with ❤ for womxn by womxn

Letter from the Editor

We, probably like you, are just about done with the insistent erasure of womxn’s voices and gross misrepresentation through stereotypes. We, of course, continue to advocate for better but are uncertain how long that will take. So we created a table for womxn where the content:

  1. acknowledges our full humanities, diverse capacities, and complexities.
  2. counters the patriarchal narrative perpetuated by mainstream media.

Welcome home.

Lakwena Articles.

The Women’s League is nolonger an acceptable excuse for the inaction of political messiahs

Opinion, Social Justice

Between May 2017 and 2018, women who had been reported kidnapped were found dumped dead in areas of Nansana and Katabi, Entebbe suburbs. Many of their naked bodies were strangled, some with visible signs of sexual assault including the insertion of sticks in their vaginas. While addressing residents of Katabi, the then Inspector General of Police, Kale Kayihura offered what he thought would be a solution to what he argued were crimes of passion. All women would prepare to register their boyfriends to assist Police in carrying out investigations. It wasn’t clear what would be done to protect the women from being brutalized and murdered in the first place. Neither did he reveal how this registration of boyfriends would be conducted. There was nearly no case reported solved.

In June of the same year, Ugandan women took to the streets to protest this unbridled violence. The Women’s March organized by feminists under the Women’s Protest Group, amid tensions with law enforcement, came at a time when there had been 40 reported cases of this nature. The protest was as highly publicized online beforehand, as it was during and after. In attendance were Ugandan girls, women, non-binary gender folk, African feminists from Kenya and Ethiopia, men, ambassadors, photographers, media and even some members of the Uganda Police Force. Noticeably absent were prominent leaders of political parties, or their representatives.

Fast forward to 2021, Uganda held an attempt at a general democratic election in 2021. In the running for the Presidential seat were over 20 Ugandans. Of these were some of the male political party leaders who were conspicuously absent at the Women’s March. So much so that it became a topic of conversation at the meeting grounds. “Where is ____” Did we not inform ___?” “Where are the men we’re always rooting for?” They were a no-show, yes. For reasons best known to them. The rest of us can only speculate. But even worse than snubbing the March, was that they were silent then, and continue to be silent about the existing systemic inequalities that allow for this oppression to continue.

The parties they lead often have something of an affirmative action wing – the Women’s League. This league often led by a woman member is the party’s cop-out when tasked to show that women matter to their plan for political change. “We have a league that handles women’s issues,” they’ll often say. It is this same response you’ll elicit if you randomly taxed one of these leaders to explain their absence from activities like the 2018 Women’s March; or their silences on a number of vital discussions ranging from holding sexual abuse perperators accountable, to ensuring women’s equal representation on the panels they regularly sit on.

Now, admittedly in a largely patriarchal society like ours, the issues affecting women are often overlooked – by the media, by citizens and clearly by politicians. Many argue that the league is crucial especially for this reason, that the plight of the Ugandan woman be addressed at a centered level. And while that might be one means to equity, Ugandans, and especially Ugandan women must ask ourselves if the unceasing issues affecting a 51% population should be relegated to a smaller caucus of the political party leadership alone.

We should question why it is acceptable that only fellow women activists and women’s civil society organisations stand in solidarity with any woman who has been violated. Why the arbitrary arrests of male activists on the other hand raise the public outrage of both women and men. Ugandan women activists from Ingrid Turinawe and Stella Nyanzi to Night Asara and Jane Abola have consciously risked, and indeed been subjected to sexual, psychological and physical brutalisation from security criminals while in solidarity with the dictatorship’s male political opponents.

It is only fair and right – a show of true comradery – that male political messiahs should speak and act on rape, sexual harassment, the gender pay gap, domestic violence and the unpassed Marriage and Divorce Bill that has collected dust on the floor of Parliament for years. They must become as intentional about it as they’re about ending the multitude of others issues they speak loudly about. To relegate the former by classifying it as “women’s issues”, in the same breath speaking fire against oppressive systems, while conveniently ignoring the unique ways in which this oppression is meted out on more than half the population should be unacceptable. It is at best a portrayal of limited understanding or interest in our collective freedom; and at worst, their own belief that women’s humanity is secondary or even unnecessary.

Uganda is long out of the luxury to try and test the regurgitation of patriarchal structures and the many ways that they disfavour us. Women live in perpetual fear not only of patriarchal violence; but also of the shame, mental distress and lack of perpetuator accountability they’d have to endure as a result. So anybody who promises fundamental change must also deliberately consider the liberation of more than half the nation’s population. Of course, women continue to organize, with or without the support of men vying for the Presidential seat. But as we put our safety on the line and advocate for change alongside our next leaders, it shall be only with those, if any, who prioritize our humanity.

Silence in the face of any injustice is complicity, and there’s indeed no revolution without the freedom of women – concepts that are often quoted in those heartfelt social media posts on Women’s Day. But those platitudes and the Women’s League are hardly enough to bring rise to the transformational change that Ugandans deserve. As our leaders quote Thomas Sankara on women’s liberation today, it’s my fervent hope that they shall, going forward, translate those theoretical impressions into praxis.

This article was first published at @beingedna.com, on Women’s Day, 8th March, 2021

For Women, Justice is Beyond the System

Social Justice

Today, Monday, March 8, people around the world have gathered to celebrate International Women’s Day. #IWD will be the number one trend on social media, there will be  curated conversations and concerts around the importance of women, our  strength , and calls for an equal world that will end at exactly midnight.  This year’s theme is “Women in Leadership: achieving an equal future in a Covid-19 world’. Alongside this, is a social media campaign to encourage women to “#ChooseToChallenge and  call out gender bias and inequality.

