When you look back at the man you were eight years ago and now, how have you changed? Great conversation. I mean, it sounds cliché, but I would say I’m wiser. I recognise that most human rights violations, most big problems that we have in society are complex and require analysis before you jump in. When I came in, I had the sense that things were much more binary, good people and bad people, human rights violations and human rights victories. The world is much more nuanced than that. And two, recognising that the things that are important to us are also important to many other people. How do I host a process that lets others join the conversation?
If I met you before Amnesty, what would surprise me about who you are now? You would probably be surprised by my patience. Younger me was much more impetuous, intense, and in-the-moment. The man that I’ve become is much more reflective and also understanding that not all of us come to the same point at the same time. We all process complex issues in society differently. I think that would probably be the thing that would stand out. You might be surprised that I’m still here, at 60 [chuckles].
60. When you look back at your life, what feelings come to you? Satisfaction. A sense of pride, not necessarily personal pride, but the impact that we have had on several people. A sense of gratitude to all the people who have come my way and have departed. I have said goodbye to many friends and family members, and I recognise that that is the cycle of life. We are stewards of the moment; the rest, we will pass to others. I feel an obligation to the ancestors, the Dedan Kimathis who fought for our rights, and I hope that when I am gone, people will still see human rights as an important issue.
You’ve been here eight years, and Amnesty is as much a part of your story as you are part of Amnesty stories, and that tends to give someone an identity. Are you feeling challenged about how to redefine yourself? I’ve never thought that Amnesty was me and I was Amnesty, so that makes it easy for me. I was a community organiser long before I came into Amnesty. I protected human rights long before I came to Amnesty. I joined Amnesty as a member in 2014. I joined them in 2018. When the board and I began talking about succession, the first thought was, What do I want to do next? It wasn’t what happens to me, it was how can I serve 254 and the republic differently, and I’m still hopeful that even that will show.
What do you miss about your younger self? The younger Irungu was even more rebellious. I had dreadlocks…
Why did you shave? Maintenance mostly. I felt that to keep them clean and looking good, it needed too much work, and my life was moving too fast [chuckles]. I miss a little bit of that Irungu. What’s happened over the years is I’ve grown to represent organisations. I’ve joined the C-suite. I was a director at ActionAid International for three years, then 10 years with Oxfam, and now eight years with Amnesty. Leaders carry the weight of their institutions, and the weight of that institution is not a burden, but a responsibility, and the younger Irungu never had those considerations.
What did you believe then that life has disabused you of now? Hmm. I grew up in the one-party state era. I became a teenager at a time when hundreds of thousands of people were being arrested for simply expressing their views in the 80s. One of the stories I told myself was that I probably would not live to the age of 40. Life has taught me that it is possible to play our role, be bold, creative, inclusive, and survive to 60.
Were you always a rebellious child? There are two sides to me. I’m loyal and rebellious. I’m loyal to people and to the idea that people can be better. Often, I sit in courtrooms and watch police officers being convicted of some terrible crimes, and my thoughts are first with the victims and the victims’ families, and then with the officers. I believe humanity can be better, and officers killing people unlawfully is a tragedy, and when they are prosecuted, their lives come to an end, which is another tragedy. Rebelliousness comes with a sense of need to ensure that everybody has equal access to justice.
What was your teenage rebellion? Haha! At 14, I enrolled fellow students to develop a magazine to challenge racism, and we published several editions of that newspaper. It got us into trouble with the teachers at the time because it was discussing topical issues. I also orchestrated a coup in my university days to take over the leadership of the African society in my university, away from a British student who believed in Africa, but I believed, and several others did also, that the African society must be Africa-led. I ran that society for the three years I was in university, bringing in African thinkers and writers.
Have you always been this subversive, or was it just your outlook on life? I think my formative years were really under the one-party state, and it occurred to me a personal affront that people could not think what they wanted to, or freely associate, and that was a formative moment for me, and many others. Nothing can exist in the presence of censorship, fear, or lies. It just becomes essentially a victim of people who can exercise the power of the state. That has lasted with me now I guess for 40 years.
