Ode to Kenya's James Karugu

The day I met the elusive former Attorney General

We finally met.

 It may have been the immaculate lawns of his compound that caught my eye. Or how, perhaps, James Karugu was neatly dressed. It was the first time the man I had only seen in old pictures had agreed to do his first media interview many years after he left the State Law office. And here I was – in my moment of history. History, as we historians and journalists say, was in the making.

We shook hands.

I had been forewarned. "Keep time!"

And I did it by asking Vicky, his eldest daughter, to be part of my entourage. It was safe that way. I remembered a story told in the newsroom by a fellow journalist about how years back, they had gone to interview Mr. Karugu but arrived late. He told them to go back and learn how to keep time. That must be vintage Karugu – the keeper of discipline, the master of time.

We sat. I have been trolling archives all my media and history life. How did a man who lived in the 70s escape all those scandals? "I had no interest in material things," he told me.

He told me he first studied history, and that fascinated me. He had a photo album. Some old pictures he took while attending Bowling Green State University – and as he took odd jobs to finance his study. There were hundreds of memorabilia. All well kept. I decided this was not an interview, per se, but a memory jog. I had printed various newspaper cuttings to help us navigate his days as a civil servant until that afternoon when he was asked to resign. Karugu, as I realized, had moved on. Perhaps, he eschewed controversy. Maybe, I was being nosy. But he didn't strike me as a bitter person. Nay.

"Let us just say there were some disagreements." I could tell I was going nowhere with my prodding. I was looking for that killer punch. It never came. I hoped he would tell off somebody. He didn’t.

He spoke of fond memories of his workings with Attorney General Charles Njonjo as they tried to put things in order in the 1970s and 80s. And they had fun. Njonjo would often say: "Gaka ni tukuoha" – meaning "we are going to jail this one" - and they both would agree on how to proceed.

To understand such an icon, one has to look at the Hard Drive of history. So I went there and conducted more research to understand Karugu's thinking and life philosophy. I found it tucked in his maiden speech in parliament, shortly after he was appointed to replace Charles Njonjo on April 21, 1980. He said:

 "I come to this House or position, when one era has ended and another has begun…the test of our society shall be that the rule of law shall prevail, that we be guided by principles and principles alone and preservations of our public institutions, as they are, so that personal vengeance has no place in our society, that the humblest man has his right to be protected by the State so that no one shall be persecuted or have his liberty taken away or embarrassed for his thoughts or opinion."

That is how Mr. Karugu saw the space he occupied. That is how he understood duty. But there was more. "The country has left its infancy behind and is at its crucial stage when a youth begins to develop its character and choose the course of its life."

Indeed, he was visualizing his position as Attorney General as the gatekeeper for the rule of law. Minus that, he foresaw trouble, and he said as much:

"The attorney General of a country – and it does not matter whether it is in Kenya or in any other country - is the Trustee of a great duty – and I want to emphasize that word Trustee of a great duty – to see that the rule of law will prevail."

Then he expanded his vision: "This involves an active concern for the fundamental rights enshrined in our Constitution…and which I will do anything possible to preserve. I think it does not harm to remind ourselves that these provisions are not mere ones but are designed to ensure that the quality of human life does not suffer, and that the dignity of man, however poor or weak he may be, is protected."

Karugu had adopted the language of rights as his operating discourse. While the discourse was right, the political climate of the Nyayo regime was slowly getting poisoned – and as the AG, he stood in the middle of various interests. It is on record that Mr. Karugu tried to cultivate an independent mind, even as Moi took some of the powers of his office to the Ministry of Constitutional and Home Affairs. I remember asking him how he navigated. "Ta mundurume!" he quipped. I got the gist, and I went to look at the evidence.

I found it in the transcripts of the 1984 proceedings of the Njonjo Inquiry. He had answered that question: "Mr Njonjo left the office with some misconceptions, or preconceived ideas, that I would let him have easy way in the Office of the Attorney General, if I was appointed. (That) I would sit back and let the office be emasculated so the powers go to the constitutional office of Minister for Justice. Hence, my resistance to those overtures was both treacherous and perfidious."

When you meet him, Mr. Karugu doesn't strike like an indefatigable fighter. Only when you look at his choice of words – and records - do you learn how resolute the man was.

So what informed his inspiration to become a lawyer – and not a historian? He tells me that it was the trial of Jomo Kenyatta in Kapenguria. He followed it and loved the way lawyers argued their cases.

We started speaking history, and I realized we had gone off the track.

 A man who had graduated from a law school in England, Karugu's flair for the English language, hyperbole, and sarcasm was well remembered by those who watched his court performance as Deputy Public Prosecutor. "I loved it," he told me.

Karugu was at the prosecution office when Cabinet Minister Tom Mboya was assassinated, and the hunt for the killer saw the arrest of Nahashon Isaac Njenga Njoroge. I showed him the cuttings seeking to know how they went about this case. This was the first case he wanted to prosecute, but his senior, Mr. Clive Brookes, decided not yet. "I wish I had the Mboya case," he told me. "There was no way we were going to lose this case."

Karugu prosecuted the 1971 treason trial in which some military officers attempted to overthrow Kenyatta's government. I showed him the press coverage he got. "This was a big case. I loved it," he told me as his face lit up.  “Can I have the cuttings?”

The death of Jomo Kenyatta and the resignation of Njonjo some years later threw Karugu to the top seat.  But, as history will perhaps record, his honesty could not survive Moi's wish to have an attorney general to help him scatter enemies and entrench power.

His first test arrived when Njonjo's cousin, Andrew Mungai Muthemba, was charged in 1981 with treason. Njonjo, who was then, an ordinary MP, wanted the charges substituted with a lesser offense. Karugu refused, but in the next reshuffle, Karugu lost some of his powers to Njonjo's new Ministry for Constitutional Affairs. It was one of those hot-potato topics of the 80s. He laughed at my analysis of the events and perhaps left it to historians.

I realized I had not asked about his background. Born in Chura, Kiambu, in 1937, he attended the prestigious Mangu High School before proceeding to the US. Then there was something about his farm in Kiambu. His late wife, Margaret Waithira, used to pick coffee there when she was young. History is continuity. 

"I was forced to buy this farm by Jeremiah Kiereini. He prepared all the paper work and took me to the bank. I was happy with my job as a lawyer and had no desire to be a farmer," Karugu told me.

His worst moment at the AG's office was when a Mombasa Court freed a US sailor, Frank Sundstrom, on an Sh500 fine and asked him to keep the peace after admitting to killing a Mombasa girl, Monica Njeri. A brave Karugu told parliament that he was not satisfied with the judgment – and that that was the small price the country has to pay for an independent judiciary.

When he resigned – the media speculated that he never jumped. I was not there yet. But in those days, the press was not combative. He tells me that after he resigned, he picked his wife and children and opted for private life.

When I found him, he was at peace. He was not a man of clubs. He never played golf like his friends. "I never liked it."

We stood outside and watched the horizon. We spoke about the history of his coffee farm. It was one of the first in Kiambu.

Karugu struck me as a rural Mzee. He struck me as a polished gentleman who stood by his words and lived a decent life.