Gender bias and inequality has many faces. The manifestation that is all too familiar to all women is that of  violence.  Young women in Uganda have long  resisted sexual violence in particular. The story of Rachel Njoroge  portrays this resistance. 

On April 13, 2018, Rachel Njoroge went to certify copies of her academic transcript at Makerere University. She entered Edward Kisuze’s office in Room 507 at Makerere University’s Senate Building. What followed was a violent incident that has from that day defined her life. Njoroge  reported Edward Kisuze for forcibly grabbing her breasts, pushing her against the filing cabinets, and grabbing  her hand which he brought to touch his penis. He proceeded to lower his head to her thighs, and started kissing them as he tried to remove her panties. She  threatened to jump out of the 5th floor window of Edward Kisuze’s office before he stopped violating her.

She was courageous enough to take some pictures during this  ordeal. Proof in hand, Njoroge rushed  to the Makerere University administration office. There, she  shared the images with their IT personnel  who  promised to handle the matter.  They didn’t. A few days later, the images, evidence she had painstakingly collected, were leaked to a tabloid newspaper in Uganda. The source of this leak remains unnamed.  True to Ugandan media’s portrayal of  women’s experiences of sexual violence, Rachel was plastered all over tabloid pages.  Meanwhile, Edward Kisuze’s actions remained far away from public scrutiny. The male sanctifying  magic of media spin.

Feminist lawyer Twasiima Bigirwa in her paper; “Skewed Dynamics; Exploring Ways in Which Media Fuels Inequality in Uganda;” underscores the ways in which  Ugandan media contributes to the normalization of sexist practices and beliefs by trivializing violence against women. Referring to the case against Brian Isiko which was reported as “love messages” rather than harassment, Twasiima concludes: “ The beliefs around the representations of relationships between women and men that depict women as objects in men’s sexual desires are as a result of cultural and religious conditioning, reinforced by media language choices in their reporting on cases such as the one above.” Rachel’s case was yet another example of the media’s complicity in this gendered sexual violence.

Rachel Njoroge sought justice in the courts of law.  After a two year long court battle, the sitting Chief Magistrate at Buganda Road Court confirmed what she already knew:  Edward Kisuze had sexually assaulted her. In a system as under-resourced as ours, Rachel had had to be very close to the prosecution to secure a conviction. Without enough human and financial resources  for the system to serve justice, it was Rachel who would have to follow up the case file both at the court and at the Police station, ensuring that the witnesses showed up, and that they provided the evidence necessary for the case to be heard to its logical conclusion. She also endured harsh cross examination when she gave her own testimony, as if the humiliation she was facing in the public eye was not enough. When the accused was put on his defence, his victim was accused of only wanting to break up a man’s family.  

Kisuze was acquitted of the charge of attempted rape. Instead, he was convicted on the lesser charge of “indecent assault” and sentenced to 2 years in prison or in the alternative, a meagre UGX 4,000,000 (about USD 1,000) to be paid to the court. He  paid the amount that afternoon and went home a free man. A few weeks later, Kisuze appealed the sentence. To Rachel, it felt like a slap in the face.

The case decided against Edward Kisuze displays a big failure on the part of many of us who refuse to grasp the concept of consent; which in turn impedes our full conceptualisation of sexual assault and, or rape. The Chief Magistrate, after finding that Kisuze was indeed at the scene and rejecting his defence that claimed that Miss Njoroge had fainted, decided as follows:

“I have considered the evidence of prosecution, regarding the alleged attempted rape. However, the prosecution never adduced evidence to demonstrate that indeed there was an attempted sexual act manifested by the accused person in trying to insert his sexual organ into the victim…I agree with the defense in part. The evidence available does not show that the accused had gone to the extent of putting his intentions into execution.”

For clarity, the evidence referenced above and documented by the ruling of the appointment’s board of Makerere University during the   at the discipline hearing included witnesses who had seen Miss Njoroge enter Kisuze’s office on that day, and Miss Njoroge’s sworn testimony that Kisuze had locked the door, forcibly kissed her thighs, tried to remove her underwear, and removed his penis which he tried to make her touch; before, penetrating her vagina with  his fingers.

Criminal law can be summarised in this adage by an English jurist: “Better that ten guilty persons escape, than that one innocent suffer.” Also known as the presumption of innocence, it is the basis for placing the burden of proving that a crime was committed on the prosecution which is at a standard of “beyond reasonable doubt.” Unfortunately in cases of sexual violence, the burden placed the assaulted person is even heavier.  They are asked to prove beyond reasonable doubt, not just the actions of their assaulter, but also that they had not given consent.   In a world where women’s agency might as well be a myth; where societal belief is  that a woman’s “no” means “yes”, women are disfavored from the onset. 

A lawyer’s first instinct should be to look for ways to improve the system, to make it more gender-responsive, to enable women to report in better conditions. However, the numbers alone are discouraging – the 2019 Annual Police report indicated that of the 1,531 cases of rape recorded, only 20 were convicted, 6 acquitted and 15 discharged while 647 are still awaiting trial. This small  success rate doesn’t inspire confidence in the system. When compounded by the stereotypical attitudes of many officials in the criminal justice system – from judges to prosecutors and even to police officers, faith in the system dwindles.

Feminist movements around the globe have emphasised that sexual violence happens on a continuum of violence against women, which is a part of a patriarchal system. In the 1977 “Letter to the Anti-Rape Movement” authored by the leaders of a group called the Santa Cruz Women Against Rape, it is clearly enunciated as follows: “We do not believe that rape can end within the present capitalist, racist, and sexist structure of our society. The fight against rape must be waged simultaneously with the fight against all other forms of oppression”.   Women cannot continue to rely on the state  funded system to do the work that only movements can do.

