Trouble on the mountain. PHOTO/UGC
By HEZ GIKANG’A
As the holiday season crescendos into the New Year, I feel compelled to write to the GEMA nation, reflecting on where we stand in relation to both our daily lives and the broader affairs of the nation.
Christmas, traditionally a time of joy, festivities, love, penitence, giving, forgiveness, and deep reflection, is also a time for coming together as family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, and believers. This year, however, feels different.
My people, from the mountain, you seem angry, sullen, emotional, hypersensitive, garrulous, and hard to please. What has happened to you, and to us, as a civilized society?
I recognize that times change, as does the rhythm of seasons, and I humbly acknowledge that 2023 has been a difficult year for all of us worldwide. We are no exception. Yet, I urge you to stop beating yourselves up.
The effects of the global economic contraction post-Covid-19 have been stark, but trust me, the worst is behind us. Cheer up, for this season is not only about reflecting on what could have been in 2024 but also about looking ahead to a more prosperous and fulfilling year. We’ve turned the corner.
The worst is behind us. Despite the ongoing war in Ukraine, which has impacted global grain prices, and the rise in global oil and commodity prices exacerbated by the war in Gaza and instability in the Middle East, we remain here.
Despite extreme weather events, insecurities from climate change, and threats posed by extremist groups, we continue to persevere. Our democracy—our most irrepressible feature—endures. We are a democracy by choice.
We are also a nation-state, a beautiful constellation of different communities, talents, perspectives, cultures, languages, and aspirations. Daima Mkenya. Yes, we are one nation, one people, bound by more than just the flag, the national anthem, the new constitution, and our geographic location.
And yet, we, the people of the mountain, seem to refuse to see the forest for the trees. We share a history and a culture, and our diversity is an unbreakable bond. Why then do we refuse to acknowledge this, to embrace our fellow Kenyans, and to celebrate each other and our collective achievements?
Which brings me to the heart of the matter: the unresolved and unrelenting anger we continue to direct toward our national leadership and government. It baffles me. How did we get here?
Just a few years ago, without provocation and in defiance of all evidence, we called our former President, Uhuru Kenyatta, and his administration a failure for not ‘protecting our interests.’ But which interests were we referring to, when he more than fulfilled his national mandate? What did Kenyatta fail to do for us?
Hez Gikang’a. PHOTO/UGC
We vilified him, slandered him, and tore down his name and the name of his defenseless family in the heat of the 2022 elections—before and after. We didn’t stop there. Even after he peacefully handed over power to our preferred candidate, President William Ruto, and quietly retired to his private life, we—now uncivilized in our behavior—continued to mock him.
We lampooned him publicly and privately, turning his name into a joke, dismissing his work until it became cliché. And we didn’t raise a finger to stop it. Many of us said he deserved it, and as judge, jury, and executioner, we cast our verdict without remorse.
Despite the sanctity we claim to hold in protecting private property, we went further. In March of this year, some of us raided Kenyatta’s properties—looting, burning, and stealing his goats—instigated by figures who now claim that we are being ‘targeted.’ By whom? How convenient. The hunter has become the hunted.
Then, barely a month ago, during the consecration of a Bishop in Embu, we warmly greeted Kenyatta—who we once dismissed and said could take his roads with him when he left office. His return to public life was met with elation and praise, and we hailed him as the undisputed Kingpin of the mountain.
But just a fortnight later, we have reverted to our old habits. We criticize him again for having the audacity to consult with President William Ruto on national matters. We label him a traitor, a homeguard, a member of the privileged elite.
These epithets—hurled at Kenyatta, Kagwe, Kinyanjui, Peter Kenneth, and Kaba Kabogo—are a disgrace. But aren’t these some of our finest sons? What’s wrong with these distinguished leaders stepping up to address the same challenges we complain about?
Why are we, as a people, against their involvement in finding solutions? Are we saying that Kagwe, with his experience in agriculture and industry, will fail before even starting? That Ndiritu Mureithi won’t bring sanity to the aggressive tax collection schemes? That Kaba Kabogo will ruin the thriving ICT and digital economy? Or that Lee Kinyanjui shouldn’t tackle the struggles in SMEs, trade, and investments?
Are we really claiming that one man’s personal conflict with his boss has turned into a communal crisis? Just five months ago, Rigathi Gachagua was one of the most reviled personalities in central Kenya, accused of insubordination, sabotaging his colleagues, and demanding personal adulation. Yet history is unforgiving. In 1966, Oginga Odinga was dismissed, but Kenyatta led with a capable cabinet.
In 1983, Charles Mugane Njonjo was dismissed, yet women still donned their colorful headscarves and attended guild meetings. In 1988, Mwai Kibaki was dismissed, but we continued to take our cattle to the dip. In 1997, after the December elections, we stayed without a VP for 14 months, yet we continued with our lives. Why is this now an existential communal crisis?
What is wrong with us? What do we really want? When did we become so manipulated that we’ve lost all sense of decency and rationality? This Christmas, let us reflect on these questions and commit to returning to common sense in the New Year.
Happy Holidays!
The writer is a political strategist and strategic communications professional
