Why Do We Believe Conspiracy Theories?

I’ve been following the controversy surrounding Barrack Obama’s pastor, Reverend Wright with amazement. Mind you, I am not amazed at the words that Wright spoke, but at the fact that those words stirred up the amount of disbelief they did. I’ve lived in the USA a short time, but long enough to understand that conspiracy theories are the bread and butter of the average human being. Is it really surprising that several believe that HIV was designed in a laboratory and African peoples deliberately infected with it? Is it surprising that people believe the federal government was involved in facilitating the influx of drugs into inner city communities a few decades ago? It shouldn’t be surprising at all, folks. We’re living in the age of paranoia, and given the events of the past 500 years, understandably so.

Just take a look at the annals of recent human history and you will see a legacy of brutality and sadism that will wrench your insides. Governments have been known to turn a blind eye as atrocities are committed. Not surprisingly, governments have also been implicated in sponsoring assassinations and forms of experimentation on civilians. Think of the Holocaust and of the racist experiments carried out by the likes of Dr Mengele. African Americans certainly can’t afford to forget the Tuskegee experiment. And who knows what happened in South Africa under the apartheid era. The indigenous societies of the Americas and Australia also have sad stories to tell.

Unfortunately, we readers of history have short memories. We forget how much power we cede to religious leaders, scientists, bureaucrats and politicians to make decisions about our everyday lives, and then we are shocked when one or more of these people is able to use that power to cause irreparable damage. Victims don’t forget, though. Perhaps it is the memories of the victims that makes us uncomfortable and makes us want to turn the page when confronted with uncomfortable truths from our past and present. And yet, even when we willfully forget, there is something in us that maintains a fearful fascination with what we call evil. If you don’t believe me, pay close attention to religious and political discourse, to the types of books that top the best seller lists, and to the most popular programming on television. You will start to suspect that the American public, and humanity at large, is obsessed with the idea of dark, powerful, underground forces controlling the world.

Frequently, conspiracy theories are dismissed in the media as ludicrous or absurd. Very few take the time to examine the relevant question: why do people believe in them? It’s not necessary to share a person’s beliefs in order to understand where those beliefs are coming from. So why, when faced with these theories, does the mainstream media tend to shut down any attempt to examine them or discuss them? Why do reporters and anchors spend more energy being offended that people can believe such theories, than investigating the theories and the people who subscribe to them?

I suspect that conspiracy theories have such a strong hold on people because, first of all, there’s a certain amount of truth in them. For instance, the idea of a government designing viruses for specific population groups is not a far remove from the following facts: that some nations are acknowledged to possess biological weapons, that the Tuskegee experiment on African American men was allowed to proceed, unhindered. When these facts are brought together in an environment where racial injustice, prejudice and suspicion prevail, then a conspiracy theory is inevitable.

Secondly, conspiracy theories manage to tie up all the loose ends and to explain the mysteries that the official narrative leaves unaddressed. Official theories explaining the origins of HIV/ AIDS and its epidemiology are often self-contradictory and convoluted while the conspiracy theory gives a clear-cut black and white explanation; no ambiguous grays are allowed to linger. The result is that people are more attracted to the version with a clear beginning, middle and end and where the good guy and the bad guy are easily distinguished from each other.

Thirdly, conspiracy theories tend to fit in with the predominant Judeo-Islamic religious narrative in the community. If the community is Muslim, Christian or Jewish, then it is predisposed to believing in scenarios that end in catastrophe (the apocalypse, the end of the world, the decimation of the entire community by disease) and involve a battle between good and evil.

Conspiracy theories should not be dismissed, however ludicrous they may sound. If people believe strongly in a conspiracy theory, then it is probably because they are living in fear and believe they have no power over their own destiny. These feelings are understandable among people living in extreme poverty, people battling an epidemic that has crippled their entire society or people who have been victimized time and again and continue to be victimized. Journalists are uniquely placed to identify the fears that predispose people to believing conspiracy theories. By examining those fears and asking questions about them, they could expose gross inequalities in society, thus provoking people to address those inequalities.

