Every so often, a politician says something so extraordinarily revealing that opponents need not embellish it. The statement simply escapes into the public square, acquires a life of its own and invites citizens to apply it to the speaker.
President William Ruto may have produced such a moment when he reportedly told Kenyans: “If you elect a thief, you are foolish to think that he will not steal from you.” Taken purely as a principle of democratic accountability, it is difficult to disagree.
If citizens knowingly entrust public resources to people they believe to be dishonest, they cannot be entirely surprised when allegations of corruption follow. Elections are not merely contests of personalities, tribes and slogans. They are decisions about who receives custody of the national treasury and enormous coercive and administrative power.
But politics has a mischievous sense of irony. The President’s statement immediately triggered an avalanche of responses because, over many years, some of the politicians who now cooperate with him, and others who oppose him, have themselves made serious accusations about his integrity. Such accusations remain allegations unless established through appropriate legal processes. Yet politically, their existence matters because voters heard them repeatedly.
Uhuru Kenyatta warned the country about the character of the man seeking to succeed him. Raila Odinga raised grave questions during their years of political rivalry. Francis Atwoli, Edwin Sifuna and several senior ODM figures similarly made severe accusations before political alliances shifted.
Many Kenyans heard those warnings and voted for Ruto anyway. The fascinating part is why. For a section of the electorate, the 2022 election ceased to be primarily a referendum on integrity. Politics had been reduced to identity, resentment and belonging. The question was no longer whether allegations against a candidate were troubling. It became whether the candidate was ours.
Thus emerged one of the most dangerous propositions in democratic politics: “Even if he is a thief, he is our thief.” That sentence should terrify any republic. The moment citizens become willing to tolerate wrongdoing because the alleged wrongdoer belongs to their ethnic community, political coalition, religion, region or class, accountability collapses. Corruption becomes unacceptable only when committed by the other side.
But stolen public money has no tribe. When money meant for hospitals disappears, cancer patients are not treated according to how they voted. When resources intended for schools are misappropriated, children do not sit in overcrowded classrooms according to political affiliation. When public debt balloons, taxes rise for government supporters and government critics alike.
Why the President’s Words Matter More to Kenya Than He May Have Intended
That is why the President’s statement deserves more attention than he may have intended. “If you elect a thief…”
An entire theory of democratic responsibility is hidden inside those six words. A democracy cannot consistently produce accountable government when voters suspend accountability standards at election time. We cannot spend five years complaining about corruption and then enter polling booths asking which corrupt politician belongs to our community.
Neither can we condemn theft nationally while celebrating the person accused of stealing because some of the proceeds supposedly reached our village. That is not democracy. It is competitive plunder. And Kenya has paid dearly for this mentality.
The public conversation today is filled with questions about procurement, unexplained expenditure, politically connected businesses, opaque public-private arrangements, questionable tenders and the management of taxpayers’ money. Allegations involving politically connected individuals, including controversial foreign businessmen, deserve proper investigation rather than social-media verdicts. Where evidence exists, institutions must follow the money and establish the truth. Citizens have the right to know where every shilling goes.
This matters most because the same government demanding additional taxes from struggling households has a heightened obligation to show extraordinary discipline with existing revenue.
You cannot tell a mama mboga that the country desperately needs another tax while appearing casual about wastage. You cannot demand sacrifice from teachers, nurses and salaried workers while allegations of extravagant government expenditure dominate public discussion. And you cannot preach personal responsibility to citizens without accepting political responsibility yourself.
That is what makes the President’s remark so deliciously awkward. Was it a Freudian slip? A Damascus moment? An accidental confession of the fundamental principle by which voters should judge every candidate, including himself?
Only President Ruto knows what he intended. But Kenyans should accept the principle enthusiastically. In 2027, voters should ask every candidate: What is your record with public resources? What unexplained allegations surround you? Who finances you? Who benefits from your government contracts? What happened to the promises you made? Can your lifestyle be reconciled with your known income? Will independent institutions be free to investigate your administration?
And crucially, citizens must stop lowering these standards when the politician under examination happens to come from their community. Kenya does not need “our thief” replacing “their thief.” It needs leaders who understand that public office is a trust.
Take Him Literally in 2027
Perhaps, therefore, the President has inadvertently given the country one of the finest campaign slogans for 2027.
Take him literally. If you believe someone is a thief, do not elect him. Not because he comes from the wrong tribe. Not because he belongs to the wrong coalition. Not because another politician instructed you to reject him. Reject him because the Treasury belongs to your children. Maybe that is the political intelligence Kenya has been painfully acquiring.
In 2022, some voters may have imagined that having “our person” in power was protection enough. Experience should have taught us that corruption, incompetence and abuse of power eventually send their invoices to everyone.
Come 2027, therefore, the standard should be brutally simple. No more “our thief.” No more ethnic exemptions from integrity. No more voting for people we would never trust with our own bank accounts and then handing them the keys to the national Treasury.
After all, the President himself has now supplied the warning: if you knowingly elect a thief and expect him not to steal from you, you have made a profoundly unintelligent choice. For once, Mr President, Kenyans should take your advice very seriously.
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