The Luhya moment at Jirongo's funeral that we must be alive to

At the funeral of Cyrus Jirongo, something rare happened in Kenyan politics: grief did not dissolve into platitudes; instead, it hardened into truth. Leaders and citizens used the solemnity of death to confront life, power, responsibility, unity, and moral failure.

In a country where funerals often serve as stages for denial or opportunistic rhetoric, this was different. Mourning became a mirror in which the Luhya nation chose honesty over comfort. That choice matters because political maturity is not measured by slogans or decibel levels but by the courage to tell the truth when lies would be easier, especially about ourselves.

At Jirongo’s send-off, the Luhya community did not outsource blame; they spoke of fragmentation, squandered opportunities, leaders who failed to unite, and a people who sometimes mistook proximity to power for ownership of it. This was not self-flagellation but self-examination, the beginning of political renewal.

Kenya’s democracy, stripped of romance, is arithmetic. Numbers decide. Coalitions win because they add up. In that arithmetic, the Luhya nation is the country’s second-largest voting bloc. That fact alone should place the community at the centre of presidential contention; consistently, confidently, and credibly. Yet history tells a harsher story: electoral cycles in which the Luhya vote is courted, divided, delivered to others, and then forgotten. It is a painful paradox: a community with the numbers to compete for the highest office has too often settled for the margins of power. Why?

The answers were spoken aloud at that funeral: disunity; short-term bargains; personal ambition disguised as a community strategy; a habit of entering national contests late, fragmented, or as junior partners; and a dangerous comfort with symbolic inclusion, cabinet seats, handshakes, and photographs rather than substantive power. These are not accusations from rivals; they are truths spoken by insiders who love their community enough to be honest with it.

The lesson is not that other communities are more deserving; it is that they are more disciplined about power. The Mt Kenya political class, for all its internal differences, understands the logic of consolidation before competition. The Kalenjin elite learned, through hard history, the value of unity in bargaining. Even the Luo political tradition, often criticised for rigidity, has been anchored by coherence and clarity of purpose.

The Luhya challenge has never been about numbers. It has been about coordination. This is why the moment at Jirongo’s funeral should not be dismissed as emotional catharsis; it should be recognised as a political inflection point.

Collective truth-telling can reset incentives, shame opportunism, elevate responsibility, and remind leaders that the community is watching and counting. Truth alone is not enough; it must be followed by structure.

Political maturity requires institutions, not just sentiments. It needs a credible mechanism for internal consultation, dispute resolution, and candidate emergence. This does not mean creating another alphabet soup of pressure groups, but establishing a serious, transparent forum that can do three things: agree on minimum shared interests; produce one credible national standard-bearer or a clearly negotiated strategy; and enforce discipline against spoilers. Unity is not unanimity: it is an agreement to compete together and bargain from strength.

There is a moral dimension too. Jirongo’s life, brilliant, controversial and consequential embodies the costs of a politics that confuses access with accountability. The funeral’s honesty was, in part, an admission that charisma without cohesion leaves communities exposed, that power without institutions is fleeting, and that proximity to the centre is no substitute for ownership of the agenda.

Kenya needs a Luhya political awakening not to threaten others but to contribute to balance. Democracies function better when major blocs compete openly rather than trade invisibility for crumbs.

A unified and programmatic Luhya presidential bid would force national debates to widen. It would challenge the lazy binaries that have narrowed our politics to familiar rivalries and remind the country that inclusion is not charity but competition.