Kenya: A Democracy Without Democrats
In theory, Kenya is a democracy. In practice, it is anything but. The state-sponsored abductions, extrajudicial killings of government critics, and the violent suppression of peaceful protests are not the signs of a functioning democratic state. They are hallmarks of a regime sliding deeper into authoritarianism—cloaked in democratic clothing.
What passes for governance in Kenya today is an elaborate performance: constitutionalism in form, lawlessness in practice. Senior government officials routinely flout court orders with impunity. Institutions designed to provide checks and balances are sabotaged or subverted. Meanwhile, the ordinary mwananchi faces the full weight of the law for the smallest infraction, while those in power loot the nation with breathtaking audacity. This is not democracy; it is rule by the politically untouchable.
The political elite, across the aisle, have demonstrated time and again that they hold no allegiance to the people. Their loyalties lie not with the voters but with their parties—and, more often, with their personal fortunes. There are members of Parliament who openly declare they owe their loyalty to the party and not to their constituents. What do we call such betrayal, if not treasonous?
This contempt for the electorate has become structural. Legislative proposals, whether from the ruling party or the opposition, seldom serve the public good. Instead, they often reek of opportunism, foreign interests, or outright malice. It’s as if our leaders are governed by some distant hand—certainly not by the needs or voices of ordinary Kenyans.
The June 2024 protests should have been a wake-up call. For the first time in decades, Kenyans stood united, undivided by tribe or political affiliation. They had had enough—of arrogance, corruption, and betrayal. That unity, though brief, was profound. It showed that when Kenyans stand as one, even the cynical tribal arithmetic of the ruling class collapses under its own weight.
Yet what has Parliament done since? Nothing. Or worse—passed legislation that further alienates and impoverishes the very people they claim to represent. Kenya’s 13th Parliament may be the most unrepresentative and compromised in our history. It is a house teeming with political profiteers—people who speak often, loudly, and emptily. Many are guided not by principles but by appetites: for power, for wealth, for impunity.
Worse still is the moral decay. Party-hopping, once considered a political sin, is now practiced openly and shamelessly. Politicians who derided rival parties just weeks earlier switch sides with the agility of circus acrobats—not out of ideological conviction, but to position themselves closer to the national treasury. This is not strategy; it is political harlotry.
Meanwhile, the contrast between the elite and the people is a study in cruelty. As politicians amass obscene wealth, the majority of Kenyans remain trapped in grinding poverty. Their pain is visible, their struggles daily. Yet their voices are muffled by a political class more concerned with flamboyant displays of privilege than public service.
And make no mistake: this government—like many before it—is more afraid of a politically conscious citizenry than it is of foreign debt or economic collapse. That’s why it downplays protests, distorts the truth, and dismisses critics as enemies of progress. It is a government out of touch, out of ideas, and soon, if Kenyans act, out of time.
But change will not come by mere resolutions, or by clinging to ballots alone. Democracy is not only about voting; it is about vigilance, voice, and action. We must reject the pacifism of the past that mistook silence for peace. Real peace is founded on justice—and justice demands confrontation with the status quo.
We must call things by their true names. Kenya is not suffering from a leadership deficit—it is suffering from a democratic fraud. And until we replace career politicians with citizen leaders, replace fear with courage, and replace tribal loyalty with national unity, we will remain captives of a system that serves itself first.
The time to act is now. Not just at the ballot box, but in the streets, in the media, in every community meeting. Let the political class hear what they refuse to see: that Kenya is not their inheritance. It belongs to its people—and they are waking up.
Anonymous 