“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” These famous words from William Shakespeare’s play As You Like It, written in 1599, still hold weight today, especially in Kenya’s current artistic and political scenes.
The same themes of performance, struggle, and societal reflection were at play 12 years ago, when a bold production titled The Shackles of Doom stirred national debate.
Written by Cleophas Malala, who would later become the UDA Secretary General, the play was similar in theme to his more recent work Echoes of War, which is currently under fire. In April 2013, the government abruptly cancelled the National Secondary Schools’ Drama Festivals Gala in Mombasa County.
The cancellation came after the staging of The Shackles of Doom, a 48-minute drama by Butere Girls High School. The play imagined a fictional group called the True People of Kana, clearly a metaphor for the Turkana community.
It painted a picture of exploitation by a rich community from the Mt. Kenya region. The powerful group in the play had purchased the land of the Kana people, built an oil refinery, and reduced the indigenous population to laborers.
Malala stated he only wanted to expose societal injustice and corruption, and the title came naturally to him. The ban triggered a national outcry. It took a legal petition filed by now-Busia Senator Okiya Omtatah to reverse the decision.
The High Court, through Justice David Majanja, ruled in Petition No. 192 of 2013 that students had the right to speak, challenge, and create. The play was reinstated. This moment became a powerful example of how the courts can defend freedom of expression and student rights in Kenya.
But Kenya has seen this pattern before. Back in 1977, Prof. Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s famous play I Will Marry When I Want was banned shortly after its first performance. The play highlighted the class struggle and post-colonial betrayal, themes that did not sit well with Mzee Jomo Kenyatta’s government. Playwright Peter Amunga noted that the play directly referenced powerful figures like Charles Njonjo, causing political discomfort. Ngugi eventually went into exile.
Daniel arap Moi, Kenya’s second president, followed a similar path. He rejected Tim Wandiri’s play Makwekwe, leading to the teacher losing his job. In 1982, the government shut down two more plays: Visiki by Chepterit Girls and Kilio by Nairobi School.
The message was clear, critical art had no place in their Kenya. Today, the return of such censorship raises alarm. Echoes of War has shaken the country for its bold content, and there are fears that Kenya is once again drifting into artistic suppression.
Veteran lawyer Gitobu Imanyara, a survivor of political detention, says he still takes medicine for injuries suffered at Nyayo House. For him, these moments are warnings. He reminds President Ruto of the days of YK-92 and the long fight that led to Kenya’s current Constitution.
Omtatah echoes the same, saying that the 2013 court ruling must be respected.The calls from Imanyara, Omtatah, and Amunga are not just for the defence of one play, but for the respect of art as a mirror of society. “Drama is you,” says Amunga. “You can’t run away from yourself.” He urges President Ruto to reflect on history and listen to the voices of the people. As Mandela once said, the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. Kenya’s artists are simply playing their roles on the stage of truth.
