How Kenya’s Political Class is Gaslighting a Starving Nation Into Anarchy

If you’ve been walking around Nairobi lately, you probably noticed the deafening sound of silence in empty wallets and the conspicuous absence of hope in the eyes of young people. What you might not have noticed is that this government—bless their audacity—believes that hiring bloggers, spin doctors, and a few police water cannons is a robust economic recovery plan. Spoiler alert: It’s not.

There’s a rather unfortunate habit within the corridors of power in Kenya: confusing public relations with public service. As the nation’s GDP gasps for air under the weight of debt and taxation, our leaders are busy tweeting prosperity sermons while quietly increasing their travel allowances. Because nothing solves a collapsing economy like a diplomatic trip to Monaco, right?

The very foundation of this crisis lies in the simple math our politicians refuse to confront. Each year, we release nearly a million graduates into an economy that creates just 80,000 formal jobs. If you are bad at math, let me help you: that’s 920,000 broken dreams annually, served fresh with a side of depression.

But why should they care? After all, their sons and daughters are safely tucked away in Australia, Canada, and the UK—where the word ‘hustler’ only appears in Netflix documentaries, not on government branding material.

This government has elevated gaslighting into a policy framework. Citizens wake up to press conferences where ministers smile broadly while announcing fuel price hikes, tax increases, and new levies. Meanwhile, the same ministers drive home in taxpayer-funded convoys, their V8 engines drowning out the cries of starving families.

For every shilling collected in taxes, nearly 50 cents go to servicing public debt. Yes, you heard right—almost half of every tax shilling doesn’t build roads, hospitals, or schools; it simply disappears into the black hole of interest payments. Kenya today is essentially a glorified debt repayment agency with a flag.

The economic strangulation is so severe that inflation no longer needs to sneak into our lives; it walks right through the front door, sits on the couch, and demands rent. A 2kg packet of maize flour now costs more than the minimum daily wage. If the government were serious about food security, they’d declare hunger a national treasure and tax it.

And speaking of taxes, the Kenya Revenue Authority has transformed from a revenue collector into a full-blown mafia extortion outfit. Businesses are shutting down faster than the time it takes KRA to send an SMS demanding compliance. Meanwhile, those who loot billions enjoy immunity, VIP protection, and prime time interviews to lecture us about patriotism.

Let’s not pretend this is accidental. A captured state is not a malfunction; it’s a business model. A model that prioritizes the elite’s champagne brunches over the survival of the hustling masses. And when the youth finally snap, the same leaders will cry foul about ‘political agitation’ as if they hadn’t lit the match in the first place.

The data is screaming, but the political class is deaf. The World Bank’s 2023 report warned that Kenya’s debt distress risk has transitioned from ‘high’ to ‘catastrophic.’ The IMF, that polite vampire that gives you loans while handing you the rope to hang yourself, has already flagged Kenya’s fiscal model as unsustainable.

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But instead of belt-tightening at the top, the government passed a Finance Act that taxes everything except the oxygen we breathe—but I suspect they are working on that too. Bread? Taxed. Diapers? Taxed. Sanitary pads? Taxed. Death? Taxed. Poverty? Monetized. Misery? Institutionalized.

And then comes the insult layered on top of the injury. Government officials show up on TV, grinning ear to ear, telling the youth to “innovate.” Innovate with what? With what capital? With what tax relief? In a country where mobile money withdrawal fees are higher than profit margins?

Let’s also talk about the great Kenyan deception called ‘empowerment programs.’ Billions are announced in youth funds that somehow vanish faster than you can say “procurement cartel.” Auditors show up, write strongly worded reports, and the files are promptly shelved—next to others from the Anglo Leasing, NYS, and Arror-Kimwarer scandals.

It would be hilarious if it weren’t tragic. A nation whose leaders genuinely believe that importing bloggers from Nigeria and influencers from Dubai is a credible counter-insurgency strategy against economic collapse.

