Kenya’s Youth Are Locked Out While Retirees Stay in Office

By Joseph Lister Nyaringo

Kenya today faces a troubling contradiction. On the one hand, the country boasts one of the youngest and most energetic populations in Africa. On the other hand, thousands of young, educated Kenyans remain locked out of meani
ngful employment while public institutions continue to accommodate individuals long past the official retirement age. The frustration brewing among young people is not merely about unemployment but about a system unwilling to renew itself.

Available data from the Public Service Commission of Kenya paints a worrying picture. More than 4,500 Kenyan civil servants are reportedly above the mandatory retirement age. Universities alone account for more than 800 employees who remain in office beyond the legal retirement threshold.

This reality raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: why are these positions not opened to younger professionals who are eager to serve and capable of bringing fresh energy, skills and innovation to public service?

Kenya’s youth are greatly talented. The country produces thousands of graduates every year from universities, colleges and technical institutions. Many are technologically skilled, globally aware and ready to contribute to national development. Yet for many of them, the pathway into the labour market remains blocked by entrenched bureaucratic systems and a political culture reluctant to allow generational transition.

Instead of confronting this structural challenge directly, the political leadership has increasingly framed overseas employment as a solution to youth unemployment. The government frequently celebrates the number of Kenyans securing jobs abroad, particularly in the Gulf states, North America and Europe. During a recent visit to Siaya, President William Ruto cited about 300,000 Kenyans working overseas as evidence of opportunity.

This narrative, however, deserves deeper scrutiny. Labour migration in itself is not inherently negative; remittances from the diaspora contribute significantly to Kenya’s economy. But when a government begins to showcase the export of its labour force as a central employment strategy, it’s a negative signal.  

No serious developing nation should aspire to export its most educated citizens as a primary policy objective. Many Countries in the West built strong economies by investing heavily in research, manufacturing, technology and industrial productivity. Their prosperity rose through creating conditions in which talent could thrive domestically.

Kenya possesses enormous potential in these sectors. The country has a tech-savvy generation that has demonstrated remarkable innovation—from mobile financial technology to digital entrepreneurship. Yet this potential remains underutilised because the structures required to harness it are either weak or absent.

The government once presented the expansion of ward-level ICT hubs as a transformative initiative. Piloted by former Cabinet Secretary Eliud Owalo, the project aimed to connect young people across the country to cyberspace by providing digital skills, innovation spaces and access to online opportunities. Yet the public deserves clarity: how many Kenyan wards are currently enjoying this wonderful service?

A similar question hangs over the Open University of Kenya, launched with great promise as a regional centre for online learning. These initiatives were hailed as game-changers, but without transparent updates on implementation and outcomes, they risk becoming yet another chapter in Kenya’s long history of ambitious ideas that fade before they take off.

Kenya does not suffer from a shortage of bold announcements but from weak follow-through. Every major initiative should be accompanied by rigorous monitoring, evaluation and impact assessment to ensure accountability and continuous improvement. Without this, we risk appearing like a society that talks the talk but rarely walks the walk.

Equally important is what emerged from President Ruto’s May 2024 visit to Silicon Valley in US. The trip was intended to attract American technology companies to invest in Kenya’s digital economy. Kenyans deserve to know whether that diplomatic effort translated into tangible investments capable of generating employment and innovation at home.

Many Kenyans increasingly view migration abroad not as a choice but as a necessity. I write from personal experience, having lived in the United States for more than sixteen years. Like many Kenyans in the diaspora, my decision to seek opportunities abroad was not born out of disdain for my homeland. Rather, it was shaped by restricted opportunities, bureaucratic inefficiencies and the lingering sense that merit alone could not open doors.

Against this backdrop, recent events in Siaya struck many young people as deeply ironic. Ida Odinga, wife of the late Prime Minister Raila Odinga, recently accepted a diplomatic role representing Kenya at the United Nations Environment Programme despite being well past the official retirement age.