Feminist movements are tasked with  organizing outside of the system to support survivors of sexual violence. Last year’s theme for the global #16DaysofActivism (the annual global campaign against sexual and other forms of violence against women  focused  on among others things,  funding for sexual violence work. It would be a change of pace to see money and work put in alternatives to the criminal justice system like psychological support and creating communities of care for survivors.

In December 2020, Edward Kisuze was dismissed from Makerere University following his conviction in court in a disciplinary hearing that also condemned him to pay compensation to Rachel. The University also agreed to pay compensation to Rachel Njoroge. Still, the case put on full display the inadequacy of the legal system in dealing with cases of sexual violence, the pervasiveness of violence against women both online and offline, and the failure of our society to support victims of gender based violence.  

What could we do differently to start to uproot this rotten system? First, we must commit to believe survivors of violence and to say it publically that we do. We must challenge the systems and cultures that allow violence to exist and thrive and we must do so constantly, not just on International Women’s Day. We must also create communities of care where survivors can find grace, healing, and where possible, mental health care. Femme Power Ug is a Ugandan collective of young women who are working to provide space for survivors of sexual assault. Many more collectives like this exist and deserve our financial and moral support so that survivors have a safe place to go when assaulted. Ultimately, we are each other’s business, and we must do more to protect and support each other, especially when we are dehumanised by patriarchal violence. Only then can we start to create a world where sexual violence is a thing of the past.

This is How Policing Has Always Worked. This is Who Police Will Always Be

For Freedom's Sake

More and more recently, we have been hearing in soul crushing details, the narrations of mothers, friends, siblings, and lovers who share with us their griefs on national TV, tears streaming down their eyes. You see, their people, like many other Ugandans who have since been disappeared, killed, and brutalized by security forces in this country had people who cared for them, who are now forced to contend with their daily absences. It is these same security forces that continue to patrol the streets, commanding mostly angst and terror, under the guise of keeping Ugandans safe. 

There are some for whom this might feel like a new phenomenon. There are also groups of people in this country who have never been able to associate safety with any kind of policing institution. Women know that police (used interchangeably with security forces to mean the same thing) are not the first point of call when an assault has happened. Sexually minoritized people understand that police are an inherent threat to their lives as has been demonstrated several times over, championed by the same people who now demand that the police “reform” their ways. In actuality, the police has not suddenly gone rouge. Security forces are not in fact acting erratically, they are performing their very function – maintain the status quo at all costs, for as long as it still be of benefit. 

Policing as we are experiencing it today, is a continuation of our inherently racist and colonial state apparatuses. Modelled after the British blueprint, the institutionalization of these security agencies was first established in 1899. The intent was always to serve as a vehicle of coercion, repression and the pattern of violence was born then. Along the years, these same forces have occasionally taken on newer characters of those who command them, while retaining the model upon which they were founded.  The histories of the ways in which we experienced them then, and how we are trying to survive them now, are intertwined. The continuous reproduction of these repressive apparatuses cannot be undone by simply naming and shaming one, two or even four agents as the problem. Rather, we must come to a collective understanding that the well has always and will always be poisoned. We have to ask ourselves why it is that we somehow continue to come back to this very same place. It is not a mere coincidence that there are stark similarities with the ways security forces act now and how they acted in the 70’s. It is not a coincidence that those who fund the security forces here also fund the occupation and subjugation of other people across the continent and middle East. It would be an absurdity therefore to assume that we can defeat this system, without uprooting it at its core. 

Knowing this necessitates that as we work on the (perhaps) quicker fixes of demanding that these officers are removed from any kind of service, we pay attention to the often ignored and yet urgent work of dismantling the very system that allows them to exist, altogether. The carceral system of governance that we are currently experiencing must therefore be understood not as a failing of the state, but rather as a deliberate tactic employed by states, here and almost everywhere else to maintain several status quos. The most familiar example to this truth is the continued acts of terror that Black everywhere in the world continue to suffer at the hands of U.S government, regardless of who is in office, as they perpetuate actions that center the U.S as the world’s “top-cop, warmonger and jailer.” The military bases across the continent, the actions of ICE where children are ripped out of the hands of their mothers and caged, and the continued murder of Black people with no consequence are just some of the ways this manifests. Closer to home, the #EndSARs movement in Nigeria, the deep militarization of many countries in the region, and the several relatable stories of police brutality are yet another illustration of this. In understanding the fact that police, military, and any other security forces will always be inherently violent, we too must change our tactics and thus our demands.

We have to insist on understanding the structural problem and thus recognizing the institutional nature of the violence that is meted on us by security. Framing it as a horrendous acts by a few people continues to allow for hopeful, albeit misguided belief, that this system can be reformed. Reform does not beget revolutionary change, and while we might be able to attain some momentarily gains by enacting degrees of pain on those who have caused us pain, it will ultimately not alter the fabric of the systemic problems or their manifestations. I would therefore like to propose, a reimagination of the alternative. 

The emphasis on policing, as opposed to addressing the causes of harm, violence and the deep despair people are responding to continues to allow the state to ignore the core of its obligations.  In response to valid and righteous demands then, the guise of law and order is used as a tactic, further silencing any dissenting voices. The proposed increase in budget of security for this country, at the height of a global pandemic where millions have lost their jobs, are dealing with new waves of mental health issues, among other crises that are an actual priority, should be unimaginable. And yet, we continue to see here, and world over, this emphasis on further prioritizing more guns under the umbrella of defense and security. Ironically, these have not translated into a safer or more just world. It has done nothing to stop the deepening inequality or shielded any of us from the harsh realities of climate inaction, poor health care, unemployment or governments that see us as easily disposable. Simply put, it does not work. 