But the joke is wearing thin. Young people are no longer fooled. They know that the real crime is not protesting on the streets; the real crime is to be born in Kenya without connections. For the connected, the country is a buffet. For the rest, it’s an all-you-can-suffer experience.

Public debt is expected to hit Ksh 12 trillion by 2025, meaning every Kenyan—yes, including newborns—is carrying a debt burden of Ksh 240,000. A baby born today owes more money than most university graduates will ever earn in their first job—assuming they even get one.

Even salaries are losing the fight against the beast called inflation. Real wage growth has been negative for three consecutive years. For the layman, that means you’re technically getting poorer while working harder—an economic masterclass in running on a treadmill that’s on fire.

The informal sector, responsible for over 90% of all new jobs, has no safety nets, no pensions, no healthcare. The government milks it dry with daily and weekly bribes masquerading as ‘license fees’ and ‘compliance checks.’

This same informal sector is now the government’s new target for squeezing taxes—because obviously, the best way to grow an economy is to kill the only sectors that are still breathing.

Meanwhile, Parliament has transformed into an auction house where the highest bidder gets the loudest applause. Legislators who were elected to be the people’s voice now compete to be the loudest cheerleaders for oppressive policies. Legislative capture isn’t just real; it’s a lifestyle.

Judiciary independence? Cute theory. Courts are now rubber stamps for whatever the executive wants, provided there’s a handshake and a brown envelope involved. The rule of law in Kenya today depends entirely on who has the deepest pockets.

The police, designed to protect citizens, now serve as the enforcers of state-sponsored extortion. Their tear gas is more punctual than ambulances, and their water cannons have better fuel budgets than most hospitals.

Speaking of hospitals, the public healthcare system is a graveyard with fluorescent lights. Doctors strike as a matter of routine, patients die as a matter of policy, and politicians fly to South Africa for dental checkups using taxpayer money.

Education isn’t faring any better. Students are graduating into a job market that reads their CVs only to print rejection letters. Meanwhile, HELB is pursuing them like bounty hunters, demanding payment for degrees that are economically useless.

The social contract has been shredded. Kenyans pay taxes; the government delivers tweets, empty speeches, and more taxes. It’s a one-sided marriage, with the citizens as the battered spouse and the state as the abusive partner.

And now the government is surprised—surprised!—that the youth are on the streets. As if you can push people to the edge of starvation and expect them to write polite emails instead of chanting slogans.

Political analysts pretending this is a mere opposition-driven stunt are either drunk on state largesse or allergic to reality. No, this is not about Raila, Ruto, or any politician. This is about survival.

A collapsing economy anywhere breeds political instability everywhere. Whether you’re in Sri Lanka, Lebanon, or Kenya, the formula is the same: suffocate the middle class, crush the poor, and the streets will eventually erupt.

The idea that you can pacify an angry population with press conferences and PR gimmicks is as ridiculous as trying to stop a hurricane with an umbrella. It won’t work. It has never worked. It cannot work.

The problem isn’t social media. It isn’t misinformation. The problem is that young people are hungry, jobless, broke, and angry. You cannot fact-check their empty stomachs away.

Governments are supposed to solve problems, not be the problem. But here we are, governed by a class that believes GDP stands for ‘Government Drinks & Parties.’

And yet, when history turns its cold gaze on this moment, it will ask one question: Why didn’t they listen? The warning signs were everywhere—in the data, in the protests, in the collapsing small businesses, in the migration of young Kenyans fleeing to any country that will take them.

The arrogance of the political class blinds them to a basic truth: economic pain does not respect propaganda. Poverty cannot be gassed away. Hunger does not retreat at the sight of a riot police truck.

If the Kenyan state continues to see its citizens as tax livestock rather than stakeholders in a national project, then this agitation will not be the climax—it will be the opening act.

What happens next is written in the blood of every failed state before us. When people have nothing left to lose, they lose their fear.

And fear, ladies and gentlemen, is the only currency this government has left in circulation.

Godspeed, Kenya. You’ll need it.

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