Same old politics: Why the Kikuyu remain Kenya's default villains

Kikuyu bashing, one of Kenya’s favourite political pastimes, has a pattern to it that leaves tastes of bitterness and desperation. Although it is largely driven from outside the community, it often receives support from internal collaborators who appear eager to advance perceived personal interests. Such collaborators operate on a peculiar but common philosophy: Wa Muingi Uragaga Karimu — public concerns kill a fool.

The practice has also served as a diversionary strategy for both colonial and post-colonial governments, redirecting public attention from failures in governance and service delivery. Labelling the Kikuyu as ‘Kabila’ or ‘Wakabila’ provides temporary relief to those wielding power without addressing the underlying causes of public dissatisfaction.

The Kikuyu bashing of the 1990s subsided for a time, only to return with renewed intensity after the 2024 Gen Z uprising. Its resurgence became so pronounced that public intellectuals such as PLO Lumumba raised concerns over what he described as the conspicuous silence of the National Cohesion and Integration Commission (NCIC).

Kikuyu bashing is not a new phenomenon. It occurs partly because of the community’s perceived intolerance of official misdeeds. This philosophical tradition, described as the Right of Defiance (ROD) against poor governance, can be traced to the pre-colonial Iregi generation, which rejected kingship in favour of collective governance through layered councils and consensus-building.

As a result, it became virtually impossible for the Kikuyu to maintain a uniform position on any issue because differing opinions were always accommodated. This reality has repeatedly generated calls for unity and even attempts to impose it during times of crisis. Yet, because not everyone embraces the prevailing consensus, external actors often find opportunities to influence community affairs. Despite internal disagreements, it is the collective exercise of the Right of Defiance that both impresses and unsettles those in power. 

It was this spirit of defiance that reportedly led British colonial empire builder Francis Hall to contemplate wiping the Kikuyu from the face of the earth, only to reconsider because, as he reasoned, he needed them for labour. Hall succeeded in altering the traditional governance system by creating colonial ‘kingpins’ known as chiefs. Among those who emerged as symbols of the new colonial order were Kinyanjui wa Gathirimu, Karuri wa Gakure and Wangu wa Makeri.

Even so, Hall remained concerned that a serious conflict between the British Empire and the Kikuyu was inevitable and remarked that he would prefer not to be present when it occurred. He died soon afterwards. His fears were shared by another colonial figure, Richard Meinertzhagen, who gained notoriety through brutal actions, including the massacre of villagers at Kihumbuini  for reportedly drowning a mzungu in urine and the capture of Koitalel arap Samoei. Unlike Hall, Meinertzhagen lived long enough to witness the Mau Mau War half a century later.

Between Hall’s era and the Mau Mau War came the Right of Defiance campaigns of the 1920s, which forced colonial authorities to rethink aspects of their administration. Harry Thuku attempted to unite ‘natives’ across East Africa against oppressive colonial policies and established links with Marcus Garvey in New York. In response, the colonial government detained him in Kismayu and introduced Local Native Councils (LNCs), chaired by white district commissioners, to prevent Africans from uniting across the colony and the wider region.

Africans responded by establishing the Kikuyu Central Association (KCA), founding the newspaper Muigwithania, which Jomo Kenyatta later edited, sending Kenyatta to England, defending the cultural rite of circumcision, and building independent churches and schools. Through these initiatives, the Kikuyu appeared to challenge the foundations of colonial ideology, which rested on assumptions of white racial superiority.

Intensified campaigns

 Two significant consequences emerged from this challenge to colonial logic. First, the Right of Defiance evolved into a Right of Revolution, culminating in the Mau Mau uprising against colonial rule. Second, the colonial administration intensified both material and psychological campaigns of Kikuyu bashing.

The government escalated targeted repression against the Kikuyu, Embu and Meru communities. The participation of many other communities in the Mau Mau struggle became largely irrelevant to Britain’s broader strategy of portraying the conflict as exclusively Kikuyu. This involved demonising the communities associated with the rebellion and rewarding those considered loyal to colonial authority.

Chiefs and their askaris were transformed into “Home Guards” tasked with suppressing resistance outside the forests and detention camps. Alongside this came a long-term programme of mental indoctrination through schools and the media aimed at instilling fear and suspicion of both the Kikuyu and the Mau Mau movement.

Historian Ben Kipkorir wrote of Alliance High School’s Carey Francis warning students that, should independence come, the Kikuyu would dominate them.

Significant gap

The political transition period between 1958 and 1963 demonstrated a significant gap between official narratives and public opinion. Despite British efforts to demonise Kenyatta and his supporters, voters twice rejected KADU in favour of KANU during the 1961 and 1963 pre-independence elections, paving the way for Kenyatta’s rise to power and the formation of the post-colonial government.

Nevertheless, elements of colonial-era conditioning persisted among certain political leaders and intellectuals. In 1996, prominent journalist Joe Kadhi observed a resurgence of Kikuyu bashing and organised a seminar involving journalists and academics to examine the phenomenon. Participants concluded that many individuals engaging in such rhetoric were themselves products of colonial-era conditioning. One academic reportedly amused the audience by openly admitting that he had been influenced by that mindset.

Just as the Kikuyu bashers of the 1990s were products of colonial conditioning, today’s emerging Kikuyu bashers may be seen as products of the narratives popularised by their predecessors. Yet there are important differences in public reaction.

The emergence of the youth-led hashtag #WeAreAllKikuyus represented a public rejection of attempts to divert attention from failures in governance and service delivery.

Treasury Cabinet Secretary John Mbadi adopted a different approach when he reportedly stated that, after President William Ruto’s tenure in 2032, he did not wish to see either a Kikuyu or Kalenjin president. Health Cabinet Secretary Aden Duale generated controversy by discussing ways of rearranging the so-called “tyranny of numbers” through encouraging higher birth rates in favoured regions while others stagnated demographically.

However, the remarks of former Senator Omar Hassan in Mombasa attracted the greatest attention. He criticised the Kikuyu community and personalised those attacks by targeting the Kenyatta family. What surprised many observers was that he faced no public reprimand despite language widely viewed as divisive.

As in colonial times and during the 1990s, Kikuyu bashing serves as a distraction from the country’s deeper problems. Politically, it remains convenient because there are always individuals within the community willing to participate in the criticism in pursuit of favour or advantage.

For their part, the Kikuyu are generally guilty of asserting the Right of Defiance when they they see things going wrong. While they are by no means the only community to challenge authority, which they can trace to the Iregi Generation, they become an easy target for scapegoating and a convenient political palliative for leaders seeking to deflect criticism.

-The writer is a professor of History and International Relations