Admittedly, that is an idealistic scenario. Media exposés don’t always lead to corrective actions being taken. However, I would like to believe that talking about our fears as a community could help us gain some kind of agency and make it possible for us to dream of surmounting the Kilimanjaros in our lives.

This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name, Rose Kahendi, as the writer.

A Long Night's Journey

“Long Night’s Journey into Day” is an optimistic name for this documentary that describes South Africa’s unique situation in coming to terms with the consequences of Apartheid, through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). Throughout the film, I was struck by the strong emotions exhibited by the different sides. It managed to give me a slight peek into the complexities involved in day-to-day existence in present day South Africa. To me, the most striking aspect of the film was that it managed to convey a feeling of hope, even when it seemed that there was no room for any. The cases profiled in the documentary were, for the most part, similar in one aspect: the racial demarcation between aggressor and victim. I think it is easy to draw lines and assign roles such as “good” or “evil” when differences between groups are clearly visible. That is, after all, human nature. Thus, with the concept of a non-white majority being oppressed by a white minority in the back of my mind, I pretty much expected that the same pattern would be revealed in the cases presented before the TRC. Even when the violence was reversed, with the non-whites being aggressors against whites, it still fitted in with the simple idea that it was a war between races. It is for this reason that the involvement of Thapelo Mbelo, a black South African, in the deaths of fellow blacks, the Guguletu seven, stood out.Thapelo’s case was significant to me because it served as a reminder that the processes that South Africa had gone through had fractured the nation along several lines. The complexity of the situation was disheartening. I found myself wondering what hope there was for this nation in which even the lines between foe and friend were not clear-cut. Was the long night’s journey really ending, and were the South African people emerging into the daylight? That was and still is a hard question to answer. It was sad and somewhat ironic that Thapelo was the most unambiguous individual about the crimes that he committed. It seemed to me almost as if he was describing someone else committing the acts. At no point did he try to claim innocence or to hide behind false justifications. I have to wonder what it is like to be Thapelo, to know full well that the people you are killing could easily be your own family, and to have to deal with that reminder everyday. It obviously was not easy. As he admitted, when his conscience started acting up, he would drink to forget. I hate to be pessimistic, but when I think about South Africa’s present situation, I see generations marked by a policy of hate. I do believe that with time, the society will return to what we tend to perceive as normal. In the meantime, however, thousands or more continue to live with burdens on their consciences, and others feel that their actions were justified. Is it possible to un-train a person trained to hate to save his life? Is it possible to destroy all the institutions (including religions) that perpetuated this system of hate? All human society is struggling with this question in one way or another. In that way, South Africa is not unique. The long night’s journey is still continuing. In that vein, the mothers of Thapelo’s victims were able to find it in their hearts to forgive and to embrace him. That is the primary indicator that there is hope. It is true that South Africa saw humans pushed to the extremes of hate. On the other hand, the other extreme, love and forgiveness was just as important a part of the picture. It is this complexity that we should keep in mind always: the fact that human nature and life are colored by both ends of the spectrum. This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name, Rose Kahendi, as the writer.

Guelwaar

I recently watched the Senegalese film, "Guelwaar" for a second time. It seems almost strange that the one character who caught my attention was the one most conspicuous by his absence. I am referring to Pierre Thioune, the deceased outspoken Guelwaar. Although he was dead, the memories of the other characters painted an interesting picture of him.

Thioune’s personality captured my attention mainly because it seemed to be so full of contrasts. The first impression that I got of him was that of a devout Catholic who led his community by example. Not only did he allow the Catholic women’s group to meet in his house, but he apparently also requested that his funeral service be held in Latin. Significantly, he had also performed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.

Afterwards hints of his extremely human nature began to creep in. In his youth, he would disguise himself as an old woman in order to pursue an affair with the wife of the village's religious leader . Furthermore, unlike his wife, he had no qualms over accepting monetary support from his daughter who was working as a prostitute in Dakar.

