But for those with a keen eye, especially those who understand the intricacies of Mt. Kenya's political landscape, the reality is more complex. Beneath the surface of well-executed rallies lies a deeper political truth that cannot be ignored.
Despite the overwhelming display of support at the rallies, there's no denying that President Ruto's team encountered the other side of the coin--the emerging dissent that has begun to simmer under the region's political surface. While the crowds may have appeared enthusiastic, they were not as uniformly supportive as they seemed. The President's tour exposed cracks in the political foundation, a reality that will likely resonate well beyond the headlines and camera flashes.
For many MPs from the Mt. Kenya region, especially those nearing the end of their political careers in 2027, the tour was a sobering reality check. They felt the cold shoulder of a constituency that, despite being mobilised with money, remained indifferent and sceptical. Though the UDA's momentum from 2022 hasn't entirely evaporated, the opposition forces, led by figures like Rigathi Gachagua and others, are emerging to reclaim a political narrative.
For the President, however, the tour likely served a strategic purpose. It gave him invaluable insight into the shifting sands of Mt. Kenya politics, offering clues as to who still wields real influence and who might emerge as the next big political player in the region. Every crowd, every chant, every handshake was a clue to the shifting allegiances and sentiments in the area.
From a political strategy perspective, the tour worked in the President's favour. The visuals of massive crowds and seemingly enthusiastic supporters filled the airwaves, allowing his team to craft a narrative of overwhelming support, while effectively muting any dissenting voices. The President's image was bolstered, his grassroots appeal reinforced, all with carefully curated social media campaigns that went viral, circulating a narrative of triumph.
Yet, there's another side to this story. While the tour provided a short-term economic boost to local communities--bringing in money for youths, small businesses, and politicians tasked with mobilising--this momentary windfall should not be mistaken for genuine political allegiance. The reality is that in a country with high unemployment and escalating living costs, rallies have become more about survival than political conviction.
Politicians have long known that mobilising a crowd is big business. In Kenya, mobilisation is the currency of political power. Word on the street suggests that large sums of money changed hands in exchange for the 'right' crowd size and visible support. This is not a story of political engagement, but a tale of economic desperation--a desperate attempt to make ends meet. And in this context, the turnout at these rallies should not be confused with votes secured for 2027.
The uncomfortable truth is that the crowds were not a manifestation of deep political conviction, but rather a product of economic hardship. Many young Kenyans have come to view political rallies as an informal economic opportunity, an avenue for a temporary financial reprieve. It's not about policy wins or ideological alignment; it's about survival.
Kenya's growing youth unemployment crisis and the crushing cost of living have given rise to a dark reality: many young men have turned to robbery, extortion, and hired political mobilisation as survival strategies. In response, we have witnessed an alarming rise in extrajudicial killings, abductions of vocal youth, and a pervasive culture of fear. Instead of addressing the root causes of this desperation, the political elite has perfected the art of blame, shifting the focus onto the youth and ignoring the system that has failed them.
Politicians continue to exploit this vulnerability, using money and mobilisation to create an illusion of political strength. But this transactional approach to politics comes at a cost, and the danger is that we have fostered a system where political loyalty is rented by the hour, rather than earned through genuine service to the people.
This culture of transactional politics has also permeated our religious institutions. In some churches, the sanctity of the pulpit has been compromised, as politicians distribute handouts in exchange for support. These handouts, which are meant to alleviate suffering, have instead become tools for political theatre, turning sacred spaces into stages for political performances.
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As we approach the 2027 general elections, we must resist the temptation to mistake large crowds for genuine support. The reality is that these crowds are a reflection of a broken system, not an indication of political invincibility. The real sentiments of the electorate are forged in silence, in struggle, and in reflection, not in carefully choreographed rallies designed to create an illusion of popularity.
President Ruto's tour of Mt. Kenya may have provided valuable insight, not just into the power of image-building, but into the shifting political dynamics of the region. The political winds are changing, and how the powers that be respond to these emerging forces will determine whether the discontent simmering in Mt. Kenya will ignite or fade.
Kenya deserves leadership that prioritises real economic change--job creation, education, healthcare, and empowerment--not one that relies on filling stadiums with paid crowds and offering temporary handouts. In 2027, may our votes reflect not who paid the most, but who has done the most to improve the lives of Kenyans.
Dr. Hesbon Owila is a Media and Political Communications Researcher.
