Why Matiang’i and the United Opposition Are Not Ready for Ruto

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Kenyans are emotional people, and rightly so. Politics here is not just about policies; it is about survival, bread, rent, school fees, and dignity. So every election cycle, when the economy bites and pressure rises, we naturally start looking for an alternative. We ask ourselves: Who can do it better? Who can remove the sitting president?

That question is now being asked about Fred Matiang’i and the so-called United Opposition. But if we are honest with ourselves —brutally honest, the kind of honesty you only hear late at night when politics is put aside, we must admit something uncomfortable:

At the moment, they don’t have what it takes to unseat William Ruto. Not because Ruto is perfect. Not because Kenyans are not hurting. But because Ruto is a political titan, and titans are not removed by noise, anger, or nostalgia. You don’t rock a ship by blowing wind into the sea using your mouth.

Ruto understands power deeply. He is not learning on the job. He is not guessing. He is not improvising. This is a man who has lived inside power for decades —KANU, ODM, URP, Jubilee, UDA. He has seen governments rise and fall from the inside. He knows where loyalty is built, where it breaks, and where it must be bought with policy rather than promises.

You may disagree with his style. You may dislike his politics. But you cannot deny this truth: Ruto understands how Kenya works —politically, economically, and psychologically. And that matters. Many opposition figures talk at Kenyans. Ruto talks to Kenyans, especially those at the bottom.

Yes, the economy is tight. Yes, taxes have gone up. Yes, Kenyans are feeling squeezed. But politics is not judged only by pain; it is judged by direction. And this is where the opposition is struggling.

Ruto has anchored his presidency on tangible, visible projects —things people can see, touch, and argue about: Affordable housing projects across counties, Digital jobs and overseas labour programs, Hustler Fund and SME financing, Infrastructure continuity, Agricultural input reforms.

You may argue about effectiveness. You may question sustainability. But you cannot say nothing is happening. In Kenyan politics, visibility beats theory every time. A house half-built speaks louder than ten press conferences.

Fred Matiang’i is competent. No serious Kenyan disputes that. He is disciplined. He is firm. He delivers. But Kenyan politics is not a performance appraisal. Competence alone does not win elections. You must connect emotionally. You must build a coalition patiently. You must survive insults, betrayal, tribal arithmetic, church politics, youth anger, and elite suspicion, all at once. Ruto has done this for years.

Matiang’i, so far, appears like a man being introduced to politics, not one who has lived in its trenches. And Kenyans, especially voters, can sense that.

Let’s be frank. What exactly unites this opposition? Is it ideology? Not clear. Is it economic philosophy? Not articulated. Is it leadership structure? Confused. Is it a single message? Fragmented. Right now, it feels more like shared frustration than shared vision. Kenyans have seen this movie before.

A coalition built mainly on removing someone rarely survives the election —let alone wins it. Ruto’s camp, on the other hand, knows exactly what story it is telling: Hustler vs dynasty, Bottom-up economics, Inclusion through enterprise. Whether you agree or not, the story is clear. The opposition is still arguing about the title of the book.

Ruto is not just President, he is politically grounded. One thing many analysts underestimate is this: Ruto is comfortable among ordinary people. Markets. Churches. Fundraisers. Youth forums. He thrives there. He speaks their language —not perfect English, not academic jargon, but the language of struggle, effort, and faith. In Kenya, that matters more than polished policy papers. You cannot defeat such a politician by appearing distant, technocratic, or elite —even if you are competent.

Noise Is Not Momentum. Social media outrage is loud. Press conferences are dramatic. Political rallies are exciting. But, elections are won by ground networks, trusted messengers, consistent presence, and clear alternatives. Right now, the opposition is making noise, not momentum. And Ruto, quietly and steadily, is building momentum —not noise.

This is the thing; Titans all, but not easily. History teaches us that no leader is unbeatable forever. But titans fall only when the alternative is clear, the vision is believable, the leadership feels ready, and the people feel understood.

At the moment, Fred Matiang’i and the United Opposition are not there yet. They may get there. They may grow. They may organize better. But today as things stand, William Ruto’s ship is not sinking. And you don’t rock such a ship by shouting into the wind and hoping the sea will listen.

Kenya respects strength. Kenya respects resilience. Kenya respects preparation. And, until the opposition matches that —not with anger, but with strategy, Ruto remains not just president, but the dominant political force of his time.

And that is the hard Kenyan truth.

IF RAILA THE ENIGMA WAS THE PHOENIX, RUTO THE FOX IS THE NINE-LIVED CAT:— Two Parallels, Two Journeys, One Nation’s Story

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Kenya has always explained its politics through metaphor. It is how we make sense of the extraordinary figures who walk our national stage. Now, as the country reflects on the life and legacy of the late Raila Amolo Odinga, the imagery becomes even more poignant. If Raila, the enigma, was the phoenix who rose again and again from political trials, then William Ruto, the fox, is the nine-lived cat who has survived and adapted through every storm.

These metaphors do not diminish either man. They highlight two powerful and distinct strengths that Kenya has produced. Raila and Ruto represent parallel narratives that, together, reveal the depth of Kenya’s political character: a blend of idealism and pragmatism, conviction and adaptability, sacrifice and survival.

The Phoenix Remembered: Raila Odinga and the Enduring Spirit of Reform

Raila’s passing has left the nation in a reflective mood, contemplating a life that shaped Kenya’s democratic identity. Born into privilege but choosing the difficult path of opposition, he became a symbol of resilience and courage. He endured detention, political exclusion, and repeated electoral heartbreak yet he never abandoned the cause of a more just nation.

It is no accident that Raila was often compared to a phoenix. Even in defeat, he returned with renewed energy and purpose. His voice was never merely personal; it echoed the frustrations, hopes, and dreams of millions. Through Raila’s persistence, Kenya won multiparty democracy, constitutional reform, and a political culture more willing to question power.

Now that he is gone, Kenyans see more clearly what he represented; moral compass; reminder that nations rise when citizens refuse to surrender their ideals; a belief that justice is not a luxury but a duty. Raila embodied the Kenya that dreams the Kenya that believes in finishing the work of freedom.

The Nine-Lived Cat: William Ruto and the Relentless Instinct for Survival

While Raila’s path was marked by public sacrifice, William Ruto’s journey reflects another powerful Kenyan reality: the fierce battle for opportunity in a world that rarely hands it out. Ruto was not born into power. His rise is a story familiar to millions a journey from scarcity to influence, from the margins to the centre. His climb through the ranks of KANU politics, his resilience in the face of crises, and his uncanny ability to survive political challenges have earned him the reputation of a leader with many lives.

Where Raila is remembered for moral conviction, Ruto is known for strategic brilliance. His instincts are sharp, his adaptability remarkable. He understands the machinery of power and knows how to navigate its contradictions.

The “nine-lived cat” metaphor is not a slight; it is recognition of his unique political intelligence. Ruto represents the Kenya that hustles, that observes carefully, that manoeuvres wisely, that refuses to remain where it began. He embodies the Kenya that survives— and wins in spite of the odds.

Two Parallels, One National Identity

Though their lives followed different paths, Raila and Ruto are not contradictions. They are complements— two different expressions of Kenya’s potential. Raila called the nation toward its ideals; Ruto calls the nation toward its possibilities.

The phoenix and the nine-lived cat represent the two forces that have always shaped Kenya: principle and pragmatism, vision and strategy, reform and resilience. No nation thrives on ideals alone. No nation survives on strategy alone. Kenya needed and still needs both.

Why Their Dual Legacy Strengthens Kenya

Together, Raila and Ruto reveal Kenya’s complexity and power. Raila’s legacy teaches courage: the willingness to rise for justice regardless of the cost. Ruto’s journey teaches determination: the ability to turn humble beginnings into national leadership. They show that Kenya is capable of producing: dreamers and tacticians, reformers and survivors, visionaries and doers.

A healthy democracy requires each of these qualities. Raila broadened the nation’s imagination; Ruto proved that the nation’s possibilities are not reserved for the privileged. Their coexistence in life and legacy reminds Kenya that progress is not linear. It is a dialogue between conviction and adaptability.

With Raila’s passing, Kenya mourns not only a leader but a symbol— a phoenix whose flame illuminated the path of reform. However, the nation continues to move forward with leaders like Ruto, whose resilience demonstrates that the impossible can be achieved through grit and determination.

The truth is simple: Kenya is richer because it has produced both types of leaders. Raila gave the nation courage to rise. Ruto gives the nation the resilience to survive. Together, they form a narrative larger than politics; a story of a country defined by endurance, ambition, hope, innovation, sacrifice, and survival.

If Raila the enigma was the phoenix, and Ruto the fox is the nine-lived cat, then Kenya is the remarkable land that nurtured both. And that is perhaps the greatest testament to the nation’s strength.

