Where, pray, are proud Tanzanians in this day and age?

As Tanzania marked its 62nd year of independence, a friend wished me a happy Independence Day and questioned whether it made me proud to be Tanzanian. In response, I playfully asked whether the notion of being a “proud Tanzanian” isn’t a contradiction of sorts.

I am not sure what the current generation feels about being Tanzanian. Growing up with TVs, radios, smartphones, and computers, and enjoying the latest Bongo flava tunes, while having access to malls and big vehicles, may make being Tanzanian appear hunky-dory for many of them. However, for those who understand water scarcity, power rationing, and the struggle for a seat on a daladala, being a Tanzanian means something quite different. And the feeling we associate with our experiences is anything but pride.

Recently, I came across a survey report detailing how racial groups in the US perceive each other. Intriguingly, it revealed that, compared to other groups, Blacks exhibit higher in-group bias and lower out-group tolerance. While Blacks could use greater cohesion, I still don’t know what to make of the implications of what I read.

Given the realities of African-Americans’ circumstances in the US, one can see why pride had to be a product of who they are as people. And many of us share the same perspective: we believe that our pride stems from our inherent worth as people or a race. The question arises, though: should pride be derived solely from our existence, or from our achievements? In other words, what is the real essence of our collective identity?

Being Tanzanian is an identity that is shaped by many factors. One can talk about the appreciation of the different ethnicities. One can talk about the Kiswahili language. One can talk about the natural beauty, including Mount Kilimanjaro, the Serengeti, and Zanzibar, and how they contribute to our sense of identity. However, this perspective falls short of explaining what being Tanzanian amounts to in practice.

The past 50 years have been unique in world history because many nations have transformed themselves from the Third World to the First World. Think of nations such as Singapore, South Korea, Israel, the UAE, China, and many others. While not all have attained that “First World” status in a literal sense, the transformation they have wrought in their nations is nothing to joke about.

Consider China. In the 1940s, China emerged from “the Century of Humiliation” which saw its share of the world’s GDP plummet from 32 percent in the 1820s to just 5 percent a century later. Through Deng Xiaoping’s reforms, China unleashed a transformation that uplifted over 700 million people out of poverty. Today, the Chinese stand tall among the people of the world, expressing themselves proudly through what they accomplish.

It seems to me that a nation’s identity is intricately connected to the diverse array of cultural, economic, and intellectual products that a nation generates. While all people have intrinsic value, the discussion of pride necessitates an examination of the tangible outcomes stemming from the respective cultures.

In pondering this matter, I found myself at a bustling junction in Dar es Salaam around 8pm on Independence Day. There, I witnessed a chaotic scene: drivers jumped red lights at will, and bodaboda riders recklessly weaving through oncoming traffic, risking life and limb. The sheer lawlessness made it seem as if there were no government in the country. I chose to quickly look away, lest I witness an inevitable accident.

It didn’t take long for the accident to occur.

Being Tanzanian is often associated with a strong sense of community and hospitality. Ujamaa, Nyerere argued, was African by nature. We should work together and live in harmony, the Arusha Declaration stated. The national anthem speaks of unity and peace as our pillars. Highly exalted ideals indeed, but how many of us still believe in that nonsense? When we consider our lawlessness and apathy towards the rights of others, where are the real Tanzanians? Aren’t our actions saying more about our identity than our words?

In serious Tanzanian discussions, the phrase “tusifanye Uswahili jamani” suggests an acknowledgement that being Mswahili is sometimes synonymous with fooling around. You read the government newspaper’s celebration of Tanzania’s achievements on December 9, which boasted about the deployment of 10,000km of paved roads in 62 years and 15,000km of optic fibre cables and you can’t but feel that a joke is being perpetrated. A stark contrast with China’s annual average of 400,000km of roads for 25 years and the current deployment of 63,000,000km of optic fibre cables reveals the difference between our Uswahili efforts and real pride in one’s nationhood.

Some of us have developed a love-hate attitude to the idea of being Tanzanian. It is not that we don’t love Tanzania, we do, but we associate Tanzanian-ness with dysfunction. While my response to the notion of a “proud Tanzanian” may have been jovial, it resonates with a genuine sentiment of ambivalence towards our national identity.