Did you give birth to yourself, assuming you have children? My children are not my children; that is the famous song. My children are fiercely independent from the moment that they came out of their mother’s womb, and I have treated them that way. I have eight children. Four of those have produced four other children, so I’m a grandparent. The first child that I took on as my own was an adopted child, and I was 30 at the time. It’s been a real pleasure to watch them grow into decent, creative, and thoughtful beings.
What surprised you about the kind of parent you became? Parenting was challenging when I was much younger, particularly in my 30s. I was trying to succeed career-wise, trying to have a warm and loving relationship with a spouse, and also guiding and mentoring young people. What I was present to was really the challenge to remain intentional in the relationships with each one of the children, and not see them as a collective. There was a mental trap in that I just didn’t have time; if I was traveling, I would buy the boys the same colour t-shirts, just a different size, not realizing that actually every child has a favourite colour.
How do you survive parenthood when your children are forced to grow up in the shadow of your public identity? My adult children are fiercely independent, so I wasn’t present to any pressure that came on them because of my public profile. I’ve often told them I provided the basic needs and love, but ultimately, the most important thing is my name, and that is what they must protect, their identities, such that they can hand over a respected name to their children as people of integrity.
What do you hope all your children agree on about you? I would wish that they would have seen me as a human being, not perfect, with major moments in which I was challenged as a parent, husband, and father figure, and that they would accept both the good that I brought into the family, and the distress, also that I brought into the family, and that’s all part of life.
Now that your children are parents, what kind of mirror do they provide you? What is very confusing to us, the three generations, is how grandparents are much more patient with their grandchildren and also much more trusting of processes. We often discuss the need to give their children the space to experiment, take some risks, and explore their thoughts about life and about spaces, about school, and about relationships. That kind of parenting was not very present for me when I was a parent. I was much more into, “You need to do your homework by now, clean your room now, there’s only one way you can behave in this space.’ So, the temptation to continually mould your children was very high. As a grandparent, you realise that every human being is born with a personality and a sense of justice.
What would you want your children to forgive you for? For the period in my life when I was very busy in my career, and was not as available which, as I look back, I could have been. And that they would forgive me for some of the choices I made, which impacted them, and I would hope that they would forgive me for not having a long-term strategy for them, because once they became adults, I essentially just allowed them to be who they are.
What is something that success has not fixed? 47 per cent of the population is still under the poverty line, we have 150 people killed every year unlawfully by police officers, and a public health care system that is even worse than the previous one. Secondly, my immediate community, Kilimani, has lost 60 per cent of its tree cover despite our investment in the community foundation due to the buildings coming up; we have too many homeless families in the streets which worries me.
Speaking of which, at 60, what’s your insecurity now? I struggle with acknowledging insecurities, fears, and anxieties, because I think they are a form of insanity. Much of what we experience as human beings, either in the form of insecurities or anxieties, comes from a fear of the future, so we think something is going to happen, and therefore, we are fearful in advance. The other part of the insanity is spending all your time thinking about bitterness and regrets for things that didn’t happen. There’s nothing you can do; I can only stay in the present.
But if I must know? Okay, when my time comes, and I breathe my last, will I look back and think I didn’t do enough? That I suspect will also still be squashed because your power lies in the present. How do I want to spend that last breath-and it would not be worrying about the past.
Is there a part of your life that remains unresolved? No, I am at peace with all my demons, regrets, and disappointments, and they are very much in the past now. I often tell people to practice timing disappointments. Say I want to spend the next 20 minutes feeling disappointed, recognising your disappointment and breathing in it, when the 20 minutes are done, so are you. And life will always open up for you if you have that mindset.
Which ‘almost’ still haunts you? None, because that is a form of distraction from living. At one point, I wanted to serve in government, because it is the primary duty bearer to citizens. We pay taxes to governments for a reason, which is why we expect services. I could have travelled a bit more when I was younger. And I’ve been to some wonderful places for work. And occasionally, most times, did not spend even an extra day to be part of that local culture. A place like Prague, Czechoslovakia. I’ve been to Haiti, Port-au-Prince. I’ve travelled to West Africa and realised that the world is much more interesting than I have given it time for.