Polygamy, Principle, and Christian Practice: Rethinking a Long-Held Assumption

 By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Within many Christian communities today, the phrase “one man, one woman” carries the weight of unquestioned truth. It is treated not merely as a recommendation for order and peace, but as a moral commandment whose violation is branded sinful. Yet when examined with calm honesty and deeper theological reflection, this principle struggles to hold up without contradictions. In fact, the tensions it creates, especially in real-life situations, suggest that the stance is grounded more in cultural preference than in divine prohibition.

This is not an attempt to romanticize polygamy, nor to deny the genuine challenges it brings. It is, instead, a call to be frank with Scripture, consistent with logic, compassionate toward people, and humble about where God has spoken clearly and where we may have spoken for Him.

The Conversion Dilemma: A Principle That Buckles Under Its Own Weight

Let us begin with a simple but revealing scenario: A man lives as many men in various cultures have lived for centuries: he has more than one wife. With time, he encounters the gospel message and accepts Christ. Now, according to some Christian teachings, polygamy is inherently sinful —yet these same teachers quickly add that this man should not dismiss or abandon any of his wives, but must continue caring for each one faithfully.

This creates an immediate theological paradox: If polygamy is sin, and salvation calls one out of sin, why then is the newly converted man encouraged to continue in what is labelled sinful?

To force him to keep only one wife through divorce would also contradict Scripture, which condemns the unjust dismissal of a spouse. So the church, in attempting to preserve one principle, violates another —revealing the fragility of the monogamy-only doctrine.

This awkward compromise is not based on Scripture’s clarity but on the discomfort of applying a man-made rule consistently. When a principle collapses under real-life scrutiny, we must question whether it was grounded in divine truth or human attitude.

What Exactly Does Scripture Condemn?

Throughout the Bible, many revered figures had multiple wives; Abraham, Jacob, David, Solomon, and others. While their polygamy sometimes generated household conflict, Scripture does not once classify the practice itself as sin. On matters where God disapproves, the Bible is rarely silent.

Moreover, The Old Testament regulates polygamy (Exodus 21, Deuteronomy 21). God gives rights and protections to multiple wives. Nowhere does Scripture equate polygamy with sexual immorality or rebellion against God.

If God considered polygamy inherently sinful, would He provide laws to safeguard those marriages instead of commanding their dissolution? Would He bless people, kings, and patriarchs who lived within polygamous unions? Would He even describe Himself metaphorically as a husband to two sisters —Judah and Israel —when warning about their unfaithfulness (Ezekiel 23)? The evidence, taken honestly, points in one direction: polygamy is not inherently identified as sin in the Scriptures.

Why Then Does the New Testament Emphasize “Husband of One Wife”?

The New Testament requirement for church leaders—“the husband of one wife”—is often taken as universal proof that polygamy is sinful. But the logic does not hold.

When Scripture says an overseer, elder, or bishop should be the husband of one wife (1 Timothy 3:2), it does not declare that all other men must be. If that were the case, then every other trait listed —sobriety, hospitality, being apt to teach —would also be required of every Christian, or else they would be sinful too. Leadership standards are just that: leadership standards. Higher responsibility, higher expectations.

If the intention was to declare polygamy sinful for all, the apostles would simply have said so. Instead, they set a specific standard for leaders while leaving ordinary believers free of that restriction, consistent with the Old Testament’s own posture.

The implication is simple yet powerful: If polygamy were sin, church leaders would not merely be discouraged from it; they would be forbidden from it because sin disqualifies a person from church leadership altogether. The instruction for leaders, therefore, confirms the innocence of polygamy for others, not its condemnation.

Cultural Discomfort Is Not Divine Command

Much of contemporary Christianity’s rejection of polygamy stems not from Scripture, but from cultural evolution. Western societies transitioned toward monogamy for social, economic, and political reasons. As Christianity spread, these cultural values were baptized as Christian doctrine. But culture, no matter how long practised, cannot replace divine truth.

The discomfort some believers feel toward polygamy is understandable. It is complex. It can strain emotions, finances, and family peace. But difficulty does not equal sin. Debt is difficult too. Parenting is difficult. Marriage itself is profoundly difficult.

Christian teaching should empower individuals to make wise choices, not falsely condemn what Scripture allows simply because it challenges modern sensibilities.

The Wise Middle Ground: Not Promoting Polygamy, but Not Mislabelling It Either

Recognizing that polygamy is not inherently sinful does not mean encouraging it blindly. On the contrary, polygamous households require maturity, financial stability, emotional intelligence, and a sense of fairness that not every man possesses.

It is perfectly acceptable —and pastoral, to discourage polygamy due to the potential chaos it may bring. Many biblical stories reflect these challenges. But discouraging something for practical reasons is not the same as condemning it morally.

A truthful, balanced Christian view should say: Polygamy is allowed in Scripture. But it comes with challenges. It is not ideal for everyone. But it is not sin.

This approach is not only more consistent with Scripture; it is also more compassionate and culturally relevant for communities where polygamy remains a lived reality.

A Principle That Requires Compromise Is Not a Principle of Truth

Returning to the initial dilemma, any principle that requires bending, adjusting, and explaining away when confronted with real human situations is suspect. God’s principles —love, justice, humility, mercy —hold firm in every context.

But the “one man, one woman is the only God-approved marriage” idea crumbles the moment a polygamous man becomes a Christian. It forces believers to juggle divorce ethics, pastoral compromise, and biblical inconsistencies —all evidence that its foundation is human, not divine.

A truth that must be rescued by exceptions is not truth.

Honesty, Compassion, and Scripture Above Tradition: The Christian faith calls us not only to believe, but to think —deeply, honestly, and humbly. When we do so, the monogamy-only doctrine reveals itself not as a timeless biblical command but as an inherited cultural preference dressed in theological language.

Polygamy may not be advisable for many, but it is not a sin. It may be wise to discourage it, but not to demonize it.

In the end, the most faithful Christian posture is one that respects Scripture more than tradition, recognizes complexity without condemnation, values people over cultural comfort, and embraces truth even when it challenges long-held assumptions.

If God did not label polygamy sinful, it is not the role of His people to do so.

Raila Amolo Odinga: The Colossus Who Shaped Kenya’s Political Soul

By Fred Nyankuru

When the news of Raila Amolo Odinga’s passing broke, a heavy silence fell over the nation —the kind that swallows even the loudest of political slogans. It wasn’t merely the death of a man. It was the closing of a political chapter that has, for more than half a century, defined Kenya’s struggle for democracy, justice, and reform. Whether you adored him or opposed him, you could not ignore him. Raila Odinga was, in every sense, an enigma; one whose shadow loomed large over Kenya’s political landscape for decades.

I confess, I never voted for him. I often disagreed with his approach, his rhetoric, and sometimes his methods. Yet, in the stillness of reflection, one cannot deny that Raila Odinga was a good soldier —perhaps the best Kenya has ever had in the long, winding battle for the country’s democratic soul. He may not have worn the crown of the presidency, but his fingerprints are on every milestone Kenya has achieved since the reintroduction of multi-party politics.

Born into the family of Kenya’s first Vice President, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Raila’s life was steeped in politics from the cradle. Yet his journey was anything but privileged. He bore the brunt of state persecution, detention without trial, and political betrayal. He was imprisoned, exiled, and vilified; but never broken. Few men have walked through the furnace of oppression and emerged with such unrelenting resolve to continue fighting for those who wronged them.

It was Raila’s resilience during the ‘dark days’ of the Moi regime that earned him a mythical reputation. When others compromised, he resisted. When others fled, he stood his ground. When others whispered, he roared. The reforms that gave Kenya the 2010 Constitution, the liberalisation of political space, and the strengthening of civil liberties all bear his indelible mark.

Raila Odinga’s political journey was a paradox of victory and defeat. He was the perennial presidential contender, always close enough to power to taste it, but never quite able to hold it. Yet, in defeat, he was never vanquished. His capacity to rise from political ashes time and again is a testament to his remarkable stamina and belief in Kenya’s democratic promise.

From his legendary 2002 “Kibaki Tosha” declaration, which helped end KANU’s four-decade rule, to the Orange Democratic Movement’s (ODM) pivotal role in 2007 and beyond, Raila was the fulcrum of Kenya’s political movements. He inspired loyalty and stirred emotion in a way no other politician could. To his supporters, he was “Baba,” a father figure, a liberator, a messiah of the downtrodden. To his detractors, he was a master tactician of chaos and contradiction.

His political genius lay not in holding office but in shaping power itself. Every administration since the early 2000s —Kibaki, Uhuru, and Ruto —was defined in part by how it aligned with or against Raila Odinga. In many ways, Raila was the conscience of the Republic, always prodding the system, challenging the establishment, and forcing the nation to ask uncomfortable questions about justice, equality, and governance.

