How We Have Collectively Normalized Moral Decay, Lawlessness & Stupidity As Kenyans

We live in Kenya where moral collapse did not arrive with sirens or tanks, but quietly, through language, excuses, and shared nods of agreement. Alcohol became “stress relief” not because stress disappeared, but because self-destruction needed a respectable alias. Adultery was rebranded as “networking” to soothe consciences that knew exactly what they were doing. Usury was baptised as banking, and exploitation dressed up as innovation. Bribery, stripped of its shame, was softened into “something small,” as if corruption becomes harmless when spoken gently.

In Kenya, corruption is not treated as a crime but as evidence of intelligence. To steal cleverly is to be “street-smart.” To loot without apology is to be “sharp.” Theft is excused as survival, even when the thief owns more than the people he is stealing from. Incompetence is no longer a disqualifier; it is defended fiercely when wrapped in political colours. Loyalty to mediocrity has become more important than competence itself.

Modesty, once a virtue, is now mocked as backwardness. Honesty is dismissed as naïveté, something only fools can afford. Integrity is treated like a luxury item, reserved for people who supposedly do not understand “how Kenya works.” The collective message is clear: if you want to survive, you must bend, cheat, lie, and blend in. Uprightness is painted as ignorance of reality.

In the same Kenya, lying is elevated into sa trategy. Truth is considered optional, especially when it inconveniences power. Looting public resources is justified as “our turn to eat,” as if the state were a carcass to be fought over rather than a trust to be protected. Public office has been reduced to a personal ATM, and voters clap as their future is withdrawn in cash.

Those who obey the law are openly ridiculed. They are told they are foolish, slow, and unserious. Those who ask questions are labelled bitter, jealous, or frustrated failures. Those who refuse to participate in corruption are warned, sometimes kindly, that they will never make it. Kenya has perfected a culture where wrongdoing is normal, and resistance is portrayed as self-sabotage.

And when someone dares to challenge this madness, to demand accountability, ethics, or basic decency, the system responds with hostility. They are branded clout chasers, enemies of development, or sellouts. Because in a society that has normalised decay, anyone insisting on standards automatically becomes the problem. The disease protects itself by attacking the immune system.

This did not happen by accident. It happened because Kenyans chose group comfort over personal responsibility. Group mentality became the refuge of cowardice, where individuals hide inside the crowd to avoid accountability. “Everyone is doing it” became the ultimate moral defence, powerful enough to silence conscience and reason.

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Kenyans learned early that standing alone is dangerous. So they learned to clap when told to clap, to shout slogans they do not believe, and to defend leaders they privately despise. The group became more important than truth, and belonging became more valuable than principle. Independent thought was quietly discouraged, then openly punished.

Over time, this group mentality trained Kenyans to outsource their moral judgement. Right and wrong were no longer determined by values, but by numbers. If many people support it, it must be right. If many people benefit from it, it must be acceptable. If many people are silent about it, it must be normal.

This is how theft became cultural. This is how mediocrity became leadership. This is how shouting replaced thinking. Kenyans stopped asking whether something was just, and only asked whether it was popular. Democracy was reduced to arithmetic, stripped of ethics and vision.

Group mentality also killed courage. Speaking out became dangerous not only because of power, but because of neighbours, friends, relatives, and colleagues who preferred silence. The fear of being isolated proved stronger than the desire for change. Kenyans learned to whisper truths in private and lie loudly in public.

The tragedy is that many Kenyans know the system is rotten. They complain in matatus, in bars, in homes, and online. But when action is required, they retreat into the group. They wait for others to move first. They wait for numbers. They wait for permission to be brave.

This waiting has cost Kenya decades. It has allowed thieves to mature into statesmen. It has allowed incompetence to be recycled into experience. It has allowed corruption to become institutional, defended not just by leaders, but by citizens who benefit from crumbs.

Group mentality has also destroyed merit. Jobs are no longer earned; they are distributed. Contracts are no longer competed for; they are allocated.

Opportunities are no longer created; they are captured. And when merit protests, it is told to be patient, humble, and understanding of “how things work.”

In this environment, young people are taught early that excellence is optional, but connections are mandatory. Hard work is praised in speeches but punished in practice. Integrity is celebrated in churches and betrayed on Monday morning. The contradiction becomes normal, and hypocrisy becomes invisible.

Kenyans have perfected selective outrage. They are angry when their enemies steal, but silent when their own do. They demand accountability from others while excusing the same crimes at home. The group decides who deserves criticism and who deserves protection, regardless of facts.

This mentality has also weaponised ethnicity, class, and politics. Identity is used to suspend judgement. “He is ours” becomes more important than “he is wrong.” Crimes are reframed as attacks on the group, and justice is dismissed as persecution.

As a result, Kenya is trapped in cycles. New leaders arrive speaking the language of change, only to be absorbed by the same culture. Voters cheer, then complain, then vote the same way again. Group loyalty overrides memory, and hope replaces evidence.

The most painful part is that Kenyans still believe they are victims alone. They blame politicians, colonialism, global systems, and fate. Rarely do they look in the mirror and admit that collective tolerance of wrongdoing is what sustains the mess. Leadership reflects followership more than Kenyans want to admit.

Group mentality has numbed moral sensitivity. Scandals no longer shock. Numbers no longer move people. Deaths become statistics. Theft becomes news fatigue. When outrage is constant but shallow, nothing changes.

Kenya now lives with the consequences. Broken institutions, expensive poverty, and loud emptiness at the centre of public life. A country rich in talent but poor in courage. A nation full of opinions but short on conviction.

And still, the group whispers: do not rock the boat. Do not be different. Do not stand out. Do not ask too much. Do not demand standards. Just survive.

But survival without dignity is slow death. Prosperity built on decay collapses eventually. A society that punishes honesty and rewards theft cannot sustain itself forever.

The truth Kenyans avoid is simple and uncomfortable. Kenya is not ruined only by leaders. It is ruined by citizens who defend them, excuse them, vote for them, imitate them, and protect them in the name of group belonging.

Until Kenyans break the tyranny of “we,” nothing will change. Until individuals reclaim moral responsibility from the crowd, corruption will remain patriotic, incompetence will remain political, and decay will remain normal.

The problem is not that Kenya lacks solutions. The problem is that Kenyans lack the courage to stand alone long enough for solutions to matter.

And in a country where everyone waits for everyone else to change first, decay does not just survive. It wins.

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