A decade ago (yikes!), an excited young student stepped into a journalism class that would shape the rest of her professional career. I walked into a class full of other eager students, excited to be taught the first subject by the legendary Joe Kadhi.
‘Introduction to News Writing and Reporting’ was one of the few subjects Kadhi taught during his tenure at USIU. There is no denying that the man was a legend. By the end of the class, he had us all hooked with his incredible storytelling. We were hanging on to every word and reacting audibly whenever he paused at the climax.
The first story he told us was about the first Saba Saba protest. On July 7, 1990, Kadhi was already a seasoned journalist turned editor-in-chief of the Daily Nation. He told us how everyone was holed up in the office at the old Nation Centre building as they watched the riots unfold below. As a boss, he could not bring himself to ask his journalists to go outside and cover the news because it was just too risky.
He told us how Catherine Gicheru, another legendary journalist, bravely picked up a camera and ran outside to cover the news. Other journalists followed suit. He said he watched them from his office as they “ducked bullets” to cover the protest. According to his own narration, he watched them come back to the office with injuries, yet managing to type out their stories.
He had the next day's edition hot and ready for the press by mid-afternoon, but before he could forward it in, the phone rang. “Guess who it was?” He asked the class. At this stage, all of us had been transformed into a zombied-out audience, barely breathing or making a sound as we did not want to disrupt the storytelling process.
As it turns out, it was the then President [Daniel] Moi. Kadhi was strictly forbidden to publish anything about the events of the day. In 1990, going against Moi was like signing your own death warrant.
Kadhi told us of his ethical dilemma. He couldn't bear to disappoint his journalists, who had risked their lives to share the atrocities of Moi's regime with the world. But he was also bound by a code of conduct. A book written in black and white.
He made several calls. He called the other editors of the national newspapers. He called the Aga Khan's representatives. He called just about everyone he thought of who could influence his decision. Alas, only he could make the call. The outcome of which was very clear. He could do what was demanded of him and lose his integrity, or stand by his principles and lose everything.
He said he stayed at work late, then he called the head of printing and asked how many prints they normally made in a day. He asked him to double it for the next day and sent in his final draft.
“I went home and told my wife, I think I've just lost my job,” he recalled.
And he did. But not after telling us how his heart swelled with pride as he walked the streets of Nairobi and everyone was reading his edition. I will never forget what he said next and how we all reacted to it.
“The Nation lost an editor that day.” Boos echoed all around to this. “But the Nairobi University gained a lecturer!” And the boos turned into applause and cheer.
I am retelling the story because it should not be forgotten. I am also retelling the story because it is a reminder that freedom fighters come in all shapes and sizes.
It is not just those who march on the streets, or those who are imprisoned, who are the warriors of liberation. There are many freedom fighters who fight for their country in a different way. But all of us have the same goal in mind.
So as the Gen Zs take the lead in protesting against the current regime, let us also remember the other people assisting in the revolution in their own way. Let us remember that there are many unsung heroes out there.
