Disastrous Ruto presidency should make us better voters

The crisis engulfing Kenya today, economic despair, repression and betrayal,did not come out of the blue. It is a direct result of a collective national mistake: Knowingly elevating a man riddled with red flags to the presidency. The pain and regret Kenyans now endure should provoke not just outrage but deep soul-searching. Because William Ruto didn’t simply rise to power; he was enabled by votes, silence, tribal loyalties, and transactional complicity. The tragedy is not just that he is president. The tragedy is that we, fully aware of who he was, handed him the keys.

Let us not pretend we didn’t see it coming. The signs were everywhere. This is a man whose political rise was built on deceit, disruption, and dollar deals. His name appeared in almost every major corruption scandal of the last two decades. He never convincingly denied, let alone cleared, these allegations.

Instead, he perfected the art of victimhood and weaponised the language of hustling, turning legitimate questions about ethics into tribal persecution narratives. He wasn’t being attacked, he claimed. “They fear my rise from chicken seller to king.” And many believed him.

But Ruto didn’t just buy votes with charm. He bought silence and support. Campaigns drenched in unexplained billions, choppers for every county, brown envelopes for clergy, musicians, boda boda groups, youth, and village elders. This wasn’t inspiration. It was inducement. The money trail wasn’t hidden; it was flaunted. Yet, for many, morality became a luxury. People knew the cash was suspect, but they justified it. “At least he shares it,” they said. “Si kila mtu anaiba?” That normalisation of theft was the true national disaster.

Now, the chickens have come home to roost, and they’re not laying eggs. Under Ruto, we’ve witnessed a near-total collapse of trust in government. The cost of living has skyrocketed. Education is no longer affordable. Health care is deteriorating. Unemployment is breaking the spirit of the youth. Freedom of expression is under attack. Civil society is under siege. Protesters are being shot in the streets. Still, the President speaks of “sacrifice” and “pain before progress,” even as his allies gorge on plum positions, tax waivers, and inflated contracts. This is not just a failure of leadership. It is a national insult.

But the most sobering truth is this: Ruto is not an alien who invaded Kenya. He is not an outsider who seized power by force. He is one of us. He rose through our systems, used our language, exploited our weaknesses, and was elected through our ballot. That makes him our mirror, a painful one.

He reflects the rot in our politics, yes, but also in our public conscience. We reward tribe over truth. We glorify wealth, not how it was made. We cheer when our “son” is in power, even if the country is bleeding. That is why Ruto’s presidency, disastrous as it is, should be seen not just as a political mistake but a self-inflicted curse.

And curses don’t end with prayer alone. They require repentance and change. The next election will not save us if we don’t first save ourselves. We must rebuild civic responsibility. We must revive moral courage. We must teach our children that character matters more than charisma and that leadership is not about who can lie with the straightest face, but who can serve with clean hands. We must starve the politics of handouts, resist being bribed, and stop selling our dignity for wheelbarrows and envelopes.

Above all, we must remember that pain is not a destiny. It is a wake-up call. It is time to say, “Never again.” Never again should we let populism trump principles. Never again should we vote blindly in the name of tribe, revenge, or protest. The truth is simple and brutal: Ruto did not impose himself on us. We chose him. Now, we must live with the consequences and vow never to repeat them.

As the dust of protests settles and the grief of funerals lingers, may we not only mourn the fallen but also rise with resolve. Kenya can not afford another self-inflicted wound. The next time we are given the chance to choose, let us do so with eyes open, hearts firm, and memories intact. History may forgive us once, but it won’t forgive us twice.