Where are our ‘I have a dream’ moments in Kenya?

By Oby Obyerodhyambo

Every time I hear Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a Dream’ speech, I shed tears. The recent commemoration of the 50th anniversary of that momentous day in history was no different.

It held even greater significance and more excuse to dab my leaking face because among those celebrating the legacy of Rev King was Barack Obama, the first African American president of the United States. Watching him eulogise King all over again and echo his challenges to America opened my floodgates. However, as I cried, I asked myself one question over and over again: “Where is our ‘I have a dream’ moment in Kenya?”

We celebrate our 50th independence anniversary this year, so when King was eloquently speaking about the future for African Americans and Americans of all shades and sizes, we were doing the same in Kenya. Or were we?

King extolled the momentous occasion of the signing of the Emancipation Declaration when we, too, must have been hearing about the declaration of independence. There were cries of eradicating the three biggest ills; poverty, ignorance and disease.

But like King noted 50 years ago, though the Emancipation Declaration had been signed, “100 years later, the negro still is not free… The life of the negro is still badly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination.” It was an indictment of the American system.

Let us ponder if, 50 years after independence, our population is still not shackled by the evil trio of ignorance poverty and disease.

King stated that though the African Americans had suffered short shrift, they were still hopeful that the promises due to them were still attainable.

What about us? Wherein lies our hope that these three dragons will be vanquished? More so, where is the hope that the bigger ogre that has arisen of ethnic-based discrimination and marginalisation will be slayed? Which Kenyan voice can speak of hope and not be challenged, like Jesus rebuked those condemning the adulteress? Is there hope that in Kenya, every individual will one day be judged, not by the region of their origin, but by the content of their character?

In his speech, King sought to “remind America of the fierce urgency of now”, telling off those who believed that there was need for patience and time to sort out the problems faced by the people. He said that there was an urgency to make real the promise of democracy and not dither and engage in the “luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilising drug of gradualism”.

In our country, who is it that reminds us that we have spoken of ‘time-bombs’ such as youth unemployment and the greater inclusion in governance that devolution promised? Which voice reminds us that we urgently need to stem the gradual slide into anarchy that we see in the increase of extra-judicial killings, mob justice, rape and defilement, and the wanton lawlessness on our roads?

King’s voice was also a voice of caution to the ‘sufferers’, to avoid falling into the trap of becoming bitter, resentful and full of hatred. He cautioned, “We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline.”

In Kenya, where is the voice of reason in our highly polarised politics and public discourse? Who preaches moderation and caution, and reminds us that we need each other, not only some times, but all the time? Where is the voice of sanity amid the histrionics and chest thumping, whether our bravado emanates from the tyranny of numbers or the self-righteousness of victim syndrome?

After 50 years of independence, who will articulate the perseverance of the dream of uhuru, that one day all Kenyans will be able to sit together at the table of brotherhood? ?

So I cried, like I have done many times when Martin Luther King’s speech echoes from 50 years ago, and bounces off the hollowness of our Kenyan void.