Irving Paul Lazar
was a Hollywood agent nicknamed Swifty. He was not by any conventional measure,
the most impressive man in the room. He was short, bespectacled and lacked the
easy magnetism that the entertainment industry treats as currency.
But he had
something rarer and considerably more dangerous, the absolute refusal to accept
that the room's existing hierarchy had any binding authority over his
ambitions.
Early in his
career, Swifty was at dinner with a young starlet who at the time was in high
demand in the movie industry. He wanted to be her agent. So, throughout the
evening, he tried everything he possibly could to convince her. But she remained
unimpressed and he was running out of moves.
At one point,
Swifty excused himself to go to the men’s bathroom. While there, he bumped into
Frank Sinatra, who was one of the most popular and influential musical artists
having sold more than 150 million records worldwide, and whose attention was
the most coveted social commodity at the time.
Swifty introduced himself with
exuberant passion and exceptional confidence. But Sinatra responded very
apathetically with the polite indifference of a man accustomed to being
approached by strangers.
Swifty was not
disheartened by Sinatra’s indifference. He persisted and asked Sinatra to
please come and say hello to his table. Sinatra declined. But Swifty insistently
asked again and again. Finally, the singer caved in.
Swifty then
returned to his table. And shortly after, in full view of the entire room, Sinatra
sauntered over to Swifty’s table. “Hi Swifty,” Sinatra said, extending his hand.
“Not now Frank,” replied Swifty. The starlet, duly impressed, signed on the
dotted line the following day, making Swifty her agent.
Now that, my fellow Kenyans, is what is
called chutzpah.
Chutzpah is derived from the Yiddish
language. It means audacity. Gall. Nerve. The kind of confidence that borders
on arrogance that allows someone to do or say things that appear shocking, precisely
because they reveal a total indifference to the existing power arrangement.
It
is the courage to do something that looks too large for your situation, too
bold for your circumstances and too presumptuous for your critics. It is not
recklessness. It is the fearlessness to take on established authority and
systems, and to do so with such calculated composure.
This week Kenya executed a chutzpah.
France President Emmanuel Macron arrived
in Nairobi for the Africa Forward Summit that was co-hosted by Kenya and
France. The summit convened heads of state, business leaders and innovators
around a deliberately ambitious proposition that stated Africa should be a
co-creator of solutions not a passive recipient.
Framed around innovation,
effective multilateralism and transformative partnership, the meeting sought to
signal a new kind of engagement, one grounded less in hierarchy and patronage,
and more in reciprocity, shared problem-solving and recognition of Africa’s
agency.
This summit has traditionally been held,
without exception, in Francophone Africa for 60 years. It is a gathering that
has historically functioned as a biennial communion of French-speaking African
leaders with their former colonial metropole, a forum whose guest list, agenda
and symbolism were all calibrated around the architecture of France's
traditional continental influence. To hold it anywhere outside that
architecture was unthinkable.
Over the five years leading up to this
summit, France had been pushed out of Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger. Its troops
were withdrawn, its ambassadors expelled and in capitals where Paris once sauntered
with the easy confidence of a landlord collecting rent, it suddenly found
itself unwelcome. This was not just a diplomatic setback.
It was a public
unravelling of Françafrique, which is the decades-old system through which
France maintained political, military and economic influence over its former
colonies. It was a system now openly, and at times violently, repudiated in
parts of the very region it was built to manage.
Kenya is not a former French colony. Kenya
does not speak French. Kenya has no historical obligation or debt of loyalty to
the Françafrique system.
In that sense, this summit represented more than a
high-level diplomatic gathering. Kenya’s decision to host and elevate the
meeting was therefore not merely ceremonial. It was a strategic assertion and a
territorial claim in diplomacy, in convening power, in regional centrality and
in economic imagination.
Today countries do not rise merely by receiving
aid. They rise by having the audacity to place themselves at the centre of
conversations that allocate capital, technology, infrastructure, partnerships
and strategic attention.
In geopolitics, as in life, the future rarely belongs
to the meek. It belongs to those who know when to convene, when to signal and
when to act as though they belong in the room where the maps are being redrawn.
Kenya, in choosing to host and visibly shape this engagement, was doing exactly
that.
The neo-colonial critics have asked Kenya
to reject the dinner table, and to wave Sinatra away on the grounds that
powerful people historically extract value from interactions with less powerful
ones.
That is true. It is also true that Swifty did not become one of
Hollywood's most powerful agents by avoiding powerful people, but by engaging
them. The answer to France's history is not avoidance. It is better contracts,
stronger oversight and the chutzpah to say "not now, Frank" when the
moment calls for it. And Kenya’s moment came when President Ruto stated that
Kenya is looking neither East nor West, but forward.
