By Martin Masinde
President William Samoei Ruto sought to frame the just concluded by-elections as a grand triumph for his UDA/Broad-Based Alliance. But for those of us who have watched Kenya’s political terrain for decades, who understand the treacherous dance between state power and public sentiment, what unfolded was not a demonstration of strength. It was a desperate performance by a regime trying to mask the erosion of its legitimacy.
Between 2018 and February 2022, I closely observed a series of by-elections, Juja, Msambweni, Bonchari, Kabuchai, Matungu, and Wajir, among others. In those contests, the then–Deputy President Ruto was a political force of nature. He confronted a powerful state determined to clip his wings, yet he either won or registered impressive performance in almost every region. Those by-elections were the pulse checks of a rising insurgency. The numbers told a story of a candidate steadily building the coalition, momentum, and public belief that eventually swept him into State House.
Fast-forward to 2025. The same by-election barometer now tells a radically different story. Out of 27 contests, the opposition secured 19 seats; UDA/Broad-Based Alliance took only eight. That alone should have sobered any leader genuinely committed to understanding where the country stands. Instead, the President cherry-picked a few wins for applause, ignoring the broader and more damning verdict delivered by the electorate.
The only two areas where his vote share improved were Magarini, if the fracturing Broad-Based coalition holds and Baringo, where the margin rose from 63% in 2022 to 81% after wooing Gideon Moi. Elsewhere, the margins shrank dramatically, and in critical battlegrounds, UDA barely scraped through despite throwing the full weight of the state into the ring.
Take Mbeere North, President Ruto’s poster child of “victory.”
In 2022, DP-aligned candidates amassed 34,000 votes against the opposition’s 2,000. This was supposed to be a fortress. Yet in the by-elections, even after deploying everything, including reallocated government projects, militarised security presence, manipulation of relief aid, wholesale bribery of agents, and an estimated Ksh 300 million pumped into the race, the UDA candidate emerged with only 15,800 votes. The opposition surged to 15,400.
When you lose almost 20,000 votes in your own fortress while the opposition multiplies its support sevenfold, that is not victory. That is political haemorrhage.
In Malava, the story repeats itself.
Despite commandeering county machinery, dishing out state appointments, unleashing heavy police presence, and spending unprecedented sums to influence outcomes, UDA edged ahead by fewer than 1,000 votes This is not dominance; it is fragility disguised as strength.
In Western Kenya, the President’s so-called regional kingpin, Moses Wetang’ula, suffered open humiliation, even in his home ward. Intimidation, handouts, threats, and state-sponsored coercion could not prevent voters from expressing their discontent. Wetang’ula’s myth of regional supremacy was punctured not by opposition propaganda but by the simple arithmetic of ballots.
Across the board, the pattern was unmistakable: a state drowning in financial recklessness, using borrowed or diverted public funds, from SHA allocations to school capitation to fuel levies, to stage expensive electoral theatrics. Yet ordinary, often underfunded opposition candidates defeated them with clarity and confidence.
These by-elections offer a window into 2027, and the president should be worried. What we witnessed was the state concentrating abnormal resources on just a handful of constituencies. But in a general election, the regime does not have the luxury of throwing every road, every electrification promise, every relief truck, every ambassadorial appointment, every helicopter, and every police unit at every constituency. The machinery does not scale. The illusion collapses under its own weight.
In 2027, Ruto will face a nationwide electorate whose patience has thinned and whose expectations have sharpened. The economic pain is real, the hunger visceral, the disillusionment widespread. A regime that survives by staging costly micro-battles cannot sustain itself in a national contest where every county, every ward, every village demands genuine political investment and authentic public trust.
That is why these by-elections were not a setback for the opposition. They were a resounding affirmation. They showed that the Wantam movement is disciplined, grounded, and aligned with the people’s pulse. Where the state sought to intimidate, the opposition supporters stood firm. Where money rained, votes remained stubbornly independent. Where coercion was weaponised, courage prevailed.
The message is simple: Kenyans are ready for change.
But readiness alone is not enough. What we need now is an organised opposition equipped with:
- A coordinated, multi-arm campaign strategy. An octopus that reaches every region, every demographic, every narrative battlefield.
- Research-driven, consistent messaging that speaks to economic pain, democratic decay, and the urgent need for renewal.
- Fearless leadership that is ready to confront state abuse, defend democratic space, and embody the country’s desire for national healing and honest governance.
If the opposition maintains discipline, unity, and clarity of purpose, 2027 is not just winnable. It is within touching distance. The by-elections have already revealed the truth the government is afraid to admit: the ground is shifting, the momentum is reversing, and the illusion of invincibility has been shattered.
The story of Kenya is far from finished. The people are awake. The tide is turning. When citizens reorganise themselves with courage and conviction, no amount of state machinery can stop a nation determined to reclaim its future.
Maina Wahome