East Africa, a silent war is unfolding – not on battlefields, but on timelines, in churches, and across borderlines.
Tanzania once seen as a beacon of peace in the region, has swiftly transformed into “The VPN Republic”, where access to truth demands encryption and dissent comes at the cost of freedom, dignity, and sometimes life itself. From torture of Kenyan activist Boniface Mwangi and Agather Atuhaire, to the detention and deportation of regional voices like Martha Karua, Dr. Willy Mutunga, human rights activists, Hanifa Farsafi and Hussein Khalid, the message is clear: speak out, and be silenced. As social media platforms like X (formerly Twitter) are restricted under the guise of morality, and outspoken leaders like father Kitima and Bishop Gwajima are punished for questioning abductions and brutality, Tanzania’s crackdown exposes a chilling blueprint of modern-day authoritarianism – one cloaked in patriotism, national security and morality but soaked in fear.
“If they can’t be contained in their own country, let them not come here.”
With these sharp words, Tanzanian President Samia Suluhu Hassan issued a blunt warning to regional activists and opposition figures daring to cross into Tanzanian territory. Her declaration, made just last month, was not just a caution — it was a border drawn in authoritarian ink. Instructing authorities to block entry for what she called “those who spoiled their countries,” Suluhu accused foreign human rights defenders of importing chaos and “indiscipline.” Her comments came in the wake of the detention and deportation of Kenya’s former Chief Justice Dr. Willy Mutunga and ex-Justice Minister Martha Karua, who had travelled to witness the court proceedings of Tundu Lissu, Tanzania’s leading opposition figure, now facing charges of treason and allegedly publishing false information online. “What I am doing is protecting my country, which is the key mandate I was given,” Suluhu stated — a defense that critics say masks a dangerous slide into isolationism, repression, and paranoia, dressed as patriotism.
When President Samia Suluhu Hassan assumed office in 2021 following the sudden death of her predecessor John Magufuli, she was widely praised for signaling a new era — one that promised to undo the repressive legacy of the past. With her introduction of the 4R philosophy — Reconciliation, Resilience, Reforms, and Rebuilding — many Tanzanians and international observers saw hope in a leadership that appeared ready to embrace democratic values. But four years later, critics argue that the promise has unraveled into political theater. Opposition leader Tundu Lissu, a long-time critic of authoritarianism, has maintained that without sweeping reforms, especially in the structure of the electoral commission, no election can be deemed free or fair. Lissu insists that a commission composed of individuals directly appointed by the president lacks the neutrality required for credible elections — hence his rallying cry: “No Reforms, No Election.”
Tensions are running high in Tanzania as the country heads toward its general elections scheduled for October 2025. The political atmosphere has further intensified following the disqualification of Chadema, the country’s main opposition party, from participating in this year’s elections. According to the Director of Elections, Ramadhani Kailima, the party failed to sign the electoral code of conduct — a document Chadema has denounced as emblematic of an unfair and biased electoral process. As a result, the electoral commission not only barred Chadema from contesting the 2025 general elections but also issued a sweeping ban preventing the party from participating in any by-elections until 2030 — a decision critics say amounts to a systematic dismantling of political opposition in Tanzania.
Tanzania’s Minister for Information, Communication and Technology recently confirmed the government’s decision to block access to X (formerly Twitter), citing the platform’s updated content policies. “Since X updated its content policies, it has permitted explicit sexual material, including same-sex pornographic content, which directly contradicts Section 16 of the national online ethics guidelines,” the Minister stated. However, this justification has been met with widespread skepticism, especially as the ban came just days after a wave of digital activism by Kenyan Gen Z on the platform. The movement, which included sharp criticism of East African governments and an alleged hacking of official Tanzanian Police and government accounts, exposed rising frustrations with regional authoritarianism. Many observers view the minister’s reasoning as a thinly veiled attempt to suppress free expression and public discourse, especially as Tanzanians increasingly used X to voice political opinions ahead of the October 2025 elections.
