Honouring our armed forces: lessons from Kenya's tragedy

A couple years ago I wrote a piece in this column that was a subject of a heated debate with a colleague of mine who accused me of partisanship. In it I had wondered out loud whether we were doing enough to honour our armed forces given what they’ve had to sacrifice, many of which I had outlined before making the following elaboration. “Public confidence in the armed forces has increased as a result of these sacrifices. Their organisations score consistently highest in measures of public confidence. The 2012 Rwanda Governance Score Card placed the Rwanda Defence Forces and Rwanda National Police at 98 per cent and 94.5 per cent, respectively. One can argue that the armed forces are the cornerstone of our national aspirations. Truth be told, they are far ahead on some of the things we aspire for as a society. As we strive to build and strengthen our national identity, the armed forces are emphatically ahead of the rest of us. Their collective focus shows us that professional conduct is more important than one’s ethnic identity. The system of command and control only works effectively when one shows recognition, respect and deference according to either rank or assignment. Clearly, therefore, we have much to learn from the armed forces not only on matters of public service and commitment to the greater good, but also on matters of patriotism and compatriotism. If, as a society, we aspire for values already held by members of our armed forces, it enjoins us to honour them more regularly than we do. The President’s tribute was indeed right and timely. The more I think about it the more I wonder if it isn’t time the government decreed an Armed Forces Day when, as a country, we could take time out to reflect on and celebrate – and for the young ones to emulate – the sacrifices made by the men and women in uniform.” Al Shabaab attacks, Kenyans react Now, the reaction of Kenyans to the attack on their soldiers, the Kenya Defence Forces (KDF), by the Al Shabaab militants last week brought back memories of the conversation I had had with my colleague. There was outpouring of grief from Kenyans of all walks of life – and rightly so. Hashtags were created as soon as news of the deaths, around 60 soldiers and scores wounded, circulated. This one was powerful: #63IsNotJustANumber. Now, those who follow the politics of that country will tell you that many Kenyans, particularly the elite, have problems with their government. There is serious division across ethnic lines, which informs how politics there is organised. However, how they came together to marshal support for their fallen soldiers tells us that even when they are squabbling about this or that, they know that matters of national interest supersede any of these quarrels. The reaction to the tragedy was uniform. Whether it was the official government position or the view of the political opposition or the voice of the civil society, there was a demonstration in a small, but significant manner, that rising above pettiness is the true mark of leadership; it was a palpable show of the kind of patriotism needed to bind society together. Boniface Mwangi is one of the vociferous critics of the Kenyan government for what he considers its excesses or theft of public resources, to be specific. On Twitter, he posted a photo of members of the armed forces on which he captioned: “During national days they march in beautiful uniforms but their real job is dangerous. #63IsNotJustANumber.” Similar messages were retweeted in the thousands in a spirit of compatriotism that demonstrated political maturity among leaders across diverse interests as well as among the people they lead. I turned the mirror; the home-truths stung: Few of us understand that we can have differences with the RPF without hating the government. Or that we can have distaste for government without disliking the armed forces. Or that we can disapprove of the person of the president without being hostile to the institution of the Presidency. The tragedy involving the KDF reminded me of all these things, the conversation with my colleague, and this tweet: “@LucyNMbabazi Grateful for a peace of mind even in midst of blackout - thanks to @RwandaMoD and @Rwandapolice. May God bless & keep you safe always.” A month after Lucy posted it on 12 January, it has received a thunderous total of 7 likes and 4 retweets. This is against 13,000 followers, probably the most among private Rwandan citizens. As a society, we have thing or two to learn from the Kenyans. And from Lucy, too.

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Honouring our armed forces: lessons from Kenya's tragedy