To begin to understand all the ways in which this is a problem requires us to reconceptualize our very notion of safety, community and how we will ultimately achieve our ability to self-determine in a country that is not so riddled with cycles of violence. We must ask ourselves, but even more those who have decided to lead us, why life is not considered precious and worthy enough that we focus more on protecting it and each other, rather than what we have now. The answer to this is not a kumbaya-movement that absolves policing apparatus of accountability. Rather, we must demand accountability in the form of undoing the legacies we inherited and systemic change that goes beyond hoping a few individuals will come in and save us. They will not.  

The endurance of resistance must equally be a struggle for solidarity, taking into account all the different ways in which the police manifests violence across different groups of people. While the more clear patterns today are through brutalization of journalists, murder and kidnaps of those demanding for a recognition of their right to self-determine, this patterned behavior extends to the less mainstreamed inhumanities that are meted on sexually minoritized people in this country, women and all the others whose stories are erased. The goal dear reader, must always be total and collective freedom. 

For My Father and Perhaps, Our Shared Grief

Stories

“For My Father,

…and yours, for the losses we mourn publicly and those we don’t.”

It has been a difficult year on many fronts, for many people. I am alive to the harsh realities of the world we live in. A world that centers profit over people, where the countries we lend our allegiance prove to be uninterested in our lives, time and time again. I am aware of the entrenched systems and beliefs that dehumanize and harm many people in so many ways. I am constantly reminded of the deep despair of undoing century long institutionalizations. So I anguish over things that often seem out of my control. This piece of writing is an acknowledgment of all these facts, an awareness of the different pains, a sharing of my personal grief – and in some ways, an ode to my father. 

As difficult a year this has been, truly nothing has been as painful as not being able to hear my father, to have him speak to me, to watch him ponder over an issue we are discussing. It is a tricky thing the way grief manifests. It is terribly inconvenient yes, but it is also humbling and inexorable. I miss my dad. I miss his laugh and the long conversations we had. I often try and imagine what he would say about this year, my graduation, the world sinking even lower. It gives me no comfort to speculate on what he would say or if he would say anything at all. I miss his corny dad-jokes. He had a way of infuriating while simultaneously making you laugh. I sometimes see that in my brother, and I suppose there is some comfort in that. I miss him with every fiber of my being. It is a pain so deep it  consumes you, making it difficult to even care to exist at all. 

Nonetheless, I must attempt to find the sunshine, even when there is no sun, as I am sure most of you are trying to do, on many days, for many reasons. I would never presume to be an expert on grief. I can only share how it has altered my life and how I am surviving it. There are many types of loss and this year, we are dealing with all of them. The ways in which we grieve are also vastly different as are the processes in which we deal with what we’ve been dealt. One of the things I most contest about myself, is how deeply I feel everything. It is as if every inch of me is always alive to whatever emotion I am feeling. I soak up joy and laugher when it comes – unabashedly. The colors are brighter then, the sun is warm and even the rain is a welcome addition. But when the pain and hurt come, I also feel them fully. They ache in my bones, slowly, the sort of way you want your favorite candle to burn. For this reason, I often try to avoid acknowledging pain, for as long as I can. It is however a careless arrogance to imagine that grief will fall in line. 

I struggle to talk about my father. He was always here, until he wasn’t. I hold tightly onto my memories of him. I guard our conversations and I am cautious about who I speak to of him. I replay our conversations over and over, mowing over any details for tidbits I might need later, small signs he might have left me that I didn’t pick on. You see I am afraid, afraid that talking about him will cause me to come undone. That it will force me to reckon with what I have truly lost and this uprooting of my life that happened on 19th, May 2018. On the days I let myself speak about him, or write about him , the air is strange, cloudy even. I imagine that if you could see grief, that is what it’d be like, a sort of  fog that makes it hard to see or breath, and one that you can’t quite push away. It is weird because you can’t touch it, but you can feel it as it seeps into your bones and causes aches and races your heart. It oscillates from hurt, to anger, to rage to nihilism.  I like to think that the great irony of life is that this can only be a privilege. That to have loved and been loved by someone, even when they cease to be here physically can only mean that they would never truly leave. And so, I occasionally allow myself to believe that he has simply transitioned and occasionally pops by to say hello. On the days I catch a whiff of his scent, I am excited and carry my secret happily through the day. On some days, but mostly nights, my siblings and I will speak of him collectively, but never as if he isn’t here, always as if he were maybe in the next room. We are the ones who knew him, and it warms my heart that we remember him similarly. He was good, but that only makes me angrier that he isn’t here. He was kind, but that only makes my heart ache. He should be here. I catch glimpses of their deep loss as well when we do, but I acknowledge that I do not have the strength yet to dig deeper at it. You see, while some people grieve openly and communally, my grief demands no performance or grand expressions, it must be felt alone.

The thing about this feeling, is that it will be recurring. It is a certainty that is impossible to ignore knowing what I know. This year and all the anxieties that have come with a global pandemic and an eruption of layered violence is another reminder. Being alive to our mortality also means being alive to our limitations and the inescapable reality that we only have so much time. There is a potential there to full appreciate life, to seek out joy and pleasures, sometimes consequences be dammed. It allows for the sometimes child-like belief in things like purpose and in our ability to change and transform the world for better. We might not be here forever, but we are here now. 

