The problem is not only who gets elected — it is what voters continue to reward.
By Levis Wangamati
Kenya has a peculiar political habit. We complain about tribalism, then ask who is “our person.” We condemn political betrayal, then celebrate it when it benefits our side. We demand accountability from leaders, yet defend them with a loyalty they have done little to earn. Every election cycle brings the same frustrations: the cost of living is too high, corruption remains entrenched, public services disappoint, young people cannot find meaningful work, and politicians make sweeping promises only to discover, after winning, that governing is considerably harder than campaigning. Yet when the next election arrives, many of the same political habits return intact.
This raises an uncomfortable question Kenya rarely asks seriously: if citizens consistently complain about the politics they experience, why do they keep rewarding the behaviour that produces it?
The answer is not simply that Kenyans choose bad leaders. Political choices are shaped by identity, economic circumstance, historical grievance, local interest, and the deeply held belief that one’s community must remain close to power to protect itself. But politicians also learn from those choices. They learn what excites voters, what frightens them, what divides them, and — most importantly — what wins elections. That is where democracy becomes a system of incentives. If ethnic mobilisation delivers votes, politicians have little reason to abandon it. If short-term handouts generate loyalty, campaigns will keep offering immediate relief instead of long-term solutions. If voters forgive corruption because the accused belongs to their political camp, accountability becomes selective and ultimately meaningless.
This does not absolve politicians. Those who hold public office carry greater power and greater responsibility. They control public resources, shape institutions, and make decisions that affect millions of lives. They cannot escape accountability by pointing to the voters who elected them. But politicians do not operate in a vacuum either. They respond to incentives, and elections create some of the most powerful incentives in public life. If a particular style of politics repeatedly produces electoral rewards, there is little rational reason for political actors to abandon it.
Consider ethnicity — perhaps the most enduring force in Kenyan electoral politics. A politician does not always need to convince voters that their policies are superior. Sometimes it is enough to convince them that the alternative threatens their community. The question shifts from “what will this candidate do for Kenya?” to “what happens to people like us if this candidate loses?” Once politics becomes a contest for collective security rather than competing ideas, policy is quietly pushed into the background, and it rarely finds its way back.
Yet it would be unfair to pretend that voters choose ethnic candidates without reason. Political elites have repeatedly exploited genuine historical grievances, inequalities, and fears of exclusion. Communities have legitimate concerns about representation, development, and access to state resources. The problem arises when those legitimate concerns harden into permanent, unconditional political loyalty. A community should be able to demand representation without surrendering its right to question the person representing it. Representation should amplify a citizen’s voice — not silence their scrutiny.
The same contradiction runs through Kenya’s political alliances. Kenyans often complain that politicians have no principles. Leaders campaign fiercely against one another, exchange accusations, and present themselves as irreconcilable opposites — only to share a platform months later. Yesterday’s enemy becomes today’s ally. Yesterday’s promise becomes today’s negotiation. We call it hypocrisy. Politicians call it strategy. The language is adjusted accordingly: betrayal becomes “political maturity”, opportunism becomes “realignment”, and a sudden improbable friendship becomes “national unity.” Political betrayal rarely destroys a career in Kenya, because supporters can be remarkably forgiving when they believe a shift serves their interests. If political loyalty is negotiable for leaders but unconditional for supporters, politicians have very little reason to fear changing sides.
Then there is the harder conversation about economic survival. It is easy to tell voters to reject political handouts when one is not struggling to pay rent, buy food, or keep a child in school. For a household under genuine financial pressure, immediate assistance can feel far more tangible than a promise of institutional reform several years into the future. That is where political morality meets economic reality. Handouts are no substitute for jobs, functioning public services, or sustainable opportunity — but neither should we pretend that citizens make political choices in a vacuum. A voter responding to an immediate need is not necessarily ignorant or easily manipulated. Sometimes they are simply making the best choice available to them. The deeper problem is when the political system consistently makes that immediate transaction more valuable than the long-term public interest.
This is why changing Kenya’s political culture requires more than instructing voters to “choose wisely.” Voters need better choices. Political parties must become something more substantial than vehicles for individual ambition. Candidates should compete on records, competence, and ideas rather than on political networks and tribal arithmetic. The media must scrutinise political claims rather than simply amplify political drama. Civic education must be continuous — not something rediscovered only when election season approaches. Most critically, citizens must learn that supporting a politician does not require defending everything that politician does.
We have grown accustomed to treating criticism of “our” politician as a personal attack on ourselves. When someone exposes incompetence, corruption, or dishonesty within our preferred political camp, the instinct is often to defend the politician before asking whether the criticism deserves a genuine answer. That is precisely how accountability becomes tribal. Once it does, every side can manufacture an excuse. The government points to the opposition. The opposition points to the government. Politicians blame their predecessors. Communities blame one another. Everyone has an explanation, but almost nobody accepts responsibility. Meanwhile, the citizen waits.
The deeper danger is not merely that Kenya will occasionally elect a disappointing government — all democracies do. The real danger is entrenching a political culture in which failure carries no meaningful political cost. A politician who knows that voters will forgive corruption on grounds of political identity has less reason to fear accountability. A politician who knows supporters will defend every decision has less reason to explain those decisions. A politician who knows campaign promises will be forgotten after election day has less reason to make realistic ones. In that sense, elections do not only choose leaders. They teach leaders what citizens are willing to tolerate.
Kenya needs a different kind of political competition — not merely a contest over who can produce the loudest slogan, assemble the largest coalition, or dominate the news cycle, but a competition over demonstrated competence, integrity, and results. That requires politicians to change, but it equally requires voters to change. We cannot demand less tribal politics while voting primarily through tribal calculations. We cannot insist on accountability while practising selective accountability. We cannot condemn political opportunism in our opponents while rewarding it in our allies.
Democracy is not only about the leaders we elect. It is about the behaviour we reward. Kenya will not transform its politics simply because politicians update their speeches. It will change when citizens begin changing the incentives those speeches are designed to win.
Politicians may write the promises. But ultimately, voters write the rules.
