“I Wanted to Defend the Constitution”: Wanuri Kahiu, ‘Rafiki’ and the Law — How the Court of Appeal Ruling Changes Arts Censorship in Kenya

For eight years, Wanuri Kahiu has been fighting. It’s a battle that often seemed without end, one that many Kenyans know too well, but one that, in quieter and more personal moments away from the public eye, took an emotional and spiritual toll that only she could fully articulate. There have been moments where she has felt like an “enemy of the state.”

“It’s hard being a censored artist in any space. Whether you speak about it or not, it’s something that weighs on you, because how can it not?” says Kahiu. “[Kenya] has created my identity; it’s my first sense of belonging and the first place that I love. To be considered a dissident of this country because I had an idea creates a fracture in how you think about your identity. How can I be Kenyan when I’m being told that my art is not Kenyan?”

The art in question is her 2018 feature Rafiki, which follows two young women (played by Sheila Munyiva and Samantha Mugatsia) who fall in love despite societal pressures and homophobia. The film was banned by the Kenya Film Classification Board (KFCB) from distribution or exhibition anywhere in the country for its LGBTQ themes.

On Friday 23 January 2026, the Court of Appeal of Kenya, in a landmark ruling, struck down key provisions in the Film and Stage Plays Act relied upon by KFCB, opening a clear legal pathway for the film’s reclassification and exhibition in Kenya.

Although the ban on Rafiki was not automatically lifted, the court ruled that it is no longer absolute, making classification possible through the statutory appeal process. Kahiu can now appeal KFCB’s decision to the Cabinet Secretary (currently under the Ministry of Youth Affairs, Creative Economy and Sports) within 30 days, seeking a review of the ban that could then lead to an age-appropriate rating. According to Kahiu, the restriction on exhibition has also been lifted pending classification.

While acknowledging that homosexuality remains criminalised under Kenyan law, the court also drew a firm constitutional line, clarifying that mere depiction of same-sex relationships in a film is not promotion, and therefore, cannot justify an outright ban. This directly undermines the moral reasoning on which Rafiki’s ban was anchored. In its 2018 decision, KFCB accused the film of having “a clear intent to promote lesbianism in Kenya contrary to the law and dominant values of the Kenyans.”

Even more significant to Kahiu is the court’s decision to strike down provisions of the Film and Stage Plays Act that have long raised constitutional concerns. Section 9(1) of the Act which allowed police or appointed officers to intervene “by force” during the making of a film was declared unconstitutional except in narrowly defined circumstances where there’s a threat to life or property, or cruelty or unnecessary suffering to animals. Section 16(3) which permitted the state to retain excised portions of films was also struck down for unjustifiably interfering with creators’ rights.

“How can you be arrested because of ideas? Ideas are not criminal,” says Kahiu. “To say that the government cannot seize your work or use police force against artists is a huge win.”

But this isn’t just a win for filmmakers. “It’s a huge win for journalists, for content creators, and even musicians, to know that they can create in peace without threats of violence.”

Kahiu also describes this particular ruling as a bittersweet moment, a monumental victory that has come a little too late for filmmakers who paid a far heavier price, like Nick Wambugu. Wambugu, known for his work in documentary filmmaking, including his most recent work, The People Shall, died in January 2026 after a short battle with hypocellular myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS), a rare bone marrow disorder.

In May 2025, Wambugu and three other filmmakers – Brian Adagala, Mark Denver Karubiu, and Christopher Wamae – were arrested in connection with the BBC documentary Blood Parliament and charged with “publishing false information.” Their filming equipment was also seized, and their devices were reportedly installed with spyware while in police custody, according to a news report by the Committee to Protect Journalists.

According to family and friends, the harassment and stress caused by the police may have contributed to his health issues. “It’s bittersweet because it happened right after Nick’s passing,” says Kahiu. “But it’s important to know that in such situations, moving forward, artists will be protected. That’s the one part of the ruling that really impacted me the most, because that one was completely unexpected.”

Since 2018, Rafiki has had a long and strenuous legal battle. It all began in April 2018 when Kahiu submitted the film to KFCB for examination and rating, and the regulator directed her to edit the film and remove what it described as “offensive classifiable elements” before resubmission. Kahiu has also revealed in interviews that she was told the film’s ending was “too hopeful.” When she stood her ground and requested classification instead, the regulator slapped her with a ban. Consequently, she filed a constitutional petition against the government alongside the Creative Economy Working Group as a co-petitioner, challenging the ban and seeking permission for a 7-day commercial theatrical run in Kenya to meet the Oscars eligibility requirements.

In September 2018, the High Court granted a temporary conservatory order lifting the ban for the Oscar-qualifying screening. The broader constitutional case, however, continued, culminating in a 2020 High Court judgment that upheld KFCB’s restriction. Kahiu appealed that decision, setting in motion a process that ultimately led to the Court of Appeal’s 2026 judgement.

“When you’ve been fighting for eight years, it’s hard to imagine what the outcome is going to be,” Kahiu says of her reaction when she first heard the ruling. “But I’m a big believer in the Constitution and defending it, so when the judgement came, I was happy that we were able to demonstrate that.”

Away from the courts, Rafiki quickly became that film shunned at home and celebrated abroad, garnering significant international attention and success. Days before it was banned, it was selected for the Cannes Film Festival, where it premiered in the Un Certain Regard section. To date, it remains the only Kenyan film to premiere in the festival’s Official Selection.