The effect of these seemingly incompatible qualities made Thioune a three-dimensional character in my eyes. Importantly, they provided a hint of his strong will and of a moral code, admittedly of his own, that he adhered to. All of these qualities came together in his political ideals which eventually brought him significant influence and respect. These political ideals are, admittedly, the feature that clinched my admiration for Thioune.

One scene stands out in my mind as epitomizing my view of Thioune. It was set at the height of the famine period. The people were unable to support themselves, hence were receiving food aid from foreign groups through the government. A ceremony was organized for the symbolic handing over of the aid, and several dignitaries, both local and diplomatic, had been invited. Thioune was one of the individuals invited to make a speech. However, his speech stirred up a lot of controversy among the different groups present. They had expected him to express gratitude to the donors. Instead he had lambasted them, bitterly accusing them of degrading the people and killing their dignity by reducing them to beggars.

Thioune’s words were extremely strong. They were critical in that they upset the status quo. His words gave some of the aid-recipients food for thought. However, they also marked him as an enemy of the established system. By speaking out on that day, he exposed his belief in the significance of human dignity. Thioune was not a stupid man. He must have known that his words would have consequences. However, his pride and his moral code made the dignity of his people his agenda.

I believe Sembene was using Thioune as his mouthpiece and that Thioune’s speech in this specific scene was the main message. Because I was particularly struck by this message, it is only natural that a specific part of it found resonance with me. Guelwaar summed this part up in a few words, saying that famine, drought and poverty resulted from a country saying one thing from generation to generation: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you… (with arm outstretched as if begging).


This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name Rose Kahendi as the writer.

The History of the Mongol Conquests: A Review

JJ Saunders, in his book, “The History of the Mongol Conquests”, attempts to make available to the public a body of research on the Mongol conquests that has until recently only been accessible to specialists in the area. A considerable amount of work in the subject has recently been accumulated in the more accessible English language, bringing with it a re-evaluation of the Mongol conquests. Saunders, in agreement with the conclusions of this re-evaluation, presents it in his book. Dismissing the viewpoint that the Mongol invasions were limited to wholesale destruction, he sheds light on their positive achievements.

Among the first pages of the book, genealogical tables of the Mongol ruling family are presented. The usefulness of these tables is fully appreciated once one has gone beyond the first two chapters of the book. Without the trees, it is near impossible to keep the different branches of the family straight. Thus, they are effective in making sense of the different rivalries and alliances formed between the individuals.

The book is divided into ten chapters and two appendices. Its first chapter is an introduction to the world of the Eurasian nomads. Set in the Eurasian steppes, the chapter describes the physical geography of the region and focuses on the people who have adapted their lifestyles to its harsh environmental conditions. Among these nomadic peoples are the Mongols. The map provided at the beginning of the chapter is a useful tool, showing the physical geography described in the chapter, and pinpointing the approximate locations of each of the communities discussed.

The second chapter delves into a description of the Turkish Empire in Asia as setting the stage for the rise of the Mongols. Saunders compares the two nomadic groups, highlighting the similarities that led to their rise, and contrasting their achievements. A convenient map of the Turkish Empire complements the chapter.

The next chapter opens with a map of Central Asia, showing the locations of the Mongols and their neighbors. This provides a hint of the contents of the chapter: The breakup of the Turkish Empire and the resulting rise of the Uighurs, Tanguts, Ch’I-tan, Chin and Sung. It is noteworthy that no single major centralized state is established.

Saunders’ fourth chapter is a charming mix of fact and legend. It takes us into the life of Chingis Khan and details the rise of the Mongol leader to military celebrity and administrative genius. Under him, an empire is born: the Merit, Naiman, Kara-Khitay, Chin and Khwarizmian territories fall under his control. Any resistance to the Mongol expansion is rewarded with large-scale slaughter. Unprecedented mingling of cultures in Asia is a feature of the era. A hint of the diversity expressed in the regions under Mongol control is illustrated in a map showing the religious distribution of the area.

