Blog 4 - Whither Freedom

Jomo Kenyatta, the first Prime Minister of Kenya, indulges in an indictment of the close-mindedness through which colonial institutions view practices that are native to parts of Africa – in this case the custom of clitoridectomy as carried out by his people, the Gikuyu. Kenyatta embarks on a defense of the practice, as he attempts to shed light on how this tradition is woven into the social fabric of his community. To disprove of his ardent defense of what now appears to us to be a cruel practice is not simple, as any understanding of the issue must be viewed through multiple praxes – including the anti-colonial and feminist lenses. It is also inherently tied to the questions that set the tone for the entirety of the decolonial discourse – what it really means to be free, and to whom that freedom has been granted, as we consider the perspectives of the women that Kenyatta discusses.

The text does not paint Kenyatta in a positive light. It true that he is opposed to the colonial attempt to strip his people of the culture and traditions that defined their way of life for generations – the attempt to strip his community of its very essence. However, it is when he argues that the entire history and culture of the Gikuyu people is enshrined in this one act carried out on the bodies of young women that he becomes questionable. It is after all, worth noting that Kenyatta is a man, who has benefitted from Western education and exposure. It would not be a stretch to claim that his desperation to hold on to the remnants of African, or Gikuyu culture is misplaced and indeed inappropriate given his lack of connection to the people he speaks of. There are no accounts shared by indigenous women who have undergone the practice, or indeed no other testimonials of the sheer importance of the custom by anyone other than himself, who is so consumed by his passion to drive out the colonialists that he may well testify in favour of all parts of his culture. It is only natural that in the face of external threats against their way of life people tend to hold on tighter and attach greater importance to that which is familiar to them.

In his preface, Kenyatta speaks of ‘African freedom’ and yet it is undeniable that ‘African’ does not constitute all Africans. Freedom was attained across the decolonizing world by those of a certain class and those of specific ethnicities, and perhaps most importantly it was attained by men. It is said that national honour is written on the bodies of women, and this could not be truer when applied to this particular context. In India, colonialists saw the practice of sati as just another piece of evidence that confirmed the primitiveness, the sheer barbarity of the native Indian people. In response, Indian men clutched onto the practice in defiance of the white man. This conflict produced no victors but it cannot be denied that the ones who suffered at the hands of competing masculinities were women. Their voice was not acknowledged. If they were grateful for ‘being saved’ by the white man then they had betrayed their peoples, whereas supporting the practices would mean that they were just as barbaric and therefore in need of civilization.

A question that arises in such discourses is that of agency and choice. It is often said (by those who would likely be in firm agreement with Kenyatta) that perhaps native women are not opposed to such practices. They are a part of these societies and they understand the importance of such customs. It is only when they are entrenched with Western values brought upon by the cultural domination of the imperial powers that they begin to desire freedom from them – an appropriate example of this being the veil. It is true that the influence of colonialism cannot be understated – perhaps today we find such practices barbaric for that very reason. However, it is also of importance to note that even if we accept this position, it must be acknowledged that indigenous women are not raised in a vacuum – they are also socialized through a particular set of institutions that deliver certain norms and values. A girl child raised in the Gikuyu tribe will very likely look forward to clitoridectomy – she has been groomed for it since young. In the face of such conditioning there is no doubt that she will see little wrong with the practice. She is socially conditioned by either white men or brown men. Ultimately, however, there is a grave danger in this assertion that women have no agency of their own and are completely at the behest of groups of men all with their own agendas. In the words of Chandra Mohanty, “women are defined consistently as the victims of male control” – they are powerless and oppressed, as a homogeneous entity and all the time.

At the end, we are left with more questions than answers. What does it mean to be free? Is someone truly free even if they believe they are? Who defines the terms of freedom? Perhaps what can shed more light on the matter is more perspectives by the very women who are so frequently discussed and yet rarely through their own voice.