Progress achieved by silencing those who demand justice and the freedom to speak is an empty victory, for no development can eclipse the sanctity of life. To a grieving mother, a newly paved road to her home offers no solace when it stands as a stark reminder of the son she lost in the Gen Z revolution.

President William Ruto is in perpetual campaign mode—zigzagging across the nation, cutting ribbons, unveiling ambitious road extension projects, promising sprawling affordable housing units, and touting improvements in the health sector. His speeches paint a picture of a country on the rise, led by a visionary determined to transform Kenya into an economic powerhouse. But strip away the ceremonial applause and the made-for-TV photo ops, and a stark truth emerges: these are the basic, unremarkable duties of any government worth its name, not magnanimous gifts bestowed by a benevolent ruler.

It is the oldest political trick in the book—mask the failures of governance with visible projects. But no stretch of tarmac, no block of low-cost flats, and no gleaming new hospital wing can conceal the cracks in Kenya’s democracy or the rot in its institutions. Behind the smiling handshakes and ground-breaking ceremonies lies a disturbing record: systemic corruption at the highest levels, economic mismanagement, political patronage, and the violent suppression of dissent.

The most damning stain is the blood of Kenya’s youth—the Gen Z protesters who dared to demand a better future. Many were abducted in broad daylight, beaten, disappeared, or killed. Their only crime was speaking truth to power. These atrocities cannot be erased by the laying of asphalt or the installation of streetlights. Development does not cancel out state-sanctioned brutality; it only masks it for those willing to look away.

As 2027 approaches, Kenyans will not only judge Ruto on the kilometers of road laid or the number of housing units delivered. They will remember the hunger that stalked households as the cost of living soared; the farmers betrayed by collapsing markets; the students left stranded by underfunded education; the jobless youth reduced to hustling in the streets; and the systemic looting of public funds through inflated contracts and kickback schemes.

What is most dangerous is not just the crimes committed—it is the belief that they can be offset by a few high-profile projects. A leader who imagines that infrastructure can buy forgiveness is a leader who mistakes silence for consent. This is the pathology of authoritarianism: building the nation’s skyline while dismantling its soul.

History offers grim reminders—leaders like Mobutu Sese Seko built palaces while his people starved, Ferdinand Marcos erected monuments while looting billions, and Idi Amin paved roads that led only to the gates of fear. Development without justice is the camouflage of dictatorship, and Kenya now teeters at that precipice.

And this is where Ruto’s playbook begins to look disturbingly familiar. In the final stretch before elections, many autocrats—from Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe to Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan—flooded the public sphere with ribbon-cuttings, road inaugurations, and market giveaways, hoping to drown out memories of repression with the noise of construction. In each case, the message was the same: Forget the blood, remember the buildings. But history shows the people rarely forget—and when the reckoning comes, no highway is long enough, no housing estate tall enough, to escape the verdict of a betrayed nation.

If the chatter from his inner circle about rigging the next elections carries any truth, then Ruto must know this: such a path is not merely dangerous, it is suicidal for a leader’s legacy. Kenya in 2027 will not be the Kenya of 2022. A population bruised by five years of hostile leadership, marked by abductions, killings, and open contempt for dissent, will not quietly accept the theft of their vote. History shows that regimes that cling to power through fraud invite storms that no amount of infrastructure can shelter them from. Roads and buildings cannot barricade a State House against a people whose patience has run out. In such a moment, it will not be the length of his highways or the height of his housing estates that define Ruto’s chapter in Kenya’s history, but the speed and severity with which it comes to a close.

Kenya stands at a dangerous crossroads. The question is not whether Ruto can build; it is whether he can lead without destroying the moral foundations upon which any true democracy must rest. And on that score, the road ahead is already lined with warning signs.

Writer: Dr. Esther Kimani Brown.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the position of The Diaspora Times.