If only flags could have emotions, they would be shedding tears right now. Who wouldn’t be? I, for one, am angered! My tears are running dry. And my blood is boiling.
To say we are in tough times in the continent is to put it mildly. Blood streams in Sudan have not dried (luckily, I hear there is a deal, finally). Streets in Zimbabwe are witnessing brutalization of the ‘people’, especially women. Petrol bombs are having a moment in Malawi. Stella Nyanzi is jailed for protesting against the master in Uganda and critics are being ‘dealt with’ where I come from.
I mean, the continent is full of conflicts fueled by patriarchal obsession of oppression and control of everything custodians of patriarchy believe they own, including our mind, emotions, and voices.
Half a century ago, our flags were the sign of our liberation, the pride of our unity, and symbol of our triumph against brutal colonial regimes. I guess what we had won then, as a people, was the fight against (the white) colonialists. Sadly, we totally forget to win the fight against the oppressive rulers coming in different shapes, colors, and sizes.
Now, we are embracing class divides. We, the ruled, are forced to assume that we are the same as the rulers, that we fought together for our freedom. Shamelessly, they even treat the rest of us as traitors if we dare question the smell of colonialism in them.
Honestly, if you take a look left and right, you will clearly know and see our fights are different and our struggles are particular. We fought for their freedom to enslave and oppress us. What a mind game well played, African old boys’ club.
Here I am, a faithful Pan-Africanist, preaching Ubuntu of African people, ready to go to war with anyone who profiles and stereotype Africans, vocal on the illicit financial flows from Africa, and foreign extraction of our precious natural resources. However, I know I should equally be vocal against internal extraction and corruption. Yes, and an active fighter of oppression within.
The truth is, it is easy and safe to question others but it takes dedication and bravery to fight your very own, especially when your own are senseless and the coldest; who will never blink an eye in televised conferences, condemning you for being prostitutes or members of organized crime, if you are lucky to escape framed money laundering and sedition charges or fortunate enough not to be abducted from out of nowhere and disappear with no trace.
I am angered because I know what is right and what is wrong; I know this is not what we fought for. I hear noises and screams, “we need development before freedom and personal agency.” Gee! I am shocked, I thought we have settled that debate with the independent struggles and fight against colonialism. Or does that mean we have only fought against mzungu colonialists but we are super happy with the black ones? To put it bluntly, we are extremely brutalized economically, physically, and emotionally by our very own yet we feel ashamed and threatened to call it what it is – brutality.
As a feminist, I can have a pass to say this because am used to be called and labeled ‘angry, emotional and often an irrational and desperate women.’ Yes, I am angry because my anger is the sum of the love I have for my people, the people I call friends, comrades, and family. I love them too much to the extent that their oppression becomes my oppression.
I am angered of the hate rulers have towards the very same people who pledged on their behalf, in the name of the constitution, to protect, nurture, and love. I am angered by the hypocrisy of our people who see no reason to question, act or defend our rights to personal liberty and freedom. I am angered by those who tell me to use a decent language as if the oppressor oppresses us decently.
Sadly, it is fashionable now to separate our spirit with what they call political. The underlying purpose is to legitimize oppression and limit resistance, leaving a few to take on the hard battle and become so exposed to highest level of retaliation by the black colonialists. The majority who consciously and/or unconsciously accept to be apolitical are left suffocated with illusions of safety and/or a desire to be promoted to the inner circle of the oppressors.
The tears and sufferings of the significant few, who choose to fight oppression for all of us, are left to self-dry. I am afraid if we can’t cry with them and hold their heads up high with pride and dignity, their dried tears may be bloodstreams of many. May that bloody and gloomy doomsday not come.
I am convinced our flags hanging on top of us are witnessing the pain in us. They, too, are in tears. But their resilience to stand tall come rain, came sun, should reminds us, as Audre Lorde recalls Malcolm X’s reminder, that “we are not responsible for our oppression, but we must be responsible for our own liberation.”
