The battle between truth and lies isn't decided by which is loudest

Politics in Kenya has morphed into an exhausting spectacle— loud, chaotic, and strikingly devoid of substance. What we experience is not leadership but theatre; not governance but noise. It is low-level politics played at high degrees—a disheartening performance where volume has replaced vision, and theatrics have substituted for thoughtful service. To engage with it deeply, without discernment, is to risk intellectual and moral contamination. Prolonged exposure normalises the absurd.

The antidote? A healthy dose of high-level politics played at level-headed degrees—the kind practiced in Botswana, Germany, and other nations where public service is not a stage for personal drama but a disciplined duty, where leadership is judged not by charisma but by competence. Without this external moral grounding, Kenya’s political noise will pull even the best minds down into its spiral, where shouting passes for debate, and deception is celebrated as strategy.

In most functioning societies, failure disqualifies one from further responsibility. In Kenya, failure — because one has looting as an occupation — often serves as a springboard to promotion. Leaders mismanage their constituencies, run counties into financial ruin, and are then elevated to national positions where they are tasked with fixing problems they helped create. In our sorry systems, new positions are not responsibilities—they are trophies for looters. Each promotion is a higher stake in the game of plunder. These are not mere thieves; they are snipers—looting with deadly precision, never missing, always rewarded.

And when such individuals take the national stage, they do not do so in shame or repentance. Instead, they deliver grand speeches, dripping with fake humility and exaggerated resolve. They vow to bring change “like never before,” forgetting—or hoping the public forgets—that the mess they seek to fix is largely of their own making.

What, then, is the way out? Detoxification.  We must refuse to normalise incompetence. We must demand a different standard—not just from our leaders, but from ourselves as citizens. Until then, the noise-makers will keep performing, and Kenya will remain locked in a self-defeating loop of recycled failure.

More corrosive than incompetence is the culture of deceit that has become the currency of our leadership. When leaders lie, they do more than distort facts—they corrode the very foundation of trust upon which good governance is built. Governance, like any meaningful relationship, rests on trust: the unspoken contract that those in authority will act in good faith, rooted in reality and truth.

When that contract is repeatedly broken, the consequences are profound. A leader’s words should reassure, guide, and inspire. But when lies become their native tongue, every speech becomes suspect, every policy announcement, a potential ruse. Citizens no longer ask, What did the leader say? Instead, they ask, What is the lie this time?

This distrust spreads like a virus. It infects institutions. The police become suspects. The courts lose their sanctity. Even genuine government initiatives are dismissed as con games. Eventually, this mistrust mutates into something more dangerous: indifference. When citizens no longer care, no longer expect the truth, hope begins to die—and desperation becomes the silent anthem of a betrayed people, driving them either to surrender or to rebellion. From the ongoing public enlightenment, surrender is not the option.

We must understand that truth is not the burden of clerics alone, or the duty of isolated activists.

Truth must become a collective calling. A society where only a few speak truth is like a field with scattered sparks—illuminated briefly, but incapable of igniting transformation. But when ordinary citizens embrace truth, carry it into conversations, workplaces, social media, and even into their vote—it becomes an unstoppable fire.

Lies persist not because liars are smart, but because they rely on public fatigue. They bank on our short memory, on our fear, and on our distraction. But when truth becomes a movement—when it walks into spaces where lies once reigned and refuses to be silenced—deception loses its oxygen.

History teaches us that no lie—no matter how loudly or often repeated—can defeat a determined truth. But truth must show up. It must push back. Lies do not retreat quietly—they fight to have the last word.

They are bullies of the public square. But even bullies fear being exposed. They bark loudly because they tremble internally. Lies know they are frauds. Their celebration is haunted by insecurity.

In Kenya’s current political environment, falsehoods are repeated endlessly—not to inform, but to exhaust resistance—until lies begin to sound like truth, and silence becomes the price of survival. Leaders are then surprised when people believe their lies. They keep repeating these falsehoods to wear down truth-tellers, making honesty seem exhausting—and even naïve.

And yet, truth is stubborn. It does not decay. It waits. It observes. It prepares for its return. Even in a political desert, truth is a seed—underground, alive, waiting for the rains of reason. Lies may dominate for a season, but they rot from within.

They need reinforcements, fresh lies, louder noises, and bigger distractions. It is a fragile kingdom, built on sand.

Those who stand for truth must not be passive. Silence in the face of lies is not neutrality—it is surrender. A society that allows deception without consequence is complicit in its own downfall. But when citizens awaken—when they refuse to forget, when they refuse to be silent, when they expose lies in every forum—they break the cycle. Lies crumble when they are confronted persistently, publicly, and without apology.

Kenya’s political theatre thrives on actions dubbed ‘development inspection and project launching’ tours. Beneath the surface, however, lie two powerful drivers: values and vices. Some leaders act out of justice, humility, and service, while others are driven by greed, ego, and manipulation. These are not merely moral leanings—they are spiritual alignments.

Behind every leader who tells the truth stands a spirit of integrity. Behind every manipulative politician lurks a spirit of deception. And behind these spirits stand two forces—God and Satan. But here is the ultimate reality: Before Satan was, God is. Truth, justice, and righteousness—values rooted in the eternal—will outlive every lie, every spin, every political performance.

Power-hungry politicians may appear untouchable, manipulating laws, silencing critics, and feeding the public polished lies. But their reign is built on sand. The spirit of truth will be the last standing.