Among its many accolades, Rafiki won Outstanding Film at the 2020 GLAAD Media Awards, the Silver Q-Hugo Award at the 2018 Chicago International Film Festival (alongside a Gold Q-Hugo nomination), the Audience Award at the 2018 NewFest, and Best Feature Film at the 2018 Seattle Queer Film Festival, in addition to several nominations.

Meanwhile, Kahiu’s profile as a director continued to rise. In 2019, she appeared in Time magazine’s 100 Next list, a few publications were calling her the “next Kathryn Bigelow”, and Hollywood was calling. She has since directed two Hollywood projects – Look Both Ways (2022) for Netflix and Hulu’s Washington Black (2025) – with several other projects in development.

But make no mistake, Kahiu’s move into Hollywood was not driven by Rafiki’s legal battles in Kenya, but by what she describes as a “natural progression” in her career.

“That was a blessing. It’s a natural progression for any filmmaker to find ways of working in as many different spaces as possible,” says Kahiu. “My mission is to constantly direct and produce African films, but that won’t stop me from working on international projects the same way Alfonso Cuarón made Roma and also made Gravity.”

She stresses that Kenya has always been, and will continue to be, her primary audience. “These are the people who I love the most, the ones who inspire me to get out of bed in the morning to create,” she says. “Even when I’m working abroad, it’s so that I can come back home and continue to make more films here. The kind of work I want to continue creating after this is deeply Kenyan, deeply East African and deeply African.”

Kahiu’s Afrobubblegum philosophy – which she coined in 2015 – challenges grim African stereotypes in cinema. It’s an artistic approach she’s excited to return to as she embraces what this new Court of Appeal ruling could inspire. As she puts it: “Our job as storytellers is to tell stories, and my job is to tell stories of hope. That’s what I want to be able to centre.”

Rafiki’s ruling arrives within a much longer history of how artistic expression in Kenya has been policed and restricted. “I may have picked up this very small battle but this is not a fight that has been fought by me alone. For generations, there have been storytellers whose work has been banned,” Kahiu says.

The earliest documented forms of state censorship in Kenya can be traced to colonial-era regulation of print publishing, with laws such as the 1906 Newspapers’ Ordinance. Radio broadcasting, which began in 1927, was also tightly controlled under colonial rule. Under the Penal Code of 1930, censorship broadened over the decades to target what were deemed “seditious” publications, with increased suppression during the 1952 State of Emergency, and later, formal screen-and-stage regulation under the Film and Stage Plays Act of 1962.

Borrowing from the colonial playbook, Kenya’s first post-independence government cracked down on theatre deemed “subversive” or a disruption of national unity, with playwrights such as Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o and Micere Mugo paying the price for works like The Trial of Dedan Kimathi. Francis Imbuga’s Betrayal in the City was similarly targeted during this period.

From the 2000s onward, censorship has increasingly played out across film, television, theatre, and both digital and traditional media platforms. Sometimes, rather than outright bans, censorship in this period has also taken the form of intimidation, harassment and surveillance, constraining expression without formally outlawing it.

But a significant precedent has now been set, extending far beyond film and strengthening constitutional protection for artistic expression across the wider arts sector. This ruling is not just about Rafiki. It’s about every citizen who has suffered under state overreach and the infringement of creative freedom, creators who are afraid to release projects for fear of being banned, or those who have learned to self-censor to avoid the regulator’s wrath.

“If you noticed, after Rafiki, I self-censored myself. I haven’t written any new work. I’ve only been working on other people’s projects,” says Kahiu. “To think that now we have a ruling where you can appeal in case your work is banned is huge. It really changes the landscape. This is historical. It started with one film and one filmmaker, but this is a win for our Constitution, that we voted for, that we fought for.”

Kahiu is grateful for community and the collective support of Kenyans that has sustained her and Rafiki through the years, reaffirming her commitment to keep on fighting. “I would never wish to go on this fight alone, so I’m incredibly grateful to all of us,” she says. “It took people to support Rafiki and show up for it. It took all of us to get to this point.”

She is especially thankful to the Creative Economy Working Group for joining her on the case. The consortium brings together civil society organisations and institutions advocating for legislative and policy reforms to strengthen Kenya’s creative, arts, and media sectors.

Kahiu also credits the legal team and the judges who heard the appeal, describing both as “incredibly brave and forward-looking in their defence of the Constitution.” She was represented by former Attorney General Prof. Githu Muigai, SC, alongside advocates Guto Mogere and Biko Angwenyi. The judgment was delivered by a three-judge bench of the Court of Appeal comprising Justices W. Karanja, F. Tuiyott and L. Achode.

Kahiu’s immediate next step is to appeal KFCB’s restriction on Rafiki to the Cabinet Secretary for review within the court-mandated 30 days. However, this doesn’t guarantee approval, as the office of the Cabinet Secretary retains the authority to review the decision and may still uphold the ban. Kahiu acknowledges that possibility, but she didn’t come this far just to give up now. There’s also a chance that the Attorney General could appeal the current ruling.

“Then we’ll go to the Supreme Court because this is a constitutional case,” says Kahiu. “We’re not going to sit around while colonial rules and sedition laws that stopped others from speaking or forced them into exile, and that have contributed to so much brain drain, continue to shape our reality. For as long as I can fight, I will continue to fight, because freedom of expression – and any freedom we can perceive for ourselves and for generations to come – is incredibly important and necessary for human rights.”

Indeed, the wheels of justice turn slowly, but grind exceedingly fine.

Also Read:

• Stories We Can’t Tell: The Cost of Censorship in Kenya’s Film Industry
• Butere Girls’ ‘Echoes of War’ and the State’s Deep-Rooted Fear of Critical Theatre

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