Humour and silence are symptoms of collective trauma

We all know a thing or two about trauma, the intense emotional and sometimes physical pain that accompanies a tragic event like the loss of a loved one or a debilitating illness.

However, even though we fail to acknowledge it, the whole country is dealing with collective trauma caused by events perpetuated by current state of governance.

You can see this in a fatalism that is expressed in one, humour even in circumstances that does not warrant laughter and two, in silence against issues that would attract class actions in other countries.

The language of reaction can have religious undertones such as “Bora Uhai” (It is better to have life) or “God knows” or “accept and move on”.

RISKY FOOD
I saw a picture on Twitter captioned “Listening to heavy metal” in which a man was holding two packets of sugar to his ears, referencing to the alleged contamination of sugar with lead and mercury.

Expectedly, those who commented on the photo responded with LOL (Laughing out Loud).

Under normal circumstances, the allegations of lead in food would not be a laughing matter.

Then there is silence. Women are harassed by touts in public service vehicles, sometimes pushed out of a moving vehicle, and the other passengers would be quiet on their phones or recording the incident.

So, why is there no uproar on other issues that have cost hundreds of lives?

SPEAK OUT

Will Kenyans put their government to task to investigate claims of mistreatment of Kenyans by the Chinese working for the Standard Gauge Railway?

Will we refuse to accept that public healthcare is collapsing, yet we are one of the most taxed people in the continent? This is how we got here.

Governance was introduced to Kenyans in a violent way.

In her book, Unbowed, Prof Wangari Maathai recounts the horrors that Kenyans went through and how certain communities are still grappling with those effects to date.

She talks about the anguish her grandparents were dealing with because her uncle Thumbi left home and never came back.

Social structures that brought stability for Kenyans were rearranged that time, with tragic consequences on the human psyche.

WAGE BILL
When we became independent, our governments perfected the torture that the colonial masters started, but most importantly, it made sure we did not have the mental, economic and physical capacity to protest what was happening to us.

Picture this. The cost of living is up as we support a public wage bill that is giving Germany a run for its money.

Also, a lot of the tax that you are paying is mismanaged in all these mega scandals whose media umbrage has never yielded a single result.

You need to pay the taxes, and so you work very hard.

You deal with county askaris, who will want the Sh20 that you have or destroy your grocery stall that you asked for a loan to own.

HEALTHCARE

While at work, after paying garbage fee (litter that is never collected), you get word that your child has been knocked down by a car because the road close to his school has not footbridge.

In Kenya, roads are created for cars, and if you do not drive, there is no need for a path for you because even though you who has no car are the majority in the city, you have no economic value.

Your child is in Kenyatta National Hospital, and the National Health Insurance Fund, to which you have been paying Sh500 every month, says they cannot process the payment for your child’s treatment because you skipped remittances for three months, or the cap for your kind of premium has been depleted.

On your way home, you hear over the radio that 40 people have had an accident in Salgaa, including an entire family.

The government has also issued a statement blaming the dead people for travelling at night.

CORRUPTION

As you are still wrapping your head around it, you hear all the people accused of the latest corruption scandal have been set free but your neighbour who skinned cats for meat has been handed two years in jail.

When you get home, you see Boniface Mwangi calling on all to go to Parliament and protest, but you really do not have the energy for this, desperately as you may want to.

This is the story of every Kenyan. We are never given rest from recovering from the shock of the pains that out fellow Kenyans go through. How can we heal?

In social practise, a dual emphasis would have been made on telling the truth to acknowledge atrocities, where Kenyans would recover the effects of what has and is happening to them in collective consciousness.

DEATH
We all need to listen to what the mothers who lost their children in Garissa or Huruma building say about how much they miss them and how life has never been the same since their loved ones died.

We need to give each one of us a public voice to recall the anguish corruption and mismanagement of public institutions has brought on our personal lives: Men whose pregnant wives died seeking care during the strike; parents whose sons have been shot by the police for protesting in the university; the men whose entire livelihoods have been taken from them by road crashes.

The government has not only committed these violent physical, social and economic abuses on us but has also exhibited dedication to denying them.

It has even sought to erase the representation of these events through censorship and further violence.

Verah is a global Health reporter at the Daily Nation and a Global Media and Communication postgraduate student at the London School of Economics and political science. [email protected]