Mashujaa Day: Kenyans have forgotten what heroism looks like

The piece questions whether Mashujaa Day still honours Kenya’s true heroes or celebrates wealth and power. [PCS]

Now in his 80s, my friend Duncan Mindo, Kenya’s first African State Counsel and one of the legal minds behind Kenyatta’s administration in the 1960s, spent Mashujaa Day quietly at his home in Othaya, Nyeri.

The man who mentored many of Kenya’s top legal minds, including former Chief Justice David Maraga, had little reason to celebrate a day ostensibly dedicated to Kenya’s heroes and heroines.

This is not surprising, seeing that we no longer seem sure who our heroes are, what makes them heroes, or why we honour them.

Do we?

It is a fair question. A good number of men and women on our list of shujaas make you wonder at what point Kenyan edited the definition of a national hero or heroine, because if true national heroes and heroines were to be defined by the sweat and blood shed for this country, most of those we regard as mashujaa would not feature anywhere on the list.

After spending millions of shillings on yet another national circus this week, perhaps it is time to ask an uncomfortable question: Are we still celebrating our true heroes and heroines, or has Mashujaa Day become another national day of flaunting wealth, power and political loyalty?

Some people say that Kenyatta Day, which was renamed Mashujaa Day, was itself a fraud: A day initially set aside to celebrate our Mau Mau heroes and heroines but reduced to celebrating one man for years.

But little has changed in the form and content of the day itself. As my grandmother—bless her soul—a Mau Mau veteran herself, used to say, the homeguards who fought against Kenya’s independence are now the ones presiding over ceremonies honouring men and women who have since died in poverty, disease and ignorance—the very conditions they fought so hard to drive out of this country.

The podium of the average Mashujaa Day ceremony in this country still looks like a crime scene.

Still, the definition of a hero or heroine is a personal thing, and the word shujaa means different things to different people. It could refer to any one of the millions of Kenyans out there struggling to put food on the table, put a child through school, or take care of a terminally ill relative.

Perhaps the problem is not a shortage of heroes and heroines, but a system that has forgotten what heroism means.

Still, until we are honest enough to define our real mashujaa, perhaps we should consider discarding this national holiday for what it has become: A waste of national resources and a perpetuation of a national lie.

Alternatively, we could rename the day and call it what it is: A day to celebrate wealth and power; a day when 10 million Kenyans celebrated 10 millionaires in the 1960s, but which is now slightly better because 57 million Kenyans celebrate 57 millionaires, including nefarious fellows who have perfected the art of converting air into money.

Perhaps we need to rewrite large sections of Kenya’s history, which some historians might argue is already a big lie when it comes to identifying the true heroes and heroines of this country. Perhaps we even need to move from history to 'herstory' to recognise the fact that our list of national heroes and heroines is still too heavily bearded, and that we need a history that tells the real story of this country and recognises more women whose contributions are still largely overlooked.

Or maybe we need to craft a book of national definitions in this country and remove money, power and politics from our definition of national heroes—stuff that, if stripped from a good number of characters widely regarded as mashujaa, would be like stripping peacocks of their deceiving plumes.

Pluck away the wealth and power, and a good number of the fellows we regard as national heroes and heroines today would be revealed for what they are: Masqueraders, fraudsters and chicken thieves.

Perhaps we need this national plucking of feathers, if only to stop confusing our young people, who desperately seek genuine heroes and heroines, and whom we now force to honour fellows with the morals of alley cats.

Mr Muchiri is a media and public communications consultant. [e-mail]