Tribalism is not just an undercurrent—it’s a calculated strategy that turns citizens against one another while the powerful tighten their grip on control.
By: Midmark Onsongo
Worth Noting:
- Over 1,100 lives were lost, and half a million people displaced, yet in the aftermath, the very leaders who fanned the flames of tribal hatred emerged unscathed, climbing the political ladder even higher. While Kenyans mourned, they shook hands, brokered deals, and plotted their next move. The violence wasn’t an accident—it was the result of years of weaponized tribalism, where leaders pitted communities against each other like gladiators in an arena, all for a shot at power.
- In a country with over 40 tribes, this strategy of divide and conquer has been astonishingly effective. Political kingpins have mastered the art of tribal calculus, aligning themselves with whichever ethnic coalition offers the greatest chance of victory.
In Kenya, the story of political power is written not in ink but in bloodlines. It’s not policies or manifestos that rally the crowds—it’s tribal affiliations that drum up the loudest cheers, turn brother against brother, and shift allegiances like desert winds. We like to think of ourselves as a democracy, but in reality, it’s more of a masquerade where ethnicity is the mask worn to conceal the ugly face of manipulation. Tribalism in Kenya is not just a relic of the past—it’s a weapon forged in the fires of ambition, wielded with precision by leaders who care more about consolidating power than uniting a nation.
Take a step back, and the pattern becomes painfully clear: elections aren’t won on merit but on the backs of tribal blocs. Kenya’s political elite knows this too well and has honed the skill of ethnic manipulation to perfection. Every five years, as the election season nears, the same script plays out. Leaders stir up old wounds, stoking fears and suspicions between communities that should be united in the pursuit of progress.
They whisper promises of protection, of representation, of dominance—not for the nation, but for “our people.” It’s always about “our people,” as if Kenya is not one people, but many, segmented into voting blocks that politicians slice and serve like pieces of a pie. The 2007 post-election violence remains a scar we cannot forget—a grim reminder of what happens when leaders set the country ablaze with ethnic hatred for political gain.
Over 1,100 lives were lost, and half a million people displaced, yet in the aftermath, the very leaders who fanned the flames of tribal hatred emerged unscathed, climbing the political ladder even higher. While Kenyans mourned, they shook hands, brokered deals, and plotted their next move. The violence wasn’t an accident—it was the result of years of weaponized tribalism, where leaders pitted communities against each other like gladiators in an arena, all for a shot at power.
In a country with over 40 tribes, this strategy of divide and conquer has been astonishingly effective. Political kingpins have mastered the art of tribal calculus, aligning themselves with whichever ethnic coalition offers the greatest chance of victory. The Kikuyu, Kalenjin, Luo, Luhya, and Kamba—these are not just communities; in the hands of politicians, they are chess pieces, each move calculated for maximum advantage. Campaigns are less about policies and more about promises of ethnic supremacy. The promise is never for all Kenyans; it is for the select few who share the politician’s ethnic identity, for “our people” to rise while the rest are left behind. But what of the common Kenyan? The farmer in Nyeri, the fisherman in Kisumu, the boda-boda rider in Eldoret? These are the people who bear the brunt of this ethnic manipulation. They are used as pawns, their votes courted with empty promises of development, security, and representation. But once the votes are cast, they are forgotten, left to deal with the consequences of a deeply divided nation while the politicians who incited them toast to their success in the comfort of their gated mansions. The people pay the price—through mistrust, through division, through violence—while the leaders reap the rewards.
We’ve seen this play out in every election cycle. In 2013, Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto formed the Jubilee Alliance, uniting the Kikuyu and Kalenjin communities after years of bitter rivalry. It was hailed as a masterstroke of political reconciliation, but the truth is it was nothing more than a convenient marriage of tribes.
The alliance was not about bridging ethnic divides for the good of the country; it was about securing votes. And when it was no longer convenient, the alliance crumbled, leaving behind the same ethnic tensions it had temporarily concealed. Once again, the people were left to pick up the pieces.The 2022 elections followed a similar script, with ethnic alliances shifting, promises of regional representation dominating the airwaves, and tribal kingpins emerging to broker deals on behalf of “their people.” Raila Odinga, the long-time opposition leader, sought to unite tribes under his Azimio la Umoja coalition, while Ruto crafted the Kenya Kwanza alliance, appealing to the so-called “hustlers” but never failing to remind his Kalenjin base of their importance. The rhetoric was new, but the strategy was old as time—divide, conquer, and rule.
And so, the cycle continues. We like to believe that tribalism is something we’re moving past, that we’re becoming more enlightened as a people, more focused on issues than ethnicity. But the reality is that tribalism is the lifeblood of our politics, and until we confront it head-on, we will remain stuck in this endless loop of division.
Politicians will continue to exploit our ethnic identities, playing on our fears, insecurities, and historical grievances. They will use tribalism as a political weapon until there’s nothing left to fight for—no unity, no nation, just fractured communities bound by little more than shared suffering. But here’s the bitter irony: while we, the people, tear each other apart over tribal lines, the politicians who incite us are not bound by the same divisions.
They dine together, vacation together, do business together. The ethnic animosities they stoke are for our consumption, not theirs. To them, tribalism is a tool—a convenient way to mobilize votes, distract from their failures, and maintain control. For us, it is a burden, a curse, a never-ending source of conflict that keeps us from realizing our true potential as a nation.
It’s time we, the people, wake up to this reality. We cannot afford to be used any longer. We must reject the politics of tribalism, the leaders who preach division while lining their pockets with the spoils of power. We must demand a politics of unity, of ideas, of policies that benefit all Kenyans, regardless of tribe. Only then can we begin to heal the wounds that have been inflicted upon this nation by those who see us not as citizens, but as tribal pawns in their game for power. Because here’s the truth: Kenya’s strength lies in its diversity, not its divisions. Our ethnic identities are not something to be ashamed of—they are something to be celebrated. But when they are used as weapons by the political class, they become a source of pain, of mistrust, of violence. We must reclaim our ethnic pride from those who would use it for their gain, and we must reject the leaders who thrive on our divisions. Only then can we build a Kenya where every citizen, regardless of tribe, has a stake in the future—a Kenya where the politics of tribalism is nothing more than a bad memory, replaced by the politics of progress and unity.
This article was scripted by;
MIDMARK ONSONGO, SGS
(Socio-Geographic Scholar)
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