Holding Kenyan Leaders Accountable for Their Words

The statement by Wajir Woman Representative, declaring that "we must rig the election for William Ruto in 2027," reflects open contempt for the democratic will of the people. Such blatant disregard for free and fair elections undermines the constitution and the very foundation of representative governance. It reveals a dangerous willingness to subvert public choice for political gain, deepening public mistrust and eroding Kenya’s fragile democratic institutions.

The statements by MP Nelson Koech and CS Aden Duale, calling for certain Kenyans to be shot, reflect a dangerous level of contempt for the people they are meant to serve. Such remarks reveal an authoritarian mindset and a complete disregard for democratic principles and human rights. When leaders openly advocate violence against citizens, it signals a deep hostility toward criticism and dissent. This is not just reckless rhetoric—it is a threat to civil liberties and public safety. Kenyans deserve leaders who uphold the law, not those who use fear to silence opposition.

In the context of President Ruto’s statement authorizing police to "shoot people in the legs so they can go to hospital as they go to court," and considering the tragic case of Rex Masai — the first victim of the June 25th protest who was shot in the leg and bled to death — the statement translates into a deeply chilling message. It suggests a normalization of state violence under the guise of law enforcement, where injury is presented as a measured, even humane tactic, despite the fatal consequences already witnessed. Rather than de-escalation or protection of life, the directive implies that wounding citizens is an acceptable strategy for crowd control or punishment, disregarding the real risk of death. In this light, the president’s words can be seen as a grim rationalization of brutality — a signal that the state is willing to harm its citizens to assert control, even as it couches that harm in clinical or procedural language.

When President William Ruto declares, *"If there's no country for me, there's no country for you,"* the statement reveals a tone of defensive disdain laced with veiled threat and authoritarian undertones. It reflects a mindset where the leader equates personal standing with national stability, suggesting that any challenge to his authority is an attack on the entire state. Such rhetoric diminishes the principle of shared ownership of the country and portrays dissent or criticism not as democratic expression, but as treasonous behavior. It signals a disconcerting intolerance for opposition, implying that the president’s position is inseparable from the nation’s existence—an attitude that undermines democratic values and fosters fear instead of unity.

The statement is laced with ethnic contempt and exclusionary language that targets the Mt. Kenya community, portraying them as outsiders who should remain silent or leave if they disagree with President Ruto. By suggesting that critics are ungrateful guests enjoying the fruits of a land that does not belong to them, the speaker undermines national unity and promotes a dangerous narrative of ethnic ownership over the country. Referring to the president as "our child" and implying that only certain communities have a right to defend or criticize leadership creates a divisive "us versus them" mentality. The repeated use of insults, combined with references to land, ethnicity, and even religion, turns political dissent into an ethnic betrayal, escalating fear and hostility. In the context of Kenya’s fragile political environment and history of ethnic violence, such rhetoric does not only dismiss legitimate concerns—it risks inflaming tensions and inciting hatred across communities.

In this statement, the President of Kenya expresses marked disdain toward critics of his decision to fund or support the construction of a KSh 1.2 billion church project. By saying, "I am not going to ask anyone for an apology for building a church," he frames the debate as a moral or religious imperative rather than a matter of public accountability, dismissing valid economic or political concerns as irrelevant or even blasphemous. His invocation of "the devil" as a metaphor for dissenting voices is especially loaded, equating criticism with evil, thereby vilifying concerned citizens or opposition figures. Given Kenya’s current socio-economic struggles—soaring public debt, tax hikes, youth unemployment, and widespread protests against the cost of living—his tone appears not only defensive but contemptuous of public sentiment. The statement sidesteps the larger issue: the prioritization of massive religious infrastructure amidst a financial crisis. Rather than engaging with the frustrations of ordinary Kenyans, he presents his actions as divinely justified and untouchable. This approach further alienates a populace already feeling unheard and overburdened. The disdain, therefore, lies in the flippant dismissal of accountability and the framing of legitimate economic grievances as spiritual opposition.

By ordering police to “shoot anyone who comes near a police station,” Interior CS Kipchumba Murkomen dangerously escalates the state’s response to public dissent. This directive reframes protest not as a constitutional right but as a security threat deserving lethal force. By blurring the line between peaceful protesters and armed attackers, it criminalizes mere proximity to public institutions, effectively turning civic space into a kill zone. Such rhetoric doesn’t just permit violence — it legitimizes and normalizes it. When a senior government official treats the presence of citizens as grounds for execution, it undermines the rule of law and sets the stage for unchecked abuse. It signals a broader state posture where public criticism, resistance, or visibility near power can be met with bullets, not accountability. Murkomen’s statement reflects a disturbing trend in Kenya’s political climate: using militarized language to suppress dissent. Just as calling critics “devils” frames opposition as evil, shoot-to-kill orders recast protest as enemy action. Both tactics erase democratic dialogue and justify repression. In a democracy, state force must be restrained, not unleashed. This directive reverses that logic, treating citizens not as stakeholders in governance — but as targets. It is an attack on constitutional order and democratic accountability.

