Kenyan government used to fear artists, but not anymore

Unlike in the past, government does not fear Kenyan artists

Early last week, I read an article by Kingwa Kamencu in Debunk Media about the political history of our artists. Kamencu noted that one of the first things that our colonial masters were keen to do was ban local arts, having understood that art is the expression of the soul of a people, and that it is capable of inspiring social and political change. This trend continued after independence, with artists fleeing into exile for speaking truth to power. It is against this history that the spectacle that was the Africa Forward Summit sits, as we see artists being heralded by their government, but one must ask: At what cost?

The Summit in Nairobi was presented as a bold reimagining of Africa’s relationship with Europe, particularly France. Hosted jointly by the governments of Kenya and France, it brought together heads of state, investors, entrepreneurs and celebrities under the auspices of bringing forth a shared future between the continent and France. The summit leaned heavily on celebrity culture. Kenyan musician Bien-Aimé Baraza, sports and food personality Dennis Ombachi, and marathon icon Eliud Kipchoge all became visible symbols of Kenya’s branding exercise during the summit. President Emmanuel Macron was photographed jogging through Nairobi with Kipchoge and released a video making ugali and sukuma wiki with Ombachi, in a carefully curated performance of accessibility and friendship. Bien performed at a spectacular show at the end of the summit, dressed as the fashionista-dictator Mobutu Seseseko. These three narratives were the most viral from the summit, proving that our most beloved creators were at the forefront of sanitising France’s image on the continent.

The Africa Forward Summit came at a time when France is struggling to maintain influence across Africa after growing anti-French sentiment and military expulsions in parts of West Africa and the Sahel. Kenya, meanwhile, continues to position itself as a stable Western ally and gateway for international capital on the continent. It therefore comes as no surprise that there would be no ground-breaking conversations on imperialism and unequal economic relations, as Kenya is at the forefront of bringing these back into fashion on the continent. Instead, to quell any disapproval, the public was largely offered celebrity aesthetics and feel-good branding. The presence of famous personalities gave the summit a sense of cultural legitimacy that straightforward political actors often struggle to achieve on their own.

From this public display and many more before it, it is clear that, compared to the past, the Kenyan political establishment no longer fears artists in the same way. Contemporary celebrity culture increasingly functions as an extension of State communication machinery. Rather than challenging power, many public figures now soften it. As well, the current government is quick to take any creative political statement and water it down or parody it. When the people use music to critique the government, the government plays these same songs at its events. Wantam becomes tutam. Tuko Kadi becomes a government slogan. And so on.

An examination of these trends may lead to the worrying conclusion that the government has made it so that art has lost its political edge. But perhaps the truth is much more disturbing: The art never had meaningful political substance to begin with. If we speak of the artists of the past whose critical work forced them to leave the country, we speak of intellectuals who were grounded in political education. Ngugi wa Thiong’o, for instance, was well versed in the Marxist tradition and wrote from this lens, clearly identifying the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. Such language, in the modern day, can only be found outside the creative scene in Kenya or, at best, can only be found amongst the less popular artists of our day.

It is important to distinguish between socially conscious aesthetics and genuinely disruptive political work. Many contemporary artists cultivate images of social awareness, but these images are often compatible with commercial branding and State partnerships. The neo-language of political consciousness can coexist very comfortably with elite interests because it rarely demands structural change. Considering that governments facing serious crises can effortlessly recruit artists into branding campaigns, it becomes difficult to argue that contemporary cultural production still poses a serious political threat.

If art is to regain its former glory in Kenya as a threat to oppression, artists must begin to do the difficult work of political grounding. Only then will we see our creatives left untouched by the hand of power.

Ms Njahira is an international lawyer