So, all of us would do well to stop fighting each other for our space at the bottom, because there ain’t no more room.” – Cheryl Clarke

In Nairobi’s power circles, the air is thick with tension—and danger. Former Deputy President of Kenya, Rigathi Gachagua, has hurled a political grenade, alleging that President William Ruto held meetings with Al-Shabaab operatives. Kenya’s ruling elite, fluent in the cynical language of United Democratic Alliance politics, have laughed it off in public, dismissing it as a joke. But beneath the hollow chuckles is a creeping fear—because if Gachagua’s claims have even a shred of truth, they could shatter the presidency and send tremors through Kenya’s standing in the global security arena.

Ruto, rather than confronting the charges directly, has retreated into familiar theatrics—charming restless Gen Z crowds and downplaying the severity of the accusations. Meanwhile, his loyalists are plotting to have Gachagua arrested the moment he sets foot back in Kenya. But such a move could be catastrophic. An arrest would not silence him; it would hand him a global platform, potentially unleashing sensitive evidence that could implicate the Head of State at a time when whispers already suggest the FBI is watching closely.

And in Kenya’s ruthless political tradition, there is a far darker possibility—one whispered in backrooms and feared by those who know the weight of state power. If Ruto reverts to political assassination, as Kenya’s history has shown leaders sometimes do when cornered, the consequences would be seismic. It would move this saga beyond scandal into the realm of international crime, human rights violations, and potential prosecution at The Hague. Such a move would not only invite global outrage but could destroy decades of Kenya’s diplomatic credibility in a single act.

The irony remains bitter. The same Gachagua now painted as a traitor was the man who, in 2022, mobilized the Central Province vote that carried Ruto into State House. Loyalty in Kenyan politics, however, is a currency that depreciates fast—and when it runs out, history has shown it can end in either political exile or a coffin draped in mystery.

If this path continues unchecked, the “Al-Shabaab Question” could eclipse Watergate—not in wiretaps or cover-ups, but in the chilling combination of terrorism allegations, high-level betrayal, and the shadow of state-sanctioned elimination. And if that happens, Kenya’s crisis will not remain a domestic spectacle. It will be an international reckoning.

History offers grim reminders. Tom Mboya in 1969, JM Kariuki in 1975, and Robert Ouko in 1990—towering political figures, each silenced violently at the peak of their influence, their murders leaving unanswered questions and a legacy of fear. These killings did not just eliminate individuals; they altered the course of Kenya’s politics. If the current standoff between Ruto and Gachagua follows that dark script, it will confirm the most dangerous truth of all—that in Kenya, when political loyalty collapses, the next stop is often the graveyard.

Editorial Brainstorming| Courtesy of Professor Eric Roy Momanyi| Austin Texas