Abstract
Tanzanian artists and musicians are the latest to be hit by bans and, as
Amani’s painting makes me think of the things that die because of good intentions.
This work is Amani’s way of speaking out against the stifling of democracy and free speech that is happening in Tanzania. The country, which is gearing up for a general election in 2020, has been passing new regulations and amending laws to make it more difficult for opposing views to be expressed without legal repercussions. The Media Services Act, the online content regulations, the amendments to the Statistics Act, and the Political Parties Act all have elements that threaten freedom of speech, press freedom and democracy.
For artists such as Amani, the impact their work can have is at the mercy of the national arts council Baraza la Sanaa la Taifa (Basata). In 2018 the council passed 64 regulations making it difficult to create works of art. According to these regulations, all artists must register themselves with Basata. This requires an artist to pay an initial registration fee and a yearly fee. Basata also censors artworks, music, film, theatre, and visual arts and crafts, before they can be consumed.
The censorship element has affected the music industry. Lyrics must be submitted and analysed before they can be played to the public. Artists, like hiphop star Diamond Platnumz, have had their songs banned for not submitting them, as well as for their content.
Basata may ban any artwork within its mandate that it deems offensive, it thinks may cause public discord or it judges to be contrary to Tanzanian morals under the guise of formalising the arts industry, promoting authentic Tanzanian traditions and protecting peace. “The current regime wants to be feared,” Richard Mbunda, a political science lecturer at the University of Dar es Salaam, told Index.
However, a government, no matter how repressive, cannot silence all its citizens. Someone, somewhere, will speak out about something that matters to them, no matter the consequences. There will be brave Tanzanians out there – those who will go to war with their own fear and speak their truth.
Mbunda had to conquer his fear to write an open letter to President John Magufuli, as part of the co-ordinated effort to lobby against the introduction of genetically modified organisms in Tanzania.
“I took it as my responsibility to stand for the truth, as a researcher and as a son of smallholder farmers,” he said. While that letter was his first, he wasn’t afraid to sign his name at the end.
While some GMO proponents had labelled Mbunda as being anti-science, the Tanzanian community rallied behind him. His letter, which was published on the Tanzanian blog site Udadisi, went viral. The Tanzanian smallholder farmers’ network also issued a statement against the GMO trials. According to Mbunda, the trials weren’t some cutting-edge science geared to help the Tanzanian farmer but business efforts of a multi-national company that would kill Tanzania’s food sovereignty. The government, in response to the open letter, banned GMO trials in Tanzania. It was a great demonstration of how speaking out can pay off.
Top African popstar Diamond Platnumz performs in Kenya. He has been barred from performing in Tanzania after playing a song banned by the authorities
CREDIT: Daniel Irungu/REX/Shutterstock
Yet despite his great win, Mbunda is not very optimistic about the state of free speech in Tanzania. As a researcher, he is deeply concerned by the Statistics Act, which outlaws any criticism of government-issued statistics. The law also gives the National Bureau of Statistics the power to censor independent and institutional researchers, greatly impairing their freedom. With laws such as this, how can Tanzania demand accountability from its elected government?
To speak out in a country that reveres silence, you must be ready to lose everything. Maxence Melo, founder of the Tanzanian networking site JamiiForums, has been facing intimidation at the hands of law enforcement, often getting arrested and questioned. The existence of the forum, which amplifies the voice of Tanzanians, seems to pose a threat to a government that prefers the silence of its citizens. Melo has been in a prolonged legal battle since 2016 because he refuses to give up the identities of the whistleblowers. He is unable to leave the confines of Dar es Salaam without permission from a court. His passport has been confiscated. His financial status is in near ruin because advertisers are afraid of associating themselves with JamiiForums. Yet he presses on because the alternative is far too daunting. His friends are afraid to be seen with him. He presses on because the alternative is far too daunting.
The consequences of speaking out against those in power in Tanzania can be dangerous. In 2017, Tindu Lissu, an outspoken opposition leader from the centre-right party Chadema, was gunned down and left severely wounded. Lissu, who is still undergoing treatment in Belgium, maintains that the government is to blame for this assassination attempt.
I am wary to fully blame the silence of Tanzanians on the restrictive laws passed by the current administration. The culture of silence is deeply rooted in the Tanzanian community – in our families and our institutions. Vicensia Shule, a senior lecturer at the University of Dar es Salaam, recently found out how much silence was preferred in her institution when she spoke out publicly. She wrote a tweet to Magufuli, who was visiting the university to open a new library, calling out “corruption in the form of sexual favours” and saying it was rampant at the institution.
Shule had already been labelled a troublemaker for calling out injustices and fighting the gender pay gap in her department, and she was called to the ethics committee to answer for her statement. Her pending promotion from senior lecturer to associate professor was put on hold, and friends and colleagues avoided her so that they would not be tainted. The institution has decided to silence her in order to make an example out of her and intimidate others like her from speaking out. But Shule refuses to be silenced or to normalise silence.
“We aren’t supposed to criticise the institution. We are supposed to protect it by our silence. But to progress, we have to break the silence,” she told Index, as I sat with her outside the University of Dar es Salaam mama lishe food stall. She didn’t seem afraid, but she admitted she had to conquer her fear of death.
“Speaking out is a process,” she said. “You don’t just get a sudden courage to speak out against big things. We have to start speaking out against small stuff in a constructive manner.”
We must acknowledge the difficulty of expressing oneself while constantly facing censorship at every corner. Many of those responsible for censorship might have good intentions – to save the face of our beloved Tanzania, to protect our precious peace, or to uphold traditions.
But, as we approach elections, I can’t help but wonder how this censorship will be used against Tanzanian citizens. What will happen to those who publish polls about candidates and political parties? What statistics will the citizens be fed, and what will happen to those who question them? How many songs will be silenced before they hit the airwaves, and how many will be banned soon after?
And whatever it is we are protecting, does it survive under our umbrella of silence, or does it die?