NAIROBI — On a dusty roadside in rural Kenya, Rigathi Gachagua is once again holding court. The former Deputy President, once sidelined within his own government, has roared back into the public eye — not through policy or leadership, but with noise.
His style hasn’t changed much. He still speaks with the same firebrand energy that defined the 2022 campaign. But now, he’s everywhere. From prime-time radio to TikTok reels, Gachagua has become a fixture in Kenya’s political theatre — a man turned meme, spouting headline-ready quotes that ricochet across social media.
Critics say his return is less a comeback than a distraction.
“Gachagua isn’t offering a vision,” said Dr Hesbon Owila, a political analyst. “He’s filling the airwaves with controversy. That noise is drowning out more important national debates.”
Indeed, while Kenyans grapple with soaring living costs, deepening inequality and widespread unemployment, Gachagua’s monologues on tribal loyalty and internal party disputes often steal the spotlight. His remarks are frequently divisive, sometimes inflammatory, and rarely offer a solution.
The Silence Beneath the Noise
His rise back to relevance coincides with a curious political vacuum. Kenya’s opposition, long accused of disorganisation and infighting, has shown signs of regrouping. But just as it appeared ready to offer serious resistance to President William Ruto’s administration, Gachagua’s antics have overshadowed its message.
Some within Ruto’s Kenya Kwanza coalition appear unbothered.
“Let him talk,” one ruling party insider told The New York Times, speaking on condition of anonymity. “The louder he is, the less people question what we’re doing. And by the time they do, the work will be done.”
It’s a cynical strategy — and a risky one. The current government holds one of the most commanding parliamentary majorities in Kenya’s history. President Ruto once called it a “mongrel coalition,” a fusion of former enemies now unified in power. That unity has smoothed the passage of legislation and helped consolidate authority.
But power comes with responsibility — and scrutiny.
“If this regime fails to deliver with all that control, there’ll be no one else to blame,” said Martha Kamau, a governance researcher in Nairobi. “No opposition, no sabotage. Just their own record.”
Pragmatism in the Counties
In the counties, views are more grounded. In Migori, a region in western Kenya, voters aren’t paying much attention to political sideshows. They’re watching results.
“People here don’t care who shouts the loudest,” said Samuel Otieno, a boda boda rider. “They care if their kids can go to school and if there’s money to feed them.”
This realism is spreading. Many voters are growing weary of recycled slogans and elite squabbles. They want working roads, functioning hospitals and fair prices at the market. If that doesn’t come, they may look elsewhere — not necessarily to the opposition, but to whoever promises change.
That could include outsiders. The recent election of Javier Milei in Argentina, a radical newcomer with no political background, offers a cautionary tale — or a sign of what’s to come.
“People are tired of political dynasties,” said Owila. “If our leaders keep playing games, they’ll wake up to a result they didn’t expect.”
The Verdict in Waiting
Gachagua may dominate the discourse today. But Kenya’s political future won’t be decided by viral clips or noisy rallies. It will be shaped by performance — and by voters who are paying attention, even when leaders think they’re not.
With a strong majority and a weak opposition, the Ruto administration faces an unusual test. If it governs well, it won’t need to fear 2027. But if it squanders its mandate, no amount of noise — from Rigathi Gachagua or anyone else — will drown out the anger of a disappointed electorate.
As one Nairobi resident put it simply: “We don’t want drama. We want results. And if they don’t come, we’ll vote for change — even if we don’t know who that is yet.”