You have time now. I know, a bit more. Not that I suspect I’m retiring [chuckles].
What have been the best and worst parts of getting older? The worst parts are the creaks in the joints. You move a bit slower. Maybe not slower, deliberately [chuckles]. It’s just preoccupations with remaining healthy and agile. The best have been the numerous memories of moments that were blessings and reaffirming and unexpected that have taught me the world is a fundamentally amazing place to be.
Is there a possession you’ve been unable to throw away? I wrestled with giving away books. I’ve given away maybe 500 books in the last five years, mostly to community resource centres. But I struggled with that, but reconciled that if I’m no longer reading them, if I’ve read them, then why would I want to hold on to them? I’m generally a keeper. I feel very happy when I’m able to fix things and continue using them. I amazed myself the other day by taking a suitcase that I travel with regularly to a fundi who fixed it. And it’s now working again, wheels are moving, feels brand new. You get greater joy from having your things fixed than from buying something new.
Must be a very nice suitcase then? Not really, haha! You would not spot it on a carousel. It is completely nondescript. But the last time I think somebody stole something out of my suitcase-I don’t lock my suitcases-was probably 15 or 20 years back.
What did they steal? They stole children’s video cassettes. Not even DVDs. I travelled just before Christmas. And I brought back Christmas presents for the children. And those all disappeared and probably went off to somebody else’s children. But that’s really the last time I think I experienced a theft. So it helps to have an old suitcase haha!
How are you defining success now? About a decade ago, I sat and listened to a president talk about his frustrations with the criminal justice system. He said, ‘I don’t understand what more you need. I have given you budgets, and laws and powers and a mandate to stop corrupt people. But all we hear is complaints about other agencies, not actions to be taken by your own agency.’ And in that moment, I learned the distinction between intentions, actions, and impact. Most of us judge ourselves and others based on their intentions or actions. Most of us don’t judge ourselves or others on the basis of the impact we leave in the world. And I think that’s the most important aspect of our lives. It is in the impact that we have on others, our environment, communities, and families that the true purpose of us as human beings can be found. That was a short response to a very short question [chuckles].
What have you learned the hard way? I have learned that, much as I have never been inspired by amassing wealth or money, you need a certain amount of finances to continue moving. The second one is that not everything happens in the moment. Life is a series of moments and the biggest impact comes possibly even after we are gone. Like earlier this month we, together with the Kilimani community, rallied and renamed Galana Rd to Pheroze Nowrojee Rd. And as I watched the signboards go up, I was present to our lives not being a series of incidents but actually our lives ultimately show up after we are gone, and there is a full tapestry of things, especially in this very performative culture of ours.
Who do you know that I should know? You should know my wife. She is very free-spirited and innovative. She is always watching for things that have not happened yet. And what it would take to bring those out to people. And my current Amnesty Chair, Stella Bosire. A wonderful human being who has really pulled herself from spaces that most people find very difficult to escape. At one time, she was homeless, an addict, and an orphan. Her parents were alive, but she was brought up by several people within the community, and now she is a medical doctor, just finishing off becoming a lawyer, shaping global public health discourse in many different ways.
What does your wife get to brag about you? [long pause] I have spoken about my role as a father. And my role as a leader in the country. I think those would be the two spaces that she is appreciative of.
Are you an easy person to live with? Probably not [chuckles]. But I am not aggressive as a human being. I am patient, but I can be intense and disruptive. One of the examples there is that I tend to move furniture around quite a bit. I have been requested to move too many things around. I guess that would make me more complicated. But I am relatively easy-going. I do have strong views about injustice and dignity, and that shows up in my personal spaces, and that can make some people feel a bit restricted [chuckles].
If you could do it all over again, would you do it the same? No. I would create intentionally from where I was, even career-wise, I never go back to the same organisation. I never stay in organisations for very long; I get itchy. But I do get interested in doing different things. And that has always been the case.
Irungu, tell us a simple life hack. The secret of a powerful life lies in one word: integrity. Not the integrity necessarily of management of public taxes or finances, but just in our word, that we are dependable and predictable to people. If I say I will be here at this time, be there at that time. If I say that I will do this, do this. Be a person of your word.