By branding opponents as "devils," Beatrice Adagala effectively demonizes political dissent, framing any opposition to President Ruto’s two-term bid as inherently immoral and evil. This kind of rhetoric shuts down democratic dialogue, deterring legitimate debate by casting critics as malevolent actors rather than engaged citizens. Furthermore, it risks deepening political polarization, turning nuanced policy disagreements into a stark spiritual battle and reducing complex governance issues to binary, spiritualized conflict. Such language undermines democratic norms, as equating dissent with evil erodes free will, undermines respectful critique, and stifles critical engagement in a healthy democracy. This pattern reflects broader concerns about Kenyan leadership, where similar labels—such as Ruto’s references to critics as “possessed by demons”—are drawing alarm over the increasingly hostile language used in political discourse .

President William Ruto’s remarks—“na ilikua sio kazi rahisi… lazima upita na hawa kidogo ndio mambo iende sawasawa”—delivered with a laugh following the killing of Albert Ojwang, reveal a deeply unsettling tone of callousness and disregard. Framing the death and the public unrest that followed as mere “noise” (makelele), the president diminishes the seriousness of a young man’s killing and the public grief it triggered. By stating that “you must go through these ones a bit for things to run smoothly,” he appears to rationalize or even justify coercive action against dissenters, potentially implying that disruption—including fatal force—is a necessary tool for restoring order. The flippant laughter and rhetorical “ama niaje jameni” reinforce the impression that the state views dissent not only as inconvenient but expendable. In the context of a citizen’s death allegedly at the hands of state actors, this rhetoric reflects an alarming normalization of repression and a refusal to take responsibility for violence against civilians.

Karen Nyamu’s statement, “Twathie murima, murima nitwahutirie, turenda kumeikia,” which loosely translates to “We’ve gone to the mountain, we touched the mountain, now we want to stick in the finger,” is vulgar, disrespectful, and deeply unbecoming of a public official. She is in the presence of MCA KURURIA NJOROGE. The crude metaphor, especially in the political context, suggests entitlement, arrogance, and a disturbing lack of decorum. For a sitting senator to use such language in public is a direct insult to the dignity of leadership and to the citizens she serves. It reflects a worrying decline in the tone and ethics of political discourse in Kenya.

President Ruto’s remarks are laced with arrogance, condescension, and open contempt for critics of his livestock vaccination program. Instead of addressing legitimate concerns with facts and transparency, he resorts to insults, dismissing those who question the vaccine as "foolish" and "ignorant." His statement about having a PhD suggests that he believes his academic credentials place him above scrutiny, reducing public discourse to a show of ego rather than accountability. By insulting Kenyans and belittling those with differing opinions, he undermines the dignity of his office and further erodes public trust in his leadership.

Farah Maalim’s vulgar insults toward Kenyans are both disrespectful and disgraceful. During the June 2024 Gen Z-led protests, he had also suggested the killing of 5,000 protesters, cementing his reputation for inflammatory rhetoric. That such language was used in the president’s presence without any rebuke suggests tacit approval, further eroding the dignity of leadership. It is unacceptable for leaders to insult citizens or threaten violence, especially when addressing legitimate grievances. Respect and accountability should define leadership, not vulgarity and intimidation.

Mwangi Ichung'wah's claims that protestors were *locking themselves in Airbnbs to fake abductions* and *teargassing themselves* serve as a clear attempt to delegitimize genuine dissent. His remarks came on December 31st, 2023, during a period when five young men had reportedly been abducted, and shortly after opposition leaders were tear-gassed in Nyandarua. The timing and content of his statement not only trivialized real fears of state repression but also implied that citizens and leaders staging peaceful resistance were fabricating their own suffering — a deeply dismissive and dangerous narrative from a senior government figure.

Majority Leader Kimani Ichung’wah’s remark, "Huna mbuzi, huna ng'ombe na una nyamba maneno hayasaidii mwananchi wa kawaida," dismisses critics of livestock vaccination in a derogatory and unconstructive manner. This crass language, including references to farts, is beneath a leader of his stature and distracts from the core issue. Critics have raised concerns about the lack of transparency regarding what the cattle are being vaccinated against. Such dismissive rhetoric alienates the public and fails to address valid questions about accountability and the program’s intent.

