PoLIticS: A sAcReD ResPonsIBiliTY

Forget everything you know about politics. Forget the campaign chants, the convoys, the party colors, the empty promises stitched into every election season. Before we speak about governments, presidents, corruption, manifestos, or power, we must return to one uncomfortable question: what is democracy?

It is a question humanity has tried to answer for centuries, yet every definition seems to lose meaning the moment power enters the room. In 1863, during the Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln described democracy as “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” It sounded simple. It sounded noble. And perhaps, at one point in history, it truly reflected what democracy was meant to be. A government shaped by ordinary citizens. A system built to protect dignity, justice, and the collective future of humanity.

But somewhere along the way, especially across many African states, democracy stopped being about people and started becoming about survival. Politics became a game of power instead of a science of human flourishing. Corruption swallowed ideology. Leadership became performance. And the citizens who were supposed to own the government slowly became spectators watching their future auctioned in broad daylight.

To understand this collapse clearly, corruption must first be defined honestly. Corruption is not simply stealing public money. Corruption is the abuse of entrusted power for private or collective gain. It is the destruction of trust. It is the normalization of dishonesty. It is the moment a society begins rewarding manipulation more than integrity.

And nowhere is this contradiction more visible than in Kenya.

Politics, according to Aristotle, was supposed to be the highest practical science; a system designed to achieve the “good life” and human flourishing, or what he called eudaimonia. Politics was never meant to enslave people emotionally, economically, or mentally. It was meant to organize society in a way that allows human beings to live with dignity and purpose.

Yet if you ask many young Kenyans today what politics means, very few will answer positively. Politics has become synonymous with lies, betrayal, tribalism, corruption, and performative leadership. The very definition of politics has been contaminated because citizens no longer associate governance with hope. They associate it with disappointment.

Perhaps that is why one of the most haunting political statements in recent Kenyan history now echoes with painful irony:

“If I get the opportunity to run a government, there will be no corruption…”

Those were the famous words of William Ruto before ascending to the presidency. Yet like many promises before him, the statement dissolved into the familiar dust of Kenyan politics; a cycle where every incoming administration campaigns against the failures of the previous government, only to inherit and perfect the same system they once condemned.

To understand why Kenya keeps moving in circles politically, one must understand two things: the KANU ideology and the illusion that Kenya ever truly escaped it.

Kenya African National Union was originally meant to be a nationalist movement that united the country after independence. In many ways, it succeeded in delivering the independence mandate. But while independence was achieved politically, the psychological architecture of power remained intact. The system created deep wounds; wounds that later hardened into scars Kenya continues to scratch without ever healing.

Every president since independence, regardless of party name or public image, has understood the KANU playbook. Centralized loyalty. Political patronage. Personality cults. Ethnic arithmetic. Rewarding allies. Silencing dissent. Rebranding old systems with new slogans.

And perhaps that is why political parties in Kenya die so quickly.

What happened to the Party of National Unity (PNU)? What happened to the movements that once promised reform? They disappeared because many parties in Kenya are not built on ideology or values; they are built around individuals chasing power. Once power shifts, the parties collapse with it. The names change, the colors change, the slogans evolve, but the mentality remains untouched.

The tragedy is that Kenyans are often quick to point fingers at politicians without confronting the uncomfortable mirror standing before society itself.

A Reddit user once wrote:

“The 90% is not even hyperbole, the majority of people here are just liars, cheats, rude, gossipers, no wonder we elect bad leaders with no integrity…”

Harsh? Yes. But painful truths often are.

The government does not fall from the sky. Leaders emerge from society. Corrupt systems survive because corruption quietly exists within daily culture; in schools, businesses, churches, traffic stops, offices, and even personal relationships. A society that normalizes dishonesty cannot magically produce ethical leadership.

That is the conversation Kenya fears having.

“We the people” have forgotten that democracy demands responsibility before rights. Integrity before outrage. Self-reflection before blame. Citizens want honest leaders while celebrating shortcuts in their own lives. They condemn corruption publicly while excusing it privately when it benefits them.

And that is why removing one president alone will never save Kenya.

Voting William Ruto out in 2027 may satisfy political anger, but anger alone cannot rebuild a nation. Without changing the political culture itself, Kenya risks electing another leader shaped by the exact same KANU mentality, another president who understands power more than service.

If Kenyans continue building political parties around personalities instead of values, the cycle will repeat endlessly. New names. Same script.

And let no politician deceive citizens into believing that basic infrastructure alone is the standard of progress. Roads are important, yes. But roads without integrity are simply smoother paths toward the same corruption. Development without ethical leadership is cosmetic governance. A nation cannot pave over moral decay with tarmac.

The deeper crisis in Kenya is not economic. It is philosophical.

The country no longer agrees on what leadership should mean.

That is why Kenya’s solution may not come immediately. It may not even come from this generation. Real transformation will likely come from a generation that understands the law, values institutions over personalities, and sees politics not as a dirty game but as a sacred responsibility. A generation that has not been psychologically contaminated into believing that corruption is normal or inevitable.

Because the future of Kenya will not be rescued by a political messiah. It will be rescued by citizens who finally understand that democracy is not an event held every five years at the ballot box. Democracy is a culture. A discipline. A moral contract between the people and themselves.

And maybe that is the hardest truth of all.

Kenya is not merely suffering from bad leadership. Kenya is suffering from a broken relationship between power, values, and identity. The nation keeps searching for better rulers without first rebuilding better citizens. Yet history has always shown that governments eventually become reflections of the societies that tolerate them.

The real revolution, therefore, will not begin in State House. It will begin quietly, in classrooms, homes, conversations, communities, and in the minds of young people brave enough to believe politics can still mean service instead of survival.

Until then, Kenya will continue chasing change while carrying the same mentality that prevents it.