Why we must start to tell our own stories of hope and success

When a white man shoots dead more than 50 people, he is called a lone gunman. When an African-American shoots dead ten people, it is called a gang-related crime; when a Muslim kills three people using a knife it is called radical Islamic terrorism. The fear of the knife-wielding radical Islamic terrorist is higher and more potent, so potent it is that citizens of some countries have been banned from going to the United States. Yet in the same breath, and the same mouth as the Apostle James would put it, the right for an American to bear arms is unquestionable and as basic a right as breathing. It is this doublespeak that taught me an early lesson in communication: Never let anyone else tell your story.

It is in this context that I write to our leaders in this great nation called Kenya. I saw, with great worry, as some envoys came to tell us what we should do about our elections. They, in usual diplomatic speak, balanced their tongue-lashing towards creation of chaos, which one would imagine was aimed at NASA, and the creation of new laws, which was aimed at Jubilee. They warned of vague sanctions against individuals and indeed travel bans for others. This is all fine and dandy, except when you consider that they have begun writing our story. They are telling us our tale, and that tells me we are beginning to lose the plot even before we have begun.