I find revelations of my father more and more lately. I see the traits of his I inherited manifest. His sense of duty and responsibility, his easy way of getting along with everyone, his escape into books and stories and even his tendency to shoulder too much, quietly. There are also lessons I am learning in the process although many of these I would have preferred to learn in ways that didn’t turn my world on its sides. 

In this article that I write for myself and then for you who reads it, I write to say I understand that you are grieving and may you be able to come up for air soon. 

A Conversation on Harnessing the Internet to Speak Truth To Power

News, Social Justice

The internet, it can be argued, is where womxn come to express themselves freely, without the direct reprimand and suppression that is a direct repercussion of us even remotely having an opinion in the physical spaces of the patriarchal societies in which we exist. The fairly flexible nature of online spaces coupled with the promise of a readily available community of other women provides solace for many of us. Along the way, we discovered an inadvertent opportunity to push back against oppressive institutions. And push back we did. So what has that been like?

Against this backdrop, Kweeta Uganda in partnership with Lakwena curated a conversation on seeking insights into how some women who have taken on the challenge of speaking truth to power online. the questions addressed were: how we are speaking truth to power, whether the powers that be are listening, our motivations (and repercussions) to standing up to power, whether we have registered any victories, what policies can improve our experiences online and finally, how we take care of ourselves even as we do the work.

How we speak truth to power online

We’re employing language that re imagines our realities by questioning conventional wisdom and resisting patriarchal gender expectations. Can we hold space for womxn who do not desire to marry, or have children, for example? If we find this strange, it is because society has for long told us that womxn must be willing to take those paths. But we’re our own people and womxn are not a homogeneous group. We can have different aspirations and we should be able to choose, without society’s dictation, what exactly we are going to do. To achieve this autonomy over our lives and bodies, we must organise by unapologetically and relentlessly making it known that we have a right to choose – and in so doing, we inspire many other womxn who are often waiting for one womxn to speak up about something that’s been eating them up in silence. For them to know that we’re here – a community that insists on being heard, one that will stand in solidarity with one another against systems of power.

Are the powers-that-be listening?

One poem by the indefatigable Dr. Stella Nyanzi on her Facebook got her an 18-months prison sentence for challenging the incumbent. Throughout this time, Stella continued to articulate through her art form, poetry, her resistance against the regime’s atrocities on Ugandans which elicited nation and worldwide support for her. When it comes to the social media platform Twitter, feminists who have, in a dissuasion attempt been branded Twitter feminists by misogynists have caused a maelstrom of conversation spanning every aspect of our collective and intersectional oppressions and privileges. As a result, mindsets have been changed, the disrespect of womxn online while ongoing has tremendously decreased over the years and on issues of representation or lack thereof; mainstream media has made an effort, albeit insufficient, to address all-male panels/manels.

It goes without saying that the power holders and system perpetrators are listening.  

Our motivations for standing up to power – and consequently, the repercussions from making that leap

Perhaps the biggest victory of womxn speaking truth to power online is the guaranteed community and unreserved solidarity from Ugandan feminists and their sisters in struggle across the continent. A factor that each of our panelists mentioned as a motivator. Others included the fact so ably theorized by Black lesbian writer, scholar, feminist Audre Lorde: your silence will not protect you. We have come to learn that speaking; even, especially when we’re afraid, is what weakens our shackles and sets us free onto the journey to our freedom. And thanks to womxn like Lorde who came before us and opened the portal for us, we can take up the challenge with the knowledge on how to dismantle the master’s house in which we have been kept hostage.

But the foot soldiers of the status quo do not make this easy, no. They berate, gaslight and troll us. They use scare tactics and microaggressions to distract us. Institutions attempt to bring us to our knees by denying us opportunities and funding because we’re “too difficult.” Our identities are weaponized to shame us, the list goes on. Yet in the words of brilliant poet Maya Angelou, still (I) we rise. We rise for us – our collective freedom, the responsibility with which we’re charged to carry on the work of those womxn who came before us and on whose shoulders we stand today. So that like us, our daughters and nieces shall have a paved path.

Registered victories and required policy changes

As mentioned earlier, the victory that’s communion and solidarity with other feminists online is the gift that keeps giving. But that’s not all. Support – emotional, professional and financial by other womxn keeps us going. Womxn hold our hands and walk us into rooms of opportunity and healing. They mention our work in meetings with decision makers, and validate our experience by sharing theirs to remind us that we were never alone.

Additionally, we have and continue to shift the culture. We initiate crucial conversations and cause change through our calls to action.

On policy, we recognize that womxn must be equally represented at the table of policy formulation and implementation. But not just any womxn, or some womxn. Womxn whose gender politics align with our freedom. All womxn too. Not just religious, conventionally good-looking, middle-class cisheterosexual and able-bodied womxn. Because in this house we not only practice only that feminism that’s devoid of ifs or buts, we also reject the straightjacket identities into which the system attempts to confine us. 

Self-care

The work takes a toll not just physically, but emotionally. Burn-out is a given for every activist. So we must continue to deliberately create time and space to recuperate, detox, love and hold ourselves accountable. You deserve happiness, sis. Laughter, joy, prosperity and healing are also your calling. Connect with your higher self. Retreat to your echo-chamber after a whole week of schooling ‘pro-life’rs. Meditate or pray, whatever your spiritual connection is. Have a good meal. Post a good selfie on the gram and write about sex or your travels (not every day: “In this paper I will…” 🙂 ) Remember, taking a break does not mean you have betrayed the cause. After all, the cause can only benefit from you if you’re well. Unplug. Refill, rejuvenate.