But Raila was also human; flawed, ambitious, and sometimes undone by his own miscalculations. His leadership style within ODM was often criticised as authoritarian, and his alliances sometimes appeared opportunistic. He could unite the country around great causes but also polarise it with his fiery rhetoric. His faith in the ballot was both noble and naïve —he believed in the will of the people even when the system seemed rigged against him.

The “Handshake” with President Uhuru Kenyatta in 2018 remains one of the most controversial chapters of his career. To some, it was a patriotic act that brought peace and stability after a divisive election. To others, it was a betrayal; a soft landing that diluted the opposition and legitimised those he had long accused of electoral theft. It was Raila’s greatest gamble, and perhaps, his greatest contradiction.

In the end, history will judge Raila Amolo Odinga not by the elections he lost, but by the ideals he refused to surrender. He fought for a Kenya that was freer, fairer, and more inclusive and though that Kenya remains a work in progress, it exists because of him. He taught us that patriotism sometimes means standing alone. That defeat does not mean failure. That one can lose politically but win morally. His was a life of struggle, sacrifice, and stubborn hope.

Raila Odinga never became president, but he was more than that. He was the heartbeat of Kenyan politics, the man who made every regime nervous, every youth dream, and every citizen question the meaning of freedom. His journey was not perfect, but it was profoundly human.

As Kenya mourns the passing of the enigma, the nation must rise above partisan lines to say, truthfully and without hesitation: Raila Amolo Odinga was a giant and the story of modern Kenya cannot be told without him.

Rest well, Baba. You fought the good fight. You ran your race. And in your own way, you won.

Fare thee well, Jakom!

You Don’t Silence a Voice by Violence

Fred Allan Nyankuru

When I first heard that Charlie Kirk had been gunned down at a Turning Point USA event, my heart broke. I may not be an American, but from far away I counted myself among his listeners, his readers, and his students in the fight for truth.

The man who killed Charlie thought he was ending a voice he didn’t like. But violence never achieves that. If anything, it does the opposite. In death, Charlie Kirk has become louder than ever.

Charlie was more than an American commentator. For people like me, watching from outside the United States, he represented courage in defending faith, family, and freedom. His unapologetic way of speaking truth drew in millions across borders. He gave Christians, conservatives, and ordinary people who still believe in common sense the courage to stand up.

The shooter may have believed he was silencing an irritant. But in reality, he has given birth to something stronger: conviction. Today, conservative Christians and free-speech advocates are more determined than ever that Charlie’s work must continue —this time more courageously, more viciously against lies, and with deeper faith.

Scripture tells us: “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much fruit” (John 12:24). That is what has happened. Charlie’s voice has not been buried; it has been multiplied in the hearts of those he inspired, including people like me who live oceans away.

History bears witness to this truth. When Abraham Lincoln was shot, democracy itself was strengthened. When Martin Luther King Jr. Was assassinated, the civil rights movement marched on with renewed fire. Violence has never destroyed an idea rooted in truth. It only immortalizes it.

That is the paradox the radical who killed Charlie cannot escape. He thought he had won. Instead, he has raised up an army of voices that will never be silenced.

This tragedy also carries a warning. If debate is replaced by violence, society collapses. The greatness of America, and of any free nation, is the ability to argue fiercely without resorting to bloodshed. If you disagree with Charlie Kirk, or with any voice, the answer is not a gun. The answer is argument. Logic. Evidence. Persuasion.

As someone outside America, I admired Charlie not just because of his politics but because of his faith. He was unashamed of his belief in God, and unashamed of proclaiming that faith should shape public life. For Christians everywhere, he modelled boldness in a world that too often pressures us into silence. His passing has left a wound, but also a calling —to stand stronger, speak louder, and to never cower before hostility.

The truth is this: the shooter silenced a man, but he did not silence the mission. Charlie Kirk’s work will live on in every believer who shares his convictions. It will live on in the millions who will carry forward his ideas. And it will live on in those of us far beyond America, who saw in him a champion of both truth and freedom.

You do not silence a voice by violence. You only make sure that voice echoes without end.

Matiang’i Isn’t a Comeback; It’s a Hostage Situation. Kenyans Must Say No.

By Fred Nyankuru

Let’s not be fooled. The political whispers are getting louder, and they should send a chill down the spine of every Kenyan who cares about this country’s future. The news that former President Uhuru Kenyatta is preparing to hand over the Jubilee Party to Fred Matiang’i isn’t a simple power transfer. It’s a brazen attempt to repackage the past and sell it to us as something new.

This confirms a truth many of us have felt in our bones for months: Matiang’i is not the reformer he’s painted to be. He is a meticulously crafted project, a Trojan horse built and polished by the very elite who have held our nation hostage for decades.

Think about it. Uhuru Kenyatta is the undeniable face of Kenya’s oligarchy —the system that hollowed out our economy, buried us under a mountain of debt, and made “state capture” a household term. And now, he wants to gift-wrap his entire political machine and hand it to his former enforcer. This isn’t a partnership; it’s a master passing the keys of his impunity-mobile to his most trusted driver.

Let’s be clear about Matiang’i’s record. As Interior CS, he wasn’t just a civil servant; he was the iron fist of the Jubilee regime. He was the architect of brutal crackdowns, the man who treated court orders as mere suggestions, and the engineer of a pervasive culture of fear. When the state needed to silence dissent, it was Matiang’i who was sent to do the dirty work.

Now, the same people who benefited from that system are spending fortunes on PR firms to scrub his image. They want us to see a “stern, no-nonsense reformer.” But we remember the reality. Behind that stern face is a man bound by loyalty to the cartels and dynasties that thrived under his watch. This isn’t a new chapter; it’s the same old book with a flashy new cover.

Make no mistake, this goes far beyond the crumbling walls of the Jubilee Party. Whether Matiang’i takes over Jubilee or is parachuted into another vehicle is irrelevant. The real danger is the man himself and the powerful, shadowy network he answers to.

This move is the oligarchy’s declaration to the nation: “We are not done with you. We will regroup, we will rebrand, and we are coming back through this man.”

If we fall for it, if we shrug and say “politics as usual,” then we have learned absolutely nothing from the pain and frustration of the last decade.

Kenya deserves Leaders, not Lords. Kenya is screaming for real leadership, not another strongman draped in the language of reform. We are tired of leaders who see our institutions as their personal toys and the constitution as a hurdle to be bypassed. What we desperately need is sober, principled, and accountable leadership. We need leaders who wake up thinking about how to serve the people, not how to please the cartels that have sucked this nation dry.

That’s why stopping this project is more urgent than blindly rallying behind any alternative. Matiang’i represents the continuation of the very rot Kenyans thought they had voted out in 2022. He is the past, desperately trying to rent a room in our future.

Fred Matiang’i is not the future. He is the oligarchy’s insurance policy. Their Plan B. Their wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Kenya must reject this cynical project with the same fierce determination we have mustered against impunity before. To allow him to march into State House under any party banner isn’t progress. It’s a national suicide mission, written, produced, and directed by the same forces that brought us to the brink. We owe our children more than that. We must say no.

Rigathi’s Loose Tongue: Why Kenya Cannot Entrust Its Future to a Reckless Politician

By Fred Nyankuru

Kenya is in a season of political turbulence. Discontent with President William Ruto’s administration is palpable; high cost of living, broken promises, and a disillusioned citizenry have created fertile ground for opposition politics. In this climate of anger, Rigathi Gachagua has emerged as a loud, self-styled critic of the very government he served. But make no mistake: behind his noise lies not statesmanship, but a grave danger.

Rigathi’s rise as the “alternative” voice to Ruto is not built on vision, reform, or a credible plan for the nation. It is built on tantrums, tribal entitlement, and above all, reckless talk. His loose tongue, once dismissed as mere bluster, is fast becoming a national security concern, and the opposition must recognise the peril of entertaining him as a potential leader.

Rigathi has repeatedly hinted that he could expose “government secrets” from his time in office. He frames this as a form of honesty or bravery. But let us be clear: threatening to spill confidential state information is neither noble nor courageous. It is irresponsible, stupid, and dangerous.

A man who has sworn an oath of secrecy while holding high office remains bound to that oath for life. The logic is simple: governments may change, but the security of the nation does not. Military operations, intelligence networks, and investigative strategies are not toys to be tossed around in political quarrels. They are the backbone of Kenya’s sovereignty.

When Rigathi threatens to reveal what was discussed in Cabinet, he crosses a line. Today it may be Cabinet gossip, but tomorrow, by the same reckless impulse, he could reveal matters relating to counterterrorism, border security, or intelligence-sharing with allies. In a world where regional stability is fragile and terrorism remains a real threat, such loose talk is not mere politics. It is a direct assault on national security.