Let’s briefly examine some of the sectors
clustered around the engagement. One may debate their scale, feasibility,
execution, financing terms, or the implementation probability of each. That is
fair. Indeed, it is necessary. But that is not the point.
The point is pattern.
This was not a random basket of diplomatic
candy. It was an attempt to place Kenya at the intersection of the architecture
of future competitiveness. And it takes a certain chutzpah for an African
state, especially one with our domestic frustrations and fiscal pressures, to
insist on being seen not merely as a petitioner for aid, but as a platform
through which serious partnerships can be organised.
Let’s assess the commuter rail for
starters. In our public discourse, transport is often discussed as though it
were a matter of roads, matatus and boda bodas. But urban rail is not merely a
transport issue.
It is a labour market, housing and productivity issue. A city
that cannot move workers efficiently taxes growth every morning and every
evening. It punishes labour through time.
It punishes firms through unpredictability.
It punishes families through exhaustion. So, if Kenya wants to signal
seriousness about metropolitan growth, then commuter rail is not decorative. It
is foundational.
On logistics and port infrastructure, again,
this is not just about cranes and containers. Ports are about time, and in
economics, time is competitiveness. A country that cannot move goods
efficiently cannot industrialise credibly.
It becomes a nation that imports
ambition and exports delay. To place logistics in the centre of a high-level
engagement is to signal that Kenya understands that development is not merely
about producing things, but about moving them at speed and scale.
On digital infrastructure, digital systems
have become a serious anchor of state competence. They affect how a country
governs, how it secures data, how it integrates markets, how it attracts firms
and how it disciplines inefficiency. If Kenya misses this, it will not merely
lag in innovation but will govern more expensively and become less competitive.
In the age of climate volatility, a
country that treats climate services as peripheral and an abstract technical
add on is a country condemning its people to live by surprise.
Farmers plant
not knowing whether the rains will come or fail. Pastoralists move too late and
lose their herds to drought. Families watch
floods wash away their homes and crops with little warning.
Power systems swing
between drought-driven shortages and costly instability. Climate services are
the difference between citizens having time to prepare and being forced
repeatedly to absorb avoidable loss.
Kenya is, in effect, saying something
larger than the event itself. It is saying that we do not intend to merely
watch the next development cycle happen elsewhere. We intend to convene around
it, shape parts of it and claim a seat in it.
Swifty's dinner with the starlet
was also, technically, "just a dinner." The dinner was not the
deliverable. It was the positioning that made the deliverable possible. Likewise,
Kenya's summit hosting is the dinner. The financing terms, the concession
structures, the technology transfer obligations are the deliverables.
Now let me concede something. Chutzpah can
fail. Audacity without discipline becomes delusion. Gall without implementation
becomes comedy. A summit can easily become a monument to overstatement if no
follow-through emerges.
The critics of the summit are right to warn that
African states historically have a dangerous addiction to headline economics,
forever announcing futures they do not administratively possess.
But that is precisely why the correct
criticism should not be, “Why host it?” It should be, “What conversion
machinery exists after the hosting?” This is intelligent scepticism. Because
hosting is not just about receiving guests, but about manufacturing centrality.
It is about telling partners, investors, diplomats and competitors alike that
Nairobi is not merely a stopover city or an NGO capital. It is a political and
economic staging ground.
Countries compete for that status, even when they
pretend not to. The prize is not applause. The prize is being seen as the place
where conversations become projects and projects become ecosystems.
Convening
power compounds, and a state that repeatedly hosts serious conversations begins
to attract serious transactions. Not automatically. Not perfectly. But
meaningfully.
There is also a postcolonial discomfort
that shadows any engagement with France or any other European power. Some will
instinctively read the entire matter as dependency wrapped in diplomatic
language.
History justifies caution here. But history should not condemn us to
strategic adolescence. Kenya should not prove independence by avoiding
consequential partnerships, but by entering them with clarity, extracting value
and refusing to behave like a grateful spectator to its own future.
Finally, my unsolicited advice is to President
Ruto. Kenya must not apologise for strategic ambition. It must, however,
discipline it. Chutzpah is useful at the door.
It gets you into the room. But
once inside, only competence keeps you there. The summit was the audacious
knock. The agreements are the opening line. What follows must now be the
difficult, unglamorous work of execution.
If
you are not living on the edge, you are taking up way too much space - Stephen Hunt
The writer is a political economist