A deep appreciation for our able panelists: Tracy Rubondo, Patricia Kigula and Lisa Kanyomozi-Rabwoni whose many insights from the tweet-chat are shared in this write-up. Please search clink this link: #WomenOnlineVoices and follow Twitter thread to catch up with the conversation as it happened. 

If Black Lives Matter Why Has Renee Bach Faced No Consequences?

Opinion, Social Justice

A young white missionary woman comes to Uganda with the sole purpose of “helping young Africans.” She goes on to set up a charity organization in order “to promote evangelism, provide welfare for the needy and empower families” where according to court documents, she performs medical procedures, some of which were documented in blogposts that have since been deleted. This is the story of Renee Bach, and her US missionary organization Serving His Children. It is also another tale of how little value is placed on the lives of African children, even by our own governments. 

Renee continued to operate in Uganda for over ten years as a high school graduate with no medical training and a self-proclaimed desire to do good and help the poor children of Jinja. Her organization, without any initial medical personnel as staff began to take in malnourished children and perform medical procedures on them. By her own admission, she took in 940 children between 2010 and 2015, 105 of whom died. Renee has since closed the organization and left the country without real difficulty. 

As relatives of the children continue to demand justice, the court case continues to be derailed by Renee, and her lawyers. At its core, this is an issue of class, race and the privilege accorded to whiteness in this country. The reverse would never be true, as a Ugandan with no qualifications would never have the opportunity to operate on children unlicensed in Virginia where Renee is from. It would even be less likely that any such Ugandan would be able to so easily flee the country without consequence as has been in this case. This is a pointed reminder of regulatory state failures; the kind that can only happen through a depersonalization of the state’s responsibilities towards its citizens.

Understanding how and why Renee was able to work in this country for so many years, requires an analysis of class and race relations, and the way white privilege functions in this country. This conversation is even more timely as we continue to center the #BlackLivesMatter praxis in our daily lives. To imagine that so many Ugandan children were killed and the person responsible still refuses to acknowledge her role in this reality and faces no accountability for her actions should be completely unacceptable. The first question is why children in Africa need saviors who know nothing of their contexts to come save them. The first part of that answer is in the failings of the state, in which state responsibilities have been left to do-gooders. When the core functions such as providing health, education and the basics of survival are relegated, the result is that citizens are forced to look for alternatives. This gap left by the state is what allowed a 20-year-old to come start an organization where actions that lead to so many dead can go unreported for as long as they did. 

A central problem in the lack of subsequent action demonstrates the disposability of African bodies that continues to be normalized. It is no longer entirely surprising that so many children were killed when we have become accustomed to hearing of kidnaps, police brutality and unsolved murders. Modern day forms of violence that engender constant vigilance have made many afraid and uneasy. The idea at the forefront of our minds for many of us is that we are potential targets and can always be objects of unlimited and unaccountable violence. The lack of media outrage and covering of the Renee Bach story, and society’s predominant underreaction to it is an indication of the normalization of this reality. 

It is this disposability of our bodies that has led to the disinvestment in communities and the public institutions that serve them, including those tasked with protecting Ugandans. It should be inconceivable that one Ugandan should be killed, let alone a hundred, and there are no answers as to how and why. Who do Ugandans turn to when the very institutions that are meant to protect them are responsible for enacting violence and harm on them? It is no wonder that the state has failed to hold Renee Bach accountable when it is responsible for enabling similar fates for so many of its own citizens. The government has responsibilities to the citizens of this country, many of which it continues to abdicate, and Renne Bach’s case is just another example of it. 

For Black lives to actually matter, we need to begin the hard work of re-orienting our institutions and systems to see us as more than statistics. It requires that we are loudly outraged at the continued manifestations of systemic injustices that take and devalue our lives, particularly in this case as it relates to whiteness. It also demands that our governments whose sworn mandate is to respect and protect our lives begin to move past the empty platitudes and hold themselves and others accountable. 

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How Covid-19 lockdown is challenging me to pace my creativity

Stories

One of my intentions at the beginning of this year was to learn how to slow down and live more in the present. I had just quit a highly toxic job which had taken a toll on my mental and physical health and I knew that if I was to recover fully, I had to take things slow. At the same time, I had to focus on running an independent production house that my creative partner and I had begun. Luckily, with self-employment I was able to design a routine that works for me. I also took up meditation, yoga and afternoon naps which are very helpful. I felt like I was getting a hang of things until the lockdown happened.

Not only has my daily routine gone out the window, (thanks to the endless house parties and fellowships by my neighbours), my sleep pattern has been disrupted; the creative blocks and procrastination have intensified. If I want to get anything done, I have to look out for pockets of peace and quiet during the day or late at night. The other ways in which I break the monotony of working from home have also been affected.  Usually when I’m not at home writing or editing, I am out filming or occasionally deejay-ing at an event, which I am now unable to do that since the events were canceled.

Fortunately there is the option of sharing DJ mixes online or performing on Instagram and Facebook live like many other deejays are doing. Still, I am opting out of that for now because I’m not in that headspace. I’m learning that I don’t have to do everything, especially during this time. This is not easy for me. Like most people I was raised to believe that my worth is tied to my productivity and I’m doing a lot of unlearning on that. Before this lockdown, I was in the middle of a few passion projects that I initially felt the pressure to put out because everyone seemed to be doing something major.

Now I’ve decided to take more time with them and when I’m done, maybe I will share them. I also have been reminded to create for myself first, and at my own pace – with or without an audience. More importantly, I’m using this time to try and be okay with just being. To allow myself feel what I’m feeling. Good or not. I feel like the universe is giving me exactly what I asked for at the beginning of the year and is daring me to take it. To be here, present.  To feel and be enough, even amidst the chaos. I hope I remember to do just that.

