It’s high time we tamed the loose mouths of politicians

There is something deeply disturbing that has crept into our public and communal spaces in Kenya — and we must talk about it.

Funerals, once sacred gatherings meant to mourn, reflect, and unify communities, have become stages for political theatre, insults, and reckless posturing. It amazes me how abusive, irresponsible, and outrightly reckless some of our elected leaders have become when handed a microphone at a village funeral or event. 

What happened to respect? What happened to honouring the dead?

Many of these leaders forget — or conveniently ignore — that when they are invited to funerals in our villages, it is often the only time we see or hear from them. And all we ask is not much: a moment of mourning, a word of comfort, and maybe, just maybe, an update on how they're delivering on the mandate we entrusted them with.

But no, instead, we are forced to endure political drama, bitter exchanges, and the vilest of abuses.

These leaders hijack grief and turn it into a battleground for settling scores. They throw barbs, crack inappropriate jokes, launch tribal innuendos, and insult each other with no regard for the mourners present. Families grieving a loved one are subjected to cheap theatrics and political comedy. Where did the dignity go?

Even in other public functions, politicians arrive with their guns blazing. Some shout more than they reason. Some insult more than they inform. And the saddest part? We, the citizens, are the ones left divided.

These same politicians who poison our minds with hate, lies, and suspicion, portraying their opponents as enemies, are often the very same ones exchanging laughter, deals, and hugs behind closed doors. In public, they curse each other for show. In private, they toast to their shared gains. How long will we be played like pawns?

We must ask, can a little bit of integrity cost anything?

We are at a crossroads, as a nation and as a society. The political class must be reminded: Kenya is not your stage. Funerals are not your rallies. Our grief is not your campaign opportunity.

As wananchi, we must demand decorum and maturity. We must remind our leaders that microphones at funerals and public forums are not weapons. If all you have to offer is bile and bravado, then respectfully — remain seated. Some of our leaders are far wiser when silent. The moment they speak, they expose just how low their thinking sits.

Let us bring back honor to our public discourse. Let us teach our children — and remind our leaders — that power without restraint is a danger to the very people it claims to serve.

Kenya deserves better. Our villages deserve better. The dead deserve better.