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| Hon. Mithika Linturi (left) and Maryanne Keitany (Right) |
Like many of us, we couldn't resist the temptation and clicked to listen to the recorded of an alleged phone call of Aldai MP Marianne Keitany (MK). Her anger was palpable as she used unprintable words to oppose plans for an official visit to her constituency by her estranged partner, who now serves as a cabinet secretary in Kenya Kwanza administration.
Their long-standing quarrel had been public knowledge for years. What intrigued me was the rawness of her protest and the choice of words she used to express her pain and frustration with her ex-husband’s treatment during their ongoing court process.
Although the specifics of their differences remain elusive to the public, her ‘rude’ protest left a deep impression of her emotional turmoil. She didn't stop there; her protest extended to the former MP, accusing him of meddling in her constituency despite her legitimacy as the rightful representative. Aside note, the immediate former MP, lacking privacy, betrayed her trust by posting the recording online. Women's vulgarity is discomforting and a nuisance to most African men, but it undeniably raises attention and gives weight to women’s concerns, which they desperately need. The central goal of this approach is not to upend masculinity per se, but to call it to its rightful social place, one of protection, security, and the guarantee of justice, especially for the vulnerable, such as women, children, and any disadvantaged person.
MK’s bold approach is not an isolated case. We’ve witnessed similar radical protests from Dr. Stella Nyanzi, a Ugandan medical anthropologist and academic-turned-activist, currently exiled in Kenya. Dr. Nyanzi has employed radical rudeness on several occasions, using vulgar poems, public stripping, and yelling expletives to express her discontent with President Museveni’s leadership. Her actions led to her imprisonment for 18 months. Nyanzi’s scandalous forms of protest have brought attention to the deep gender inequalities in Uganda, shedding light on women’s lack of control over their sexuality and sexual encounters, as well as oppressive legislation in the country. Her bold poetry garnered international recognition, and she was honored with The Oxfam Novib/PEN International Award for Freedom of Expression in 2020, writing her acceptance letter while incarcerated.
Recently, we were shocked by Maverick Aoko’s allegations of her ‘laptop’ escapades with prominent political figures (waheshimiwas). Regardless of the veracity of her claims, Aoko’s actions were also a form of protest against the abuse she had endured, feeling ‘used’ by some male members of the political class. Reading her thread, one could discern that her plea was simply for someone to pay her college tuition fees so she could complete her studies, even if it meant humiliating herself. Through her use of vulgar language and posting expletives online, she brought attention to the role of women’s bodies as spaces of social and political discourse.
By bravely confessing her secret encounters with honorable members, she unveiled the silent suffering experienced by many of our sisters and women. Her pain was a stark reminder of the injustices prevalent in our society, revealing the role of power and poverty in violating our shared humanity. Aoko is not merely vulgar; she is a citizen raising her voice for justice.
The use of vulgarity and language bordering on ‘nudity’ as a form of radical political activism may have historical roots. In 1992, six mothers (including the late Prof. Wangari Maathai) held a vigil for their sons imprisoned for political reasons. When the police were dispatched to disperse them, these courageous women resorted to stripping naked in an act of protest. Despite being faced with heavily armed police, they stood their ground, demanding the release of their sons, who were already on an extended hunger strike. Their desperate action drew international attention as the violent treatment they received ignited stone-throwing riots in Nairobi.
In an incredible show of solidarity, matatus (public minibuses) went on strike. This event has inspired academic analyses of female militancy in political activism, spotlighting the power of women's courage in the face of oppression. Yet, the transformation from stripping naked to adopting rude activism online begs an explanation. In the novel Betrayal in the City, we encounter Mulili, an ex-soldier turned farmer, whose connection to power through his cousin, the Boss, makes him corrupt and inhuman, lacking remorse. In a poignant scene, grieving parents Nina and Digo beg Mulili to allow them to continue with the shaving ceremony for their murdered son. His cold refusal prompts Nina to threaten to strip naked and curse him with blindness.
Right away, Mulili asks
“…. How many naked body I have seen, and I am still Mulili with my two eyes, natural?”
Apparently, Mulili's exposure to modernity and power has seemingly desensitized him to traditional curses. Instead of fearing physical harm, he is more concerned about losing his political power—a modern-day equivalent of the curse. This shift from physical curses to political consequences reflects the changing dynamics of society.
These women activists have indeed made an impact through their use of vulgarity and explicit language, challenging societal norms and demanding justice in their unapologetically bold voices.
By BMK _Montreal, Canada ©2023.
Footnote:
¹See Maverick Aoko on twitter @AokoOtieno_
²The idea of “laptop” is used by Adan Duale in his memoir For The Record. Duale notes that ladies are carried as laptops for intimate encounters when officials go for retreats. He writes, “
… the way laptops are for business trips, these young women were always present in the political meetings, sneaked in like contraband into hotel rooms late at night.
” For more see, Adan Duale, For the Record: The Inside story of Power, Lawmaking and Leadership in Kenya (2023).
