‘Echoes of war’:State guillotine to silence Butere art

In a chilling testament to the State’s increasing discomfort with artistic expression, Butere Girls High School has found itself at the center of a storm after their bold decision to stage “Echoes of War”—a politically charged play authored by Cleophas Malala, former Senator and erstwhile ally of President  Ruto.
The students, barely old enough to vote, are now facing the full force of a State machinery that appears more interested in crushing dissent than fostering critical thought.
The play, which was scheduled to be performed at this year’s Kenya National Drama and Film Festival (KNDFF), explores the deep scars of political betrayal, bad governance, and war-time trauma in a fictional African state. But it is the uncomfortable parallels with Kenya’s present-day governance that have ruffled feathers in high places.
“This is not just a play; it is a dangerous narrative that undermines State authority and can incite public unrest,” said a senior official from the Ministry of Education who requested anonymity for fear of backlash.
“We cannot allow schools to become breeding grounds for political activism disguised as art.”
According to insiders, the directive to bar Echoes of War came from “above”—a euphemism in Kenyan political circles for orders directly from the Executive Office. Reports indicate that regional education officers were instructed to disqualify the play from advancing beyond the county level, despite overwhelming praise from judges and audiences.
Students at Butere Girls, who had poured their hearts into rehearsals for months, are devastated.
“We wanted to challenge ourselves artistically and tell a powerful story. We never thought it would become a political issue,” said a Form Four student who asked to remain unnamed. “Now, we feel punished for speaking truth in a creative way.”
Another student added, “They told us the play was ‘too sensitive.’ But what is art for, if not to ask difficult questions?”
The script—leaked by a teacher and now circulating widely on social media—contains scathing critiques of corrupt leadership, political betrayal, and state-sponsored violence. One particularly striking monologue has a character exclaiming, “We kill truth with policy, bury dreams under budgets, and still ask why the children rage.”
That line, insiders say, may have been the last straw.
Cleophas Malala, the playwright and former Senate Majority Whip, is no stranger to political controversy. Once a vocal supporter of President Ruto, he has since retreated from the limelight.
Reacting to the suppression of his play, Malala posted on X (formerly Twitter):
“When art becomes a threat to power, the problem is not the script—it’s the regime.”
The public reaction has been swift and loud.
“I never thought I’d see the day when schoolchildren would be censored for performing a play,” said Mercy Achieng, a parent and local theatre enthusiast. “It’s not just sad—it’s dangerous. We are teaching our children that truth must be approved before it can be spoken.”
Activists and artists have condemned the move as a direct assault on freedom of expression, protected under Article 33 of the Constitution.
“The State wants art that flatters it, not art that exposes its flaws,” said Sanaa Mwakisha, a veteran theatre director. “But history has shown us that art suppressed is art amplified. What they’re doing is making this play more popular than it ever would’ve been.”
Even teachers are privately questioning the State’s heavy-handedness.
“We encourage our students to think critically, to question the world. But when they do, we are told to shut them down,” said a drama teacher from Western Kenya. “It’s contradictory and demoralizing.”
Education Cabinet Secretary Julius Ogamba has yet to comment directly on the issue, though a circular from his ministry warned against “politically provocative content” in school plays. Critics see this as a euphemism for censorship.
Ironically, the play was initially praised in county competitions for its originality, performance depth, and bold messaging. Judges had lauded Butere Girls for “setting a new bar for political theatre in school festivals.” All that changed when the play started trending online, sparking debate over whether it mirrored Kenya’s fragile socio-political fabric.
“It’s poetic justice,” said Onyango Oloo, a Nairobi-based political analyst. “The very rot the play sought to highlight is now choking it. That’s not fiction—that’s Kenya.”
Students have since been directed to stage a new, State-approved script. But morale remains low.
“We feel censored, betrayed,” said one of the lead actors. “The new play is bland. Safe. It doesn’t mean anything.”
As the country barrels toward the next election cycle, this incident serves as a grim reminder of how the State reacts when art starts telling uncomfortable truths. The fear is no longer just about what students say on stage—it’s about what they learn from being silenced.
Because when young girls in school uniforms become the target of State censure, the war is no longer on stage—it is very much alive in real life.