When Witnessing Becomes a Crime: Inside Tanzania’s Airport Showdown Drama Unfolds

By Adonis Byemelwa

Tensions are rising across East Africa, not with the clang of weapons or the roar of protests, but with silence, with unanswered questions, with the quiet unease that follows when neighbors look askance at each other.

This time, the spark was lit at Julius Nyerere International Airport, where six prominent Kenyan activists, including former Chief Justice Dr. Willy Mutunga and senior counsel Martha Karua, were detained and deported in separate incidents. Their destination? Not a vacation or a diplomatic mission, but a courtroom in Dar es Salaam where opposition figure Tundu Lissu was scheduled to face treason charges.

The deportations have drawn sharp responses and created a standoff that reaches beyond mere border politics. While some voices, especially from within Tanzania's political circles, defend the government’s actions as a matter of sovereignty and national order, others across the East African region see this as a dangerous detour from the principles of unity, cooperation, and fundamental human rights.

"We must protect our peace," said Ludovick Joseph, Secretary of CCM-Wazazi in Tanzania’s Bahi District. His voice echoed the sentiment shared by many supporters of President Samia Suluhu Hassan. "There are lines we cannot allow to be crossed. Let them stay in their countries and solve their chaos."

On the other side of the border, however, the tone is far less forgiving. Boniface Mwangi, one of the deported activists, has broken his silence in a harrowing recount of the ordeal.

In a voice raw with disbelief and pain, he described being stripped, beaten, and blindfolded alongside Ugandan journalist Agather Atuhaire.

 "We were told to crawl to the shower, bleeding, humiliated. The floor was cold and gritty. I couldn't see Agather, but I heard her cry out in pain as they barked orders."

Mwangi’s description of a man he claims ordered the abuse, a figure with a sagging potbelly and a black suit, allegedly from Tanzanian state security, has cast a long shadow over what should have been an ordinary act of regional solidarity.

Their mission had been simple: witness and observe, offer moral support. Lissu's trial had the potential to set a significant precedent, and the presence of observers from neighboring countries is a customary part of ensuring a fair legal process in politically sensitive cases. But their arrival was met not with visas and stamps, but with suspicion, handcuffs, and eventual deportation.

The East African Law Society (EALS), deeply alarmed, swiftly condemned the deportations. Ramadhan Abubakar, president of the regional bar association, did not mince words. "This shameful act is a blatant violation of the Treaty for the Establishment of the East African Community. We cannot allow arbitrary detention and expulsion to stand."

He pointed to a previous ruling by the East African Court of Justice in the case of Samuel Mukira Mohochi v. The Attorney General of Uganda, where the court declared that even under sovereignty, partner states are bound to adhere to community laws that protect free movement and civil liberties. The legal precedent is clear, but the political reality is murkier.

President Samia Suluhu has since offered a stark rebuke to foreign critics. "They have already created chaos in their own country. Let them not come here to meddle," she said during a recent public address.

Her comments resonate with a growing nationalist undercurrent, a desire to preserve order at home even if it means distancing Tanzania from certain EAC obligations.

But that same desire has stirred anxiety. Simon Simba, a Tanzanian youth leader who once supported CCM but now considers himself an independent thinker, voiced unease: "There is a fine line between keeping peace and silencing dissent. If we begin to treat observers as enemies, we risk becoming the very thing we once condemned."

For many East Africans, this incident has peeled back the curtain on a deeper problem—the fragility of regional integration. The promise of the EAC has always been rooted in shared progress, a dream of porous borders for people, goods, and ideas. But when legal professionals and civil society leaders are turned away or worse, tortured, that dream seems far more elusive.

Kenyan lawyer Gloria Kimani, who was among those deported, shared a sobering reflection after returning to Nairobi. "I went to witness a trial, not to stir unrest. But in those few hours, I felt like a criminal for simply showing up. It was a reminder that we are not as united as we think."

Uganda's Agather Atuhaire, now recovering from the incident, questioned the silence from certain regional leaders. "If this had happened to an EU diplomat in Paris or Berlin, there would be outrage. But here, silence. Do our lives not matter as much?"

Indeed, the silence from some quarters has been deafening, though not all have looked away. The Uganda Law Society, Rwanda Bar Association, and others have rallied in support of EALS’ forthcoming legal action. The petition to the East African Court of Justice is being prepared, a signal that legal accountability may yet play a role in resolving the crisis.

Still, for those who endured the ordeal, justice feels far off. "There are bruises you see and those you don't," Mwangi said in a recent interview. "What they did to us, the blindfolding, the threats—those will stay longer than the physical pain."

In Dar es Salaam, the courtroom proceedings against Tundu Lissu continue, overshadowed now by this diplomatic and ethical quagmire. The opposition leader, known for his fiery rhetoric and resilience after surviving an assassination attempt in 2017, has not commented directly on the deportations. But his supporters see the incident as part of a larger effort to stifle dissent and curtail transparency.

In quieter circles, some Tanzanians have begun asking hard questions. A university student in Arusha, who asked not to be named, shared this: "We have always prided ourselves on peace. But maybe it’s time we asked what kind of peace. Peace those silences? Or peace that welcomes scrutiny and strives to be better?"

And therein lies the core of this standoff. It's not just about visas denied or courtrooms guarded. It's about the soul of East Africa. Can unity withstand political differences? Can human rights be more than slogans at summits? Can peace exist without openness?

As the EALS prepares for a legal challenge and the regional conversation grows louder, the answer may come not just from presidents or judges, but from the people themselves.

From those like Boniface and Agather, who risked comfort to stand for a principle. From those like Simon, who question even as they hope. And from those, across the region, who know that justice isn't about where you're from, but what you believe everyone deserves.

The standoff at the airport was more than a political misstep. It was a mirror, held up to an East African community at a crossroads. What it reflects—and what we choose to see—will shape the path forward.