Kenya is an interesting country. What we consider predictable and normal in our politics feels abnormal and unimaginable to external observers, especially those in our region. Take, for instance, the goings-on this week.
On Wednesday, the Kenyan President attended the funeral of a Member of Parliament in the central part of Kenya, where opposition to him is notably intense. Present at the gathering were the President’s former deputy and several opposition leaders, including the young senator from the region, John Methu.
When permitted to speak, the opposition members, particularly Senator Methu went hammer and tongs against the President and his team, as he sat and listened. The crowd was generally polite to the President, but their passions clearly lay with his former deputy.
When it was the President’s turn to speak, he was largely measured but decidedly political, and the conduct of his foes must have stung, judging from the assertions he made about them, however indirect. Yet, at the end of the heated forum, the President and the opposition leaders went home, and Kenya’s “normal service” resumed, until the next titillating event.
Kenyans, rightly, take this as normal. But if one looks across our borders, it becomes clear that this is far from the norm. In Uganda, Kizza Besigye, President Museveni’s doctor-turned-most formidable opponent, has been in military detention for two years, unable to stand for elections or participate in politics. Before he was remanded, he was routinely subjected to vicious beatings and arrests for all manner of alleged infractions.
President Museveni’s most recent challenger, Bobi Wine, is in exile after losing a contested election, having been arrested on numerous occasions and subjected to repeated harassment alongside his young family.
In Rwanda, President Kagame wins elections by more than 99 per cent of the vote. I am not Rwandan, so I cannot vouch for the validity of these figures, but it is evident that any serious opponent is routinely harassed, with some imprisoned or forced into exile.
In Tanzania, the President’s main challenger, lawyer Tundu Lissu, survived an assassination attempt and spent several months receiving treatment for more than 20 gunshot wounds at Nairobi Hospital in its better days. He remains in remand, accused of treason, and thus missed the 2025 elections.
Further north, in South Sudan, Vice-President Riek Machar remains under house arrest and is undergoing trial for treason, murder and terrorism.
Little need be said about Abiy Ahmed’s Ethiopia, where full-scale civil war continues to simmer between the government and its foes, notably the Tigray People’s Liberation Front.
While this is no call to celebrate our relatively more serene politics simply because we fare better than our neighbours, Kenya’s comparatively open political environment is worthy of note. It demands that we continually and fiercely protect what we already have. Granted, we have our own failings: corruption abounds, police brutality occasionally rears its ugly head, and poverty continues to afflict a significant portion of the population.
Yet there are benefits, borne of our struggles, that have defined Kenya differently from its neighbours. Over time, we have developed a more versatile civil society, a more open and robust media, and most importantly, a relatively independent judiciary.
Our progressive Constitution, forged through years of struggle, remains the underlying guarantor of the limits we have collectively resolved not to cross. Recognising Kenya’s strengths, however, is not a call for docility, passivity, or resting on our laurels.
Bad leadership, as the United States has recently demonstrated, can push a country towards limits once thought unimaginable. Leadership left unchecked can reverse long-held assumptions. Our duty as Kenyan citizens remains to hold power accountable, so that we never return to the dark days from which we emerged at great cost.
Whether through the courts, the streets, or social media, we must continue to challenge power, remembering that power, left unchecked, corrupts and consumes all in its path. All Jewish Holocaust memorials echo a simple motto: “Never again.” Like them, we must build both formal and informal reminders that cry out “Never again”, guarding against complacency and the risk of regression.
-The writer is an advocate of the High Court of Kenya
