A tale of two camps: The dissociation of Kakuma and Dadaab under the self-reliance agenda in Kenya
The following is a blog post written by Dr. Cory Rodgers with the Refugee Studies Centre, University of Oxford, and it provides an analysis of Kenyaâs approach to refugee protection through a close look at the Dadaab and Kakuma refugee camps. The piece first appeared on 15 May 2019 in the Refugee Law Initiative blog and is reprinted here with permission from the author and the RLI.Â
It was the best of times, it was the worst of timesâŚ
The current outlook for refugees in Kenya displays a perplexing duality.
On the one hand, the government has declared refugees a threat to national security and warns that refugee camps may serve as âlaunch padsâ for attacks by the al-Shabaab militia.Â
A 2017 ruling by the High Court blocked efforts to terminate the Dadaab camps and repatriate many of the inhabitants to Somalia. But earlier this year, the government again raised the threat of camp closure and expulsion.
At the same time, Kenya has made substantial pledges to become a more open and inclusive host country. In the 2016 Leadersâ Summit in New York, Kenya pledged to undertake âseveral self-reliance and inclusion measures for refugeesâ, which are now being implemented under the CRRF. Most substantially, the government supported the construction of the Kalobeyei refugee settlement, which has been built just west of the Kakuma camp and billed as an innovative model of aid that promotes self-reliance and can benefit refugees and citizens alike.
So, is Kenya shirking its international responsibility to refugees, or embracing a more inclusive approach to refugee protection? My paper at the Refugee Law Initiativeâs Fourth Annual Conference will explore this question through a critical analysis of public narratives about refugees in Kenya and their role in UNHCRâs efforts to negotiate durable solutions.
Post-colonial histories of refugee reception in Africa generally describe the rise and fall of a âgolden ageâ of asylum. According to Professor Bonaventure Rutinwa of the University of Dar es Salaam, this era came to a close with the end of solidarity-generating independence movements and the rise of democracy-fuelled contestations over citizenship.
Since then, most countriesâ receptivity to asylum seekers has followed the tide of public opinion toward refugees, which has varied according to the perceived economic impact on host populations, the presence or absence of security concerns, and the degree of ethnic, linguistic and religious affinities between groups. Refugees in one context are met with tolerance and hospitality; in another they face xenophobia and violence.
But in Kenya, any attempt to gauge the trajectory of asylum policies is confounded by the co-existence of opposing public narratives. In one, the country is opening its doors to refugees and attempting to implement new models of aid that can benefit both refugees and their host communities. In the other, the country is closing its doors for fear that refugee populations harbour religious extremists and terror cells.
To be clear, this is not simply a matter of opposing political arguments, which are typical of any democratic system. Different actors have different interests. The UNHCR and its partners tend to focus on the technical and financial aspects of providing protection; advocacy groups like Kituo cha Sheria emphasise Kenyaâs human rights obligations; the national government generally turns to the security discourse over the al-Shabaab threat.
What is odd in Kenya is not that there are disagreements or debates about refugee policies, but that the public narratives about refugees donât seem to recognise this.
It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulityâŚ
Usually, public narratives traverse multiple discourses: in the US, for example, mayors in cities like San Francisco refused to implement Trumpâs Executive Order 13769 aka âthe Muslim Banâ despite threats that their federal funding would be cut. As such, this âsanctuary cityâ narrative recognises the encounter between progressive discourses on human rights/dignity and nationalist discourses about cultural identity/security. President Trump countered this narrative with an alternative â and clearly fictional â account, in which sanctuary cities were being over-run by criminal elements within the immigrant populations that they were protecting. Despite the new plot-line and the reversal of antagonists and protagonists, Trumpâs narrative still accounted for the clash between human rights and security concerns.
But the narratives in Kenya donât even acknowledge the disagreements. One narrative tells of a country willing to implement an innovative self-reliance model at a newly constructed refugee settlement. The other tells of a country tired of its refugee burden and attempting to close down existing camps. The resulting image is not of two opposing sides, but of two different Kenyas.
Upon closer analysis, this striking dissonance is resolved spatially, in that the security narrative remains fixated on Dadaab, while the self-reliance narrative has focused on Kakuma/Kalobeyei.
These are two of the most well-known refugee camps in Africa, and perhaps the world. With an estimated 480,000 residents in 2011, Dadaab was long recognised as the largest camp on the continent (It is actually a complex of four camps. Following the onset of civil conflict in South Sudan, it was surpassed by Bidi Bidi in northern Uganda). Aside from its profile as a security concern in Kenya, Dadaab was the focus of Ben Rawlenceâs award-winning non-fiction City of Thorns.
Kakuma, meanwhile, is known as one of the most (over-)researched refugee camps in the world. The ease of access and relative safety of the camp during daylight hours has made it an attractive destination for researchers, and a quick internet search pulls up dozens of masters and doctoral dissertations focused on Kakuma. Since 2000, there have been at least seven Kakuma-based studies on the issue of refugee-host relations alone. The UNHCR has even published a visitorsâ guide to the camp.
One of the biggest differences is that the population of Dadaab is predominantly constituted by people displaced from Somalia, whereas Kakumaâs population is more diverse. Somalis have long been the target of government security operations. Police sweeps carried out under programmes such as Usalama Watch have seen Somalis removed from Nairobi, some deported to Somalia and others sent to the Dadaab camps.
Now, in the wake of the New York Declaration and the Global Refugee Compact, the UNHCR is promoting its self-reliance agenda with renewed enthusiasm, and it has put Kakuma and Kalobeyei in centre focus. But Dadaab and the broader Somali refugee demographic have been left out of the picture. This is despite the entrepreneurial achievements and economic investments of countryâs Somali networks, most impressively on display in Nairobiâs Eastleigh neighbourhood, as well as the street colloquially known as the Mogadishu Market in the Kakuma camp.
In my paper, I draw upon both fieldwork and document analysis to describe the dissociation of the security and self-reliance narratives in Kenya, which have been anchored spatially in Dadaab and Kakuma/Kalobeyei, respectively. Although UNHCR is not responsible for the negative depiction of Somalis in Kenya, which has roots in colonial history, in their effort to maintain optimism about the self-reliance model agenda and the CRRF they have tacitly supported dual narratives that keep Kakuma and Kalobeyei clear of Dadaabâs reputation.
It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness,
It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despairâŚ
Whether the outcomes of self-reliance policies will live up to expectations remains an open question. But the potential of self-reliance has built enthusiasm in places like Turkana County, and UNHCR has failed to use that narrative to counter xenophobia toward Somalis on the national stage. Unless it does, we will be left with two Kenyas: one in which Somalis are vilified, and one in which they donât seem to exist.
There have been some indications of a shift. UNHCR and ILO recently commissioned a study titled âDoing Business in Dadaabâ, results of which were published just this January. The report parallels the IFCâs âKakuma as a Marketplaceâ study from the previous year, which assessed private sector opportunities in Kakuma and contributed to the Kakuma-centric self-reliance narrative about refugees in Kenya. Perhaps more significantly, recent regional agreements have focused on the inclusion of Somalis in the self-reliance agenda, including the Nairobi Declaration on Durable Solutions for Somali Refugees.
As is clear from the rise of far-right movements around the world, those advocating for legal changes to expand political rights for refugees must engage with the prevailing public narratives that shape âpublicâ opinion. How might the ânarrative workâ of UNHCR and other agencies promote or hinder the expansion of refugee rights? Or, in what ways might it reinforce stereotypes and entrench the exclusion of already marginalised groups?
