The order paper is dead, as Parliament now goes digital

Unbeknown to many, Information Technology claimed yet another victim last week when it quietly killed that iconic part and parcel of Kenya’s Parliament — the order paper.

With Kenya embracing e-parliament, becoming the second country in East Africa after Uganda, the National Assembly has done away with hard copy of many of its documents, including the order paper, motions, bills, petitions, speaker’s rulings, proposed amendments to bills and memoranda.

Speaker Justin Muturi was quoted saying the House had acquired tablets for the legislators, thus doing away with the need for hard copies in its operations.

He disclosed that a total of 350 iPads had been procured by the Parliamentary Service Commission, which he chairs, and installed in the debating chamber with customised applications.

And so last Tuesday marked the official death of the order paper. For many who have followed parliamentary proceedings — or those who have worked in Parliament — this marks the end of an era.

The order paper was much part of parliamentary procedures probably the same way the mace is.

For the legislators and the press corps covering Parliament, the first business was to lay your hand on the document, with the scribes receiving theirs from the house orderlies who brought copies to the press room, while the MPs received theirs at the debating chamber’s entrance.

As a first-time reporter in Parliament in the mid 90s, there were some interesting observations I made on this document.

At the press room, there would at times be tension, especially with one notorious colleague (name withheld) who behaved like a prefect, especially when a former powerful minister she claimed was her uncle would feature on the order paper.

On those days she insisted on bringing the documents herself. The rest of the press gang were never happy with her shenanigans.

On the MPs’ side was the late Kipyator Nicholas Kiprono arap Biwott, also known as Total Man. Whereas the rest of Members of Parliament walked to where the order papers were placed to pick their copies, the man who former president Moi always referred to as ‘Karnet’ (Kalenjin for steel) would stand at the doorway, snap his fingers and an orderly would place the paper in Biwott’s hands, with the latter walking away without as much as a glance at the giver of the paper.

As debate raged, Biwott would at times turn cheeky — he would roll the order paper and use it as a ‘telescope’ of sorts to look at the contributor on the floor, in most cases those from the Opposition.

At the press gallery, a cursory glance at the order paper would tell the hacks what kind of stories they were expecting on any given day. Phone calls were then made to newsrooms advising the editors accordingly.

Of course the order paper also provided comic relief. Neither an MP nor a journalist would dare miss a question or a motion tabled by the late William Odongo Omamo.

Known as ‘Kaliech’ (like an elephant) because of his burly size, Omamo was ‘Vitimbi’, ‘Papa Shirandula’, ‘Churchill Live’ rolled into one.

Omamo threw the House — including Speaker Francis ole Kaparo — into a fit of laughter when, during debate on a motion calling for better treatment of breastfeeding mothers, he claimed a mother’s milk was much better than any substitute because “it was kept in an unbreakable container”.

Looks like all that is now history, and try as we might we can never fight against modernisation.

After all, even the legendary Erskine May: Parliamentary Practice — the book that has been described as the ‘bible’ of parliamentary rules and procedures especially for those parliaments following the Westminster system — is to be digitised starting this month. The order paper is dead. Long live the order paper!