Pan African Visions

Silenced in Broad Daylight: The High Cost of Dissent in Tanzania’s New Era of Fear

June 22, 2025

By Adonis Byemelwa

These aren't just crackdowns—they're warnings: art is evidence, speech is subversion, and questions are death. Photo courtesy

In the quiet town of Maji ya Chai, nestled in Arumeru District of Arusha, the calm was shattered yesterday, 20th June, 2025 when two young creatives—Joseph Mrindoko and Jackson Kabalo, known as the duo "Wachokonozi"—were reportedly seized from their home in what appeared to be a covert abduction.

The men who came for them weren’t in uniform. Dressed in civilian clothes, armed with guns, and arriving in a Land Cruiser, they claimed to be police officers. But when asked to prove it, they refused.

The two artists were forced to the ground. Their home was ransacked without a search warrant, without community witnesses, and with absolute disregard for legal procedure. No explanation. No identification. Cameras, laptops, microphones, and recording gear—tools of their trade—were confiscated. Then came the handcuffs. Then the disappearance.

Neighbors begged for answers. “Which station are you taking them to?” they asked. Silence. Then, the vehicle sped away. When family members rushed to Maji ya Chai Police Station, the response was chilling: they weren’t there. As of now, no one knows where Joseph and Jackson are being held—or why.

This is not a one-off. It’s part of a deepening pattern. Just days earlier, Janeth Rithe, National Chair of the Women’s Wing of ACT Wazalendo, addressed a rally in Ubungo. It was fiery. It was unapologetic. It was legal, constitutionally protected free speech. But now, she too is in police custody.

Rithe dared to question President Samia Suluhu Hassan’s leadership. She highlighted economic struggles, the erosion of electoral integrity since 2020, and asked the bold question: Are Tanzanians ready to extend Samia’s reign to what would amount to a 15-year rule?

 She didn’t mince her words. She accused the ruling party of manipulating women with polished slogans and expensive clothes, masking the everyday suffering of millions. Then she said what many whisper: “The President looks lost. Disconnected. Confused.”

Within 48 hours, the police had come for her, too. By the time of this writing, she had been held and interrogated for over three hours, without charge. Her arrest wasn’t announced in a press release. It wasn’t transparent. It was forceful, sudden, and politically charged.

These are not isolated crackdowns—they are warning shots. Art is now evidence. Speech is now subversion. Humor, critique, or asking questions is now a threat to the state.

And yet, this is all happening under a government that proclaims reform, democracy, and gender empowerment. What we are witnessing is a chilling contradiction: behind the polished veneer of progress is a tightening grip on expression.

The message is clear—dissent will be punished, sometimes without a trace. The Tanzanian Constitution guarantees freedom of expression. But in today’s climate, citing the Constitution may be the very thing that lands you in handcuffs. We are entering an era where legal protection is not only meaningless—it may even be dangerous to invoke.

So, where do we go from here? For starters, the legal community cannot afford to sit idle. Institutions like the Tanganyika Law Society (TLS) must not only speak—they must act aggressively, boldly, and with solidarity.

Civil society must keep its eyes wide open and not allow intimidation to become the new norm. Every disappearance, every illegal search, every silencing must be documented, broadcast, and resisted.

To the international community: what’s happening in Tanzania is a slow-boil crisis. It lacks the gunfire and rubble of war, but it has all the hallmarks of a democracy in retreat. The journalists, the artists, the politicians, the activists—they are not criminals. They are canaries in the coal mine.

This isn’t just a crackdown on individuals—it’s an assault on truth, on dissent, and on the very soul of Tanzanian democracy. It’s unfolding openly, brazenly, in broad daylight—without shame, and without apology.

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