Tanzania president Samia Suluhu /FILE
In a region often characterised by recurring bouts of electoral unrest, civil agitation and inter-ethnic strife, Tanzania has for decades stood out as a bastion of relative stability.
The question that often arises, particularly when neighbouring Kenya, Uganda and even Ethiopia simmer with political temperatures, is why Tanzania remains largely peaceful.
The answer lies in an uncomfortable truth: the deliberate and systematic suppression of excessive freedoms, particularly those that weaponise public discourse for political ends.
Tanzania has historically chosen order over openness and regulation over riot. And while some may brand this tendency as repression, one cannot deny that this cautious governance philosophy has spared the nation the political volatility that has at times paralysed its neighbours.
The recent arrest of Kenyan activist Boniface Mwangi and Ugandan lawyer Agather Atuhaire in Tanzania, while controversial, is not an isolated event. It fits squarely into a longstanding state logic: no matter how noble the cause, activism must not supersede public order.
Tanzania’s peace is not incidental. It is the product of deliberate state engineering, dating back to the nation-building ideology of its founding president, Mwalimu Julius Nyerere.
Through Ujamaa, a socialist philosophy rooted in collective identity, economic equality and villagisation, Nyerere quashed ethnic balkanisation, encouraged a unifying Swahili identity and frowned upon political pluralism which he viewed as a gateway to division.
The 1973–76 Operation Vijiji, which forcefully moved millions of Tanzanians into collective villages, has often been criticised for its harsh implementation.
Yet it also achieved a sort of orderliness, allowing the state to oversee education, health care and agricultural output while dampening tribal pockets of political ambition. It is this kind of structured social engineering that formed the bedrock of Tanzania’s political stability.
Following the reintroduction of multiparty politics in the 1990s, Tanzania remained cautious. Political dissent was permitted but always watched.
Opposition leaders were allowed to operate, but the boundaries were clear: no instigation, no agitation and certainly no public mobilisation that threatened to spill over into unrest.
Tanzania's legal arsenal against chaos
Fast-forward to the present and the Tanzanian government has codified its control in an impressive, if chilling, legal arsenal. The Cybercrimes Act of 2015 criminalises the dissemination of “false or misleading information,” allowing authorities to arrest individuals for tweets, Facebook posts or WhatsApp forwards deemed subversive.
While critics rightly fear the Act’s potential for abuse, the state defends it as essential in a world where misinformation spreads faster than reason.
The Media Services Act of 2016 further consolidates control, granting sweeping powers to the government to shut down media houses, revoke journalist credentials, and impose content guidelines.
Critics see this as a stranglehold on press freedom; the government sees it as a firewall against incendiary reporting and political propaganda.
Then comes the Statistics Act, which criminalises the publication of unofficial data, an unusual but telling move that aims to protect the state’s narrative from being undermined by rogue statistics, often wielded by opposition figures or NGOs to delegitimise government performance.
Tanzania has also cracked down on artistic and cultural expression, banning songs, arresting poets and imposing morality laws on public performances. The censorship is unapologetic. In the eyes of the state, music and art are not immune to political manipulation and must not become backdoors to rebellion.
Lessons from the Kenyan chaos
To understand the rationale behind these measures, one only needs to look across the border to Kenya. In recent months, Kenya’s Gen Z population has proven just how potent and potentially destabilising, social media activism can be.
Movements such as #RejectFinanceBill and #RutoMustGo have gained traction not through traditional party politics, but through TikTok, X, and Instagram, often fuelled by unverified information and emotive digital content.
While digital activism has its place, it can also be a double-edged sword. It often blurs the line between civic engagement and mob rule.
What begins as noble protest can quickly descend into looting, incitement and the paralysis of public institutions. Kenya’s streets have recently witnessed the terrifying transformation of digital rage into physical disruption. Lives were lost. Property was destroyed. Public trust eroded.
This is the chaos that Tanzania’s legal framework, however authoritarian it may appear, has consistently sought to avoid.
By arresting individuals like Mwangi and Atuhaire who appear, in the state’s eyes, to represent ideological contagion from across the border, Tanzania is reaffirming its longstanding philosophy: activism ends where national peace begins.
The Tanzanian model demands a sober reflection on the trade-offs between freedom and stability. Critics argue that it stifles democratic growth, silences marginalised voices and engenders a culture of fear.
These are legitimate concerns. Yet we must also ask: can democracy truly thrive amidst anarchy? Can liberty endure in a society where civil agitation is unrestrained, misinformation rampant, and social media a free-for-all battlefield?
Tanzania’s peace may not be the product of vibrant civic space or robust political debate, but it is peace nonetheless. It has allowed for uninterrupted economic growth, infrastructure development and social harmony.
It has spared the country the cyclical violence that stains electoral calendars elsewhere in the region. It has enabled investors to enter with confidence, tourists to roam freely and citizens to live without the ever-present threat of political skirmishes.
As the world becomes more interconnected and activism migrates from the streets to smartphones, the tension between freedom and order will only intensify.
Tanzania may not offer a model that liberal democrats admire, but it does offer a reality check. In an era where a single tweet can ignite protests, where satire can become sedition and where every voice believes itself entitled to viral authority, perhaps some guardrails are not only necessary – they are essential.
Tanzania has chosen its path. The West may frown, human rights groups may protest and regional activists may feel offended – but Tanzanians, by and large, sleep peacefully. And that, in a continent often torn by competing freedoms and fractured politics, is no small achievement.
The writer is a political commentator