During the same event, she spoke passionately about the struggles facing Kenya’s youth. The message itself was valid: youth unemployment remains one of the most serious challenges confronting the country. Yet for many young Kenyans, the symbolism appeared contradictory rather than reassuring.

If leaders truly care about the future of the youth, they must sometimes demonstrate that commitment through personal example. Declining opportunities that could empower a younger generation can be a powerful gesture for generational renewal.

Since assuming office, President Ruto has introduced several youth-focused initiatives, including affordable housing programmes, the Nyota Fund and Pesa Mfukoni. In theory, these programmes are commendable. In practice, however, many remain surrounded by uncertainty, limited transparency and allegations of political manipulation.

Earlier initiatives, such as the Access to Government Procurement Opportunities (AGPO), the Youth Enterprise Development Fund, and the Kenya Youth Employment and Opportunities Project, were also launched with enthusiasm but continue to face implementation challenges and corruption allegations. Kenyans are now watching how the World Bank-supported National Youth Opportunities Towards Advancement (NYOTA) programme will finally deliver meaningful results.

Kenya’s youth are asking for fairness, transparency and genuine access to opportunity. A country with such a dynamic young population should treat that demographic strength as its greatest asset. Unlocking that potential requires deliberate policies that prioritise generational transition and institutional integrity.

Lister Nyaringo is a Kenyan living in Washington, US

 

Why America’s Iran Gamble Raises More Questions Than Answers

By Joseph Lister Nyaringo

American military intervention abroad has often coincided with political turbulence at home. History suggests that when domestic pressure mounts, foreign policy decisions can take on added political significance. During the impeachment crisis of Bill Clinton in the late 1990s, airstrikes were authorised against targets in Iraq and Sudan. Years later, the administration of George W. Bush launched the invasion of Iraq amid the global shock that followed the September 11 attacks. Each of these episodes left a deep imprint on international politics.

Today, tensions between the United States and Iran have again raised questions about whether the world may be drifting toward another dangerous confrontation. While Washington maintains that its policies are aimed at preventing nuclear proliferation and maintaining regional stability, critics argue that the approach risks triggering wider instability across the Middle East.

Iran has long been viewed with suspicion by American policymakers and their allies. Since the Iranian Revolution of 1979, relations between Tehran and Washington have been characterised by mistrust, sanctions and periodic military tensions. The collapse of diplomatic relations after the revolution marked the beginning of one of the most enduring rivalries in modern geopolitics.

Supporters of Washington’s tough stance argue that Iran’s nuclear ambitions present a genuine threat to regional security. The United States and its allies insist that Tehran must not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons capability. For them, pressure through sanctions and the threat of force remains a necessary deterrent.

However, critics question whether escalating confrontation is the wisest path. They argue that decades of sanctions have not fundamentally altered Iran’s strategic posture. Instead, they have entrenched hardline attitudes within the Iranian political establishment and deepened hostility between the two countries.

Another key factor shaping the current tensions is the close strategic relationship between the United States and Israel. Israel views Iran as its most serious security threat and has consistently urged the international community to take stronger action against Tehran’s nuclear programme. The Israeli leadership has repeatedly warned that it will not tolerate a nuclear-armed Iran.

Yet the prospect of military confrontation carries enormous risks. Iran possesses significant missile capabilities and maintains influence through allied groups across the region, including in Lebanon, Syria and Iraq. Any escalation could rapidly spiral into a wider regional conflict with unpredictable consequences.

Beyond the Middle East, the global economic implications would be considerable. The region remains a vital artery for international energy supplies. A major conflict involving Iran could disrupt shipping routes through the Strait of Hormuz, through which a substantial portion of the world’s oil exports passes. Even the perception of instability in this corridor can send energy prices soaring.

For countries in Africa, including Kenya, such disruptions would have real economic consequences. Higher fuel prices would drive inflation, increase transportation costs and place additional pressure on already fragile economies. Developing countries that rely heavily on imported energy are particularly vulnerable to such shocks.

