Is the presidential election of 2027 a generational battle?

In 2022, before William Ruto became President of Kenya and long before the Gen Z rebellion of 2024, I published a novel entitled Mourning Glory. I had no idea what political events would unfold as we approach the 2027 General Election.

I was writing a story about a restless young generation and the pain, struggle and agony of living on the periphery of Kenya's social and political landscape. As political developments unfold, I am increasingly convinced that literature sometimes captures a society's tensions long before they erupt into visible political action.

Many readers, however, thought I had written Morning Glory and not Mourning Glory. I suspect the misunderstanding helped to drive sales. Kenyans associate “morning glory” with matters other than the agony of the youth living on the margins of society. They were wrong, though.

Set in Turkana, the novel tells the story of Mzee Yoshua Lelma and his family, whose fortunes mirror the harsh realities of life in an insecure, water-scarce and economically deprived environment. Banditry, poverty and political neglect form part of the world in which the family struggles to survive.

The novel was also an attempt to interrogate the politics of exclusion that characterises much of post-independence Africa. What interests me now is the generational dimension of the story.

Turkana, in my literary imagination, was not merely a geographical location. It was a microcosm of Kenya, a society in which people who have endured marginalisation begin to question the arrangements that have kept them at the periphery. The younger generation becomes increasingly unwilling to inherit the world as it is.

I would not claim to have been prophetic. No. That would be an extravagant claim for any writer to make. But this is one of the fascinating ways in which literature works: writers often capture the anxieties, contradictions and frustrations of their societies long before those tensions find explicit expression in public life. They may not know when or how these tensions will eventually manifest. This is why Aristotle was right to argue that literature is superior to history in its philosophical significance. History tells us what has happened; literature explores what may happen. Its concern is not merely with the particularities of the past, but with the possibilities inherent in human experience.

Allow me to consider what happened in Kenya in 2024. Young people took to the streets to challenge the Finance Bill and, in the process, raised wider questions about accountability, corruption, public expenditure and the relationship between citizens and the state.

The protests revealed a generation unwilling to accept that political authority must automatically command obedience.

Human rights organisations documented killings, abductions and other abuses during the protests. This added urgency to demands for accountability.

So, are we witnessing a moment of generational transition? If so, what does literature tell us about societies that find themselves at such a moment? Allow me to turn to Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Petals of Blood. In this novel, Ngugi interrogates the promises of independence and the realities that emerge when the benefits of political freedom are not shared equitably. Through the experiences of the people of Ilmorog, he examines a society in which the language of development can conceal the continued exploitation and marginalisation of ordinary people.

The lesson from this novel is uncomfortable. A country can change its political leadership without fundamentally changing the conditions under which many of its citizens live. Roads may be constructed, buildings may rise and economic activity may expand, but the question remains: who benefits from this development and who continues to live on the margins?

This is not an argument against infrastructure. Roads, schools, hospitals, water systems and other public investments matter. It is about the meaning of development. Development must ultimately be measured not only by what a government constructs but also by whether people experience greater dignity, opportunity, security and justice.

This is where the generational question becomes important in Kenya. We have two political formations. President William Ruto and all those in the Ukombozi Movement, by all intents and purposes, represent the old established political order. Then we have the Linda Mwananchi Movement, led by Edwin Sifuna, representing an emerging generation asking difficult questions. They want to know why young people should continue to trust institutions that appear unresponsive to their concerns.

Who can fail to see this emerging contest as part of a larger generational struggle? Ruto represents the incumbent political order, while Sifuna has become the figure around whom some younger and dissatisfied citizens are articulating their demands for change. There is, however, a danger in treating generational change as a sufficient solution to our problems.

Youth is not a political philosophy. Neither is age a guarantee of wisdom. A new generation may bring fresh energy, new questions and a willingness to challenge established assumptions, but it must still demonstrate that it can translate its aspirations into workable policies and accountable leadership.

Let me explain this point by reference to Chinua Achebe’s A Man of the People. What makes this novel relevant is that the conflict is not simply between two individuals. It is also a struggle between competing understandings of political leadership. The established politician has the advantages of office and influence. The younger challenger questions the legitimacy of an order that has failed to meet the expectations of citizens.

Cleverly, Achebe does not give us a simplistic formula in which youth automatically represents virtue and age automatically represents corruption. The point is that a younger politician may challenge an established order, but the challenge itself does not guarantee that a better political order will emerge. No. The real test lies in the principles and practices that follow. This is a lesson worth remembering as we approach 2027 and thereafter.

Let’s not forget that a society on the threshold of transition needs more than competing political narratives. It needs institutions capable of managing disagreement, protecting citizens, enforcing the Constitution and holding those in power accountable.

The question before Kenya should not simply be whether the old or the young will prevail in 2027. It is whether we can manage this moment of transition without sacrificing the institutions that hold us together.

The battle may appear to be between William Ruto and Edwin Sifuna, but beneath it lies a deeper struggle over the meaning of leadership, the distribution of power and the kind of society we wish to become.

My point is simple. A new generation may inherit power without transforming the structures that produce exclusion and injustice. Equally, an established generation cannot expect to retain authority simply by pointing to its achievements.

The real battle in 2027 will not be won merely by the old defeating the young or the young defeating the old. Kenya will win when it builds institutions strong enough to ensure that whoever wins political power remains answerable to the people.

Prof. Egara Kabaji is a writer, educationist and researcher based at Masinde Muliro University. He is Vice President of the Pan African Writers Association (PAWA) and Chancellor of Mt. Kigali University, Rwanda.