Silent Voices.
Why Difficult Conversations Matter, and Envisioning a Better Future Isn’t a Crime
At an event that Trevor Noah attended, he recalls people having interesting and dynamic conversations, conversations on complex topics. He says, during a podcast conversation where he shares the story, that every few minutes someone would start their opinion with the disclaimer:
“I would never say this in public but…, or I would never say this if I were being recorded, but…”
This, to Noah, was fascinating, that so many of us have ideas and opinions about the world that we live in, that we are either unable, unwilling, or too scared to share. “And I thought to myself,” he continues, “if we cannot have conversations about difficult things, if the conversations themselves are now the difficult things, then what hope do we have of fixing the difficult things.”
In the present context, Trevor’s sentiments resonate strongly. As young people, we are consumed by fear of voicing our opinions about important issues that will shape the status quo, our future and that of our kids.
The Robert Mugabe reign had a similar character. The general populace feared voicing opinions about what could constitute a better Zimbabwe. There was an active ploy to silence any voices, dissenting or otherwise that sought to re-imagine Zimbabwe vis a vi other prosperous nations. Such opinions could easily be labelled as unwelcome criticism of the government. To quote my primary school principal, “You’d be becoming too big for your boots.” And that was an unwritten but universally acknowledged criminal offence one could be charged for. Acknowledged only because we knew it existed regardless of how we felt about its existence.
During the Mugabe rule, we knew to hold conversations about politics incognito. After surveying where you’re at and who’s around, you lowered your voices and proceeded cautiously to analyze and comment on how the government was faring. At the village, my grandmother would always shout at me and my cousins to lower our voices during the 8 PM Primetime news segment on ZBC. “Voices travel at night,” she’d say. “They might be listening to us.” We knew who they were, and we knew of cases of activists; young and old, disappearing into the void of political suppression.
In the past year or two, there was a warning against people who took public platforms on different levels of society to speak 'ill' about the government of Zimbabwe. Such persons of interest, activist or otherwise, were termed agents of the Western imperialist paid to undermine the gains of Zimbabwe’s democracy. Because of a deficiency in nationalism, they needed to be handled accordingly.
Addressing a public lecture at Rhodes University in South Africa, Julius Malema, one of the biggest political critics of the Zimbabwean government and the ruling party, challenged young Zimbabweans in South Africa and the rest of the diaspora to go home and fix their own country. His call was punctuated by a reference to the youth protests in Kenya, who, in taking to the streets, demanded a scrapping of the controversial finance bill proposed by their president, William Ruto.
While such a challenge was accurate; that there’s no one coming to save the young people of Zimbabwe, and Africa in general, the question I ask is that of pragmatics. How do young people imagine a ‘better’ country for all, where opportunities are plenty and, amongst a gazillion things, students can find jobs to sustain themselves post-university studies? How do they envision ‘better’ when there’s precedence of silencing such voices?
It still feels very unsafe to project thoughts about a different trajectory than the one being pursued by the ruling regime. Because your idea might be sound, and garner traction then, the next thing is you’re labelled an activist. It's a very slippery slope.
Even as I write about the woes of my beloved country, I fear for whoever reads this blog. If the establishment wishes to label such rhetoric as treason, my journey back home, whenever I so choose to visit, may not be a smooth one.
Consequently, we tweet in metaphors. On public platforms, we rise and speak cautiously, censoring our speeches. We thread lightly on our blogs. In the WhatsApp groups, in school corridors, comic stages, the voices are calibrated with the Zimbabwean government in mind, being careful not to offend those in power. We employ satire and sarcasm to cope. Many a young person, learn, dream, see possibilities, and think bigger but retain any opinions. We refrain from speaking out.
Though remaining silent may seem like a fashionable choice, it is unfortunately becoming a normalized form of oppression. Silence is not always the solution, but when faced with the threat of state repression, it can seem as if all hope is lost and speaking out is not of the essence.
But to what end?
If throughout history, those who were silenced by oppressive regimes or capital conceded, all revolutions that gave birth to the acknowledgement of human rights and democracy would not have succeeded. It was the youth that fought against the government of Ian Smith in Zimbabwe. The youth of South Africa rose against the apartheid regime. In Nigeria, it was young people who protested against police brutality with the hashtag EndSARS. Recently, Kenya felt the energy of young people’s aggrieved voices.
This is not a call for any uprising or protests of any sort. I don’t think I have that capacity anyway. The point, however, is that, as young people, we cannot afford silence.
All is not lost. Drawing from history, we must prevent the normalization of such silencing tactics from being the norm. We’re forever tasked with attempting to imagine better for us and our future generations.
It is with this sentiment that I salute the young people held as political prisoners in Zimbabwe right now, their crime: a simple desire for a better nation for all and not for the few elite alone. I feel challenged to speak truth to power, because, to say publicly that I wish for a better country than the one my grandfather died lamenting over its postcolonial demise should not be a crime.
While there may be better things to pursue, I always believe that the pursuit of bettering our lives and that of the people around us is closest to the highest meaning we can ever desire and attain from this life. Young voices should speak and paint a picture of a better possible world.
As Trevor Noah observes, the hard conversations must be had without fear of silencing or suppression.
Silent voices need not be silent any more.
First, a special s/o to
for keeping us updated on what is happening on ground in Zimbabwe.WHAT I’M READING:
Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty :Been enjoying this book, recommended it to a friend and we may be starting a discussion centered around it. The aim is to understand, not just the politics, but the world around us through the lens of literature. Stay tuned if you wish to be part of that conversation.
Animal Farm by George Orwell: Read this one in high school, been fun revisiting it with a more analytic adult mindset.
WHAT I’M LISTENING TO:
SEWE: Kelvin Momo’s fifth studio album, a delivery of soulful Amapiano (my favorite) Review coming soon, watchout for that one as well.
Thanks for reading.
Hearing Trevor Noah also reminded me about a world I’m from where things are that different.
Exactly, was trying to paint that picture of what Zimbabwe is and could be, hoping that others can find resonance.
Dropped this as a note, but want to leave it as a comment as well. This post not only taught me about the oppressive political climate in Zimbabwe but underscored the very real choices that people face not only in Zimbabwe but elsewhere in the world where it is dangerous to speak up. Do you speak out loudly and suffer the consequences? Or, do you keep your head down, remain silent and by default support the status quo of tyranny?
The opening discussion also got me thinking about what I personally am willing to discuss openly vs. what I prefer to speak about privately (or not at all). The quote from Trevor Noah where he asks “if we cannot have conversations about difficult things, if the conversations themselves are now the difficult things, then what hope do we have of fixing the difficult things"... spot on.