Ian's Blog

In recent days, the Kenyan government has unveiled a chilling strategy in its crackdown on public dissent: charging over 70 protesters with terrorism. This move, widely condemned by civil society and global observers—including CNN’s Larry Madowo—marks a dangerous escalation in the state’s response to civil unrest. It represents not only a gross overreach of the criminal justice system but also a disturbing betrayal of the very principles of democracy that the government purports to uphold. Terrorism, as a legal concept and security threat, carries grave implications. It is meant to address acts that deliberately inflict widespread violence and fear in pursuit of ideological, political, or religious objectives. Kenya, tragically, has known real terrorism. From the 2013 Westgate Mall siege to the DusitD2 complex attack in 2019, the nation has paid a heavy price, losing hundreds of innocent lives. Families still mourn their loved ones, and communities continue to rebuild from the trauma. ...

 In March 2025, the government abruptly canceled all state advertising contracts with Standard Media Group —home to The Standard , KTN, Radio Maisha, and Standard Digital. Ostensibly a matter of compliance, the directive came amid rising tensions over the outlet’s independent coverage of government scandals. The move triggered alarm among media practitioners, press freedom advocates, and legal experts who see clear signals of economic coercion used to stifle dissent. At stake is Kenya’s constitutional guarantee of press freedom and the broader democratic culture that sustains it. The Kenya Editors’ Guild swiftly condemned the government’s decision, noting that state advertising is not a privilege, but a public service that must be distributed transparently across media entities. This was not an isolated incident: it marked the third directive from the same ministry official targeting Standard Group—raising credible fears of an orchestrated campaign to suppress critical journalism....

 Kenya’s democratic future hinges on the integrity of its electoral institutions—chief among them, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). Yet, as the country prepares for the 2027 general election, a familiar yet insidious pattern is emerging: the machinations of internal political interference , veiled in procedural legitimacy but aimed at shaping outcomes before votes are cast. Recent developments provide a stark case in point. In May 2025, President Ruto announced seven IEBC nominees, including a new chairperson. Almost immediately, civil society luminaries Boniface Mwangi and Kelvin Roy Omondi petitioned the High Court, challenging the selection process on grounds of lack of transparency, ethnic imbalance, procedural irregularities, and exclusion of person with disabilities. Justice Lawrence Mugambi issued an order allowing parliamentary vetting to proceed, yet temporarily barred any gazettement or swearing-in until the constitutional challenge is resolv...

 Kenya’s promise of democratic transformation rested, in part, on the revolutionary glow of devolution. The 2010 Constitution was designed to disperse power—to entrust governance closer to the people through 47 county governments empowered with key service delivery mandates. But today, that promise is slipping away. Across the corridors of State House and parliamentary chambers, power is flowing upward—not downward—closely echoing the centralized structures of pre‑2010 Kenya. The outcome is not just political injustice—it is democratic reversal. Governors across the country are now openly accusing the national executive of systematically eroding devolution gains. Nyeri Governor Mutahi Kahiga lamented that governors are subject to unprecedented scrutiny, while national actors—presidents, Cabinet secretaries, and MPs—escape comparable accountability. He framed the basic unfairness: counties receive just 15 percent of the national budget but endure disproportionate scrutiny, whereas ...

 Kenya’s future will not be shaped by one election or one protest. It will be shaped by whether this civic energy—so vibrant in the past year—is channeled into permanent structures that protect democracy long after the hashtags fade. The energy that powered #RejectFinanceBill2024, #JusticeForAlbertOjwang, and the Saba Saba protests will determine whether Kenya becomes a strong democracy or a fractured one. At its heart lie three choices citizens must make: choosing law over loyalty , principle over patronage , and justice over fear . This moment of civic awakening is unlike any other. Thousands of youth-led protests swept Nairobi and dozens of other counties in June 2025, demanding an end to police brutality, accountability for extrajudicial killings, and relief from punitive economic policies . It was a generation unwilling to accept suffering as trivial and silence as safety. But the greater task lies ahead: transforming that righteous fury into enduring systems. To do so, Ken...

 Kenya’s democracy is undergoing a transformation shaped not by the upper echelons of government, but by a grassroots force led by a new generation of young people. These youth, galvanized by economic hardship, state overreach, and political disillusionment, have taken to the streets, to social media, and to courtrooms. Their objective is not simply to protest, but to influence policy and demand a more accountable, transparent, and just society. From mass mobilizations against punitive tax proposals to online advocacy for police accountability, their efforts are making an indelible mark on the national landscape. The Finance Bill protests of 2024 signaled a major turning point. Sparked by the introduction of regressive taxes that disproportionately targeted the working poor, the protests began online but quickly spilled into the streets. Armed with hashtags, livestreams, and translated policy briefs, Gen Z and millennials educated the public, exposed the bill’s dangers, and applie...

Kenya is at a dangerous inflection point. Once regarded as a beacon of stability in East Africa, its public institutions—courts, Parliament, the IEBC, and the police—are now viewed with deep suspicion. A series of high-profile failures, abuses, and cronyism have led to a collapse of trust that threatens the very foundations of governance. When citizens lose faith in the institutions meant to protect them, democracy falters. This article explores how this erosion unfolded, what it means for the average Kenyan, and how trust might be repaired. Judicial Credibility Wanes The judiciary was long considered a pillar of national integrity. Yet over the past decade, its reputation has cratered. A 2024 Infotrak survey found only 34% of Kenyans had moderate trust in courts—while 57% didn’t trust them at all . Cases stack up in courtrooms, leaving litigants hanging for years. Allegations of bias, bribery, and political interference have become commonplace. Attempts to remove honorable judges...

 Kenya is caught in a frustrating political loop: power merely swaps chairs while the same faces cycle through leadership positions, offering no real change. One Cabinet Secretary (CS) is sacked; eight months later, they’re reappointed. MPs switch parties, switch offices, but deliver the same empty sermons. This is the political elite’s game of musical chairs —while the citizenry waits for transformation. What makes it worse is that each seat switch replicates the same old problems: impunity, self-enrichment, and lack of accountability. In the last cycle alone, President Ruto dismissed twelve CSs during the 2024 youth protests, only to reappoint half of them within the first half of 2025 . Nationwide, analysts describe this as symptomatic of how Kenya’s political leadership recycles the same cast of flawed characters, regardless of past failures. The result? Investors grow wary; public trust erodes; structural reforms stall; and ordinary people bear the brunt—in debt, taxes, and d...

 In the past 24hrs, a single phrase has emerged as a quiet revolution across Kenya’s digital landscape: #WeAreAllKikuyus . What began as a social media response to divisive rhetoric has now blossomed into a nationwide expression of defiance against ethnic politics—a rebellion not built on anger, but on unity. At its core, this movement is a rejection of the tired, dangerous formula that has haunted Kenyan politics for decades: weaponize ethnicity, divide the electorate, and consolidate power through fear. In a country where tribal identity has often overshadowed national belonging, the message behind #WeAreAllKikuyus is both profound and transformative. It signals a growing refusal to be manipulated by the politics of ethnicity. It represents a new chapter in how Kenyans define themselves—and each other. The hashtag is not about elevating one ethnic group; it's about obliterating the entire concept of ethnic superiority in political discourse. It’s a symbolic stand that says no t...