Kenyan politics has long been shaped by division and polarisation. Ethnic, regional, class-based and, increasingly, generational cleavages have defined the country’s political landscape, with ethnic mobilisation remaining the most conspicuous feature. Polarisation is often framed as a national crisis—blamed for eroding unity and weakening democratic institutions. Yet in practice, it has also proved to be one of the most effective tools for winning and retaining power.
As Kenya edges closer to the next election cycle, a paradox is becoming clear: political division—and the potential implosion of ODM—may not be threatening President William Ruto’s presidency. Instead, it may be quietly securing his path to a second term.
Polarisation simplifies politics. It reduces complex national challenges into emotional binaries—us versus them, insiders versus outsiders, hustlers versus dynasties. These narratives do not demand policy depth to mobilise support; they demand loyalty. Veteran politicians understand this terrain well. Even the rise of the Kenya Kwanza administration was not built on broad national consensus but on a tightly consolidated political identity that framed the 2022 contest as a struggle between outsiders and entrenched elites. That framing did not disappear after the election; it merely evolved. In a polarised system, narrative consistency often matters more than performance, and storytelling frequently outweighs policy outcomes.
One of President Ruto’s greatest advantages is incumbency within a polarised environment. State power amplifies visibility, controls agenda-setting and shapes public discourse. Development projects, public addresses, foreign trips and policy announcements—whether successful or not—dominate political conversation. He speaks of Singapore, and the country is suddenly debating it. Visibility is often mistaken for effectiveness, or at worst dismissed as polarising—yet even polarisation works to his advantage. Power, resources and a loyal base combine to offer stability, especially at a time when the one party that historically commanded mass support, ODM, appears fractured along regional and “us versus them” lines.
Polarisation also lowers the political cost of failure. Economic hardship, rising taxes and cost-of-living pressures would ordinarily erode support for a sitting government. But in polarised politics, responsibility is rarely judged objectively. Political noise—often driven by combative rhetoric and constant confrontation—distorts sober assessment of socioeconomic realities. Citizens are encouraged to endure hardship in the name of a promised better future, or to dismiss the opposition as irredeemably polarising and devoid of viable alternatives. This environment shields incumbents from the full weight of public accountability.
Meanwhile, senior figures within government continue to set the agenda, buoyed by the visibility of state actions—such as the release of national examination results—while the opposition remains fragmented, reactive and ideologically thin. Opposition politics has largely been defined by resistance to President Ruto rather than the articulation of a compelling alternative future. Too often, opposition leaders speak in different registers, confusing rather than consolidating their support base.
Voter psychology further strengthens the incumbent’s hand. Once political identity becomes emotional, switching sides feels less like choice and more like betrayal. Many voters remain loyal not because conditions are improving, but because admitting disappointment would mean surrendering a deeply held identity. Polarisation hardens electoral bases and shrinks the pool of undecided voters. For incumbents, this is ideal terrain: elections become exercises in mobilisation rather than persuasion. Crucially, turnout dynamics also shift. Disillusioned voters may abstain or reluctantly back the incumbent if they perceive the alternative as worse—outcomes that ultimately benefit those already in power.
Today, frustration in Kenya is widespread but politically scattered. There is anger, but no unified direction for it. Without a clear opposition vision that convincingly links present suffering to a different future, dissatisfaction remains politically inert.
This does not mean President Ruto’s position is unassailable or that re-election is inevitable. It means the current structure of Kenyan politics works in his favour—and he is astute enough to exploit it. His support base, while not universal, is disciplined, emotionally invested and politically mobilised. His opponents, by contrast, are still negotiating leadership, identity and purpose, a situation that increasingly nudges some voters to trust the incumbent’s process by default.
The deeper concern, however, goes beyond who wins the next election. A political system that consistently rewards division risks long-term damage to democratic culture. When loyalty replaces accountability and identity overrides policy, governance becomes performative and reform secondary to political survival. Polarisation may deliver electoral victories, but it rarely delivers national cohesion or sustainable development.
President Ruto’s likely path to a second term speaks less about individual brilliance and more about the incentives embedded in Kenya’s political architecture. Until opposition politics evolves beyond personalities, until voters are offered real ideological choices, and until unity becomes electorally competitive, polarisation will remain the most reliable route to power. The real question, then, is not whether polarisation works—it clearly does—but how long Kenya can afford to pay its price.
