How evil leaders hold power through manipulation and despair

In the realm of power, courage is often associated with the conscious mobilisation of strength to effect change or execute a liberating act. Evil courage, however, is the courage to steal, kill, and destroy. But why does one need courage to kill? Because they must fight against their own conscience, which does not endorse destructive courage. They must also suppress the reality of innocence in those they target.

Evil may be frequent, but its prevalence does not make it natural. The repetition of wrongdoing does not validate its legitimacy. Yet, the more frequent and intense evil becomes, the more entrenched its executors grow—fueled by the fear of the people, which emboldens them.

The psalmist declares, “Cursed are you, workers and schemers of iniquity!” They meet in exclusive places—around boardroom tables—to devise wicked plans. Goodness makes them uneasy. For them, the triumph of good means losing control. They master darkness by sleeping through the light.

They normalize evil and estrange rightness—turning a once noble nation into a gangster damnation; a city in the sun into a city on the run. Out goes patriotism, in comes opportunism—which, if left unchecked and re-elected, matures into cannibalism.

Remember that bad boss who is due for retirement, and everyone eagerly awaits the end of the year when they will finally leave? But then, the board extends their contract by another year, plunging the entire organisation into despair.

At the next staff meeting, they begin with the phrase, “I know many of you wanted me to leave. But too bad—I’m still here.” They are fully aware that they are not liked—and rightly so—but they refuse to step aside. They have mastered the art of thriving in an environment where they are despised.

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These figures are here to stay—no matter how much they are hated. Hatred does not hit them. They are not here for the likes – they are here for the plunder. Their power and influence force people into submission. Their goal is not to be liked; it is to remain powerful. In their world, people do not follow out of affection but out of fear. Power, not approval, is what keeps them in control.

They are like the housemaid who slowly transforms into a sort-of wife and no longer takes instructions from her employer. When the lady of the house threatens to fire her, she chuckles and says, “Let’s see who leaves first!” Then, with a smirk, she adds, “Haven’t you been told? You should start packing your bags.”

They have a general dislike for the people. They mock the powerless. Instead of feeling for those people with a poor road network, they ask “Salala! How do you survive?” Or in a church they will say “I see you have really struggled to put up this church – let me give you Sh20 million.” The people may cheer, confusing the gift with being loved – far from it! The gift is actually your buying price! They will dress like you. Baptize themselves with your name, say hustler. You think its solidarity but in essence, it is mockery.  When they visit you carrying “goodies” and you cheer as you receive. But when they go home, they do not say how great you were, they talk about how cheap you are!

For them, power is a matter of life and death. As one leader infamously but memorably declared, “I would rather die than resign!” But have you ever considered the circumstances of the “death” they reference? Imagination compels us to picture that by the time they fall, they will have fought fiercely—and taken others down with them. They are killer fighters. The sight of blood does not nauseate them—it is part of the flow. To them, remorse is weakness, and feeling for the enemy is betrayal. Extracting an apology from them is as difficult as wringing water from a rock.

They buy and sell souls. Their inner circle is so tightly tied to the power figure that separation is not an option—desertion is akin to death. The bond is not mere loyalty; it is life itself. To leave is to perish. The centre man holds their lives on a leash, bound by pacts as binding as “for better or for worse.”

Where did this soul trade begin? With favors—small at first, but eventually, deals became chains. And yet, history has shown, even in Africa, that the centre man is often abandoned in the end. Many died alone, stripped of everything. Having gained the world they lost their souls.

Power chasers cannot be principled. They will break every law, every agreement—every memorandum of understanding, every protocol—if that is what it takes to secure power. When one is mad for power, all rules that do not serve that ambition are up for abuse. All people—no matter how respected—who stand in the way of power become collateral damage. They either cooperate or evaporate.

In a world devoid of principles, there are no ladies and gentlemen—only wheelers and dealers. The instruction is simple: “Do whatever you must, but I want Mrima delivered.” The recipient of such orders will feel one of two things—either empowered or cornered. Empowered, because the rules have been suspended for the sake of securing Mrima. Cornered, because conscience sets limits and refuses to work with “no matter what.” A principle-free world has no sense of the sacred. If anything sacred exists, it exists only to serve power.

Satan understands the value of light so well that he uses it as his camouflage. There is a form of godliness that denies the power of God—one in which God is seen as a competitor.

In this counterfeit faith, the church cannot be left to run independently; people might become uncontrollable, especially under the guidance of authentic priests. To reduce God’s influence, the strategy is simple: corrupt the priests and install new ones—chief priests of a different order.

How does one become a chief priest? By providing worshippers with what their struggling priests can barely gather—money. It is common knowledge that a politician’s grand, publicized offering is not an act of piety. It is a display of might—a calculated investment to buy the minds of the faithful.

A few choruses and verses are enough to distract the gullible. Soon, they begin to believe that this new priest—the one with money, hymns, and well-rehearsed scripture—is better than their hoarse-voiced, pulpit-thumping but moneyless shepherds. This is why the scramble for the church is far from over. Muheria, Sapit, and Company must oil their elbows—there’s heavy lifting ahead.