There is also a broader moral and strategic question about the use of military force as a tool of foreign policy. The legacy of past interventions in the Middle East remains deeply contested. Conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere have shown how military campaigns can produce long-term instability even when they achieve their immediate objectives.

Critics therefore urge a renewed emphasis on diplomacy. Engagement, negotiation and multilateral cooperation, they argue, offer a more sustainable path toward addressing nuclear concerns and regional tensions. The diplomatic agreement known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action once represented such an effort. Although the deal faced strong opposition and eventually unravelled, it demonstrated that dialogue between adversaries is possible.

The current moment calls for careful reflection rather than rapid escalation. Military action may offer the appearance of decisiveness, but history suggests that its consequences are rarely simple or predictable. Once conflicts begin, they often expand beyond their original scope and create humanitarian and geopolitical crises that last for decades.

For policymakers in Washington and Tehran alike, the challenge is to balance national security concerns with the broader interests of global stability. The world has already witnessed the devastating costs of prolonged conflicts in the Middle East. Another war involving Iran would risk repeating many of those mistakes on an even larger scale.

In the end, the question is not merely about strategy but about wisdom. The pursuit of security through confrontation can sometimes generate the very dangers it seeks to prevent. As tensions rise, leaders on all sides would do well to remember that restraint and diplomacy remain powerful tools in the prevention of war.

Joseph Lister Nyaringo is a Kenyan public affairs commentator and political analyst writing on governance, democracy, social justice, and economic policy in Kenya and Africa. Based in the United States, his work appears in leading Kenyan and international media. He seeks to inform public discourse, promote accountability, and advance ethical leadership across the region.

Why the World Bank Must Demand Accountability for Its Loans

The World Bank was founded to reduce poverty and promote shared prosperity. That mission remains noble. Yet in many developing countries, the promise of development finance is undermined by weak oversight and political opportunism. Loans intended for schools, hospitals and infrastructure too often fund inflated contracts, entrench patronage networks or line the pockets of corrupt officials. When accountability is absent, borrowed money does not advance development; it mortgages the future.

Across parts of Africa, weak governance has turned development lending into a heavy debt burden with limited public benefit. In Kenya, governance concerns and persistent audit queries continue even as debt servicing consumes a growing share of national revenue. Auditor-General reports have repeatedly flagged irregular procurement, unsupported expenditures and incomplete documentation in publicly funded projects. While some infrastructure investments have delivered gains, others have raised serious concerns about transparency and value for money.

In Kenya’s health sector, particularly during the Covid-19 period, questions emerged over the management of emergency funds, including those supported by international financing. Civil society organisations called for greater clarity on procurement and distribution. Although investigations were initiated, the pattern reinforced public scepticism: loans may arrive with development promises, but oversight often trails behind disbursement.

The problem is not confined to Kenya. Zambia’s borrowing spree, driven in part by ambitious infrastructure projects, contributed to a sovereign default in 2020, forcing painful restructuring that strained public services. Mozambique’s “hidden debt” scandal, involving undisclosed state-backed loans, left citizens liable for obligations they had never been told existed and showed how opaque borrowing can destabilise an economy. In Uganda, infrastructure loans have been accompanied by allegations of inflated contracts and land compensation disputes. These examples reveal a sobering truth: without rigorous transparency and enforcement, development finance can entrench corruption and deepen economic fragility.

The International Monetary Fund and the World Bank must therefore exercise far stronger oversight when advancing loans to governments facing integrity challenges. Funds designated for development cannot operate on trust alone, particularly where public financial management systems are weak and corruption risks are high. Loans require real-time monitoring, independent evaluation and measurable impact assessments to ensure resources reach intended beneficiaries.

Borrowed money can easily be diverted into token projects unveiled before elections, inflated contracts awarded to politically connected firms or patronage schemes designed to secure loyalty rather than deliver public goods. In several developing economies, public works frequently coincide with electoral cycles. Projects are launched hurriedly before elections, only to stall once votes are secured, leaving incomplete highways, ballooning procurement costs and mounting debt.

