The Cost of Principles: A Reflection on Activism in East Africa
In the world of civic engagement and advocacy, there are those who stand out not just for their ideas but for the courage they embody. One such figure is Rakesh Rajani, a name that often comes up in discussions about civil society in Tanzania. However, my relationship with him has always been complex. I remember when he asked me to write an article highlighting the achievements of a former head of Twaweza, an organization known for its work in promoting transparency and accountability. I declined, choosing instead to focus on a more pressing topic: the problem of principles.
This choice was not arbitrary. It stemmed from a deep understanding of the challenges faced by those who dare to speak truth to power. Rakesh, for all his influence, seems to have forgotten how he once contributed to the Tanzanian government's resistance against active and effective civil society work. His actions, or lack thereof, have had lasting implications for many activists and organizations working to bring about change.
My journey into the world of activism began shortly after graduation when I joined a collective of Tanzanian NGOs, including Haki Elimu. This was during the early days of using state-generated statistics to support civic advocacy aimed at improving public services. The campaign’s memorable jingle, “Haki Elimu! ding-ding,” was more than just a catchy tune—it was a symbol of hope, backed by science, social science, and a shared commitment to justice. Yet, behind this success lay a history of struggle and sacrifice.
I recall attending a presser in the 2000s where prominent figures like Rakesh, Jenerali Ulimwengu, and Helen Kijo-Bisimba stood together to appeal for the un-banning of Haki Elimu. These individuals were living embodiments of ideals such as education, freedom of information, and human rights. For me, it marked the beginning of a professional life steeped in the realities of being labeled an "activist" by the Tanzanian government. In my defense, activists, journalists, and lawyers often make their work seem effortless, but the truth is far more complicated.
The cost of the "activist" label is evident in several public instances of repression. Haki Elimu was banned in 2005, Jenerali faced questions about his citizenship around 2002, and the Legal and Human Rights Centre was raided in 2015. These events were preceded by warnings to avoid challenging the status quo by demanding transparency, accountability, and democratic values. Despite these challenges, many leaders in the civic community continue to work tirelessly, often under immense pressure.
The resilience of these individuals is nothing short of admirable. They live joyfully while navigating a landscape that is hostile to their work. Their dedication serves as a reminder of the importance of ideals and principles, even when they come at a personal cost. As the saying goes, "East African civil society on rebound as repression rises."
I never imagined that one day I would find myself in the category of "experienced in these matters." This status, however, is not one I wish on anyone. My occasional writings getting published do not equate to expertise. What I do know is that there are people who believe in the power of participation, empiricism, and collective action to improve public services.
Principles, in their purest form, can be a burden. Those who hold them often find themselves compelled to act with courage, sometimes even heroism. In a world where such acts are rare, it is worth considering what we are fighting for. Is it for children to attend school, for households to have clean water, for habeas corpus to be respected? Is it for civilians to live in relative peace, striving for long and productive lives?
It is also for the collective, especially the young and innocent, to remain unaware of what it means to be invited—under dubious circumstances—to take a ride to "Immigration" in a black car with tinted windows. Such experiences are all too common in a state that is allergic to active and effective civil rights work.
While I have earned my "activist" badge, it is one I wear internally, marked by trauma. I cannot recommend this path, not in the least. But if you must choose, I can think of no better reason than Utu—the concept of humanity and interconnectedness.
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