Chingis’ death in the fifth chapter is a significant event. He is replaced after a while by his son Ögedei, whose reign pushes the empire into Chin territory, the remnants of Khwarizm and through Poland into Hungary. A traumatized Europe is relieved when a raid is stopped short by Ögedei’s death. A particularly useful map shows the routes used by the different hordes of Mongols in their invasions.

Chapter six describes the alarm among Christian authorities resulting from this invasion of Europe. Christian diplomatic missions sent to the Mongol Khan are rebuffed, but the diplomats come away with a better idea of Mongol strength and methods. Further raids of Muslim Asia are stopped by the death of the Khan Möngke. The Battle of Ayn Jalut is fought and lost by the Mongols. This marks the end of their expansion and the beginning of division of the empire as highlighted in the accompanying map.

One of the major problems faced by the Mongol rulers, that of no prior experience ruling over sedentary societies, is highlighted in the seventh chapter. The differences in religion between the rulers and the ruled further compound this situation. Kubilai Khan manages to conquer entire Chinese realm and to invade much of South Eastern Asia. The monarchy of Il-Khans in Persia is strengthened as the number of Mongol converts to Islam increases. After Kubilai’s death, its break in links with the Mongol base in China and establishment as an independent entity is only natural.

Chapter eight characterizes unrest among Chinese and Persian masses as leading to the fall of the already shaky Mongol Empire. Saunders takes time to reflect on China’s achievements under the Mongols: her people took to the sea, had interactions with Islam and Christianity and established trade links with Persia. This is only part of the story, though. As shown in the next chapter the Khanate of the Golden Horde of Mongols takes shape in Russia. The Khan, Timur, inflicts irreparable damage on Kipchak, and the khanate fragments. Another Timur rises in Chagatai, accumulating power through genocidal campaigns.

The tenth chapter closes this venture into Eurasian history with an assessment of the results of Mongol rule. For one, the strength and distribution of the major religions is changed. A second feature is the transformation in the ethnic character of the different regions. Thirdly, Asia is opened up to European penetration by land and sea.

Following this chapter are two appendices, the first of which discusses the “Secret History of the Mongols”, the primary source for Saunders’ book, whose author is to-date unknown. Appendix two examines the possibility that the Mongols may have been responsible for introducing gunpowder and firearms from China into Europe.

Saunders writes well, combining information from different sources smoothly. However, the large number of details can be confusing, especially when a single event is told from several different perspectives.

Using his primary source to provide the official history, Saunders supplements his work with chronicles and histories recorded in different segments of the empire. These describe the invasions and their immediate results. Additionally, modern day historical analyses are used. These detail the economic and political developments derived from the Mongol Empire.

His documentation is detailed, including endnotes, and a bibliography for each chapter. By highlighting the positive developments arising from the Mongol invasions, achieves his thesis. His method is sufficiently persuasive. Ironically, despite all the evidence he gives to the contrary, Saunders describes the Mongols as a barbaric and cultureless people several times.

Not only would the book serve as an ideal introduction to the subject area, but its excellent documentation would also be helpful in sourcing material for further research in the area. Saunders’ politically statements do not detract significantly from the balanced image of the Mongols that he strives to depict.


This essay is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License. Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name Rose Kahendi as the writer.

Le savane de mon enfance

Un petit enfant de trois ans, laissé tout seul, vit dans son monde imaginaire, ne manquant jamais des choses à faire ou des amis avec lequel il peut jouer. Cette situation caractérisait mon enfance, particulièrement après le départ de mon frère aîné pour l’école. Néanmoins, parfois je ne voulais plus m’amuser de cette manière. Un désir intense pour la solitude me remplissait et je me réfugiais dans la chambre de mon frère. Là-bas, repoussé tout contre la fenêtre, se trouvait le lit grand sur lequel je m’allongeais. Celle-là position me donnait une vue imprenable qui m’ensorcelait pour des longues heures innombrables.