Transparency must extend beyond technical audits. Citizens have a right to know when major public projects are financed through external borrowing rather than domestic revenue. When leaders claim credit for infrastructure or social programmes funded by international loans without clearly disclosing their source, they distort public perception and blur fiscal responsibility. Citizens cannot make informed democratic choices if they are unaware that debts finance today’s ribbon-cutting ceremonies they will repay tomorrow.

Development financed through borrowing must be transparently labelled, enabling voters to assess both performance and prudence. Without that clarity, external financing risks being weaponised for political self-promotion rather than serving its intended developmental purpose.

Kenya’s Nyota Fund offers a cautionary example. Presented as a beacon of hope for young people, its rollout has been marked by opacity, with limited clarity about the source and terms of financing. If such initiatives are underpinned by external loans, the public deserves full disclosure. These are not benevolent hand-outs; they are borrowed funds that taxpayers — including the youth — will ultimately repay.

The method of disbursement also raises concern. Direct cash hand-outs without structured training, mentorship or oversight risk becoming wasteful experiments or thinly veiled electoral tools. Not every young Kenyan is an entrepreneur. Providing funds without guidance, technical skills or enterprise support invites squandered resources and deepened disillusionment.

When leaders market debt as generosity, they undermine democratic accountability. Kenyans deserve honesty about their nation’s finances and leadership that prioritises long-term stability over short-term political gain. Anything less betrays public trust.

When governments mismanage borrowed funds, citizens shoulder repayment through higher taxes, rising inflation, currency depreciation or cuts to essential services, often without meaningful improvements in infrastructure, employment or welfare. Development lending that fails to insist on strict transparency and measurable outcomes does more than waste resources; it entrenches corruption, shields elites from scrutiny and transfers the cost of poor governance onto the very people loans were meant to uplift.

The World Bank must strengthen its safeguards through firm enforcement. Monitoring must be continuous, not episodic. Evaluation must be independent, not politically influenced. Accountability mechanisms must trigger real consequences when misuse is identified. Oversight without enforcement is symbolism.

The Bank should give real force to its Accountability Mechanism by ensuring that leaders who deliberately misuse development loans face tangible consequences, including prosecution where appropriate. When investigations uncover diversion of funds, inflated contracts or politically motivated misuse, findings should not simply be archived. They should trigger coordinated action with domestic anti-corruption agencies and, where necessary, international legal bodies. Deterrence requires visible consequences.

Critics argue that stricter oversight infringes on sovereignty. Yet sovereignty cannot be invoked selectively — to request financing without accepting accountability. Development loans are not grants; they are obligations that future generations must repay. Ensuring proper use is not paternalism. It is fiscal responsibility.

If the World Bank is serious about its poverty-reduction mandate, it must ensure its resources are treated not as political slush funds but as public trusts. Borrowed billions should build classrooms, hospitals and sustainable enterprises — not campaign narratives. Without accountability, development finance risks perpetuating the very inequality it seeks to eradicate. With it, the Bank can help secure genuine progress, protect taxpayers and safeguard the future of nations such as Kenya.

Lister Nyaringo is a Kenyan public affairs commentator and governance advocate residing in Washington, US.

 

IT IS THE RULING CLASS THAT OWNS A DEVELOPING NATION

For more than six decades, Kenya’s political and economic life has been shaped by a narrow ruling elite. Since independence in 1963, power has rotated among a small circle of leaders and their networks, entrenching a system of patronage, crony capitalism and institutional capture. Control over the levers of government has often translated into control over land, capital, public procurement, and access to opportunity — the very “factors of production” upon which national prosperity depends — while millions of Kenyans remain trapped in poverty.

From independence to the present day, five men have occupied the presidency: Jomo Kenyatta (1963–1978), Daniel arap Moi (1978–2002), Mwai Kibaki (2002–2013), Uhuru Kenyatta (2013–2022), and William Ruto (2022–present). Collectively, this leadership chain spans over 60 years. Several of these figures also served as vice presidents or deputy presidents before assuming the top office, further consolidating their influence across successive administrations. The result has been remarkable continuity at the summit of power, even when electoral politics suggested change.

