When We Think No One Is Watching

In 1974, Marina Abramović performed Rhythm 0 — a haunting six-hour piece that would later be remembered as one of the most disturbing social experiments in the history of performance art. She placed herself in a gallery in Naples, Italy, standing still next to a table with 72 objects. Some were harmless (a rose, a feather, bread); others were violent (a whip, a knife, a loaded gun). She allowed the audience to use any object on her however they wished. She took full responsibility for whatever would happen. She would not resist.

At first, the crowd was gentle. They posed her. Kissed her. Gave her flowers. But as time passed, they became bolder. They cut her clothes. Pricked her skin. Marked her with a knife. Someone loaded the gun and placed it in her hand, pointing it at her neck. The crowd, once made up of ordinary people, had slowly turned into something else.

When the six hours ended, Marina began to walk toward the audience — no longer a passive object, but a human again. People couldn’t face her. They scattered.

This wasn’t just performance art. It was a mirror.

We like to believe we are good people. That the worst of us only emerges in extraordinary moments of pressure, fear, or power. But what Rhythm 0 reveals is something else: that when responsibility is outsourced and consequences are removed, human beings are capable of unimaginable cruelty, silence, and self-interest.

Nowhere does this unfold more subtly than in our day-to-day lives as Kenyans.

Take a recent example: a Saturday hike organized by a known — and notoriously disorganized — local tour guide. The red flags are always there: negative reviews, reports of abandonment, chaotic communication. Many people have experienced the dysfunction, yet keep signing up. Why? Because it hasn’t personally affected them yet. Because the price is cheaper. Because they assume the worst will always happen to someone else.

On this particular day, the group left Nairobi at 6:00am and was meant to depart back by 6:30pm. But the return was delayed by an hour. No one protested. No one asked questions. The silence was collective. But when the bus was stopped by police for bypassing a weighbridge and made to turn back, the mood shifted. Suddenly, people found their voices — shouting insults at the police under the cover of darkness and group anonymity. Not one person asked what the issue was. The anger wasn’t about justice; it was about personal inconvenience.

This is Rhythm 0 in motion. We are calm in the face of dysfunction until it touches us. We are silent when accountability requires courage. But when it’s safe — when we can hide in numbers — we lash out.

This isn’t just about a bus. Or a tour guide. This is about us.

We see red flags in institutions, leaders, influencers, and businesses — but we engage anyway, hoping to benefit just enough before the fallout. We remain silent in situations where speaking up might risk disapproval, delay, or discomfort. We give silence to the broken system, and noise to the symptom.

And just like the objects on Marina’s table, life hands us opportunities — and tools — every single day. Some tools are soft, tender: a listening ear, an open door, an apology, a kind word. Others are sharp: money, influence, social media, silence, sarcasm. None are inherently good or evil. What matters is how we choose to use them.

Take the rose. It can be handed to someone in appreciation. Or it can be used to taunt someone with thorns. A soft gesture can sting if intention is twisted.

Or the pen. One person uses it to write a CV for a struggling friend. Another uses it to sign off on a bribe. The same object — two directions.

The feather — symbol of playfulness or mockery. It can be used to lift someone’s mood, or belittle them.

Silence — it can be comfort. Or it can be complicity.

Every day, we are presented with moments where we can choose which object to reach for — and how to use it.

Do you call out a friend’s toxic behavior, or do you stay quiet because it’s not your business?

Do you promote someone’s work even when they’re not your close friend, or only when they can promote you back?

Do you speak up when a stranger is mistreated in public, or do you look away because it’s not your problem?

Do you hold those you love accountable, or excuse their flaws because you understand their past?

Rhythm 0 isn’t just an experiment that happened in Naples. It is happening here. On our roads, in our buses, in our families, churches, WhatsApp groups, comment sections, and even ballot boxes.

The true test isn’t how we behave when others are watching. It’s how we act when we know we won’t be held accountable. When our name won’t be used. When our silence is safer than our truth.

Each day, life lays out its table. You stand before it. And you choose.

What do you become when you think no one is watching?