Some will argue that exposing government wrongdoing is part of accountability. And they are right —when it comes to corruption, human rights abuses, or state-sanctioned injustice, leaders have a moral duty to speak up. Whistle-blowing is an act of courage that strengthens democracy.

But Rigathi is no whistle-blower. He is not exposing theft of public money, nor is he unveiling systemic oppression. His rants are not about protecting citizens; they are about protecting his ego. His threats to reveal secrets are blackmail tactics designed to intimidate both his political opponents and his former allies. That is not accountability. That is recklessness.

And therein lies the danger. A man who weaponises confidential information for personal vendetta today will do the same tomorrow. If Rigathi cannot keep the secrets of a government he has just served, what confidence should Kenyans have that he will protect the confidentiality of any future government? If he can threaten the security of one administration because he feels side-lined, he will do the same when the next administration crosses him.

Opposition leaders such as Kalonzo Musyoka, Fred Matiang’i, Martha Karua, and others must confront this uncomfortable truth: Rigathi is not a partner; he is a liability.

The very thought that a man who cannot keep secrets might one day sit at the centre of an opposition coalition should alarm them. Politics requires trust, even among rivals. If Rigathi is willing to leak Cabinet discussions today, what stops him from exposing coalition strategies tomorrow? What stops him from betraying confidential negotiations with foreign partners?

Aligning with Rigathi is like storing fuel next to a fire and hoping it never ignites. It is political suicide dressed as political strategy.

The stakes go beyond opposition politics. At the heart of the matter is the sovereignty of Kenya itself. Loose talk in the hands of a senior leader is not harmless —it has ripple effects that can destabilise institutions, compromise intelligence-sharing with allies, and embolden external threats.

Kenya’s fight against terrorism, organised crime, and regional instability depends on trust —trust within its institutions and trust with foreign partners. If leaders like Rigathi normalise the careless handling of secrets, that trust erodes. Once trust is gone, intelligence dries up, coordination weakens, and the entire country becomes vulnerable. The sovereignty of Kenya cannot be reduced to the whims of a politician’s tantrums.

This is not new behaviour for Rigathi. His political career has been marked by loud, unfiltered statements, often tribal, sometimes abusive, and nearly always divisive. What once seemed like political flavour is now revealing itself as a dangerous incapacity for discipline.

Consider his frequent remarks about government appointments, openly framing them in terms of tribal entitlement. Consider his casual attacks on institutions that demand respect and restraint. Each of these may have been dismissed as “Riggy G being Riggy G.” But add them up, and a pattern emerges: this is a man who cannot control his tongue. And a man who cannot control his tongue cannot be trusted with the instruments of power.

Kenyans must resist the temptation to see Rigathi as a saviour simply because they are angry with President Ruto. The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend. Rigathi does not represent reform, justice, or accountability, he represents a more dangerous mutation of the same rot.

If Ruto has failed through arrogance and broken promises, Rigathi would fail through recklessness and insecurity. One undermines the economy; the other undermines sovereignty. Neither offers the vision Kenya desperately needs.

What Kenya requires now is not another tribal strongman or a loose-tongued opportunist. It requires leaders who understand the gravity of their oath, the sanctity of state secrecy, and the discipline to put country above self.

Politics is not just about speaking loudly. True leadership is about knowing when not to speak, when silence protects lives, institutions, and the nation itself. Rigathi Gachagua has proven, time and again, that he lacks that restraint.

Opposition leaders must keep him at arm’s length, lest they become hostages to his recklessness. And Kenyans must reject the illusion that volume equals vision. A man who cannot control his mouth cannot control a country.

Rigathi is not the future. He is a threat to it.

The Betrayal of Free Thought: How Progressivism Turned Into Censorship

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Once upon a time we looked to progressives as the ultimate champions of freedom. They were the ones on the front lines, fighting for your right to speak your mind without looking over your shoulder, to simply walk down the street as you are, to choose your own path in life. They stood for the idea that true liberty requires space for all kinds of thought; that my conscience is mine, and yours is yours, and tolerance is the only glue that can hold a diverse society together.

But something has shifted. Slowly, almost without us noticing, that noble mission has curdled into its opposite: control. The very voices that once screamed for unfettered expression now build the case for censorship, cancellation, and silence. And the most painful irony? It’s all done in the name of “keeping us safe” or “promoting freedom.” It feels like we’re losing the plot.

Let’s be honest with each other: freedom of opinion was never meant to be clean, comfortable, or convenient. By its very nature, it means hearing things that make your skin crawl. It means someone can stand up and say, “I’m not comfortable with homosexuality,” just as freely as another can say, “I’m not comfortable with heterosexuality.” That isn’t necessarily hatred —it’s the messy, often ugly, exercise of human thought. If we can’t even voice discomfort without being socially shunned or professionally destroyed, then freedom is already dead. We’ve just replaced old shackles with new ones.

And this is where I see today’s progressivism tying itself in knots. For my entire life, we’ve tolerated —even celebrated comedians, writers, and critics who mock Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Religious folks are routinely called backward, oppressive, or simple-minded. And you know what? When they complained, society told them to toughen up. Free speech includes the right to offend, we said. It was a hard pill, but it was the price of a free society.

So why do the rules change when the subject is LGBTQI+ identities? Why is questioning or disagreeing treated not as debate, but as “hate speech,” while ridiculing a nun or a rabbi is still considered fair game? Why do tech giants, governments, and NGOs move so fast to silEnce dissent on this one issue, while giving almost everything else a pass?

It feels targeted. It feels political. Big tech hides behind “community standards” to scrub away views they don’t like. Global institutions lean on countries to adopt values that feel alien to them. The media doesn’t report on the debate; it takes a side and glorifies it while demonising the other. We’re no longer being asked to tolerate; we’re being strong-armed into celebrating. Coexistence has been replaced with coerced consent.

But that’s not freedom. Let’s be real: freedom doesn’t mean everyone agrees with me. It means I’ll fight for your right to say something I think is dead wrong. It means making room in the public square for opinions that make us squirm. When we only protect the speech we like, we don’t have liberty, we have propaganda.

Think about it: if you can’t say “I disagree with that” today without losing your job or your reputation, what will we not be allowed to question tomorrow? Once we normalise the censor’s tools, they won’t be put away. That machinery never stops at one group. It expands, slowly and surely, until any dissent is treated as a thought crime.

That’s why this matters. Defending free speech for people I disagree with isn’t a quirk; it’s essential. Protecting your right to critique my religion means protecting my right to question your politics. Protecting someone’s right to mock tradition means protecting another’s right to challenge the new orthodoxy. The moment we silence one voice, we build the scaffold to silence any voice.

So here’s my plea: let’s find our way back to the original, brave spirit of liberty. Let’s disagree fiercely, passionately, relentlessly. But let’s never silence. Let’s stop confusing disagreement with hatred, critique with bigotry, and discomfort with violence. If my opinion offends you, come at me with a better argument, not a cancellation. If my words challenge your beliefs, challenge mine right back with words of your own.

History isn’t kind to societies that silence dissent. They don’t find harmony; they find conformity, fear, and a quiet, rotting decay. Real progress —the kind that lasts only happens where freedom thrives. Especially the freedom to be wrong.

If progressivism wants to reclaim its moral soul, it needs to remember that. A world where everyone is forced to clap in unison, where no one can whisper “I disagree,” isn’t progressive. It’s a prison dressed up as a parade. And I, for one, want no part of it.

The Matiang’i Myth: How the Education Sector Lived Through the Agonising Lie of a Reformist Tyrant

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Kenya has a dangerous habit. We cheer noise instead of results. We mistake fear for discipline. We confuse intimidation with leadership. Few people illustrate this national weakness better than Dr. Fred Matiang’i —the “super minister” who, in truth, left the education sector wounded, humiliated, and poorer.

Behind his image of a “no-nonsense reformer” was not a saviour, but a bully. His reign was not about building an education system for the future, it was about stamping authority, silencing dissent, and turning public institutions into stages for his own performance.

Teachers remember Matiang’i’s school visits not as opportunities to improve, but as days of terror. Head teachers who had dedicated decades to moulding young lives were paraded like criminals for the smallest of mistakes, sometimes over things beyond their control. These inspections were not about accountability; they were about humiliation. They destroyed morale and dignity, reducing professionals into trembling subjects before a man who thrived on fear.

This was not leadership. It was bullying. And Kenya’s children paid the price.

Our universities, once proud centres of learning, still limp under the scars of Matiang’i’s decisions. When he scrapped the parallel degree program, he killed off a vital source of revenue without providing an alternative. What followed was financial ruin: unpaid lecturers, crumbling infrastructure, and a brain drain of brilliant minds.

