Constitution

In the annals of Kenya's political history, the title "Baba" or "Mzee" has been reserved for presidents alone. To the best of my knowledge, only two Kenyans, Jaramogi Odinga and Raila Odinga, have ever been bestowed any of these titles at a national level despite not being president. 

This honorific “Baba” is not merely ceremonial; it signifies a leader's profound connection with the people.

For over four decades, Baba has borne the hopes of the oppressed, the vision of the reformists, and the resilience of a nation perpetually on the cusp of greatness.

Today, that greatness – Raila’s and Kenya’s - is being strangled, not by chance, but by choice. A choice being made in State House every day by a president who mistakes cunning for leadership and brute power for legitimacy. A president who’s only reason for seeking power is to make deals for himself. 

A president who is not above mutilating State House by altering its original design, not even caring for the historical nature of the hundred-year-old building, or the importance of monuments to a nation’s institutional memory and cultural history.

When Kenya ratified its new constitution in 2010, the world applauded a young democracy finally enshrining equity, decentralization, and the rule of law. The document, born of blood and idealism, was the culmination of decades of struggle against authoritarianism. 

Today, that constitution faces an existential threat from within. President William Ruto, who was elected in 2022 on a populist platform, has now become its most dangerous adversary. 

Ruto is many things, but one thing he is not is a steward of the 2010 Constitution. To the contrary, he is its most persistent saboteur. Every attempt he makes to consolidate power is an assault on the very architecture of the constitution that Raila sacrificed for. 

Ruto’s fingerprints are on every failed attempt to override, undermine, or buy out the Constitution that bears Raila's fingerprints—his detentions, sweat, and blood. 

The people can see this. They saw it in the arrogance of the finance bill. They saw it in the suppression of youth-led protests. They saw it in the silence as livelihoods eroded and justice became a private club for the rich and powerful.

A new communiqué by Kisumu Governor Prof. Peter Anyang’ Nyong’o is the most damning indictment yet. In a calm but devastating memo, the governor exposes the regime’s quiet coup against the very soul of devolution by refusing to cede road funds to county governments under the guise of bureaucracies like KURA and KERA.

This is not merely a policy disagreement. It is a betrayal. It is constitutional sabotage, executed in broad daylight.

The message is simple: Ruto cannot be trusted to uphold and defend the Constitution.

When a regime that cannot even manage Kenyatta National Hospital refuses to let counties manage their own roads, it reveals the primitive logic of centralization—the same logic that choked Kenya under the Nyayo era. Ruto is dragging us backwards, back to a system where the centre eats and the periphery bleeds.

Governor Nyong’o calls it what it is: an attempt to return to pre-devolution times, where wealth was hoarded, power was unaccountable, and the people were spectators to their own oppression. This isn’t policy—it is plunder by design.

Governor Nyong’o’s warning is not political hyperbole. It is a sober legal alarm. Through central agencies like the Kenya Urban Roads Authority and the Kenya Rural Roads Authority, the Ruto administration is re-centralizing power and resources, echoing the dark playbook of Kenya’s authoritarian past.

This isn’t just about roads though. It’s about a presidency that seeks to undo a revolution.

Under the guise of “efficiency,” Ruto has steadily chipped away at devolved functions, paralyzed local governments, and ignored court rulings. The national government’s own health systems are in disarray—yet it refuses to let county governments, which have proven more effective, lead where they have constitutional authority. 

This signals a betrayal of the democratic ethos painstakingly built over decades. 

The Kenyan constitution was never just about law—it was about liberation. It emerged from the ashes of dictatorship to give ordinary Kenyans a say in their governance. Ruto’s presidency, by contrast, is attempting to return that power to a single office in Nairobi.

This is where Raila Odinga must draw the line.

For over four decades, Baba has symbolized the fight for democracy in Kenya. He endured torture, detention, and electoral injustice for a dream that millions now live: the right to self-rule through local government. That dream is now in peril. And so is his legacy—if he remains tethered to a regime intent on destroying everything he fought for.

Odinga’s recent political cooperation with Ruto, aimed at fostering national dialogue, has borne little fruit. The president has not honored key commitments. Instead, he has used the arrangement to insulate himself from criticism while advancing a regressive agenda. The partnership has become a cover for erosion, not reform.

Ruto needs Raila to survive politically. But Raila does not need Ruto. Odinga can walk away anytime.

What the country needs now is an opposition that is clear-eyed, united, and unafraid to challenge creeping authoritarianism. 

If Baba stays in this unholy coalition, he risks not only his legacy but the very soul of the opposition he built. Kenyans are yearning for authentic leadership—leadership that doesn't coddle power but confronts it, reshapes it, and reclaims it.

Here is Baba’s path to the presidency: walk away. Not in retreat, but in renaissance. Reunite the opposition—not as a party but as a movement. A movement of conscience, of clarity, and of courage. 

Let Kalonzo, Martha, Sifuna, Oparanya, Joho, Orengo, and the youth who have taken tear gas in the streets return to a home called truth. That is the real Azimio. That is the real Kenya.

Ruto may have captured the state, but Raila can still command the people. And in a democracy—the people are the power.

Baba can walk into a stadium and summon a nation. When Baba speaks, the nation listens. Baba still has the clout to unite the disillusioned, the marginalized, and the hopeful. His power is not institutional—it is elemental.

In the end, this is not just about politics. It is about preserving a republic and defending its foundational document.

History is calling. And once again, it calls on Baba.

Patrick Kariuki is the Editor of The Kenyan Observer