system functioned, how many were detained, who was in charge, the chain of command, and finally the logic behind the transfer of detainees between different camps. 1 Second, I sought to move beyond a mere reconstruction of the Pipeline by going behind the wire to explore life inside the camps and villages. The relationships among the detainees and the camp personnel remained for years largely unexplored, as did the
role of rehabilitation and labor in detainee “reform.” By opening up a window into the day-to-day world of the camps and villages, I could understand why the Pipeline took the form that it did. Finally, I wanted to know why the British were introducing a policy of mass detention in the aftermath of World War II and the various declarations on human rights passed in its wake, including no detention without trial. It was not enough to explain the structure and the world of the camps; I sought to understand how the Pipeline and the Emergency villages fit into Britain’s broader colonial policy and its long-term plans in Kenya.

  When I began this project, the scope of what remained unknown or undisclosed about the detention camps and Emergency villages was enormous. This was largely a result of the British colonial government’s concerted effort to purge most of its detention and villagization files prior to decolonization in 1963. 2 It was also due to independent Kenya’s state-imposed amnesia, introduced initially by Kenya’s first president, Jomo Kenyatta, and then advocated by his successor, Daniel T. arap Moi. Consequently, I began my research by carefully sorting through what remains in the official archives at the Public Record Office in London and the Kenya National Archives in Nairobi. Despite the earlier destruction and continued censorship of files, my research in both places yielded a wealth of information. I first went through every official document I could locate that pertained to Mau Mau. I then moved on to cabinet minutes, premier files, and the records of several ancillary departments like the Medical Department and the Labour Department. I soon found that some of the documents missing from the Prisons Department and the Ministry of African Affairs had been copied to other departments, like Medical or Labour, and had been overlooked by those who purged the files. I also found hundreds of unexcised letters and memos relating to the camps, rehabilitation, and works projects that were small pieces of the complex puzzle. With them I was able for the first time to compile a list of the camps in the Pipeline, and to start to understand how and why these camps functioned.