Public universities sank into debt —over KSh 56 billion —and students lost opportunities. To Matiang’i, it was a “reform.” To those inside the system, it was sabotage.

Perhaps the cruellest betrayal was how he used children. The same man who barred politicians from school grounds thought nothing of interrupting lessons so that pupils could sing and dance for his publicity tours. For those children, their classroom —their sacred space of learning, was turned into a campaign rally.

He did not see learners. He saw props. That is not reform; it is exploitation.

Matiang’i’s myth of incorruptibility collapsed under the weight of real scandals. The reckless closure of Kenyatta University campuses wasted nearly KSh 600 million. Worse still, the Ruaraka land saga exposed the rot. A Senate probe confirmed that a KSh 1.5 billion fraud happened under his watch, despite clear evidence that the land in question was public. The Senate even recommended prosecution. Nothing happened.

The same hand that was heavy on teachers became feather-light when it came to corruption. This is the hypocrisy of strongmen: merciless on the powerless, indulgent with the powerful.

When students, overwhelmed by suffocating rules and harsh decrees, set dormitories ablaze across the country, Matiang’i responded with the only tool he knew —force. He never asked why students felt cornered. He never paused to listen. Instead, he tightened the screws further.

A leader heals unrest with dialogue and understanding. A tyrant mistakes silence for peace. The fires in our schools were not acts of hooliganism; they were the desperate cries of a generation suffocated by dictatorship.

Today, as the dust of his era settles, we are left with broken universities, demoralised teachers, and children who learned that in Kenya, authority can be cruel and arbitrary.

Matiang’i’s legacy is a warning. If we celebrate him, we risk convincing ourselves that democracy is too messy, that we need “iron-fisted” saviours to fix our problems. That is a dangerous lie.

Kenya does not need Matiang’i. We do not need strongmen. We need strong institutions —transparent, fair, and accountable. We need leaders who serve, not bullies who perform.

Dr. Fred Matiang’i was not the cure for Kenya’s education sector. He was the disease. His reign should remind us that the worst tyrant is not always in military uniform. Sometimes, he comes dressed in a sharp suit, armed with decrees, and cloaked in the applause of a deceived nation.

Fred Matiang’i: The Tyrant's Reformist lie as experienced by Kenya’s Police Officers

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Ask any police officer in Kenya, and they will tell you that when Dr. Fred Matiang’i was appointed Cabinet Secretary for the Interior Ministry, there was hope in the air. At last, they thought, reforms were coming. At last, the years of stagnation, poor pay, and neglect would be addressed.

But instead of reforms, what police officers received was betrayal. Matiang’i presided over one of the darkest chapters for the National Police Service. He sold efficiency to the public, but what he gave the officers was oppression, corruption, and career destruction.

Kenya’s police officers are some of the most self-driven and self-taught men and women in public service. Many have pursued further education in criminology, law, psychology, forensic science, ICT, and other relevant fields while still serving in uniform. They did this hoping that one day merit would count. They did this believing that reforms would reward their effort and sacrifice.

But Matiang’i dashed those hopes. Instead of promoting from within the service, he introduced a corruption-ridden charade. He claimed to be employing “experts.” In truth, he was parachuting into the force the children of the wealthy, the politically connected, and the well-placed.

These children —who had taken basic and mostly irrelevant university courses with little application to police work —were given inspector badges after a mere nine months of basic police training. They skipped ranks. They skipped sweat. They skipped experience. And every single one of them — 100% —got there through corruption, through privilege, through connections.

Meanwhile, seasoned officers with decades of experience and hard-earned knowledge were left to stagnate in the lower ranks, their dreams crushed, their morale shattered.

Who can forget Matiang’i’s obsession with changing the police uniform? A needless, cosmetic, and entirely corrupt exercise that did nothing to improve service delivery or police welfare. Millions were poured into new fabrics and contracts, yet officers remained poorly housed, poorly paid, and poorly equipped.

Instead of tackling the real problems of the service —morale, promotions, housing, and pay —Matiang’i distracted the nation with empty theatrics, all while corruption thrived behind the scenes.

Perhaps Matiang’i’s most unforgivable legacy was his refusal to reform the police promotion regime. To this day, ranks remain chained to job groups, a system so rigid that it is entirely possible —and common —for an officer to join the service in one job group and retire 35 or 40 years later in the very same group.

This is not reform. It is institutionalised injustice. It is legalised stagnation. And Matiang’i defended it fiercely, as though the police were condemned by law to suffer in silence, to wallow in squalor, and to die without ever tasting dignity in their careers.

Matiang’i sold himself as an efficient technocrat —tough, no-nonsense, a man who gets things done. But beneath the facade was a tyrant who destroyed careers, killed morale, entrenched corruption, and widened inequality within the service. The public saw the optics. The police lived the reality. And the reality is this: Matiang’i was no reformer. He was a disaster.

Kenya must never be fooled by appearances, media narratives, or the false efficiency of men like Fred Matiang’i. The police deserve genuine reforms —reforms that reward merit, end stagnation, improve welfare, and build morale.

Matiang’i left behind not progress, but bitterness. Not reforms, but betrayal. And we must never forget that when he had the power to uplift, he chose to oppress.

Fred Matiang’i: The Tribal Chief Who Neglected His Own People

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

Some have accused me of contradicting myself when I say two things about Dr. Fred Matiang’i.

One, that he neglected the Kisii people when he held immense power in government.

Two, that he is a tribalist for choosing Kisii as the launchpad for his political campaigns.

But these two truths are not contradictions. They are, in fact, complementary. They reveal the essence of Matiang’i’s political character: a man who abandoned his people when it mattered, only to come back later to exploit them as a political shield.

When Matiang’i sat in the powerful seat of Interior CS, he had every opportunity to lift Kisii. But what did we get?

No new industries.

No revived agriculture.

No better roads or hospitals.

No economic empowerment for our youth.

He spoke loudly in Nairobi, flexed power against political opponents, and projected himself as a “national leader.” Yet, in all that noise, Kisii was forgotten. Our sons and daughters got nothing more than empty rhetoric. His loyalty was not to Kisii, but to the political barons who used him as their enforcer.

Now that Matiang’i wants higher office, suddenly Kisii is his “turf.” Suddenly he is the son of the soil asking for home support. He did not choose Nairobi, Uhuru Park, Kamukunji, or Nyayo Stadium, where a truly national leader would prove his appeal. Instead, he retreated to Kisii —to rally people along tribal lines.

This is the very definition of tribal politics: using the emotional connection of kinship and blood to mobilize support, while having given nothing back when it truly mattered.

Why Both Truths Stand Together

If he is a “son of Kisii,” then where was that sonship when our farmers struggled? When our youth lacked opportunities? When roads lay in disrepair? When our county lagged behind in development?

If he was national-minded and too “big” to be tribal, then why does he now cling to Kisii as his springboard?

The truth is simple: Matiang’i is neither a true national leader nor a genuine son of Kisii. He is an opportunist. He acted national when power demanded it, and he now acts tribal when ambition demands it.

We must ask ourselves: are we willing to be reduced to mere stepping stones for Matiang’i’s personal ambitions? Will we allow ourselves to be remembered only when votes are needed, but forgotten when power is held?

Supporting him just because he is Kisii is not only a betrayal of reason but also an insult to ourselves. For what kind of “tribal chief” remembers his people only during campaigns, yet neglected them in government?

There is no contradiction in saying Matiang’i neglected Kisii and that Matiang’i is a tribalist. Both are true, and together they expose the hypocrisy of a man who cannot be trusted with the destiny of this nation.

Kisii deserves better. Kenya deserves better. And history will not forgive us if we fall into the trap of tribal loyalty to a man who betrayed both his people and his country.

Why Kisii Must Reject the Cult of Matiang’i

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

There is a dangerous myth circulating in our beloved Kisii: that because Dr. Fred Matiang’i is “one of our own,” we must blindly support him for higher office. That his surname alone, his birthplace, his shared heritage with us, is enough reason to overlook his deeds or misdeeds. I reject this myth, and so should every thinking Kisii.

Ethnicity Is Not a Free Pass for Tyranny.

Let us ask the hard question: What did Fred Matiang’i ever do for Kisii when he held immense power in government?

Did he bring industries? No.

Did he improve our infrastructure? No.

Did he lift our schools, or hospitals, or farmers? No.

Did he champion our youth languishing in unemployment? No.

And if anyone dares show me even a single tangible achievement for Kisii under his watch, then I will say that rain can fall in the form of milk. Zero. Because the truth is simple: Matiang’i did nothing for Kisii.

