Why dignity is in very short supply in Kenya

Dignity. We speak about it all the time. Demand it from the Government. Claim it for ourselves. Legislate it for the masses. We think we know what dignity means because we know how it feels to live without it. There is a dignity-shaped vacuum in our lives because we are often deprived of it.

So we think about it with a sense of loss. We approach it from a scarcity perspective, which means that we try and replace it with things that make us feel good. Things that make us forget that we are still being disrespected. That we are disrespecting ourselves.

Take, for instance, our obsession with money and power. Wealth and privilege are big gods in this society. We are a double-minded people, going through the motions of church, mosque, shrine and temple, while actively worshipping Mammon. Gradually, we have filled that dignity vacuum with money because money makes us feel good. It makes us feel seen and valued.

The truth is that money can’t buy you dignity. Hard currency only buys things, and things are fleeting. Yes, you can prop yourself up with armouries of cash. But if by some sad twist of fate you lose all your money, everything else you bought with it will follow suit. Palms that are greased for allyship, loyalty and servitude quickly go dry when the gravy train goes off the tracks. This is the way of the world.

Even empires that have thrived for generations run the risk of crashing to the ground. They are built on greed and the obsessive need to acquire; anything that disrupts that acquisition is a threat, and sometimes, even a death knell. The new coronavirus, for example, has made paupers out of some and multi-billionaires out of others—but since money is the wheel on which the world turns, this status quo is reversible. It may not happen often, but it does happen.

Dignity is a different animal. It stands alone, unsupported by the vanities of this world. It comes as part of the humanity package, inbuilt and indisputable. Dignity is something that human beings do not need to beg for, even when their circumstances are undignified; even when States deprive populations of basic human rights to disempower and disenfranchise them.

Even when elected officials get high on the taxpayer’s supply. Dignity is innate. It cannot be given, taken away, or distorted, regardless of what is happening on the outside. It can only be misrepresented and disguised, often by a long history of mistreatment and injustice.

This past weekend with the passing away of Black Panther star Chadwick ‘T’Challa’ Boseman, we caught a glimpse of what real dignity looks like. Boseman was diagnosed with stage three cancer in 2016. By the time of his death last Friday, he had filmed Black Panther and a host of other movies, many of which required a great deal of mental, emotional and physical effort.

The actor was a few breaths away from death when he delivered some of the most potent and transformative performances of his career. He did it with potency, skill, and grace. Most of all, he allowed audiences to rediscover the meaning of their own lives without letting on that he was fighting for his own.

If you know anything about cancer, you know that it only comes to steal, kill, and destroy. Some people – precious few – survive the disease, but the majority cross over to the other side bruised, beaten and decimated by the most malevolent illness you could ever imagine. Cancer invades, occupies, and oppresses its victims to death.

Unfair enemy

That a man could actualise his purpose, inspire millions of people around the globe, and spar with such an evil and unfair enemy at the same time, can be only a testament to the strength of his character, the purity of his spirit, and the uncommonness of his soul.

I mean, this man was extraordinary. Yes, he was a Hollywood star, but that may as well have been his lowest accomplishment. His stardom was valuable insofar as it gave him a platform to tell stories that changed lives. If we can learn anything from Boseman, it is the power of showing up and staying the course, even when the tunnel is dark.

It takes a tremendous amount of grit to help when you’re hurting, give when you’re in need, and hold people up when you are falling. That grit doesn’t often come with grace. When it does, that’s what we call dignity.

 

Ms Masiga is Peace and Security Editor, The Conversation