President Ruto’s remarks about livestock vaccination and farts are unbecoming of a head of state, reducing the dignity of his powerful office. Instead of addressing critical questions about the vaccine’s purpose, contents, and efficacy—especially given its ties to Bill Gates’ emissions-reduction agenda—he resorts to crude language and condescension. Such undignified behavior shows a lack of manners and respect for the presidency, turning a serious policy discussion into a mockery. Vaccination campaigns are better suited for local administration, like chiefs, rather than requiring direct involvement from the president. This approach only deepens public skepticism, undermines trust in leadership, and trivializes the pressing concerns of citizens.

MP Kimani Ichung’wah’s personal attack on Henry Omondi for opposing the Adani deal is both discourteous and reprehensible. Targeting an individual, especially someone vulnerable and unable to retaliate, reflects cowardice and a lack of respect for differing opinions. Criticizing Omondi’s economic understanding instead of addressing the legitimate concerns about the Adani deal undermines constructive dialogue. Leaders should focus on defending policies with facts, not demeaning citizens to stifle dissent.

President Ruto's dismissal of critics as "mad, unreasonable, and possibly stupid" for opposing the FMD and PPR vaccine reflects his tendency to alienate dissenting voices instead of addressing their concerns. His partnership with Bill Gates on the vaccine has sparked skepticism, given its unpopularity and his reputation for dishonesty. Such rhetoric not only fuels vaccine hesitancy but also deepens public mistrust, undermining efforts to promote health initiatives in a transparent and inclusive manner.

Oscar Sudi’s remarks dismissing critics as “fake know-it-alls” and undermining legitimate grievances about SHIF/SHA reveal a stark disconnect between leadership and the people. His party’s promise to uplift hustlers contrasts sharply with his disdainful tone toward juakali workers and critics. The failure of SHIF/SHA, costing taxpayers 104 billion, justifies public outcry, especially amidst widespread suffering due to inadequate healthcare. Ironically, Sudi’s lack of parliamentary contribution and display of wealth further erode his credibility as a public servant.

The president's speech frames critics as inherently negative, delegitimizing genuine concerns about his policies. By labeling dissent as "pepo chafu," he undermines public discourse, shifting focus from the real issues—such as detrimental economic policies and lack of transparency—to moral judgments. This rhetoric polarizes citizens and discourages constructive critique, limiting accountability. It impacts public perception by portraying opposition as anti-progress, which can stifle debate on policies directly affecting livelihoods and national welfare.

President Ruto’s dismissal of Adani critics as people who "have never stepped foot on airport land" reflects arrogance and trivializes legitimate concerns over public asset privatization. The controversial Adani deal, tied to corruption investigations, raised red flags about transparency and the safeguarding of public goods like JKIA and KETRACO. His rhetoric ignores the gravity of these issues, framing critics as uninformed rather than addressing the ethical implications. Such remarks undermine public trust in leadership and democratic accountability.

This statement by Francis Atwoli, the long-serving COTU chairman, reflects the arrogance often exhibited by some leaders towards ordinary Kenyans. By implying that poverty disqualifies one from political ambition and associating success solely with personal wealth, Atwoli not only disregards the systemic issues that perpetuate poverty but also alienates a large portion of the population he claims to represent. His remarks sparked a wave of public backlash, with many declaring, "I am poor and I support Okiyah Omtatah for president," as a form of defiance and solidarity with leaders perceived as genuinely fighting for the people. Atwoli’s rhetoric underscores the growing divide between Kenya’s leadership and its citizens, amplifying calls for accountability and inclusive representation.

The president’s remark dismissing criticism of SHIF by implying men shouldn’t care about maternity coverage reflects ignorance and insensitivity. SHIF, meant to replace NHIF, promises universal coverage, including outpatient and inpatient care for all. However, widespread objections highlight its failure to deliver, with maternity services reportedly worse than before. His statement trivializes the broader impact of healthcare issues, ignoring that pregnancy affects families and society at large. Such rhetoric alienates critics instead of addressing legitimate concerns.

The president's speech after the June 25 protests frames peaceful protesters as "treasonous criminals," equating dissent with threats to national security. This narrative stigmatizes legitimate grievances, fostering fear and silencing opposition. By portraying protesters as orchestrators of violence and anarchy, the rhetoric justifies heavy-handed security measures, undermining the right to peaceful assembly. Such language escalates tension, delegitimizes civic participation, and erodes public trust in government commitment to democratic freedoms.

David Ndii’s dismissive remarks, labeling Kenyans on Twitter as “digital wankers,” fueled public outrage by trivializing their concerns and activism. This rhetoric not only alienated citizens but also amplified frustrations, contributing to the momentum of the largest protests ever seen. While his comments were not the sole cause, they underscored a disconnect between leadership and public sentiment, galvanizing people who felt dismissed and disrespected to take their grievances from digital spaces to the streets.