Karen Ihimbazwe Amanyire: serving above self

Womxn by Womxn

Raised on the tenacity of her mother; a God-fearing womxn who held onto the lapels of life and worked tooth and nail to provide for her children, this young womxn holds dear the conviction that it is her mother’s faith that brought her thus far. When one of life’s tides hit her childhood and completely changed everything she knew before, leaving her once middle-class family in disarray, her mother took the reins – and with her grace and immovable belief in the power of prayer – brought all her children, especially Karen, along the same path. 

“Church is pretty much how I’ve been brought up. To love God, worship God; to believe in God.” The family always had a praise and worship session which they referred to as “family altar.” “We sang songs, read from the Bible and prayed everyday before we went to bed.” This practice, she attributes to keeping her siblings grounded when things got tough and they struggled, without an explanation of where their father was. “We would move from place to place, school to school. I learnt many local languages including Lugisu and Luganda, because at some point we lived in Mbale and then later in Seeta, Mukono.” The frequent moving was to seek the next survival opportunity – for her it also meant that she was never in one place long enough to settle in and have a sense of home. A factor which perhaps contributed to her introverted personality. “But we saw how my mum’s faith held her up. Her prayers always came to fruition. So we held onto that hope.”

The team leader of the Angaza Literacy Program, a project of the youth-led, 40 days over 40 smiles philanthropic foundation in Uganda, Karen Ihimbazwe Amanyire is a contemplative individual whose knack for accountability is uncompromising. At Quentin Junior School, Kibuli where we meet on a hot Saturday afternoon, she takes a quick roll call of all the volunteers of the program and the schools they’re to teach on that day. She has just been out printing more teaching material, which she now distributes to them. She mentions that she must run to another school and teach there. 

Karen teaching a class at one of the schools

The program beneficiaries are children in primary school, who are at the learning stage where the pace for comprehension is set. The choice of schools is those whose teaching staff is most likely overwhelmed by the numbers; or not in reach of adequate teaching resources. “With our lesson plans, we are looking at an experiential kind of learning to jog their thinking, allow them exercise their reasoning capacity and apply or contextualize what they learnt when they return home.” 

At Boston Junior, the other school located in Makindye, one of Kampala’s hills, we walk into a classroom full of visibly tired kids. It’s 2 pm. Their fellow pupils from other classes are getting onto the bus, heading home. This is one of the classes that is scheduled to receive the Angaza learning. I sit at what appears to be the teacher’s desk at the back of the classroom. Karen stands before the class, some kids start to speak inaudibly. She greets them with the cheer of a kindergarten teacher. Some recall her name, others just whisper: 4040. “We stand straight and speak up, ok?” She is prompting one of the boys whose name we can barely hear during introductions. The whole class giggles.

As she introduces a passage on the topic of wellness to previously exhausted pupils who are now shooting their arms up for a chance to answer a question and laughing through the lesson, it is not hard to understand how Ihimbazwe has been at Angaza for 3 years, and project head for 2 and a half years now. She fits right into the role of not just a teacher, but a teacher who kids identify with. The program which runs every Friday for 6 weeks during the school term is conducted with the help of volunteers who often apply to a call on social media. 

Karen has teaching experience from the Straight Talk Foundation with which she volunteered first. I am curious whether the other volunteers have teaching experience. “They do not have to have taught before,” she tells me. “We have a short training with the school term plan which is quite easy and provide them with the teaching material which we have earlier sat down with educators and curriculum experts to develop.”

Her motivation:

Karen has volunteered all her adult life. Something which she says she would choose again over a structured paying job. She wants to do even better at it and keep sharing knowledge. So what motivates her to keep at it? “First of all, if I cannot afford it, I do not need it. More importantly, I am always driven towards making life better for everyone. It is my calling.” She is quick to add that she often has a little money for basic needs; from stipends she gets from other volunteer work, her older sister, as well as small writing and training gigs. 

What colleagues say:

When she is not volunteering, Karen joins a dance group of young people, Storm Riders, whose focus she says is to impact the world through dance and the love of Christ. The group celebrated their 10 year anniversary last year with a theater dance production, in which Karen took a central choreography role.

Karen (left) on stage during a theater dance production Courtesy Photo

Michael Kaizire, a young man with whom Karen dances says that she approaches life with fierce hope and love. “Karen happens to have danced with us for about 7 years now and she is sort of our glue and sanity check. Her love and passion for young people is felt in every moment spent around her.” He adds that Karen’s creativity and hard work is an inspiration for all of them.

Esther Kalenzi, founder of the charity 40 days over 40 smiles, under which the Angaza Program runs describes Karen as, “a great blend of: headstrong, passionate, quirky, self-motivated and unapologetic.” She adds that Karen is a powerhouse who will always try different possible solutions before succumbing to the various curve balls that inevitably come her way – an aspect Kalenzi attributes to why she has comfortably taken a back seat and let Karen run the Angaza show for years.

Gloria Mbabazi is Angaza’s volunteer who has served as long as Karen has. How would Gloria describe her team leader? “Indefatigable.” She adds that when you watch Karen race from school to school, and see the results of that effort, it makes you believe in something. “We ought not fear for the children’s education because people like Karen still fight fiercely to protect it.”

