When “Mind Your Own Business” Became a Political Statement: The Strange Case of Tanzania’s Post-Election Violence

In the sweltering heat of Dar es Salaam, where the Indian Ocean breeze usually carries whispers of hope, the air has turned thick with grief and fury. Just weeks ago, on October 29, 2025, Tanzania held its general elections—a day meant to echo the nation's democratic aspirations but instead erupted into a nightmare of gunfire, burning barricades, and cries for justice. What began as a call for fair votes has morphed into a stark reminder of how fragile freedom can be when power clings too tightly. And in the midst of it all, a simple phrase—"Mind Your Own Business"—has transformed from everyday slang into a defiant political rallying cry, a shield against the state's overreach.

If you've scrolled through your feed lately, you might have seen CNN Correspondent Larry Madowo's post lighting up timelines: a screenshot of CNN's homepage, with "Police fatally shot protesters in aftermath of Tanzania’s disputed election" screaming from the top. It's not hyperbole. This is Tanzania's moment of reckoning, and it's unfolding in real time, forcing the world to confront the human cost of suppressed dissent.

The Spark: An Election Rigged from the Start

Tanzania's 2025 polls were doomed before the first ballot was cast. The ruling Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM) party, which has dominated since independence in 1961, pulled no punches in ensuring its grip. The main opposition, Chadema (Party for Democracy and Development), was effectively sidelined when its presidential candidate, Tundu Lissu—a fiery critic of authoritarianism—was disqualified in April for refusing to sign what many called a "suicide pact" electoral code of conduct. ACT-Wazalendo's Luhaga Mpina faced the same fate. Left with token opposition figures, the election was less a contest and more a coronation for incumbent President Samia Suluhu Hassan.

Chadema urged a boycott, but young Tanzanians—frustrated by economic stagnation, corruption, and a youth unemployment rate hovering at 13%—took to the streets instead. Protests ignited in Dar es Salaam on election day, spreading like wildfire to Arusha, Mwanza, Mbeya, and beyond. Polling stations were torched, government buildings vandalized, and the air filled with the acrid smoke of burning tires. By evening, a city-wide curfew clamped down, the internet was severed (a move that persists intermittently), and the military rolled in.

The official tally? Hassan "won" with a staggering 97.66% of the vote, sworn in on November 3 amid a lockdown that barred even public viewing. Chadema called it a sham, and the streets agreed.

The Firestorm: Bullets Over Ballots

But the real horror unfolded in the days that followed. What started as chants and placards turned into a bloodbath. Verified videos, analyzed by CNN and the BBC, capture the brutality in chilling detail. In Arusha, at 3:27 p.m. on election day, a group of young men—some clutching rocks, others empty-handed—faced down a line of armed police. Footage shows officers opening fire without warning: a pregnant woman shot in the back as she fled, crumpling lifelessly; a young man gunned down in the head, his body twitching as bystanders wail, "Oh my God, this is our Tanzania."

In Dar es Salaam’s Ubungo district, gun-wielding men in civilian clothes—allegedly mercenaries, some reportedly Ugandan—patrolled alongside uniformed officers, firing indiscriminately at protesters and bystanders. Morgues overflowed; one video from Sekou Toure Hospital in Mwanza shows a pile of 10 young bodies, wounds fresh and gaping. Satellite imagery reveals freshly disturbed earth at Kondo cemetery north of the capital—consistent with witness accounts of mass graves where hundreds were hastily buried to erase evidence.

The numbers are as staggering as they are disputed. The UN Human Rights Office reports "credible evidence" of at least 500 deaths, with hundreds more injured or detained. Chadema claims up to 700 killed, labeling it "the worst human rights crisis in Tanzania’s history." Amnesty International documented at least two deaths on election day alone, but warns the toll is far higher due to the blackout. Over 240 have been charged with treason—a capital offense—while families scour police stations and hospitals for missing loved ones. The Catholic Church, no stranger to moral outrage, condemned the killings as an "abomination before God" during a funeral Mass.

And then there's the phrase that captured the zeitgeist: "Mind Your Own Business" (or in Swahili, Jitunze Bia Yako). It started as graffiti on charred walls and scrawled on protest signs, a cheeky rebuke to police demanding IDs from passersby. But it evolved into a viral meme, a coded signal of resistance. On encrypted WhatsApp groups and fleeting X posts (before the shutdown), it became a call to disengage from a corrupt system: mind your business by boycotting rigged votes, by shielding neighbors from raids, by remembering the dead without permission. In a nation where speaking out invites a bullet, it's a strange, subversive genius—polite defiance wrapped in irony.

The Ashes: A Nation's Soul on Trial

This isn't just violence; it's a rupture. Tanzania, once hailed as a stable beacon in East Africa, now grapples with accusations of extrajudicial killings, enforced disappearances, and foreign meddling (those rumored Ugandan shooters point to deeper regional ties). The Economist dubbed it CCM's "Tiananmen Square moment," a terror on unprecedented scale. Human Rights Watch decries a crackdown that silenced journalists and trapped citizens in a digital cage.

The international chorus grows louder. The UN's Volker Türk demands investigations and the release of detainees. U.S. senators call for a review of aid ties. The Southern African Development Community (SADC), the ICC, and even the Vatican weigh in. Yet, Tanzania's Inspector-General of Police, Camillus Wambura, blames "illegal immigrants" for the unrest—a deflection as thin as the curfew fog.

For everyday Tanzanians, the "strange case" is the surreal normalcy resuming atop the graves. Markets reopen, matatus rumble, but whispers persist: Where are the bodies? Who pulled the triggers? And how does a nation heal when "minding your business" means surviving the state?

A Call to Witness

Tanzania's post-election saga isn't ancient history—it's yesterday's headlines, tomorrow's warning. As Larry Madowo's post reminds us, when CNN leads with your country's bloodshed, the world is watching. But watching isn't enough. Demand accountability: amplify Chadema's call for probes, support diaspora fundraisers for victims' families, and remember that democracy isn't gifted—it's guarded, one defiant phrase at a time.

In the words of those Arusha streets: Jitunze Bia Yako. But don't mind your business entirely—because silence buries more than bullets ever could.

What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments. If you're Tanzanian or have connections on the ground, your stories matter. Stay informed, stay safe.

Sources: CNN Investigation (Nov 21, 2025); Human Rights Watch (Nov 4, 2025); BBC News (Nov 17, 2025); UN News (Nov 12, 2025); Al Jazeera (Oct 31, 2025); The New York Times (Nov 18, 2025). All claims verified via independent reports.