This concentration of authority has had profound consequences. Political competition has often been personality-driven rather than policy-driven. Economic mobility has been constrained by networks of privilege that favour the politically connected. Public institutions — from procurement bodies to regulatory agencies — have too frequently been susceptible to elite interests. Land allocation controversies, high-level corruption scandals, and the disproportionate accumulation of wealth among politically exposed families have deepened public distrust and widened inequality.

Around the presidency sits a web of loyalists: senior civil servants, well-placed business figures, security chiefs, and regional powerbrokers. These actors form the machinery that sustains elite dominance. Through strategic appointments, state contracts, and access to credit and licences, the ruling class reproduces itself, ensuring that opportunity flows upward rather than outward. Meanwhile, the majority contend with unemployment, underfunded public services, and rising living costs.

Kenya’s democratic framework — strengthened by the 2010 Constitution — aspires to accountability, devolution, and the rule of law. Yet constitutional ideals alone cannot dismantle entrenched patronage. Genuine transformation requires independent institutions, transparent governance, competitive markets, and civic vigilance strong enough to hold power to account.

A nation does not belong to its ruling class; it belongs to its people. If Kenya is to fulfil its democratic promise, power must cease to be the preserve of a few families and become a trust exercised for the common good. Equity, equality and justice are not political slogans — they are enduring moral imperatives that must anchor the republic’s future.

Do we defect if our candidate isn’t chosen to unseat President Ruto?

By Joseph Lister Nyaringo

For three electric days, Gusiiland pulsed with colour, song and anticipation as opposition leaders traversed Kisii and Nyamira counties. Markets slowed, towns swelled and villages emptied as thousands gathered for what many saw as a defining political moment. The climax felt less like a routine rally and more like a coronation. Supporters cast it as the symbolic anointment of Dr Fred Matiang’i as their foremost national standard-bearer. Beneath the chants lay a deeper hope: that this might finally be the community’s turn to stand at the centre of Kenya’s political stage and draw closer to the highest office in the land.

Kenyan politics has long revolved around ethnic mobilisation, regional bargaining and proximity to State House. The presidency is often viewed not merely as a constitutional office, but as recognition, leverage and a guarantee of influence in the distribution of opportunity and development. Access to power is equated with security and visibility. Yet this raises an uncomfortable question: if Dr Matiang’i is not chosen as the opposition’s compromise candidate, do his supporters defect? And if similar calculations arise in Western Kenya around George Natembeya, in Ukambani around Kalonzo Musyoka, or in Mount Kenya as it recalibrates after 2022, what becomes of the broader opposition project?

As the next general election approaches, the central issue is not simply who will challenge incumbent President William Ruto. It is whether the opposition can subordinate ambition to unity — and whether voters are prepared to do the same. In a system where elections are often decided by narrow margins and intricate ethnic arithmetic, fragmentation is not a minor misstep. It is an electoral gift to the incumbent. A divided opposition splits votes, muddles its message and saps momentum, while the ruling side benefits from comparative cohesion.

Recent history underscores this reality. In 2013 and 2017, opposition disunity diluted momentum and advantaged better organised rivals. Even in 2022, divisions and inconsistent messaging weakened the attempt to block Dr Ruto’s ascent to State House. Presidential politics rewards coalitions that are disciplined and expansive. It punishes ego and parallel centres of mobilisation. A divided house may command attention, but it rarely commands a majority.

Opposition leaders are rightly urged to swallow their pride and rally behind a compromise candidate with broad national appeal. Yet unity cannot remain confined to elite negotiations. Communities whose sons and daughters harbour presidential ambitions must also prepare to subordinate personal preference to collective strategy. Political maturity requires citizens to support the consensus candidate, irrespective of regional origin. The decisive consideration should be leadership capacity, integrity and national reach — not shared ethnicity. If unity at the top is essential, unity at the ballot box is indispensable.

