The Exhausting Reality of Political Consciousness

How is it possible to be politically conscious and not sink into despair in Kenya today? The more one grows aware of the structures, choices, and consequences of power, the less hope there seems to be in the electorate. Political consciousness — the understanding that governance is a product of both leadership and citizen participation — is often a lonely pursuit in a society where bad leadership is fetishized and corruption normalized.

When you take the time to study candidates, scrutinize manifestos, and analyze past performance, you inevitably notice patterns. Every election, it seems, the Kenyan voter gravitates toward leaders who flaunt corruption, display impunity, or operate with little regard for the Constitution. Some of these leaders are murderers, directly or indirectly responsible for political violence. Others thrive on patronage, amassing wealth at the expense of public service. Yet despite evidence of incompetence, mismanagement, or outright criminality, they are elected — and often re-elected — by a populace that appears to have developed a cultural attachment to failure and scandal.

This reality makes political consciousness exhausting. The conscious citizen sees potential leaders who are competent, ethical, and capable of meaningful reform — yet these options are rarely popular. The electorate, more enamoured with personality cults, tribal loyalty, or short-term promises, consistently sidelines these capable alternatives. In a society where the majority prioritize theatrics over substance, truth-telling and advocacy become acts of frustration rather than empowerment. You speak of accountability, you warn against corrupt tendencies, you urge strategic voting — and are met with contempt. Bus conductors, street preachers, and other everyday authorities receive similar skepticism when they warn against obvious danger. In Kenya, caution and wisdom are too often perceived as contrarian, unpatriotic, or even elitist.

The effect of this voter behaviour is profound. Politically conscious citizens find themselves exhausted not merely because the system is corrupt — it is — but because the people they rely on to check that system actively reject integrity. The cycle is self-perpetuating. Leaders with no respect for constitutional limits rise to power because they understand the electorate’s fascination with ostentation, spectacle, and tribalized politics. Meanwhile, citizens who demand accountability are marginalized, mocked, or silenced. Over time, you internalize a painful truth: awareness does not guarantee influence. In fact, it guarantees a front-row seat to the spectacle of repeated poor choices.

The fetishization of bad governance in Kenya is almost ritualistic. Scandals are celebrated, not condemned. Leaders who mismanage funds or abuse power are given second chances, and sometimes third. Citizens turn a blind eye to nepotism, embezzlement, and extra-judicial actions if the individual promises minor benefits or engages in populist theatrics. Social media amplifies this phenomenon, glorifying the drama of political misrule while ignoring the quiet diligence of principled alternatives. Leaders who uphold law, demonstrate competence, and act constitutionally struggle to gain traction, precisely because the electorate equates charisma or tribal alignment with governance quality.

Being politically conscious in this context feels like swimming upstream in a river flowing backwards. You see opportunities for real reform, policy-driven leadership, and systemic improvement, but they are drowned out by the tide of spectacle, rhetoric, and superficial loyalty. The electorate’s refusal to consistently demand accountability punishes the conscientious: voting wisely becomes an exercise in futility, activism is demoralizing, and engagement is exhausting. This is why many politically conscious citizens eventually withdraw, choosing to limit their participation to minimal compliance or private discussion. The cost of standing firm is high, and the reward — national transformation — appears distant and improbable.

Yet there is another dimension: political consciousness in Kenya is inherently tied to moral clarity. You cannot be aware and passive without experiencing ethical dissonance. Each corrupt leader elected represents a collective abdication of civic responsibility. Every scandal ignored, every law flouted, and every budget misappropriated is a reminder that the electorate has decided that spectacle and self-interest outweigh competence and integrity. For the politically conscious, witnessing this repeatedly is a mental and emotional burden. The despair is not abstract; it is rooted in seeing a society prioritize immediate gratification over long-term survival, entertainment over justice, and loyalty to personality over loyalty to law.

The paradox is that despite all evidence, there are always better alternatives — leaders who respect the Constitution, demonstrate administrative competence, and have the capacity to uplift institutions and public service. They are rarely elected. Often, they are rejected for being “too serious” or “too honest,” qualities that the electorate misunderstands or mistrusts. This consistent rejection of capable leadership compounds the exhaustion of those trying to reason within a broken system. It underscores the futility of hoping that rational choice alone will reform political outcomes when the cultural appetite for poor governance is entrenched.

Political consciousness in Kenya, therefore, is both a gift and a curse. It allows you to perceive the deep structural failings of the state and the consequences of individual and collective choices. But it also forces you to confront the sobering reality that the electorate often prefers theatrics to competence, tribalism to integrity, and spectacle to lawfulness. It explains why many informed citizens choose to limit exposure to political discourse: to survive emotionally, intellectually, and socially.

Ultimately, the question “How is it possible to remain politically conscious without despair?” has no easy answer. It requires balancing awareness with pragmatism, advocacy with personal well-being, and hope with realism. Political consciousness is not a guarantee of influence, but it is a safeguard against complete moral surrender. In Kenya, it is exhausting precisely because the majority have willingly surrendered to leaders who represent the very antithesis of accountability, integrity, and constitutional fidelity.

For the politically conscious, the challenge remains: to navigate a society enthralled by bad governance while cultivating hope, even in the face of repeated disappointment. To demand better without burning out. To recognize that the despair is real — and that it is a reflection not only of the system but of the choices made by a society that too often mistakes spectacle for leadership.