What some legacy politicians are peddling in the United States about Mt. Kenya is a regressive strain of tribal politics rooted in elite entitlement. It reflects an outdated and dangerous worldview — one that assumes Kenyan voters remain trapped in the zero-sum tribal rhetoric of the 2007–2013 era. This miscalculation grossly underestimates the political evolution of the Kenyan electorate, recently exemplified by the Gen Z-led peaceful protests — until legacy politicians infiltrated and derailed them.Apparently, the political class learnt nothing from the June 2024 demonstrations, which began as a genuine civic awakening before descending into chaos, thanks to hired goons sponsored by the same old political elite.Today’s Kenya is not yesterday’s Kenya. Between 2022 and 2025, a national awakening has taken root. Kenyans, often painfully, have learned that electing tribal kingpins or self-styled saviours doesn’t improve their lived reality. What matters is not who holds power — but what that power delivers for Wanjiku. Even after installing a seemingly pro-Wanjiku regime, disillusionment has deepened, awakening a voter base more attuned to governance outcomes than ethnic allegiances.To proclaim that one community is the bedrock of Kenya’s economy is not only false — it reeks of ethnic hubris. It reflects a narrow, elitist mindset that imagines national prosperity is the monopoly of one tribe. This ignores the rich, interconnected contributions from all regions — from the sugarcane fields of Awendo and Mumias, the salt pans of the Coast, and the pastoral economies of the North, to the vibrant informal sectors of Nairobi and Mombasa.Take Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua’s recent rhetoric. Whatever he says about this government — and even if some of it rings true — his sudden honesty only surfaced after he fell out of favour with the regime he once passionately defended. That’s not revolutionary; it’s convenient. It’s the truth of an insider-turned-outsider trying to stay relevant. Popular as it may be, this selective truth-telling might end up binding the very elites it seeks to unshackle.Yes, we must take what Rigathi says seriously, because he speaks for a constituency. But let’s not confuse resonance with relevance. The assumption that his tribal rhetoric automatically translates into national electoral viability is a misreading of the moment. In fact, by invoking exclusive entitlement and ethnic grievance, he may inadvertently be strengthening the appeal of President William Ruto’s broad-based governance approach — especially outside the Murima enclave.His remarks have, ironically, lent moral clarity to the likes of CS John Mbadi. Rigathi’s words may energise a segment of the population, but they expose a deeper truth: his is not the voice of grassroots agitation. It is elite entitlement wrapped in communal language. That makes any endorsement from leaders like Cleophas Malala and the western brigade politically hollow — because they are being used to validate a worldview that excludes them.Rigathi is not channelling the frustrations of the mwananchi. He is lamenting the erosion of a political class that once believed leadership was its birthright. In that light, his fallout with the UDA leadership becomes clearer — he is not angry about injustice, but about a president who dared to govern beyond tribal expectations.As my friend Pope often says, there is a breed of “unhappy tribalists” in Kenya. Rigathi is fast becoming their symbol — stuck in the past, clinging to an outdated arithmetic that no longer computes. His message may momentarily resonate because of public resentment toward the President, but its vision is too narrow for a country crying out for fairness, inclusion, and genuine transformation.Kenya’s future will not be built on tribal entitlement or ethnic nostalgia. It will be shaped by leaders who understand that today’s voter is driven by economic anxiety, not ethnic loyalty. The tribal drums may still beat, but they no longer summon the masses like they once did.In 2025, most Kenyans — regardless of ethnicity — are united in their frustrations: their Sh1,000 buys less, their net salaries have shrunk, and their hopes have dimmed. A young Kenyan in Kisumu is more ideologically aligned with their counterpart in Nyeri or Eldoret than with ageing politicians who believe they can still dictate political direction along tribal lines.The real danger lies in those — in the diaspora and locally — who cheer on ethnic chauvinism from the sidelines, encouraging legacy politicians to double down on exclusionary politics. But come 2027, Kenyans may rise again — not along ethnic lines, but united by a shared hunger for justice and economic renewal.Since the return of multiparty politics in 1992, Kenya has suffered under a political class that weaponised ethnicity to win and retain power. But as Paulo Freire reminds us in Pedagogy of the Oppressed: “Once the oppressed begin to recognise their oppression, their struggle for liberation becomes not only possible, but inevitable.”Ethnic balkanisation is the tool of the oppressor. To truly be free — politically, economically, and socially — Kenyans must break its grip.