Kenya may be an ethnicised society of more than forty-five communities, but it remains a single republic governed by one president at a time. The Constitution reflects this. A presidential candidate must secure not only a plurality of votes but at least 25 per cent in more than half of the counties. This threshold compels national coalitions and discourages narrow ethnic bids anchored in regional strongholds. It is a constitutional reminder that no community can govern alone without alliances across the republic.

In Gusiiland, Dr Matiang’i is widely regarded as a capable administrator whose tenure in senior ministries projected firmness and technocratic competence. For many Abagusii voters, his potential candidacy symbolises long-awaited national recognition. The enthusiasm during the recent tour expressed accumulated aspiration. Yet murmurs that the region might drift towards President Ruto should Dr Matiang’i fail to secure the opposition ticket reveal the enduring pull of transactional politics. Such a move would not merely weaken the opposition; it would entrench the ethnic bargaining that has often impeded issue-based governance.

The same principle applies elsewhere. Governor Natembeya’s supporters in Western Kenya may see generational renewal and assertive leadership. Mr Kalonzo Musyoka’s base in Ukambani may consider his experience overdue for endorsement. In Mount Kenya, voters continue to weigh alliances amid economic pressure and political realignments. These are legitimate democratic calculations. What is dangerous is the belief that if “our son” is not chosen, the broader coalition must be punished or abandoned.

Kenyan elections are rarely won by enthusiasm in one region alone. They are won by assembling a mosaic of support across the Rift Valley, Coast, Northern Kenya, Western and Mount Kenya, persuading undecided voters and consolidating swing constituencies. An opposition alliance must therefore select the candidate most capable of transcending strongholds and attracting cross-regional backing. That choice may not favour the most popular figure within a single community, but it must favour the one with the clearest path to a national majority.

Dr Ruto’s political journey illustrates the dividends of cohesion. His 2022 campaign was anchored in a disciplined alliance and a resonant narrative. Whatever one’s judgement of his record in office, he benefited from opponents who were not fully synchronised. To repeat that pattern would be to ignore recent lessons.

Ultimately, opposition unity is not a favour to any individual leader; it is a strategic imperative for citizens seeking alternation of power and policy direction. Communities with viable contenders must resist equating personal ambition with collective destiny. If consensus produces a single flagbearer, that decision must be defended consistently at the ballot box, not supported conditionally.

Kenya’s democracy will not be strengthened by perpetual ethnic brinkmanship or threats of defection when expectations are unmet. It will be strengthened when voters choose nation over narrowness and substance over identity. The months ahead will test not only the humility of opposition leaders but also the maturity of the electorate. Mounting a credible challenge will require more than choreographed rallies and elite agreements. It will require Kisii, Kikuyu, Kamba, Luhya and every other community to accept that unity sometimes demands sacrifice.

Anything less will fragment the vote, and in that fragmentation, the incumbent will almost certainly find his path renewed.

 

Practising Christianity in Kenya and the United States- A Spiritual Contrast

By Joseph Lister Nyaringo

Christianity is described as a universal faith, transcending borders and cultures. Yet how it is practised is shaped by history, politics and economics. The contrast between Kenya and the United States makes this clear. Both nations profess large Christian populations. Both invoke Christ in public life. Yet the priorities, pressures and controversies surrounding the faith differ sharply, even as certain temptations remain the same.

In Kenya, Christianity is vibrant and highly visible. Worship is energetic. Services overflow with song, testimony and passionate preaching. Churches are not merely houses of prayer; they are social anchors. In a society marked by inequality, unemployment and political uncertainty, they offer belonging and hope. Alongside historic denominations such as the Catholic Church, the Presbyterian Church of East Africa, the Seventh-day Adventist Church and the Anglican Church of Kenya, countless independent ministries have emerged.

