Drama has long been a powerful societal mirror. From its ancient roots, it has served not only as a form of entertainment but as a vehicle for reflection, moral inquiry, and constructive critique.

It need not be adversarial to power, but it has always been concerned with responsibility—both of the rulers and the ruled. This Easter season, as Christians reflect on themes of truth, sacrifice, and hope, it is worth contemplating how drama continues to speak across the ages, echoing timeless questions about justice, conscience, and courage.

Let us begin where drama as public discourse truly found its voice—in ancient Greece. In 441 BCE, Sophocles wrote Antigone, a play that has endured for over two millennia. It tells the story of a woman who chooses to obey divine law rather than a royal decree. Antigone buries her brother, despite King Creon’s prohibition, setting up a profound conflict between moral conscience and state authority. Her dilemma remains relevant today.

During Easter, Christians may recall a similar moral assertion in the book of Acts 5:29, where Peter and the apostles respond to official censure with the words: “We must obey God rather than human beings.” These are not calls for chaos, but reminders of the enduring tension between ethics and authority.

Growing inequality

More than a thousand years later, in 1606, William Shakespeare penned Macbeth, a cautionary tale about ambition, power, and its corrupting potential. A few years earlier, in Julius Caesar, he examined betrayal, mob psychology, and the cost of leadership in a political world. Shakespeare performed for monarchs, yet his works subtly encouraged reflection about their rule. His drama neither incited revolt nor bred contempt—it provoked thought.

Centuries later, as nations in Africa emerged from colonial rule, drama became a voice for a new era. In Kenya, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and Ngugi wa Mirii’s 1977 play Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want), performed at Kamirithu, stirred national attention.

The play, performed in Kikuyu, spotlighted social inequality and post-independence disillusionment. The response was swift and severe: the theatre was demolished, and the writers detained. Yet the play’s message was not one of rebellion, but of awakening—a creative engagement with the realities of the day. As John 8:32 reminds us: “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

In the classrooms of the 1980s and 1990s, Kenyan students encountered George Orwell’s Animal Farm—a novella written in 1945 to satirise the corruption of revolutionary ideals. Translated as Shamba la Wanyama, it gained new meaning in the Kenyan context, especially during the one-party era. Orwell’s famous line, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,” resonated deeply with a generation witnessing growing inequality and limited political space.

Around the same time, Russian playwright Nikolai Gogol’s 1836 satire The Government Inspector found relevance in Kenya’s civil service culture. The play, in which corrupt local officials scramble to conceal their misdeeds upon hearing that an inspector is coming, paralleled the nervous reactions of public officials during surprise visits from Nairobi- a phenomenon still familiar today, captured in the phrase “Mdosi/Mkubwa anakuja”. The drama again served not to condemn, but to encourage introspection and reform.

Chinua Achebe’s 1966 novel A Man of the People, written just before Nigeria’s first military coup, portrayed the transformation of a populist leader into a self-serving figure. For many Kenyan readers in the 1990s and early 2000s, Chief Nanga’s character struck a familiar chord. It was fiction, but it mirrored real political dynamics—reminding readers, as Isaiah 5:20 warns, of the danger in confusing good with evil.

Fast forward to April 2025. At the Kenya National Drama and Film Festival, Butere Girls High School presented a compelling play, Echoes of War, set in the fictional Royal Velvet Emirates. The story follows Mustafa, a gifted young man who develops a medical app for rural populations, only to be viewed with suspicion by a regime wary of independent thinkers. He is imprisoned, sparking a grassroots resistance led by the courageous Anifa Imana. The play portrays resilience, innovation, and the importance of speaking up. Its cancellation from the festival due to perceptions that it was “too political” sparked conversations about the place of artistic expression in modern Kenya.

Yet if we reflect carefully, this is not a departure from tradition but a continuation of it. Students today are inheriting a rich legacy of using drama to reflect on society’s hopes and challenges. It is not an attack on leadership—it is a contribution to national growth.
During this Holy Week, Christians remember another story: that of Jesus of Nazareth.

A healer, teacher, and moral voice, Jesus stirred the hearts of many and unsettled the comfortable. He challenged injustice, uplifted the poor, and spoke in parables—gripping stories that stirred the conscience. His trial, crucifixion, and resurrection are not just religious events; they are also powerful symbols of how truth, even when suppressed, ultimately triumphs.

In Matthew 27:22, Pilate asks, “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” and the crowd replies, “Crucify him!” That question still echoes today—what do we do with voices that challenge us to think differently?

Kenya, nearly three decades after the return to multiparty democracy, is proud of its constitutional commitment to freedom of expression and creativity. Article 33 of the Constitution guarantees these freedoms. The question we must ask is not whether such freedoms exist on paper, but whether they are nurtured in practice.

Let the Ministry of Education and other institutions not be seen as censors, but as custodians of creativity and facilitators of civic imagination. Let drama festivals be platforms not only for performance but for dialogue. Let adjudicators be equipped to engage with context, and let schools continue to be safe spaces where students can explore, imagine, and engage critically with their world.

After all, even Jesus taught using stories. The Good Samaritan, The Prodigal Son, The Rich Man and Lazarus—these were not mere fables, but transformative narratives that invited reflection and change. Would such stories be censored today?

As we commemorate Easter—a season of hope and renewal—may we also recommit to nurturing the voices of our youth. Let us affirm their courage, channel their creativity, and guide their aspirations—not silence them. Drama is not dangerous; silence is. May this Easter be one not only of reflection but also of reaffirming our national commitment to truth, expression, and unity through creativity! Wishing you a peaceful, reflective, and hopeful Easter.

The writer is a History Lecturer & UASU Chapter Trustee, Alupe University-Kenya