07/06/2025
Ruto Broke the Code: Now the Gatekeepers Want Revenge
Mohamed Dida
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22h
In the din of Kenya’s political discourse, one truth remains largely unspoken yet deeply entrenched: much of the visceral anger directed at President William Ruto has little to do with his policies, governance record, or leadership choices. It has everything to do with who he is — and more importantly, where he came from.
Critics may dress up their disdain in the language of economic analysis or civic concern, but beneath the rhetoric lies a resentment that refuses to accept that a man from Sugoi — son of a peasant — rose to the highest office in the land. They are not perturbed by what Ruto does. They are perturbed by what he represents.
For decades, Kenya's political establishment has been a guarded citadel, largely passed between children of the old elite. Then came Ruto — an outsider by all definitions of Kenyan political aristocracy. His ascent was not paved by lineage, but carved through grit, ambition, and a belief that hustlers, too, have a right to dream. That is the sin that many cannot forgive him for.
When Ruto champions the Bottom-Up Economic Model, they scoff — not because they have a better plan, but because the very idea of economically empowering the underclass threatens their entrenched privileges. When he speaks the language of Boda Bodas and Mama Mbogas, they don’t hear policy—they hear a disruption of the old order where politics was the playground of the polished, not the platform of the poor.
Let’s be honest: if the same housing programme Ruto is pushing were launched by one of the "blue bloods," it would be hailed as visionary. If the same reforms to healthcare, fertilizer subsidies, and digitization of government were carried out by a scion of the elite, the media would be singing paeans of praise. But because it is Ruto — a man who wasn’t supposed to make it to State House—his actions are viewed not through the lens of merit, but through the fog of class contempt.
Even the language used to attack him betrays this truth. They call him "clever" as a slur. They call him "schemer" and "survivor" as if those are criminal traits. What they really mean is: he outsmarted a system that was never meant to let someone like him in.
This isn’t to suggest that Ruto’s government is beyond scrutiny—far from it. In any democracy, leaders must be held accountable. But let the criticism be about governance, not genealogy. Let it be about results, not resentment. Let it not be clouded by the bitterness of a ruling class that lost its grip on power and now seeks to claw it back by weaponizing public discourse.
The real political divide in Kenya today is not between parties or ideologies. It is between the gatekeepers of privilege and the children of struggle; between those who believe leadership is their birthright and those who believe it must be earned. And Ruto, whether you love him or loathe him, embodies that uncomfortable truth.
What we are witnessing is not political opposition—it is backlash. A backlash against the very idea that a man who rose from the village to the presidency without the blessing of dynasties, can govern without the support of gatekeepers of power and privilege. It is class war, clothed in the language of critique. And it is time we called it what it is.
