When the curtain rose at the 63rd edition of the Kenya National Drama and Music Festival in Nakuru, the audience witnessed more than just a student performance — they saw a nation grappling with its own conscience. Butere Girls High School’s Echoes of War was nearly silenced. What played out behind the scenes was a stunning indictment of cowardice, censorship, and institutional failure.
Set in a fictional African country, Echoes of War is a bold critique of elite impunity, economic betrayal, and youth disillusionment. It offers a mirror to those in power. And the state, confronted by its own reflection, chose to smash the mirror rather than heed the message.
Forgotten in this eye of the storm is Carol Okumu, the school’s long-serving drama teacher and a University of Nairobi alumna. Okumu is daughter to long serving educationists Petronila and Andrew Okumu. Andrew Okumu was the first African principal of St Peters High School in Mumias and a honcho at the Kenya National Examinations Council. He currently is the vice-chairman of the Luhya Council of Elders. Teacher Okumu has stood tall, defending artistic and professional integrity and the right of her students to speak truth to power.
But as Okumu fights to protect her profession and her students, she has shockingly been thrown under the bus by the very leadership entrusted with their welfare. The school principal, Jenipher Omondi, had the spineless temerity to write her a ‘Show Cause letter’.
Kenya’s constitution is unequivocal. Article 33 guarantees freedom of expression, while Article 10 demands adherence to national values: integrity, participation, and inclusivity. Yet, the Ministry of Education stood by in silence, offering no protection, no guidance and no public
reassurance. The Cabinet Secretary, tasked with safeguarding the educational environment, failed to lead. When art was under attack, he chose the safety of silence over the courage of principle. When he eventually spoke, it was an embarrassment.
The Kenya Schools Drama Festival Committee — ever-vigilant guardians of the creative Arts — watched the chaos spiral with the calm detachment of spectators at a slow-motion train wreck. Not a finger lifted, not a voice raised. Their noble silence in the face of utter disintegration was less legendary. They didn’t just drop the ball — they kicked it into the abyss, lit a bonfire, and toasted to it. Imagine adjudicating a school play at 6 am in pitch darkness, with no director, no props, no audience. Bravo! Shakespeare himself would rise from the grave just to weep. Indeed, the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.
It took the wisdom and courage of Justice Fridah Okwany to restore a sense of sanity. In her ruling, she called out the illegality of the girls’ suspension and affirmed their right to perform. She reminded the country that constitutional freedoms are not conditional on the comfort of the powerful. Justice Okwany did more than interpret the law — she modelled leadership. Her decision was a resounding declaration that state power must not be used to muzzle expression, especially that of the young. It was a landmark ruling, a bright light in a moment of darkness, and a reminder that courts can still be the last refuge for the voiceless.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau once argued that a republic must be guided by the general will of its people. Echoes of War captured that will. The girls were not merely acting — they were articulating the pain and frustration of a generation. What they said through drama, millions of youth say in whispers and in digital spaces: the system is broken, and the future is uncertain.
Instead of reflection, the state chose repression. Instead of engagement, it chose exile. And in doing so, it exposed its own fragility. A government that sees danger in student theatre is one teetering on insecurity.
Echoes of Warwas finally staged. The girls performed. The audience rose in applause. But the scars remain. A country that punishes children for political discomfort is not defending dignity — it is suppressing democracy.
This moment demands reckoning. The principal must be held accountable for abandoning her students and teachers. The ministry must answer for its dereliction. The Drama Festival Committee must be reformed. And the state must remember: a republic is not endangered by criticism — it is strengthened by it.
Kenya must choose: will we be a nation that listens to its children or one that silences them? The future will be written not by those who fear questions, but by those brave enough to ask them. So let the girls speak. Let the Carol Okumus of this nation thrive. Let the arts live. Because when the girls speak, the republic listens.
Edwin Wanjawa teaches Globalisation and International Development at Pwani University and is a Programmes Associate at DTM, a Media CSO. [email protected]
