The Consequences of Speech

The Kenyan Government has been cracking down on opposition rhetoric lately. In so doing, bringing the consequences of speech into sharp relief. 

Understand, that I am used to being able to say whatever I want, whenever I want, within reason. The idea that I could be targeted for criticising the government, while not unfathomable, is still new to me because that is not the Kenya I grew up in. I grew up in the Kenya that bullied our President off Twitter; the Kenya that satirized the President in political cartoons, op-eds and comedy shows; the Kenya that embraced social media as a way to organise and amplify popular dissent, while allowing some semblance of anonymity. But I suppose this Kenya merely masked another. And I was willing to overlook it because Kenyans on Twitter was an effective funnel for public vitriol and frustration. Bullying a President off Twitter did not stop him from co-opting and, effectively silencing, the opposition. It did not stop him from using the powers of the state to harass and suppress the political speech and actions of those he considered to be his enemies. 

Therefore what changed? 

Well, now I find myself allied with the opposition. Not in ideology, but in cause. And I, now, find myself weighing the consequences of my speech. My, relative, anonymity will only protect me for so long. There is always a chance that the Government, wanting to send a larger message, may pick a random person on the internet to prosecute and persecute. A subtle reminder that in Kenya, as with every state in the world, the strong do what they must, and the weak suffer what they will. The struggle for Independence did not stop this Melian exchange. Nor did the struggle for multi-party rule alter the fundamental fact of its existence. Instead, each of these shocks to our political system altered the manifestation of the Melian Dialogue. And here we are, again. Learning the extent to which the new administration will do what they must, leaving us all to suffer what they will.

Thus bringing me back to my question. Or rather the question I forgot to ask; should I keep speaking? Should I keep using my voice and my platform, small as it may be, to clarify and contextualise our current political climate? Is it morally reprehensible if I chose to remain silent out of fear of what I may lose? Or is it only morally reprehensible if I elect my silence, and then criticise others for doing the same? Or can I only be shamed if I continue to rely upon those around me to do the work I refuse to?

Perhaps I am being melodramatic. After all, the people who have been targeted so far are prominent media figures and politicians. People who have access to power. And I am certainly not that. Therefore, why am I worried? I suppose I am worried because one day it may not be just them. One day, it may be me. Especially when I am not in control of who gets to be called a threat or not. What if that definition suddenly includes me, or the people I care about? What if it already does, and I am merely blind to this fact? 

So where does this leave me? 

Once again, weighing the consequence of my speech. Wondering if I should continue to underestimate myself and my reach, at the risk of my and my family's well-being. Wondering if I should be reckless, even though there is nothing inherently reckless about government criticism; and marvelling at how my choices were designed this way. Wondering if my silence will be interpreted as acquiescence and consent and if the consequence of this inference is far worse in the long-term than the consequences of my speech. Hannah Arendt once said that the banality of evil is borne from a failure to think. What if, in my silence, I encourage others to not think about what is going on? Not because I am so significant as to shape the consciousness of a nation, but rather because I am one more person endorsing, and therefore legitimising group thought. And for, rather selfish reasons, what will happen if, in my silence, a world is created in which there's no one left to speak out for me? What then?

Perhaps I am putting far too much weight onto one act. Or perhaps, I am asking the wrong question. 

Maybe it's not about the decision to speak, as much as it is about what I want to say. You could argue that there's still no reason why I should silence myself when I could change my approach. But when you exist in a world where you can be framed or entrapped, you start to realise that approach does not matter. The mere fact that you deigned to speak out – that your opposition exists – is dangerous enough to warrant retaliation. 

But since I'm not about to change my mind, the question remains... what should we do?