On navigating the patriarchy:

Ihimbazwe is keen on defining who she is for herself. “I know that I am able to learn and accomplish as much as I set out to do,” she says.  But adds that even then, she finds that as a womxn, she is expected to constantly prove herself, which is exhausting. Nonetheless, she continues to push herself and other womxn to think beyond the boundaries within which they have been defined. “Often I find myself in spaces where I am the only womxn and wonder how many more out there with skills could have been there too.” Is there progression at all? Karen says that while she sees a shift, it is still disproportionate to the depth of the patriarchy. “Many womxn are still held in stereotypical bondage. Breaking that conditioning, I feel, is something that’s going to take a supernatural force.”

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A judge of the Writivism Literary Festival 2019 Prize

Kinna Likimani is on a mission to review the literary works of African womxn

Womxn by Womxn

Kinna Likimani is African literature royalty. The daughter of Ghanaian author Ama Ata Aidoo, she describes herself as a “voracious reader” and her wit and sharp insight shine through everything she touches. Besides working with a parliamentary monitoring organisation to assess the performance of MPs in Ghana, Kinna is the co-founder of a womxn’s group in her rural area and leads a social medial election project during election years, while also running a publishing house – Nsona Books. Her biggest digital footprint is on her blog on literature kinnareads.com, which hosts the African Reading Challenge and multiple reviews of African book titles. She is  a feminist and a Pan Africanist who believes in the freedom of black people and black womxn. I caught up with her when we both attended the Writivism Festival in Uganda. We talked about our love for books and reading, feminism, and the continent.

From what I have read, you have a background in Science. How did you make the jump from that to the things you do now?
My Bachelor’s degree is in Chemistry and I did my Masters in Public Health and Informatics. When I returned home to Ghana, I consulted with the Ministry of Health but there was a lot of corruption in the system. I also realised that there were other things I could do to contribute. With the work I do now, I am able to spend a lot more time thinking about the problems we have, and what the real issues are.

Many of us read but don’t document our reading. What inspired you to start documenting your reading journey on your blog?
I grew up in a literary household so I used to read a lot. When I finished college and was beginning my Masters, I lived in New York. I realised that the gap in my reading was that I was not reading enough translated fiction (works written in other languages and then translated to English). I’m the daughter of a writer so I had already read African, Carribean, etc literature. At that time, the internet had just started and people had rudimentary blogs. I would look up books, make a list, and then go to the second-hand store to get them. When I returned to Ghana, I realised people had started book blogs. I was fascinated, and so I decided to start blogging about African womxn writers, but also to use the blog as a way to keep track of my reading. When I had just begun , I found a whole lot of online reading blogs that were running interesting challenges. For example, read the world, where people read a story or book from each part of the world. It made it so much fun. That’s how I started the African reading challenge.

I think that those of us who review and critique books are an important part of the literature ecosystem. We need writers to know that we are reading their books and we like them.

What specifically draws you to African womxn writing?
As the daughter of an African womxn writer, it is my home – my physical home, but it is also my home of books. I am partial to such writing also because I am a feminist, and African womxn are the ones who are writing my stories. Part of why I like reading so much is it is also how I surround myself with ideas of freedom. The ideas of freedom that will most empower me are always going to come through the writings of African womxn.

I’ve heard some snobbery within writing and reading communities around the importance of nonfiction as more important than fiction. What are your thoughts about nonfiction and fiction?
First of all, on the continent, we are nowhere near writing enough in the first place. And so, I think that both of them are equally important.

It’s harder however for people to write nonfiction that is not academic non-fiction in Africa because we haven’t been exposed to the kind of creative nonfiction that is produced in the west, for example. The way in which we are introduced to books, which is usually in schools, privileges fiction. I haven’t heard of African schools that expose students to memoirs, personal essays, and that makes it much more difficult for them to write their own stories.

There is also an issue of sources. If we had a more established culture of literary nonfiction, more would be written because there would be books to reference. Take for example Ghana, – there has been a long riveting story involving warring families / clans, some of whom were even in the Military. It is not clear if any of this has been documented with meeting notes, pictures, etc. We have an issue with archiving and sources, and even when they exist, they remain inaccessible.

At the end of the day, it is all storytelling and even the writer of nonfiction has to reduce the facts into stories.

And so, we have to document,  then we have to let people know that: what has happened to you is worth telling.

What do you think gives you the most joy of all the things you do?
I am an only child and so my mother brings me a lot of joy.

Being a mother myself, my two kids bring me so much joy.

This continent brings me joy, but it also brings me anguish.

Being a feminist brings me joy, in particular because I am the daughter of a feminist who has seen my mother being at the margins. There is a lot of joy that comes from being able to say things that make people interrogate how they are living.

I am extremely happy when I am reading. I wish someone would pay me to read! When I think about regret, I think about all the books I haven’t read. Poetry, especially gives me a lot of pleasure.

Have you considered writing yourself?
I have started a collection of essays, some of it based on my childhood.

I’d be excited to read that.
Thank you!

Are you sentimental about hard copies as opposed to soft copies and other kinds of books?
I like the physical book. The only thing I read online are long form nonfiction. I can’t do audio books unless it’s the writer, but even then, I like to hear my own voice as I read.

What has been your favourite thing about Writivism so far?
I appreciate that it is young people doing this, that they are putting up the structures they need to. I hate when people talk of young people as the future because the future is never where we arrive at. We talk of Vision 2040 and when it arrives, we postpone to Vision 2090, etc.

I also love that it is a Pan African space with writers and readers from all over the continent: Kenya, Uganda, Ghana, South Africa, Cameroon, etc. These are not state sponsored things. There is a lot of these collectives springing up on the continent, especially within the arts, and it is comforting to see.

(This interview has been condensed for clarity)

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