Moreover, the platform serves a far greater purpose than political commentary — for many youth, X is a digital lifeline. It is a space for self-employment, brand-building, and income generation in a country grappling with a projected unemployment rate of 8.60% in 2025, equating to nearly 2.94 million unemployed people, with youth bearing the brunt. The most recent data estimates youth unemployment at 3.35%, a figure that underscores how critical access to digital platforms is in combating joblessness. In silencing the digital space, the government isn’t just curbing dissent — it’s also cutting off economic opportunity, social engagement, and the right to participate in public affairs, all under the guise of moral policing.
Yet, censorship in Tanzania reaches far beyond opposition leaders and foreign allies. In President Samia Suluhu’s Tanzania, anyone who dares to speak out against state abuses is swiftly branded an enemy of the state, accused of attempting to incite chaos or destabilize the nation. While opposition leaders like Tundu Lissu have long borne the brunt of this repression, recent developments reveal a chilling pattern: even members of the ruling party are no longer immune. A striking example is Bishop Josephat Gwajima, a sitting Member of Parliament under the ruling party CCM, who convened a press conference to address growing concerns over abductions, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and torture. Armed with a documented list of at least 80 missing individuals, Gwajima broke ranks to demand accountability — only to find himself targeted and his church abruptly shut down.
He also referenced the killing of opposition figure Ali Kibao late last year, and linked it to a broader campaign of political terror. The most harrowing incidents, however, came with the violent detention, sexual assault, and eventual deportation of Kenyan activist Boniface Mwangi and Ugandan journalist and rights defender Agather Atuhaire, who had traveled to show solidarity during Lissu’s trial. The brutality they endured — including alleged sodomy, torture, and being dumped at their national borders — shocked the region and sparked a wave of international outrage.
The outcry has only grown louder. Human rights organizations, including Amnesty International, Human Rights Foundation (HRF) have demanded an immediate and transparent investigation into the cruel and degrading treatment of Mwangi and Atuhaire after harrowing stories of abuse while in detention, while the U.S. and several other international observers have called on Tanzanian authorities to respond.
In response to the growing international outcry, Dar es Salaam’s Special Police Zone Commander, Jumanne Muliro, has flatly denied the allegations made by Kenyan activist Boniface Mwangi and Ugandan journalist Agather Atuhaire, both of whom claim they were tortured and sexually assaulted by Tanzanian authorities after being detained by immigration officers. Muliro dismissed their testimonies as “personal opinions,” downplaying the severity of their accounts. “Hayo ni maoni yao, ni mtazamo wao. Kama wanachosema ni hivyo basi waofficiate kwenye mamlaka ya kuzungumza… Wangekuwepo mimi ningehojiana nao,” he said, implying that unless the activists filed formal complaints through state-approved channels, their claims hold no weight.
A number of victims within Tanzania have come forward, sharing harrowing accounts of detention, abuse, and the psychological torment that follows. Many remain in hiding, gripped by fear and shame, after being threatened with the release of compromising videos recorded during their captivity — a calculated tactic meant to silence and humiliate. But both Boniface Mwangi and Agather Atuhaire refused to be shamed into silence. In an interview with the BBC, they recounted being stripped naked, filmed, and warned to keep quiet or face public disgrace. Still, they chose to speak out.
“They are used to sexual abuse being something a victim is ashamed of. (But) I am not that victim… I am not the one who should be ashamed. You are the one who is committing a heinous crime, so you are the one who should be ashamed,” Atuhaire declared — a defiant stand against a system built on fear, silence, and impunity.
While President Hassan continues to project the image of Tanzania as the region’s last “island of peace and stability,” the lived reality tells a much darker story. Attacks on religious leaders like Father Kitima, who survived an attempt on his life in April, the shutting down of Bishop Gwajima’s church, and the abductions and disappearances of opposition voices, reveal a country gripped by repression, not peace.
The truth is, Tanzanians are suffering — and many are too afraid to speak. Those who dare are labeled enemies of the state. The only solace is that the world is finally watching. But watching alone is not enough. What Tanzania needs now is global pressure, regional solidarity, and real accountability.
Because freedom — to speak, to question, to live without fear — should never require a VPN.