What he did instead was to protect the interests of his masters in Nairobi. He became their enforcer, their attack dog, their hammer of intimidation—while his own backyard remained neglected and starved.

We cannot allow collective amnesia to erase his record. This is the same man under whose watch:

The Kianjokoma brothers were murdered by police brutality.

Tens of bodies were dumped in River Yala, victims of extra-judicial killings.

Police officers’ careers were ruined, with promotions frozen and salaries unfairly slashed.

Self-taught, hardworking cops were side-lined, while the sons and daughters of the rich were parachuted into inspector ranks.

Kisii development was stalled, not because of lack of opportunity, but because of deliberate neglect.

And yet, we are now told we must rally behind him just because he carries the Kisii identity card? No. Our identity is not a license for impunity.

Some will say, “But Matiang’i was an efficient technocrat.” Efficient for who? Certainly not for the poor Kisii farmer. Not for the struggling boda boda rider. Not for the underpaid police officer. Not for the grieving families who buried their sons killed by police bullets.

His efficiency was efficiency in oppression, efficiency in corruption, efficiency in protecting the oligarchs while silencing ordinary Kenyans. He was a servant of power, not a servant of the people.

Kisii people are proud, resilient, and intelligent. We must not allow ourselves to be trapped by the primitive politics of “our man, our turn.” Supporting Matiang’i simply because he is Kisii is like applauding a thief just because he shares your surname. It is like cheering for a murderer just because he speaks your mother tongue. Ethnicity cannot wash away tyranny. True leadership is about character, integrity, and justice, not about where your umbilical cord was buried.

We, the people of Kisii, deserve better than to be manipulated into supporting a man whose hands are not clean. We deserve leaders who will uplift our farmers, protect our youth, improve our roads, empower our schools, and create opportunities. Leaders who will treat every Kenyan with dignity, not as pawns in their power games.

If we must look to one of our own, let us look to leaders like Chief Justice Emeritus David Maraga —a man of principle, a defender of justice, a leader whose integrity is unquestioned. Let us not shame ourselves by rallying behind a tyrant simply because he is Kisii.

Matiang’i is not a hero. He is not a saviour. He is not even a son of Kisii in service to his people. He is a tyrant disguised as a technocrat, a man who abandoned his own backyard while faithfully serving the oligarchs in Nairobi. To support him now, just because of tribal loyalty, would be nothing short of national self-suicide.

So I say this without apology:

Matiang’i will not see my vote.

Kisii must not sell its soul to tribal politics.

We deserve better. Kenya deserves better.

Children Over Happiness: Rethinking Parenthood in a Self-Centred Era

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

In today’s cultural climate, we are witnessing an alarming trend where the dissolution of marriages and relationships is increasingly rationalised under the mantra of “personal happiness.” Social media feeds are filled with posts —sometimes veiled threats, sometimes outright blackmail, where one parent, usually the mother, calls out the father for not being present in the lives of children after a breakup. The message often reads the same: “Men must care for their children even if they separate from the mothers, because tomorrow’s children will not search for absentee fathers.”

At face value, this sounds like a noble admonition. But scratch beneath the surface, and one uncovers an uncomfortable truth that society is reluctant to acknowledge: many fathers are rendered “absent” not because of indifference, but because of systematic manipulation, exclusion, and alienation, even when they continue to provide financially and attempt to fulfil their fatherly role.

Parental alienation is not a myth. Recorded instances abound of children being poisoned against their fathers, sometimes subtly through disparaging remarks, sometimes aggressively through outright denial of access. And this is not confined to cases where men walk away after a breakup. Even fathers who stay in the home, who provide, who engage, often find themselves battling the corrosive influence of a partner intent on reshaping the child’s perception of them.

The result? A generation of children who grow up with a skewed narrative: “Dad never cared, Dad never tried.” And yet, fathers, aware of these manipulations, are increasingly asking themselves why they should later be expected to embrace children who were raised in direct contradiction to their values, their principles, and often their very character.

It is not indifference but disillusionment that explains the stance of many modern men. They are not interested in forging relationships with children who have been moulded in an environment alien to them —children raised exclusively under the values of mothers who, in many cases, rejected the father’s role in the first place.

This may sound harsh, but it is the reality: many men are unwilling to extend themselves to bonds that were deliberately sabotaged. And society must come to terms with the fact that paternal detachment in such scenarios is not merely negligence, but sometimes a form of self-preservation in the face of manipulation.

Here lies the heart of the matter. Somewhere along the way, we redefined the purpose of marriage. It ceased to be an institution built around duty, sacrifice, and the upbringing of children, and it became a platform for adult self-fulfilment.

But here is an uncomfortable truth: marriage was never meant to be a happiness project. Happiness is fleeting, subjective, and often selfish. Marriage, by contrast, was meant to be workable. A framework where two adults bind themselves to a higher responsibility —raising children in stability, in balance, and in an environment where they experience both masculine and feminine influence.

When adults put their “happiness” above the welfare of their children, they are not enlightened; they are selfish. A child does not need two happy but separate parents as much as they need two present and cooperative ones. Stability and unity far outweigh temporary adult thrills.

If society is to heal from the brokenness we now see —the absentee fathers, the manipulated children, the bitterness that plays out in adulthood —we must reframe our understanding of family. We must return to a time when parents sacrificed for their offspring, when they chose endurance over escape, when they understood that life is not about chasing personal joy but about cultivating continuity, stability, and legacy.

Children are not experiments. They are Not collateral in the pursuit of fleeting adult emotions. They deserve more than to be raised in a battlefield of bitterness where one parent demonises the other. They deserve a father and a mother who prioritise the workability of their union over the illusion of endless happiness.

The modern worship of “my happiness” has birthed a generation of fractured families. Yet history teaches us that civilisations thrived not on selfish pursuits but on sacrifice. The family is the smallest unit of civilisation; when it breaks down, society breaks down.

Parents —both fathers and mothers —must resist the lure of self-centredness and embrace the hard truth: we live not for ourselves, but for those who come after us. If that means sacrificing comfort, enduring tension, or choosing duty over desire, then so be it. The measure of our lives is not how happy we were, but how well we prepared our children to build after us.

THE KENYAN CIRCUS

By Fred Nyankuru

In this Republic, we hold elections like weddings of fools,

Led by headlines birthed in a gossip-thirsty media,

With prophets of plunder sold as saviours of the nation,

While saints, too calm to shout, are buried in silence,

And citizens cheer old thieves with renewed applause,

Drunk on recycled promises by men we once cursed.

Oh, how quickly we forget those we rightly cursed—

Now we re-elect them with blessings like blissful fools,

Their stale pledges garnished for our loud applause,

Their lies endorsed by a headline-hunting media,

As hope dies quietly in the corners of our silence,

And history weeps for this forgetful nation.

Every five years, we dance as a deluded nation,

Pretending not to remember the rot we once cursed.

Our memory is bribed into festive silence,

And we hand our power to professional fools,

Polished by makeovers from a crooked media,

Then clap like seals for another round of applause.

What is applause but noise without cause? Applause

for men with no heart to heal this bleeding nation.

Our screens parade them—courtesy of their bought media,

And we are told they are different from the demons we cursed.

The intelligent stay home, mocked by marching fools,

And their absence fuels the tyranny of our silence.

Yes, the good men sit in dignified silence—

Not flashy, not corrupt, not seeking hollow applause.

But Kenya does not vote brains; we vote for fools,

If only they can dance and throw shade at the nation,

If only they can insult better than the devils we cursed,

They get the endorsement of our trend-setting media.

And still, we blame the wrong crowd—the media.

Yet who gave it voice but the price of our silence?

Who praised a conman today but we who once cursed

him yesterday? Who turns each villain to applause

But a people allergic to truth—a blind nation

Addicted to drama and governed by fools?

So here lies our media, our puppets of applause.

Here lies our silence, a coffin for the nation.

And here rise the fools again—those we never really cursed.

Oh Kenya, your hope lies not in those who shout,

But in the quiet builder you mock and ignore—

Until you love truth more than theatre, you will always be ruled by fools.

The Rise of Rigathi: A Calculated Move or a Dangerous Detour for Kenya?

By Fred Nyankuru

In the ever-evolving chessboard of Kenyan politics, the emergence of former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua as a self-styled opposition leader is no mere coincidence —it is a meticulously crafted political stratagem, fuelled by tribal oligarchy, economic muscle, and the manipulation of public discontent. As the nation simmers with frustration at President William Ruto’s administration, a new threat quietly emerges —not from a reformist front, but from within the same establishment it seeks to replace.

Gachagua’s recent manoeuvres are revealing. From fiery speeches veiled as “truth-telling” to his well-calculated American tour, the Mathira politician is not just seeking to be heard; he is strategically positioning himself as the only alternative. But this is not the emergence of a visionary; it is the rise of a tribal strongman, repackaged as a people’s champion.

