Morara Kebaso Snr is a Kenyan who describes himself in his online profile as “A Dangerously Intelligent Lawyer. Bishop of Merciless Peace & Chief Registrar of Broken Promises”. He is a campaigner against corruption and has attracted more than 137,000 followers on X by traveling around the country and posting videos of “white elephant” projects to show how public funds are being wasted or pilfered.
“It’s a big joke!” Kebaso exclaims in one video, as he stands along a mostly dirt track that he can straddle with his feet and explains how nearly $2 million was paid to the contractor to build a major road. In another, he’s at the site of a costly dam project announced with fanfare six years ago that today is nothing but tea bushes. At one rural primary school, officials spent more than $7,000 for a single goal post on an empty sports field.
“Tell me whether the leaders we have in this country are actually interested in good governance”, he says to the camera. “I can most assuredly tell you that they are not interested”.
Kebaso’s posts have made him something of a social media star. But he’s not alone. A new generation of African online activists and influencers is now driving the continent’s political narrative. These digital warriors are exposing corruption, holding government leaders to account, providing live news feeds during key events and, for the first time, giving young Africans a powerful new voice to speak truth to power.
In late June, African Gen Zers fed up with rampant corruption, economic mismanagement and widespread unemployment took to the streets — first in Kenya to protest a planned, now disbanded, tax hike. Copycat demonstrations broke out in Nigeria, Uganda, Tanzania and elsewhere, often prompting brutal responses from security forces. In the face of repression, the young activists have increasingly moved online.
The question is whether online protests can translate into real-world reform for Africa’s politics.
The street protests have been called “leaderless”, and in one sense this is true: Traditional politicians and tribal leaders are not at the forefront. But the protests are finding oxygen online, where keyboard commandos can use short videos, music, art and satire to keep the movement alive.
One of those commandos is Moses Kiboneka, an actor, comedian and popular Ugandan YouTuber with more than 73,000 subscribers, who created a comic character named “Uncle Mo”, an everyman car mechanic. In one video, called “Fighting Corruption in Africa — Uganda Chapter”, Uncle Mo sits in his auto repair garage giving his common-sense explanation of corruption. “Fighting corruption in Africa”, he says, “is like finally calling out your mother for being a witch”. Because many Ugandans were raised on corruption, it has been difficult to denounce.
He calls recent protests in Uganda “a huge step in the right direction”, adding, “We just can’t wait to cut ties with mom”.
Nigerian journalist and commentator Adeola Fayehun offers a satirical take on the news on her YouTube show “Keeping It Real With Adeola”, which has more than 700,000 subscribers. In one post, viewed 465,000 times and generating thousands of likes, she boisterously updates the Kenya protests, comparing their grievances with “what we are facing in Nigeria right now”. She also takes on issues such as African countries’ mounting debt to China, and anti-government protesters in northern Nigeria who wave Russian flags.
Another popular Nigerian activist, Aisha Yesufu, is best known as one of the co-founders of the #BringBackOurGirls movement, which spotlighted the 2014 kidnapping of more than 200 schoolgirls from Chibok town. With 2 million X followers, Yesufu has highlighted cases of missing persons, and also pilloried President Bola Tinubu, who is facing an anticorruption movement called #EndBadGovernance. “If you prevent peaceful protests”, she posted on Sunday, “you give room for violent riots”.
One of the most popular of South Africa’s online social commentators is beauty influencer Kay Yarms, who used her Instagram platform to trick her young followers into registering to vote in last May’s elections — by making them think they were clicking on a link to her new vlog.
In Kenya, the online space has been filled with posts demanding the resignation of President William Ruto, some under the hashtag #RutoMustGo. One Kenyan activist, Kasmuel McOure, a musician and artist, has tried to bridge the gap between the virtual and real worlds by showing up at protests impeccably dressed in his trademark three-piece suits and neckties. He has about 50,000 followers on Instagram, 155,000 on X and 227,000 on TikTok.
Whether all this will have any real impact is an open question. In China in the mid-2000s, I saw and wrote about a similar wave of digital activism. It was exhilarating — until the Chinese Communist Party learned to crush it through heightened censorship, tighter internet monitoring, rules requiring real-name registration for online users and strict “fake news” laws that saw many activists and bloggers jailed. African leaders could soon learn from China’s example how to rein in the online space.
The Arab Spring also gives reason for caution. Social media played such a big role in mobilizing those 2010-2011 uprisings across the Middle East, they were sometimes called “the Facebook revolution”.
Some observers have asked, perhaps prematurely, whether Africa’s current protests might amount to an “African Spring”. But remember: While the Arab Spring did manage to bring democracy to Tunisia, it failed spectacularly to bring better governance to the region. Africa’s online activists should take note — and tread carefully.
Keith B. Richburg became a member of the Editorial Board in 2023. He joined Post Opinions as a Global Opinions columnist in 2022.