Why general elections leave our country polarised and fragile

Voter at a polling station. [File, Standard]

Undoubtedly, 2026 is the year for elevated political activism and strategic positioning for next year’s general election. Realignments will intensify. Coalitions will form. And, voters will begin to reshape their dispositions toward various political aspirants and their respective parties. This is all very fine except that we rarely stop to reflect on past electoral experiences.

Every election cycle in Kenya raises a familiar question: why, after more than three decades of multiparty politics, do we still struggle to hold peaceful and trusted elections? From the 1990s to the present, electoral violence, contested outcomes, voter manipulation, and post-election polarisation have recurred with disturbing consistency. I believe this is not simply a failure of institutions or laws. It is largely our failure to learn from our own history and to confront the deeper political culture that shapes our elections.

One major reason we have not learned from past mistakes is the deep embedding of tribalism within our political systems. We know that most political parties are not national platforms anchored in ideology or policy. They are extensions of ethnic leadership, often revolving around powerful tribal chiefs and their immediate networks. As a result, we frame political competition through ethnic arithmetic rather than national vision. Our elections become exercises in political optics, coalition theatrics, and ethnic mobilisation, rather than serious debates about leadership, governance, and the common good.

Closely related to this is the way the presidency has evolved into a reward centre over the years. With the notable exception of the Kibaki era, which modestly toned this down, the presidency has increasingly been perceived as the ultimate dispenser of power, resources, and protection. I would argue that control of the state is therefore seen as control of economic opportunity and political survival. In this context, tribes do not merely compete; they fight or strategically coalesce around the strongest tribal chief with the largest voting base. Our elections thus acquire a zero-sum character, where losing is interpreted as collective exclusion.

A third reason is our indifference to the fairness of the electoral process itself. We watch voters being bribed openly and at scale, often without consequence. The buying of voter's cards is often reported, yet we rarely see investigations taken to a logical conclusion. Political parties routinely impose candidates, undermining internal democracy while expecting the public to legitimise the outcome at the ballot. When we treat process integrity casually, disputes become inevitable, and elections lose their moral authority long before polling day.

Equally troubling is the consistent dismissal of calls for genuine reconciliation. I have observed religious leaders repeatedly appealing for truth-telling, justice, and healing as part of the electoral cycle. Yet these pleas are often ignored, not because reconciliation lacks value, but because it threatens political comfort. Some politicians feel threatened by the possibility that truth, if genuinely pursued, would expose past injustices and weaken their hold on power. As a result, our reconciliation efforts are postponed, diluted, or reduced to symbolic gestures.

Taken together, these dynamics explain why each election leaves our country polarised and fragile, particularly in the first year of every electoral cycle. The issue, as I see it, is not simply who wins or loses, but how elections are conceived and conducted. Without addressing tribalised party structures, the concentration of power in the presidency, the erosion of process integrity, and the sidelining of reconciliation, our electoral reforms will remain problematic.

What Kenya requires is a sober national conversation on peaceful elections, one that goes beyond technology, courts, and commissions. I am convinced it must interrogate our political culture, ethical leadership, and citizen responsibility. Until we are willing to confront these deeper questions together, we will continue to repeat familiar patterns, mistaking procedural change for genuine democratic learning.

A good example of how we incubate electoral chaos is the requirement for periodic electoral boundary reviews. The debate on electoral boundaries as we head to the next general election is being trivialised yet the legalities around constituency reviews is critical and a legal requirement. I will return to this in the coming weeks.

Peace must be a priority of all of us in the coming elections.

Dr Mokua is the Executive Director, Loyola Centre for Media and Communication