Being seduced

Meeting with the President of the Legislative Council of the Parliament of Western Australia, one is struck by how down-to-earth the man is. Maybe it the politician's skill of making everyone feel at ease, but his mirth and good humour must certainly come from a place of great confidence in his place int he grand scheme of things. One cannot help but compare the Hon Barry House, MLC, with the Hon Kenneth Marende, MP. Meeting with the Clerk of the Legislative Council, too, was a great pleasure. He knows more than he lets on and his job is simply to shepherd the business of the Chamber the best way he knows. His place in the political structure is neutral; he does not take sides in the business of the Chamber; all he does is to ensure that the business of the Chamber is transacted efficiently and honourably.

Our experience in Kenya is strikingly different. No senior government official will be seen around and about without an entourage of hangers-on and kiss-asses. The sign that you have arrived is a bevy of secretaries, clerks and factotums at you beck and call. Our arrival at the President's private office was heralded only by the Clerk and the President's secretary. Earlier in the week, it was the Parliamentary Counsel who came to our humble cubicle to introduce himself to his visitors from East Africa. He does not have a secretary; the receptionist will do. That she serves the entire Parliamentary Counsel's Office doesn't seem to diminish the fact that without his imprimatur, legislation will not be drafted.

The Attorney-General of Western Australia, whom we have not been officially introduced to, drives herself to work every morning. The only sign of her stature, apart from the fact that she is one of the most powerful people in the state, is the fact that she gets the nearest parking spot to the elevator door! She gets one secretary. Nobody seems to be out to get her; there wasn't a single bodyguard in sight the one time I saw her. Perhaps they were out to lunch or something. It is inconceivable that the woman who oversees the drafting of laws or the management of the legal apparatus of the state does not have a security detail.

In Kenya, status is the currency that we all seek. It is more important to be seen with the trappings of power than being seen to be effective. It explains why we have more policemen protecting politicians and other high-ranking functionaries than chasing down the armed robbers and murderers who make life difficult for millions of Kenyans. The glass entrance to the Corruption and Crime Commission is right on the street, protected only by a key-pad to control access. There isn't a singe policeman in sight.

Not that the Western Australians are cavalier about their security. Far from it. Lifts are key-card controlled; as are all doors and entrances. One cannot simply waltz into the PCO's office or the Legislative Council's chambers without a hundred eyes following you around via CCTV cameras and discreet (but sometimes visible) security patrols. Kenya, in contrast, is fond of the overt; boys in blue are de riguer and motorcades are par for the course. Among the first things we were issued with in Sydney and Perth were electronic key cards for access to the areas that we were authorised to be in. We are trusted not to abuse the privilege accorded to us and we are not about to step out of line for anything or anyone. It seems to be the spirit that imbues the men and women we have dealt with so far. Even the friendly dukawallahs don't bother with security glass or watchmen. If you rob them, at least a half-dozen CCTV cameras will record your perfidy. It is a very seductive feeling to know that you can walk around town, a foreigner in a strange land, in safety. Very, very seductive.