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.