Rigathi’s Strategy is Power Through Intimidation and Patronage. Gachagua is no fool. He understands Kenya’s political fault lines better than most, and he is keenly aware that populism, tribal identity, and financial influence are the three pillars upon which many have climbed to the top. But unlike past leaders who attempted to mask their ethnic foundations in national rhetoric, Rigathi has chosen to flaunt his tribal identity as a badge of pride and legitimacy.

His tour to the United States, billed as a diaspora engagement mission, is in fact a dual-purpose expedition: to secure financial backing from sympathetic business elites abroad—many of whom belong to his ethnic base, and to send a message to the local opposition: “You will need me.”

It is not far-fetched to argue that this entire rise is being facilitated by tribal oligarchs from Central Kenya who are deeply uncomfortable with the idea of a cross-ethnic, reformist candidate like Fred Matiang’i (his many sins aside) or Kalonzo Musyoka or even David Kenani Maraga gaining traction. The fear? That such leaders, grounded in institutional integrity and untainted by tribal entitlement, might finally break the stranglehold that certain regions have enjoyed over state power and resources.

With the financial machinery that Gachagua is assembling and the ethno-political support already being galvanised, the next step is clear: to blackmail the opposition into submission. Gachagua doesn’t need to win hearts —he needs to make himself too costly to oppose.

By 2026, we will likely witness intense behind-the-scenes pressure on opposition leaders to fall in line. Those who resist may find themselves politically isolated or financially starved. He, with the help of the oligarchy, is creating a dependency structure where political survival hinges on allegiance to his cause; a cause that has nothing to do with national unity or democratic progress. This is not leadership. This is transactional politics draped in the language of ethnic pride and victimhood. It is the worst form of political opportunism.

Kenya must tread carefully. In our understandable frustration with President William Ruto’s administration —whether it be over the economic crisis, the high cost of living, or broken campaign promises —we risk running into the arms of another disaster. Rigathi Gachagua represents a colossal loss of direction for a country that should be moving towards inclusivity, institutional integrity, and issue-based politics. He is not the future. He is the past, weaponised with modern tools.

Kenya’s political evolution cannot continue to orbit around tribal chieftains. We cannot keep replacing one ethnic boss with another under the illusion of change. The country needs a leader who can transcend tribe, unify the regions, and focus on meritocracy, law and order, and economic equity. It is only through such leadership that we can fix the structural problems that have plagued us since independence.

Kenya; let us not make the mistake of imagining that anyone who opposes Ruto is automatically a hero. The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend. A tribal bigot armed with diaspora dollars and local oligarchs’ backing is not a saviour; he is a shadow of a deeper rot.

This is the time for Kenyans to elevate their standards. Opposition unity should not be bought. It should be built. David Maraga, Kalonzo Musyoka, Fred Matiang’i and other opposition leaders must refuse to play second fiddle to power barons who offer nothing but ethnicity and noise. Instead, they must offer vision, discipline, and a national narrative that brings hope to all, not just one tribe.

The public, too, must awaken. Let us demand from our leaders more than slogans, more than “mtu wetu” and more than empty shows of defiance. Let us insist on character, on sacrifice, on policy, and on patriotism.

Rigathi may rise—but let him rise only as a cautionary tale of what happens when a nation loses focus in a moment of pain. The real task ahead is not just to replace Ruto. It is to replace the entire mindset that birthed both him and Rigathi.

That is the revolution Kenya needs. Not another tribal emperor.

THE WESTERN INVENTION OF “CHEATING”: A CULTURAL CONSPIRACY AGAINST MASCULINE NATURE

By Fred Nyankuru

In today’s world, few concepts ignite moral outrage as quickly as “cheating.” But have we ever paused to question the origins, assumptions, and ideological underpinnings of this term? In particular, when applied to men, “cheating” may not be as universally immoral as we are conditioned to believe. In fact, it is increasingly evident that the modern idea of cheating especially within male-female dynamics, is a cultural construct rooted in Western individualism, not a universal truth.

Let us examine the deeper argument: that the moral condemnation of men who have more than one woman is not only ahistorical and unnatural, but a product of a monogamy-obsessed cultural system that views possessiveness as virtue and self-restraint as the only path to goodness. This view, however, runs contrary to nature, anthropology, history, and even many religious doctrines. The idea that a man with multiple women is inherently immoral, deceptive, or “cheating”—is a manufactured notion. It is not nature’s verdict, nor heaven’s decree. It is a western idea born of modernity’s attempt to cage masculinity and redesign the family according to ideals of romantic exclusivity.

Science tells us what tradition always knew: men are not naturally monogamous. Anthropological evidence across human societies reveals that polygyny (one man, multiple women) has been more common than monogamy across cultures and centuries. From African kingdoms to Middle Eastern tribes, from biblical patriarchs to tribal chiefs, men who had the capacity emotionally, economically, or spiritually, to lead more than one woman often did so, not as a crime, but as a mark of strength and leadership.

A man with multiple women was not “cheating,” he was leading. The moral question was not about exclusivity but about responsibility. Did he provide? Did he protect? Did he uphold honour? These were the tests of worth. Not whether he restricted his affection to one woman, but whether he governed his household with fairness, discipline, and wisdom.

In truth, nature itself endows men with a broader reproductive strategy. Unlike women, whose biology places a premium on selectivity and gestation, men’s biological wiring inclines toward spreading seed. This is not to excuse irresponsibility or exploitation—but to acknowledge the natural distinction. It is only when a society begins to deify individual desire and commodify sexual loyalty that it begins to judge a man harshly for answering to the very biology that nature gave him.

The rise of monogamy was not primarily a moral revolution; it was a socio-political one. In Western civilization, as individualism, capitalism, and private property began to take root, marriage was increasingly seen through the lens of exclusive ownership. A wife was not just a partner; she was property. Her body, time, and affection were claimed exclusively by one man, and vice versa. The language of love was made to sound noble, but beneath it lay the desire to control.

In this framework, the man who loved more than one woman was not seen as generous or expansive, but as a thief —stealing what another man “owned” or breaking the sacred contract of exclusivity. The western invention of “cheating” criminalized a natural impulse in the name of loyalty. But was it really loyalty? Or was it possessiveness rebranded as morality?

Contrast this with African, Arab, and many Eastern cultures, where the idea of a man having more than one wife was seen not as betrayal, but as a mark of blessing and strength provided he did not neglect his duties. The man was a cornerstone, not a cheater.

Even the oldest religions do not agree with the Western vilification of polygamy. Abraham, Jacob, David, and Solomon—pillars of Judeo-Christian heritage were all men with multiple wives. Nowhere does God condemn them for this. In fact, in some instances, their multiplicity is portrayed as divine favour. Islam, more explicitly, permits polygyny (up to four wives), provided the man can treat them justly.

What then are we doing when we say a man is “cheating” for loving or being with another woman? Which commandment did he break? Which divine edict has he offended? It is not the religion that cries foul; it is modern culture. A culture that has elevated romantic exclusivity to godhood and demonized masculine expansion as betrayal.

To call every non-monogamous man a cheater is to erase millennia of human history, denigrate entire cultures, and misrepresent religious tradition.

To be clear, there are men who choose monogamy, and there is honour in self-restraint. But let us not lie to ourselves. Such men are not necessarily obeying nature; they are suppressing it. They may do so for moral, personal, or practical reasons, and that is admirable. But it is a sacrifice, not a biological default. And we must recognize it as such. We must not criminalize or demonize those who choose another path especially when that path is older, deeper, and more human.

THE “OTHER WOMAN” VS. THE “MAIN WOMAN”: A FALSE HIERARCHY

Our modern obsession with categorizing women into “main chick” and “side chick” is a symptom of monogamy’s insecurity. In older societies, a man’s wives were women of dignity —not rivals or scandals. They were part of a house, a lineage, and a shared covenant. The idea that one woman must own the man’s entire heart and body is a recent, and arguably self-centred, invention.

Women deserve love, protection, honour, and truth —but not exclusivity at the cost of reality. A woman who knows her man’s nature and agrees to walk with him truthfully is more empowered than one who is lied to in the name of “faithfulness.”

The concept of “cheating” is not a universal truth; it is a cultural judgment born of Western ideals of exclusivity and possession. To brand every man who loves more than one woman as a cheater is to silence history, ignore nature, and dishonour the diversity of human relationships.

We can not force all men into a monogamous mould in the name of morality. Instead, morality should be redefined as honesty, responsibility, and leadership. A man with more than one woman, when he leads them with honour and truth, is not a cheater —he is a man standing in the fullness of his nature and calling.

