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.