King Kaka’s song confirms Kenyans’ love for protest art

A few weeks ago, Kennedy Ombima, alias King Kaka, released a new song that instantly became the talk of town.

This song aroused quite a hullabaloo, thanks to its hard-hitting lyrics. A public relations expert will agree that with this song, the artiste scored more than one classic goal.

A keen observer, on the other hand, will certainly hail this composition as a confirmation that Kenyans prefer protest art to court poetry.

The song bears all the characteristics of protest music. In street parlance, protest music is any musical composition that speaks truth to power.

In his article, "Protest Music in Kenya: Why the Deafening Silence?" cultural activist Obyero Odhiambo defines speaking the truth to power as a non-violent political tactic employed by dissidents against the government they consider oppressive or authoritarian.

He clarifies that speaking truth to power through music has the benefit of educating, informing and mobilising the masses through popular entertainment.

He however observes that the potency of protest music lies in its ability to mutate into a popular contemporary culture and outpace its creator.

ETHNIC FAN BASE

A glance at the history of protest music shows that King Kaka is not the first one of his kind.

In the Kenyan context, Abdilatif Abdulla’s 1969 treatise "Kenya: Twendapi (Kenya: Where are we headed?)" sits at the coveted position of the first piece of protest music.

Courtesy of his creativity, Abdulla consequently became the first political detainee in post-independence Kenya.

Many artistes, nevertheless, took cue from him and in the subsequent years, names such as Ishmael Ng’ang’a of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA), Gathaithi, George Ramogi, Joseph Kamaru, Osumba Rateng’ and Daniel Owino Misiani popped up.

Kamaru and Misiani, particularly, had strong ethnic fan bases that translated into vibrant markets for their music even when such works had been condemned by the government of the day.

These two protest music maestros were, therefore, able to insulate themselves against state capture.

Later on in the late 1980s and early 1990s, angry urban youth warmed up to hip hop, a Western genre of music, and clothed it in Sheng.

REPRESENTING THE MAJORITY

Protest music then became the only channel through which they could vent their frustration in the face of deprivation, exclusion from the normal rhythm of urban life, voicelessness, violence and insecurity that characterised slum life.

Kalamashaka, the most prominent hip hop group of this age, packaged its renditions in Sheng and infused politics in their lyrics.

In their songs, they lamented over infrastructural collapse, ethnic tension, police brutality and extrajudicial killings, social strife and economic depression, which were the highlights of their ghetto experience.

It is to these beginnings that the present day protest music traces its roots.

The thematic concerns to which such artistes as Erick Wainaina, Juliani, King Kaka and Iddi Achieng, among others, submit their artistry are the same as those that their counterparts of yesteryears addressed in their music.

Protest music serves the true purpose of art and literature. It offers a generation an aesthetic way of expressing its emotions, values, concerns and lessons.

NOTABLE PIONEERS

In fact, literature has since the beginning of time revolved around protest.

Majority of the works of pre- and post-independence African bookmen were protests against colonisation, alien cultures, neo-colonialism, corruption, unemployment, state wastage and opulence, abortion of justice, assassinations and over-taxation, among other concerns.

The employment of poetry by Senegalese poet, politician and cultural theorist Leopold Sedar Senghor, in cultivating and raising black consciousness is a perfect example of protest literature.

Then there is Henry Barlow, the poet who registers his protest against corruption through his poem, "I Refuse to Take Your Brotherly Hand".

Lastly, Agostinho Neto, a distinguished poet and politician of his time, used militancy, the pen and the platform to liberate Angola.

There are a few useful take-home deductions that bookmen and musicians can make from Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s anthology of essays, Writers in Politics.

In a bid to justify his choice of title for the book, Ngugi explains that literature cannot alienate itself from the class power structures that shape the lives of the masses.

He goes on to opine that a writer has no choice. And that whether a writer is aware of it or not, their works will reflect an aspect or two of the intense economic, political, cultural and ideological struggles in their society.

FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION

According to Ngugi, the cardinal mistake a writer can ever make is to remain neutral in the face of the struggles that the society in which he lives is steeped.

The writer must throw in his lot with either side of the struggle — the masses or that of the social forces and classes that suppress and oppress them.

Ngugi’s argument holds as much truth for writers as it does for musicians. Both the writer and the musician not only trade in words but are also created by the reality of the world in which they live.

Besides, the writer and the musician have interest in the same subject and object — human beings and human relations.

In the spirit of the 2010 Constitution, protest music should not be condemned. Artistes should be allowed to entertain their fans, even as they ask critical questions to the political class.

Even though the songs may be pinpricks to the establishment, they will awaken the citizens’ consciousness in regard to the need for them to keep the government accountable.

And yes, when all is said and done, it is the protest artiste, and not court poet, who will always occupy a special place in the hearts of the masses.

The writer is an editor at a publishing house in Nairobi.