HOW A NATION FALLS: TRIBALISM, BLAME, AND THE SLOW DEATH OF REASON IN KENYA

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

A nation does not always collapse in the loud clang of war or the sudden strike of foreign invasion. Sometimes, it dies quietly —decaying slowly from within, corroded not by bombs or bullets, but by the betrayal of its own people. Kenya today stands at such a dangerous crossroads, where ethnic loyalty is fast replacing national identity, and truth is routinely sacrificed at the altar of tribal narratives.

We are witnessing a worrying trend: the ethnicisation of everything —from political corruption to criminal stupidity. A rogue police officer acts with brutality, and within moments, social media lights up, not with a demand for justice, but with reckless speculation about the tribes involved. The officer is given a tribal name. So is the victim. And the country descends into its predictable tribal trenches —facts be damned.

When a hawker was recently shot by a thoughtless police officer, opportunistic individuals quickly assigned tribal identities to both the shooter and the victim. They branded the cop as a Kalenjin from Nandi and the hawker as a Luo from Homa Bay, not because this was true, but because it served a divisive political script. Their goal? To make the Luo community feel targeted by the Kalenjin. To fan flames. To poison minds. To ignite hate. This is how a nation is destroyed —not by what happens, but by how we choose to interpret it.

Collective Blame is National Suicide. When one person commits a crime, that individual, and only that individual must face the full weight of justice. But in Kenya, we have become addicted to collective blame. A politician from a particular tribe is caught in corruption? The entire community is shamed or rises to his defence. A criminal incident occurs? The tribal origins of the participants —real or imagined —are used to draw battle lines.

This culture is not only unfair; it is deeply dangerous. It fractures our national fabric and makes unity impossible. We no longer look at wrongdoing through the lens of law and morality but through the poisoned glasses of tribal politics. We trade in stereotypes and suspicions. We forget that the criminal is not his tribe. The thief is not his ethnicity. The rogue cop is not his county.

And yet, our failure to insist on personal responsibility —because we hate or love someone at the top —continues to doom our collective progress.

Even more alarming is that it is now the youth —the very people we hoped would rise above the tribalism of the past who are the chief drivers of this ethnic madness. Online, where truth should thrive in the age of information, tribal propaganda is the loudest voice. Educated bloggers —many of whom should know better —have become architects of division, crafting lies to inflame one community against another, all in the name of “resisting” or “defending” the government. This isn’t civic engagement. It’s civic destruction.

The youth were supposed to usher in a new Kenya —a Kenya that thinks, not one that hates. A Kenya that chooses values over tribes. Instead, many have taken the baton of tribalism from the old guard and are running full speed into the abyss. If our hope lies in the next generation, and that generation is already lost to hate, what hope then does Kenya have?

Some will argue that this is all part of freedom of expression —that everyone has a right to speak, even when they lie or incite. But is freedom of speech still noble when it is used to manufacture hate? Should we protect voices that deliberately manipulate facts to pit communities against each other?

This is not a call for censorship —not yet. But it is a call for introspection. Freedom without responsibility is simply chaos in disguise. And in Kenya, chaos has already worn too many masks (no pun intended) —from tribal clashes to election violence to misinformation.

Kenya’s soul is not buried yet, but it is wounded. The healing must begin with truth and personal accountability. We must reject the culture of blaming entire communities for the sins of one person. We must name criminals for what they are —criminals —not ambassadors of their ethnicity.

We must call out lies, even when they serve “our side.” We must confront hate, even when it comes from “our people.” True patriotism is not defending your tribe —it is defending the truth.

To the youth of Kenya: You were born at a time of promise. Do not squander that promise by resurrecting the tribal ghosts of our past. Use your voice to build, not burn. To question, not incite. To unify, not divide. Let us not become the generation that buried Kenya. Let us be the one that saved it.

Because if we continue like this, —baptising criminals with tribal names, turning incidents into ethnic grenades, excusing foolishness because it harms those we hate, then we are not building a nation. We are digging its grave —One tweet, one lie, one misplaced name at a time.

Kenya Must Reject Fred Matiang’i and Embrace Leadership of Conscience

By Fred Allan Nyankuru

When Dr. Fred Matiang’i recently emerged to comment on the brutal murder of a teacher and blogger, calling for justice and accountability, his words were met not with applause, but with widespread public backlash. Kenyans, in their sharp collective memory, reminded him of the many lives lost, bruised, or broken under his own tenure as Cabinet Secretary for Interior.

From the horrific bodies retrieved from River Yala, to the Kianjokoma brothers killed by police, to the countless incidents of state brutality, enforced disappearances, and judicial disregard, Matiang’i’s legacy is etched not in reform or compassion, but in blood and intimidation. And now, this same man seeks to re-enter the public sphere not just as a commentator—but as a potential presidential contender? We must say No—firmly, clearly, and finally.

While time moves on, truth remains stubborn. The Kenyan people are not forgetful. They are forgiving, yes—but not to be taken for fools. Dr. Matiang’i presided over one of the most oppressive internal security regimes in Kenya’s recent history.

Under his watch: Judges were threatened, and court orders routinely disobeyed; activists disappeared, and some reappeared in rivers or forests—lifeless; police impunity was shielded, not reformed; freedom of assembly and protest was criminalized, particularly for those critical of the state.

These are not allegations pulled from political opponents. These are facts burned into the memory of citizens and families who lost sons and daughters to police boots and bullets. And when Matiang’i now speaks the language of justice, the nation recoils—for he was once its chief abuser.

Let us be clear: President Ruto’s administration has deeply disappointed many Kenyans. From economic hardship, tax burdens, growing inequality, and institutional fatigue, the national mood is rightfully angry and restless. But in our desperation for change, we must not be manipulated into replacing a struggling regime with an unapologetic tyrant. That would be like choosing to be devoured by a lion instead of a hyena.

It is not progress if we move from mismanagement to dictatorship; It is not reform if we shift from incompetence to cruelty; And it is not justice if we replace impunity with even greater impunity. We must ask ourselves: Is Matiang’i really a better option—or just a recycled error dressed in new rhetoric?

Matiang’i does not stand alone. Behind his name loom the shadows of the very political tycoons who bankrupted Kenya economically and morally. He remains tightly associated with former President Uhuru Kenyatta’s regime, where public debt soared, national resources were looted, and institutions became pawns for elite interests. Matiang’i was no bystander. He was a willing, vocal, and zealous foot soldier in that system. He obeyed and enforced that order, no matter the cost to citizens.

Now that same old guard—rattled by shifting allegiances—seeks to repackage him as an independent saviour, hoping Kenyans will be too tired, too angry, or too naive to remember. But Kenya remembers. And this time, Kenya must refuse to be tricked again.

There is a better path. It is quieter, perhaps less flashy—but far more stable, wise, and rooted in principle. Former Chief Justice David Kenani Maraga is one such man, in my view. He is not a tribal strongman, not a pawn of billionaires, and not a career politician. Instead, he is a man who stood for the independence of the judiciary. A leader who fearlessly nullified a presidential election in defence of electoral justice. A devout and principled statesman whose life and leadership has inspired trust, decency, and hope. Maraga is not a media creation. He is a product of discipline, integrity, and courage.

If the people of Kisii—and Kenyans at large—must look toward one of their own for national redemption, let it be Maraga, not Matiang’i. One offers healing; the other reminds us of pain.

Let us call this what it is: a test of our national wisdom. Are we so desperate that we would entrust our future to a man who oversaw our suffering? Are we so short-sighted that we would allow the very oligarchs who looted us to return disguised as our redeemers? We must not let anger blind our judgment. And we must not let media-manufactured myths bury the truth we already know. Fred Matiang’i is not our future. He is our past, haunting us in new packaging.

Let us turn instead toward leaders of conscience, restraint, justice, and national unity. Let us rise, not regress. Let us choose wisely, not react emotionally.

Let us say clearly and loudly:

Matiang’i is not fit to lead this nation.

Kenya deserves better.

And in Chief Justice Emeritus David Maraga, we may just have that better path—rooted in principle, governed by humility, and guided by justice.

I’m glad Kenyans can remember, clearly, everything Matiang’i is.

Allan's Sonnet 3

CHAINED 

What Country Is This? 

What country is this, where silence buys the grave,

And words are crimes that beg for iron chains?

Where power strikes the weak it swore to save,

And truth once free now trembles bound in pains?

We built our hopes on law, on justice blind,

Yet see with open eyes her turned away.

The torch once passed to guide the lost and kind

Now lights the path where shadows rule the day.

Is this the soil where youth must bleed for speech?

Where questions cost more dearly than deceit?

Where arms that swore to guard instead outreach

To cage the heart and drag it to defeat?

Yet still we dream — for dream we must to mend —

A land where might shall learn to serve, not end.