by Nobert Oluoch Ndisio
You are a writer, aren’t you? Then you are in politics. You are a politician!” These were the words with which I recently responded to my friend when, over a cup of steaming coffee, he confessed to me that he could comfortably write on any subject under the sun but politics. My friend’s confession called to my mind echoes of Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s words in Writers in Politics, an anthology of essays. In a bid to justify his choice of title, Ngugi explains that literature cannot alienate itself from the class-power structures and struggles that shape the lives of the masses. He goes on to argue that a writer has no choice but to play the politics of his society. Further, Ngugi believes that whether a writer is aware of it or not, their works will reflect an aspect or two of the intense economic, political, cultural and ideological struggles in their society. According to Ngugi, the cardinal mistake a writer can ever make is to remain neutral in the face of the struggles his society is steeped in. The writer must throw in his lot with either side of the struggle: the masses or the social forces and classes that suppress and oppress the masses. To solidify his argument, Ngugi points out the common denominator between the poet and the politician. The two, he says, not only trade in words but are also created by the reality of the world in which they live. The poet and the politician have an interest in the same subject and object—human beings and human relations.
In Writers in Politics, Ngugi preserves memories of the African continent that once was—a continent in which there was a blurred distinction between the poet and the politician. Among other writers, he singles out Agostinho Neto as a distinguished poet and politician of his time. Neto, Ngugi says, used the gun, the pen and the literary platform to liberate Angola. Given Ngugi’s school of thought, the debate on whether or not a writer should be indifferent to the political talk and developments around him is closed. Shut. Sealed. The question that remains for the modern writer to answer is one: Whose politics does he want to play? A keen reading of Writers in Politics leaves little doubt, if any, with regard to Ngugi’s position on this matter. Ngugi’s heart is with the masses, the peasants and the downtrodden. The modern writer, in my view, should read Ngugi’s lips and take his cue.
In such times as ours when wanton corruption and misappropriation of public resources, unabated environmental degradation, nepotism and tribalism, among other vices, have been embraced as the new normal, what we need is a breed of writers that will ask tough questions to and of the political class. The writer must pose these questions through his works or by reclaiming his place at the national discourse table, or by doing both. As Ngugi says, even if the writer opts to feign political ignorance and consequently fails to see himself as an active political activist in his private life or through his literary output, he will still find himself sucked in the hot political struggles of the day. To drive his point home, Ngugi gives the example of Christopher Okigbo and his fate. Despite his declaration that he wrote his poems strictly for poets and that he would rather have lived a full life than write, Okigbo got caught up in the Biafran secessionist cause in the course of which he lost his life.
I agree that we live in a society that has undergone a lot of metamorphoses. Ours is a society in which the democratic space has been expanded to extents that beat many an imagination. The contemporary society is one in which the masses are so intellectually, socially, economically and politically empowered that few need anyone to hold their brief. Needless to say, today many people have become so complacent that all they ever wish for is a quiet life. They do not want to dabble in politics because it will soil their hands. They are persuaded that our political system has morphed into something else. And they will bore you up with long ‘sermons’ on how they are disinterested in politics. They will tell you that politics has become as emotive as it is divisive.
Be that as it may, literary practitioners should not exclude themselves from the socio-political battlefield. They have to revive the relationship between writing and politics. The writer must reconnect with the market women and peasant farmers and flick their socio-economic and political questions to the right ears. Like Selina, she of Peter Abraham’s A Wreath for Udomo, the modern market woman has got political vision and aspirations that can only be voiced by the modern writer. As Ngugi argues, the writer is human, a product of history, time and place. His responsibility, therefore, is to churn out literary works that reflect his society—its economic structure, class formation, conflicts and contradictions, class power, cultural and political struggles. Writers of the old day did well in bridging the gap between writing and politics. Such names as Chinua Achebe, Cyprian Ekwensi, Francis Imbuga, Peter Abrahams and Ngugi wa Thiong’o will forever remain engraved in the memories of the African masses thanks to their contribution to the illumination of the plight of the people.
Ndisio is a freelance writer and publishing editor.
Write to editor@nairobibookshelf.com.
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