Over time, however, parts of this landscape have taken on the character of a marketplace. The aim is not always pastoral care but expansion, spectacle and revenue. Dramatic miracle claims and constant appeals for tithes dominate some pulpits. International branches in Europe or North America are portrayed as evidence of divine favour. Global travel by church founders is equated with spiritual authority. In some cases, ambition appears to eclipse mission.

At its worst, this culture has proved deadly. The Shakahola tragedy forced the country to reflect painfully. Paul Mackenzie, leader of Good News International Church, was linked to the starvation deaths of followers convinced that extreme fasting would secure salvation: many abandoned families, work and medical care under apocalyptic instruction. The episode exposed how easily fear and desperation can be manipulated in a weakly regulated religious environment.

Other controversial figures — including Victor Kanyari, associated with the KSh 310 televised “seed” scandal, James Maina Ng'ang'a and Ezekiel Odero have also faced scrutiny. When the pulpit becomes a stage for profane outbursts, public humiliation, staged miracles or opaque fundraising, the Gospel’s credibility suffers. Scripture sets a clear test: “By their fruits you shall know them” (Matthew 7:16). Christ measures leadership not by drama but by humility, integrity and love.

Yet Kenyan Christianity cannot be reduced to scandal. Churches run schools, hospitals and charities that serve millions. In a society burdened by poverty, promises of miraculous financial or medical breakthroughs are understandably compelling. The danger lies in exploitation disguised as faith.

Across the Atlantic, Christianity in the United States faces a different challenge. Mainstream Protestant churches and the Catholic Church operate within structured systems and established doctrine. Worship is often restrained. Miracle spectacle is less central. Roughly 64 per cent of Americans identify as Christian, but adherence is falling, particularly among younger generations. Many congregations struggle to sustain membership. In Kenya, by contrast, nearly 85 per cent identify as Christian and churches are growing, especially among the youth.

The theological tone also diverges. American churches increasingly adopt progressive positions on LGBTQ+ rights and social justice. Kenyan churches largely uphold conservative teachings on marriage and morality.

American Christianity is increasingly entangled in partisan politics. The rise of Christian nationalism seeks to merge national identity with a narrow reading of the faith. This movement gained force during the presidency of Donald Trump, as many conservative believers embraced the “Make America Great Again” banner as a shield against secularism. Yet when allegiance to Christ is blurred with allegiance to party, the Gospel risks becoming a campaign slogan rather than a transforming truth.

Commentators such as the late Charlie Kirk, pastor Paula White-Cain, and Robert Jefress, among others, have invoked Christianity while making remarks about America’s “whiteness” that many consider racially charged.

When immigrants are demeaned or refugees portrayed as threats, the tension between political rhetoric and Christian teaching becomes stark. Scripture affirms that all people are made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). Paul insists that in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Greek” (Galatians 3:28).

More troubling is the readiness of some Christian leaders to sanctify military action. Franklin Graham, son of Billy Graham, publicly praised President Trump for strikes against Iran, framing them as a stand against an “evil empire”. The language was celebratory, not cautious. When prayer accompanies bombing campaigns, and faith is invoked to justify force, the line between spiritual conviction and state power grows thin.

The Sermon on the Mount offers a different vision. “Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9). “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44). Christ calls for mercy and humility, not triumphalism. When asked about the greatest commandment, he replied: love God wholeheartedly and love your neighbour as yourself (Matthew 22:37–39). He went further: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). The Lord’s Prayer teaches dependence on God and forgiveness, not domination.

Measured against this standard, both commercialised religion in Kenya and politicised Christianity in America fall short. In one context, the temptation is financial power; in the other, political power. In both, faith risks losing its centre.

The contrast between practising Christianity in Kenya and in the United States is therefore spiritual, not merely geographical. It reveals how easily faith drifts when captured by spectacle or supremacy. The major question, therefore, is this: does our Christianity reflect the humility, justice and self-giving love of Christ?

If Christianity loses its centre — love of God and love of neighbour, it may retain crowds, wealth or influence. But it forfeits its soul.