Kenya doesn't need new leaders to steer progress, it needs new voters

We chose them to represent us, but all they talk about is themselves. We sent them to bring us development; they deliver depression instead. We trusted them to fight corruption, but they have become its evangelists. When they claim to fight corruption, it only means one thing: they are fighting their enemies. They told us they were enemies of evil, yet they are captured by darkness. We hoped they would improve the meals on our tables, yet they have eaten on our behalf.

The gap between promise and practice has grown into a chasm. Trust is broken, but they do not care. Their consciences are cold, their citizens forgotten. They said they would be servants, but have morphed into gods, labouring to make citizens their worshippers.

Masks of power

What they call “development projects” are token gestures. They measure citizens not by soul-worth, but by vote-weight. Their designer suits are masks, like hoods thieves wear to conceal their faces. Behind these projects lies a crime scene: deals so rotten they would nauseate the people. Yet they pridefully shout, “Give us the evidence of our corruption!” Scrubbing the trail doesn’t make one innocent—it just shows how skilled they are in the thieving act.

When they entered office, they begged us for time. We gave it. They abused it. They even killed young people whose only crime was speaking truths they could not bear. And now they ask for more time? What a dare! Money, not mind, is their leadership currency. From them, we’ve learned a tragic lesson: darkness pays its employees very well. Wanjiku, the hustler, is the collateral.

“We the people” is supposed to be the loudest voice. But politicians have usurped it. They mockingly ask, “Which people?” They’ve taken the lead role, turning citizens into spectators.

Leaders insist Kenya is “moving forward”, not because the people testify to it, but because they decree it. Then they lace their speeches with selective statistics, proof, they think, of their intellectual standing.

But survival in Kenya doesn’t come from podiums. It’s chamas, families, and small support circles that carry us through. That is where our energy should go. Political rallies only infect communities with bitterness and division. Politicians don’t fix problems, they create them. They’ve thrust their rusty fingers into the education of our children. And no one knows whether our children are moving forward or sliding back. They have charms that turn professors into clowns!

Parliament overflows with degrees, papers in plenty, but papers alone don’t make leaders. These degrees have not become bridges to the people. Instead, they reveal how lightly politicians hold us, as if we were burdens too small to matter. Even the missionary schools they once attended would be shocked at how far they’ve fallen from their godly anthems.

False hope

They say we are “too negative.” They claim our criticism shows a lack of patriotism. But when citizens become whistleblowers, is that not patriotism? They urge us to be hopeful. But how do we stay hopeful when people’s wallets are leaking, drained by the same leaders who shamelessly harvest from them?

The hope they sell is suspicious. It is placebo hope. Lies beget false hope. Politically engineered hope isn’t meant to serve, it’s meant to preserve power. “Hope deferred makes the heart sick” (Proverbs 13:12).

True hope is empathetic, sacrificial, accountable. It apologises when it fails, even resigns. But they say, “I’d rather die than resign.” Another says, “I’d rather lie than resign.” Even when failure is glaring, it’s never their fault. They cleanse themselves with lies, scapegoats, and blame games. Shockingly, they insist they have delivered, implying it’s the people who are blind! Their arrogance is in export quantities.

What politicians fear

Do these prideful politicians fear anything? Yes. They fear when money, their main weapon, is rejected. Reject their money, and their system collapses. Remember when churches turned away their money? They trembled, and ran to friendlier altars. Money is their ventilator; mute it and they suffocate.

They also fear independent minds. They see themselves as the only thinkers. So when citizens show they can think for themselves, leaders suffer identity crises. Gen Z protests disrupted their system, exposed their nakedness, and shamed the creed of greed. The system’s response? Since it couldn’t match mind for mind, it chose might over mind. And since young people refused to dance with mammon, they were dispatched to early graves.

Citizen test

“We the people” must reject mammon as a god. Politicians prey on our desperation. They expect that hunger will force us to bow. But when we dethrone mammon, we reclaim our moral backbone. We declare that our future can’t be auctioned for coins today.

Citizens must reclaim their independence of mind. We must reject the brains politicians offer, even if they say they’ll work for free. Outsourcing our minds means surrendering our conscience. Independent thinking terrifies the corrupt because it can’t be bought, bribed, or bullied.

Even the best idea means little when its handlers are corrupt. A rotten spirit contaminates even the noblest vision. They boast of making “hard decisions”, but in an environment of hard corruption, hard decisions lead to hard landings.

There comes a time when even the poor must rise and refuse to be reduced to shillings. A time to resist the greedy handshake, where greedy leaders meet greedy citizens in an unholy pact. This is that time. For Kenya to have a new crop of leaders, it must first grow a new crop of voters. Recycle voters, and you get recycled leaders. True change begins with hearts, then ballots, voters who cannot be bought, who cannot be bullied. Voters who know their worth. Who know what’s at stake. On their march to a new world, they cannot be stopped by old tricks.