Le terrain plat s’étendait jusqu’une ligne invisible qui la séparait du ciel. La concession dont je parle se situait derrière notre maison. Même que ce n’était pas la nôtre, je me souviens d’avoir pensé que je ne permettrais à personne de faire rien sur “ma propriété”.

Donc j’étais enfermée dans la maison avec la bonne, et me ressentais comme une prisonnière. Je voulais être dehors avec des aigles et des gazelles, libre à prendre le frais et à sentir les rayons de soleil sur ma peau. Ne pouvant pas éviter la sensation de claustrophobie, je mettais la main sur la vitre de la Fenêtre et le chaleur me transportait en dehors.

Les bruns, jaunes et verts de la savane devenaient plus vifs et le soleil brulait avec plus de force sur les herbages qui s’étendaient pour des kilomètres. Ne me fatiguant jamais de remarquer les petits buissons ligneux, je les comptais. Ils étaient toujours plus nombreux que les acacias, qui ne manquaient jamais d’absorber plus que leur part de l’eau: la terre autour chaque acacia était toute nuée de végétation.

Eloignés de la maison, les baobabs noirs apparaissaient dans l’encadrement du bleu recémment lavé du ciel. Leurs branches s’étendaient en haut en cherchant de l’eau comme des racines. C’était pour cette raison qu’on les appelait “les arbres renversés”.

Toute cette végétation s’alternait avec quelques trainées brunes, indiquant les champs défrichés sur le canevas de jaune et vert. Ayant vu tout cela, mes yeux se fatiguaient et, petit à petit, se mettaient à s’enfermer. Mon dernier spectacle était toujours la vue d’une grande balle rougeoyante s’enfoncant au dessus de l’horizon.

First published in TakingITGlobal's Panorama Zine on 1st February, 2008.

Ferry ride to Unguja

The ferry ride to Unguja was long, but peaceful. The ocean was beautiful. For miles on end, there was nothing around but calm skies and a gentle sea. Standing there, I couldn’t help thinking just how small and insignificant I was.
When the island became visible in the distance, we were all excited. Everybody wanted to see Unguja. A family with a video camera was filming the approach to the island. I was standing next to them and could hear their little boy crying out for candy, “Awz helwa,” over and over again to his mother.

The deck was packed. Everybody was standing out there watching the island. I imagine many of them were coming back home to visit their families. Some were probably coming to visit for the first time, perhaps to work, or maybe to make a new home on the island. Others were tourists, come to see “Africa”. There was a mix of people on that ferry, rich and poor, but for the moment, we were all equals as we stood on the deck, caught up in awe at the island’s beauty.

Some people were so enraptured that they forgot where they were, and left their bags unattended on the ground. Of course, one man, alert to the opportunity, took advantage of the fact that the deck was crowded and no-one was watching. He grabbed hold of another man’s bag and was trying to sneak away with it when somebody saw him and raised the alarm: “Mwizi!”

Suddenly, the magic spell was broken. Everyone turned away from the beautiful view in time to see the young man being pushed into a corner. The bag was grabbed from him and returned to its rightful owner. Only then did the angry crowd unleash its wrath on him. The crowd rained blows on him and kicked him mercilessly, only stopping when two men who had muscled their way through stood before him, shielding him. They took him to a little room and locked him up in there.

Whatever transpired after that, I do not know. I imagine that when the ferry docked, the man was turned in to the police. As for the rest of the passengers, most of them went back to what they were doing before the incident: watching the approach to the island. To them, it was just another ordinary day: a man had tried to steal and mob justice had been meted out to him. Now that he had been locked away somewhere, they could go back to admiring the features of the island- the trees were now visible, as were some beautiful white buildings.

I noticed that the tourists looked a bit anxious. They were probably shocked at the speed with which everything had happened and at the seeming brutality of the crowd. Where had the anger and violence come from? They were not used to being this close to public anger and violence.

Whatever their feelings were, there was no time to dwell on them, the ferry soon docked and everyone was in a rush to get off.

This work is licensed to Rose Kahendi under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

From thoughts into words

From thoughts into words by Rose Kahendi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.