I began blogging as a WOSSO Fellow, not fully aware of the profound impact it would have on my life.
What started as an outlet to reflect on my activism journey soon became a space where I could document pain, joy, injustice, healing, and resistance. Blogging brought me closer to people. It allowed me to build a community of readers, fellow activists, and survivors who related to my words in deeply personal ways.
It has truly been one of the most joyful, liberating, and healing aspects of my activism—especially as someone working at the intersections of gender justice and human rights.
But today, as I sit with the heavy news coming out of Kenya, I’m reminded just how dangerous this form of expression can be. I am heartbroken, disturbed, and deeply shaken by the killing of Kenyan blogger Albert Omondi Ojwang.
At just 31 years old, Albert was arrested earlier this month after posting on Twitter—now X—about alleged corruption involving a senior police official. He was moved hundreds of kilometers to Nairobi, where he died in police custody.
Authorities initially claimed he died after hitting his head on a wall in the cell, but a post-mortem revealed the truth: Albert had been tortured. He had suffered blunt force trauma, neck injuries consistent with strangulation, and wounds across his body. He was assaulted to death—because of what he wrote.
Albert’s death has sparked outrage in Kenya, where protests have erupted in several cities. People have taken to the streets, setting vehicles alight and demanding justice. His killing is not an isolated incident—it is part of a growing pattern of violence and intimidation against bloggers, journalists, and human rights defenders.
A few months ago, I wrote a blog about this very issue: the silencing of activists in Kenya. And now it has happened again. A voice has been brutally taken from us.
This tragedy brings into sharp focus the price people are paying simply for expressing themselves. In South Africa, we are fortunate to enjoy a constitutional right to freedom of expression—imperfect as it may be, it is still something we can exercise without the immediate fear of being arrested or killed for tweeting our views.
But in many other countries, including Kenya, digital activism comes with the risk of surveillance, arrest, torture, or death. Bloggers are not just storytellers—they are whistleblowers, truth-tellers, and sometimes, unfortunately, targets.
For many of us who do this work—especially those of us who write about gender-based violence, corruption, political failure, and structural inequality—blogging is both an act of defiance and an act of healing. We do not write for likes. We write because we must. Because our spirits are heavy with the things we carry. Because silence is not an option.
And yet, the violence we encounter—even online—is real. I remember participating in a research project led by a student from the University of Cape Town. She was exploring how bloggers experience violence, especially those engaged in digital activism and feminist discourse.
The findings were chilling. Many of us spoke of threats, harassment, trolling, and in some cases, doxxing. All because we dared to write.
The death of Albert Ojwang reminds us that digital activism is not abstract. It is not safe. It is not separate from the physical world. Words can move people—and they can get you killed. But it also reminds us of the importance of global solidarity. We cannot look away.
We cannot become numb. When one blogger dies, a part of our movement dies with them. But we honour their work by continuing to write, by continuing to speak, by continuing to expose the systems that killed them.
As a WOSSO Fellow, as a South African woman, and as a survivor, I mourn Albert deeply. His death has left me shaken. But it has also reignited my commitment to this path. To blog. To write. To resist. And to stand in solidarity with digital activists across the world who are risking their lives so that truth may be known.
Let us remember Albert’s name. Let us say it out loud. Let us demand justice. Let us not be silent.
Lala ngoxolo comrade Ojwang.
