NAIROBI: A curious ritual unfolded today on the anniversary of the Great Kenyan Protest, when families arrived at the very barricades that once divided them from justice and laid flowers upon the twisted metal. Lilies, carnations, and the odd spray of marigold now adorn the barriers of state suppression, a poignant reminder that even the most brutal obstacles can be softened by the gentle ministrations of grief. Meanwhile, British diplomats, ever the paragons of punctilious platitude, have issued a statement urging 'restraint on all sides.
' Quite. Because nothing says 'we care' quite like a carefully weighted demand that the oppressed stop being so terribly upsetting to the diplomatic sensibilities. One can almost hear the remonstrances being prepared: 'Now, now, do calm down, there's a good protest movement.
Think of the trade deals.' The families, bless their resilient hearts, seem less concerned with international opinion and more with the simple, devastating act of remembering. They place their flowers as if hoping the barricades might bloom, that the steel might one day yield to petal.
But the barricades remain steadfast, as does Her Majesty's Government's commitment to saying as little as possible while meaning even less. The cycle of grief and diplomacy spins on, each revolution another turn of the screw. And somewhere, in a Whitehall office, a civil servant is probably drafting a memo about promoting 'dialogue' whilst reaching for the gin.
The flowers wilt. The barricades endure. And the diplomats?
They wait, as they always do, for the story to move on to something more comfortable.
