Kenya’s 2010 Constitution has been hailed as a progressive constitution—secured at the expense of the blood, sweat, and tears of second liberation heroes. Yet in March and April 2025, the very Bill of Rights subsection that safeguards freedom of expression under Article 33 was infringed upon when Butere Girls High School was barred from staging their anticipated play, Echoes of War.
Despite emerging top in the Western Kenya regional competition which guaranteed their entry into the national platform in Nakuru, their play was cancelled. It took a High Court’s decision on April 9, 2025 for the play to be returned to the national stage. Overzealous officials from the Ministry of Education, Drama and Film Festival adjudicators, the National Police Service, and the Kenya National Drama and Film Festival Secretariat committed various injustices: invading rehearsals, arresting the playwright, and even teargassing the students from Butere Girls Secondary School and spectators. The message was loud and clear: creative work that questions authority is unacceptable.
This affront to artistic freedom was spotlighted during the May 1st gathering of artists, activists, and cultural workers during the Universal Periodic Review (UPR) Observation meeting in Nairobi, Kenya. The Universal Periodic Review is an accountability mechanism by the United Nations Human Rights Council which requires every state to report on its adherence to the human rights conventions it has ratified. The Universal Periodic Review happens once every five years and May 1st was Kenya’s fourth appearance before the council.Organized by Freemuse, SELAM, and PAWA254 at Mageuzi Hub, the session attendees lamented the increased state sponsored censorship targeting politically conscious artists. Participants noted that the state is nowadays adopting a “manufactured perception” strategy, portraying some art forms as inciteful or provocative, thereby intimidating venue owners and subjecting artists to self-censorship.
As the Kiswahili proverb says, sanaa ni kioo cha jamii—art is a mirror of society, but in Kenya, the state is managing it in a way one would think it is a chemical weapon. The broader implication is ominous: Creative spaces, vital for dialogue and dissent, might be out of reach—even for those with constitutionally guaranteed freedoms. Kenya risks becoming a nation where only state-approved stories can thrive.
Gen Z, TikTok, and Teargas
In 2024 during the anti-finance bill protests, resistance came from an unlikely source – it was the smartphones of millennial and Gen Z Kenyans who used TikTok and other social media platforms to organize widespread protests. With memes, protest songs, and performance videos, they simplified complex policy debates and drew thousands to the streets which led to the cancellation of the Bill.
Predictably, the state responded brutally killing several protesters while maiming, abducting and forcefully disappearing many. Artists were not spared. One artist Hesborn Bahati (incidentally he was part of the UPR Observation meeting) was shot in the leg in October 2024. Four major surgeries later, the pain he suffered was not just physical—it was symbolic and psychological, meant to silence the flow of his art and for many others.
Participants at the UPR session observed that online expression is now both the most potent and the most vulnerable form of free speech. The anxiety of the state lies not in the content itself, but in the debate and mobilization it enables.
When identity is criminalized, what is art?
In Geneva, during the UPR review, the Kenyan government reiterated its stand against the decriminalization of same-sex relationships. Despite the officials maintaining that all citizens enjoy protection under the constitution, LGBTI artists in practice continue to be censored, prosecuted, and attacked.
The Nairobi UPR review report documents the predictable cycle: queer content is censored, LGBTI artists are attacked, and mediums that give them space are attacked. If identity itself is criminalized, art is a sanctuary and a risk simultaneously. While mainstream creatives are censored for political art, queer creatives suffer multifaceted oppression—for existing as they are.
Art as Resistance: Aluta Continua
Even in the midst of such sobering realities, the UPR observation session demonstrated a resilient community. More and more artists are embracing their roles not just as entertainers but as defenders of human rights. Even popular entertainers are speaking up. Bien Aime Baraza of Kenyan pop band Sauti Sol, for instance, used a performance in London to incorporate civic commentary. Creatives are learning their rights under law and reclaiming spaces where art meets justice. Encouragingly, Kenyan courts have consistently ruled in favor of constitutional protections of free speech. An efficient legal system is not sufficient, though. What is required instead is robust civic oversight, international solidarity, and a lifelong dedication to the right to create without fear.
As Kenya awaits the final report on the Kenya UPR review by the UN Human Rights Council, this much can be said for sure: artistic freedom is the test of any democracy. And currently, Kenya’s marks are troubling. Art has always been political. In Kenya today, it is also perilous. But as long as voices rise—through poem, performance, or protest—the fight for freedom continues.
Article Written by: Danish Odongo (Freelance Journalist)
