Weaponized Poverty, Silent Taxpayers, and the Political Scam Called ‘Hustler Nation

Ruto did not fall from the sky. He arrived through a formula, refined quietly and executed loudly. A political hack so simple it insults the intelligence of a country that prides itself on being educated, informed, and modern. He discovered that power does not follow productivity; it follows mobilisation. And mobilisation, in Kenya, is cheapest where accountability is weakest.

He fell in love with “hustlers” not because he understands their pain, but because he understands their utility. Bodas, mama mbogas, cart pushers, drivers, turn boys, content creators, influencers — not as citizens, but as raw political energy. Easy to stir, easy to aim, easy to release. Emotion before thought. Identity before policy. Noise before numbers.

This group is not dangerous because it is poor. Poverty is not a crime. The danger lies in political illiteracy weaponised as righteousness. A population taught to shout slogans instead of asking questions. Trained to defend leaders instead of demanding systems. Conditioned to fight fellow citizens instead of interrogating power.

And then comes the masterstroke: most of this bloc does not pay direct, structured taxes. No PAYE. No VAT filings. No audited returns. No monthly pain reminders from KRA. Which means the cost of bad governance does not hit them immediately, visibly, or personally.

So when taxes are raised, fuel levies increased, salaries squeezed, and compliance tightened, the backlash comes from those who pay — salaried workers, professionals, SMEs, manufacturers. The people with receipts, records, loans, and deadlines. And what do they do with that pain?

Read Also: Financial Discipline Is Not Cruelty: Why You Must Be “Selfish” With Your Money Before Poverty Is Generous With You

They complain quietly. In boardrooms. On WhatsApp. In bars. They don’t vote. They don’t organise. They don’t educate. Politics is “beneath them.” They are “too busy.” They have mortgages to clear and school fees to pay.

So power learns a cruel lesson: you can punish taxpayers endlessly because they won’t resist politically. They will absorb, complain, adjust, borrow, and move on. Meanwhile, the non-taxed bloc can be kept loyal with rhetoric, symbolism, and occasional tokens.

This is not love for hustlers. It is strategic neglect dressed up as empathy. Keep them informal. Keep them undocumented. Keep them emotionally invested but economically unprotected. A permanent political militia with no long-term stake in governance outcomes.

That is how 2022 was won. Not through superior ideas, but through superior segmentation. A nation split between those who fund the state and those who defend the state’s abusers. One pays. The other chants.

And when the economy begins to suffocate, the blame is conveniently redirected. Civil servants become “lazy.” Professionals become “entitled.” Businesses become “greedy.” Suddenly, paying tax is framed as a privilege, not a sacrifice.

Meanwhile, public services decay evenly for everyone — but unevenly in speed. Education collapses slowly, so parents improvise. Healthcare rots quietly, so families fundraise. Roads crumble gradually, so people adapt. Security weakens subtly, so communities self-police.

By the time the consequences become undeniable, elections are already won.

This is why civic education is no longer optional. It is not an NGO luxury. It is a national emergency infrastructure. Without it, democracy becomes theatre — loud, repetitive, and meaningless.

Kenyans must understand a brutal truth: the quality of your life is not accidental. It is voted into existence. Or voted out of it. Schools, hospitals, roads, jobs, safety — none of these fall from heaven. They are products of choices made at the ballot, defended in public discourse, and enforced through accountability.

Politics is not beneath you. Politics is inside your payslip. Inside your medical bill. Inside your rent. Inside your child’s classroom. Every time you disengage, someone else decides how much you will suffer.

The idea that “my vote doesn’t matter” is the most expensive lie ever sold to the Kenyan middle class. Votes matter so much that entire regimes are built around suppressing their informed use.

Civic education must teach one core equation: no taxation without representation works both ways. If you pay taxes and don’t vote, you are a sponsor, not a citizen. If you vote emotionally without understanding policy, you are a tool, not a stakeholder.

We must stop romanticising poverty as a political virtue and start demanding competence as a leadership qualification. Struggle is not a manifesto. Hustling is not a development plan. Slogans do not build hospitals.

We must also be honest with the so-called hustlers. You are not being empowered; you are being used. Informality keeps you loyal today, but poor tomorrow. When systems fail, rhetoric will not feed your children.

A state that cannot collect taxes fairly cannot protect anyone fairly. And a population that does not understand this will keep fighting each other while being robbed collectively.

2026 must not be about rallies. It must be about classrooms, churches, barazas, timelines, podcasts, matatus, and markets — teaching one thing relentlessly: politics decides outcomes.

Not tribes. Not vibes. Not insults. Decisions.

If Kenyans wake up to this, emotional weaponisation collapses. Manipulation becomes harder. Lies become costlier. Leaders are forced to compete on delivery, not drama.

If we don’t, the cycle repeats. New slogans. Same pain. Louder rallies. Deeper poverty.

The choice is embarrassingly simple. Stay asleep and be governed like children. Or wake up, learn, and govern ourselves like adults.

History will not forgive ignorance dressed as pride. And the economy will not spare anyone — hustler or taxpayer — from the consequences of bad political maths.

Read Also: Why the Pain of Discipline Is Cheaper Than the Pain of Poverty