Following the Kenyan by-elections from Puducherry and Chennai, India, has been unexpectedly refreshing. I found myself watching more political talk shows than ever before—those noisy, unpredictable, endlessly dramatic spaces that Kenyans instantly recognise as the heartbeat of our democratic culture. At their worst, these shows distort public opinion; at their best, they inject new ideas into the public sphere and force us to interrogate long-held assumptions. Over recent election cycles, they have become the arenas where political formations test-drive their agenda, sharpen narratives, and unleash surrogates to sell their message. Occasionally, the so-called kingpins and aspiring kingpins get the coveted long-form sit-downs to address the nation. The president has done it, with mixed results. The opposition heavyweight too.
Recently, an early-morning talk show—now a consistent agenda-setter and supplier of viral social-media clips—sparked quite the debate in my home county of Migori. Days earlier, our tireless Woman Representative had attempted to corner Hon. Ndindi Nyoro with a question that backfired so spectacularly it embarrassed her more than it challenged him. Then, on that same show, came a rising development economist—her main challenger—who calmly delivered a masterclass.
Pitted against Gladys Boss Shollei, Sheila Owigo Lang’ was refreshingly clear: facts are facts. She dismantled the selective use of presidential data by regime surrogates who insisted that economic indicators become gospel simply because the president mentioned them in his State of the Nation Address. Yes—GDP growth, declining inflation, and a stabilised shilling are positive signs. We have seen similar cycles before. These are facts, but they must be contextualised.
For years, Kenya’s macroeconomic indicators have looked impressive even as the same data shows a disturbing trend: we have minted more billionaires than we have lifted Kenyans out of poverty. President William Ruto was not elected to grow GDP for its own sake. He was elected because he convinced millions that he would finally tackle microeconomic fundamentals—food on the table, money in pockets. Raising the boda boda rider and the mama mboga from hapa chini to pale juu is not a function of GDP or exchange-rate stability. It is a function of deliberate, targeted investment that pulls ordinary Kenyans into productive, dignified livelihoods.
Listening to Sheila articulate this while regime spokespersons regurgitated SOTN talking points raises an uncomfortable question: who, exactly, should be advising the president?
Because the truth is this: there are many reasons why the regime’s re-election prospects remain fragile—the punitive new school capitation formula, the SHIF/SHA confusion, the punishing cost of living, the controversial housing levy, and the unprecedented raid on our payslips.
But here lies the paradox: even with all these missteps, the opposition is doing more to secure William Ruto’s second term than Kenya Kwanza itself.
The recent by-elections—where the opposition was thrashed across parliamentary and senatorial contests—should have been a blaring alarm. Empty rhetoric is not strategy. Neither is banking on the mythical Gen Z bloc. Victory for the broad-based coalition is being paved, ironically, by those loudly claiming to resist it.
Since his impeachment, the truthful man has enjoyed more media airtime than he ever did while in office—not because of the quality of his ideas, but because he draws an audience that can be monetised. His bare-knuckle attacks on the president oscillate between comic and absurd, often exposing the very contradictions that led to his political fall. If one listens carefully, his grievances inadvertently vindicate why he was removed in the first place.
At the centre of his lamentations is the claim that individuals from his community were removed from government positions. His rallying cry—wantam—is less a critique of policy and more a preview of a William Ruto second term. Because if, as deputy president, his idea of “shares in government” involved demanding positions as low as director-general, escalating refusals into national crises, one wonders what a “shares-reloaded government” would look like if he were to midwife any opposition aspirant into State House.
The tragedy is not even the idea of shares—it is the obsession with shares of positions instead of shares of nation-building. One would expect him to champion economic opportunities for the Mt. Kenya region, not a petition of who was fired and who was hired.
And when you look at the cast of personalities vying for the 2027 ticket, none with a credible blueprint for the country, it becomes evident that challenging President Ruto will take far more sophistication than they currently possess. If anything, the opposition has become the president’s biggest campaign machinery—on talk shows, at rallies, and in their constant confusion about what they stand for.
Talk show democracy, vibrant as it is, has laid bare a political tragedy: a government struggling with performance, and an opposition working tirelessly to make that same government unbeatable. The contenders positioning themselves to face President Ruto in 2027 stand on shaky ground—thin on agenda, incoherent in messaging, riddled with internal contradictions. Add the by-elections drubbing, and the picture is clear: the biggest campaigners for President William Samoei Ruto are not in Kenya Kwanza—they are in the opposition.
Ultimately, with Musalia Mudavadi consolidating Western and neutralising Governor Natembeya and Eugene Wamalwa, the president’s remaining task may simply be to manage ODM inside government and ODM outside government, while ensuring Mt. Kenya does not vote as a bloc. If he does that, the path to a second term becomes wide open—even with Kenya Kwanza’s underwhelming performance on talk shows.
