Stephen Gachahi: Will opposition learn from political history?

There are moments in a nation’s political life when the stakes become sharper, and when the familiar rigours of competition give way to something far more consequential. Kenya is entering such a moment. The calendar suggests it is still early and that August 2027 remains comfortably distant, but the country’s political atmosphere tells a different story. It feels tense and unsettled, as if the ground beneath the opposition is shifting faster than its leaders are willing to acknowledge.

Across the country, one question keeps resurfacing: Will the opposition finally learn from its own history? Kenya has seen what happens when it unites. It has also seen the consequences of fragmentation. As the next election approaches, the echoes of those past choices are growing louder and increasingly difficult to ignore.

Because if there is one truth Kenya’s political memory refuses to forget, it is this: A divided opposition does not defeat an incumbent. It never has. As 2027 approaches, I find myself returning to two elections that sit like bookends on Kenya’s democratic journey: 1992 and 2002. They serve as warnings. They demonstrate, with almost mathematical clarity, what happens when the opposition divides and what becomes possible when it unites.

In 1992, Kenya experienced multiparty politics for the first time in a generation. The opposition had momentum, public support and the moral force of a nation eager for change. What it lacked was discipline. Instead of forming a united front, it splintered into multiple presidential candidacies, each convinced of its own inevitability. Charisma became a substitute for strategy, while personality overwhelmed pragmatism.

The outcome was predictable. President Daniel arap Moi secured another term because the opposition lacked cohesion. The vote was divided, the incumbent exploited the opening, and Kenya learnt, painfully, that fragmentation remains an incumbent’s greatest advantage. Today, we appear to be witnessing a familiar script. We see the emergence of self-proclaimed saviours and competing political ambitions. There is Kalonzo Musyoka, the Wiper leader, asserting independence from the shadow of past presidents as he positions himself as the Azimio presidential candidate. There is Rigathi Gachagua, the former Deputy President, rallying support in the Mt Kenya region and demanding political space. There are Martha Karua, Eugene Wamalwa and a host of other leaders, each with a platform and a claim. The entry of former Cabinet Secretary Fred Matiang’i has further complicated the political arithmetic.

Together, they risk creating a coalition of competing ambitions — a collection of individual pursuits that could inadvertently strengthen President William Ruto’s bid for re-election. The path to State House requires a ruthless simplification of the ticket. The public does not need a crowded menu of opposition choices; it needs one clear and credible alternative.

First, the opposition must select a single consensus presidential candidate. This is the primary and most difficult task. As former Chief Justice David Maraga observed, discussions on unity must be inclusive, but they must ultimately produce one decision. The opposition cannot approach the election carrying the burden of multiple “principals”. In 2002, the opposition achieved what it had failed to do in 1992. It closed ranks. The National Rainbow Coalition (Narc) was a marriage of necessity, but it produced a single candidate, Mwai Kibaki, whose campaign became a vehicle for the country’s pent-up desire for political transition. The unity was structured, negotiated and fiercely defended.

The impact was transformative. For the first time in 24 years, Kanu was removed from power. Kibaki’s victory demonstrated what happens when the opposition treats unity as a strategy rather than a slogan. It proved that a coalition can overcome political machinery and that coherence can defeat incumbency.