Exit DP, enter dragon: What is deposed Gachagua up to?

Rigathi Gachagua, removed from the office of Deputy President after just two years, appeared in a TV interview last week, but this was no ordinary discussion.

That became apparent barely 10 minutes into the discussion.

As NTV’s Ibrahim Karanja steadied himself, Gachagua seized the moment to project the resolve that he will not disappear quietly into the political wilderness, and that, if he indeed goes down, he will raise such a stink that State House would be practically uninhabitable.

To understand why this interview was important, one needs to study the fallen DP’s diary in the last month, which has been punctuated by an unrelenting publicity blitz served with a heady mix of populism, controversy and theatrics.

Every weekend finds him hopping from funerals to weddings, officiating at church fundraisers and attending impromptu village gatherings-all of which he turns into stages for his political play.

The frequency and style of his appearances suggest a clear strategy: remain visible, remain relevant. But why does this man, who is perhaps one of the most divisive characters in Kenya’s recent political history, insist on staying in the spotlight? And how effective is his approach in a political environment that has historically rewarded perseverance but punished overreach?

History, as always, has the answers. Gachagua’s rise to political prominence was rooted in his cunning ability to connect with grassroots communities; and now, in his post-deputy president era, he knows that this connection remains his strongest card. His tactics are unorthodox yet effective: show up unannounced at village events, take charge of the microphone, and deliver fiery speeches that blend humour, lamentation, and defiance. These public appearances serve two purposes. First, they keep him in the public eye, ensuring he is not forgotten in the rapidly shifting political climate.

Second, they reinforce his image as a man of the people, one who is willing to wade into the trenches for their sake. Ironically, he has played this card before, and none other than his former boss, President William Ruto, praised him for his grassroots connections. During the burial of Gachagua’s stepbrother in Nyeri at the height of the campaigns in May 2022, then-Deputy President Ruto, locked in bitter rivalry with President Uhuru Kenyatta, praised Gachagua as a leader rooted in his community. He rooted for his concern for the common citizen and his resilience in the face of challenges. Ruto’s endorsement was not just a declaration of trust, but a calculated alignment, casting Gachagua as a reliable ally to bolster his presidential ambitions.

Fast forward to the present, and that very quality of the ‘community touch, once a cornerstone of Gachagua’s appeal, is the platform from which he now challenges Ruto’s authority. The traits Ruto admired — resilience, connection to the grassroots, and a combative spirit — have seemingly been turned against him. Gachagua, leveraging his rapport with the public and regional networks, now embodies a resistance that threatens the cohesion of the ruling coalition.

The irony is stark: the qualities that Ruto once celebrated as strengths in a trusted lieutenant are now the weapons wielded in a battle against his leadership. It underscores the precarious nature of political loyalty, where yesterday’s ally can morph into today’s adversary, often using the very traits that once united them.

That paradox, however, goes beyond political rhetoric to Gachagua’s own contradictory statements, and how he deploys them to suit prevailing political environments.

During the same burial ceremony in 2022, while pledging loyalty to Ruto, Gachagua dismissed concerns about his potential to disrupt, citing his upbringing in a “united family” and his disciplined background as a former uniformed officer in the provincial administration of the Moi era.

He pledged his unwavering subordination, declaring, “The language I know is ‘Yes, Sir!’ to my boss.” This statement painted him as the ideal deputy, committed to harmony and deference in service to the head of state. But in the interview with NTV last week, Gachagua claimed he was sidelined in government because he refused to be Ruto’s yesman, blatantly contradicting his earlier professed devotion to unquestioning loyalty and flipping the narrative from obedient deputy to principled dissenter.

The incongruity of this situation lies in how Gachagua framed himself differently at each juncture: initially as the quintessential loyalist to secure the deputy president slot, and later as a man of conviction who stood up against conformity to explain his perceived marginalisation.

This duality highlights the political elasticity often necessary for survival in Kenya’s high-stakes power games, but it also exposes the fragility of pledges and the ever-shifting rhetoric of those in public office.

That flagrant display of bluster is playing out on social media as well, where Gachagua’s accounts are buzzing with updates, grievances, and self-promotion, with every post crafted to bolster his narrative of victimhood while rallying his supporters. One of his most talked-about claims on X involved a dramatic tale of being trailed by police officers in an unmarked car. The tweet quickly went viral, sparking debate over whether Gachagua was genuinely under threat or was simply playing the victim card. Similarly, his lament about the withdrawal of his security detail was amplified on social platforms, portraying him as a lone warrior against a vindictive, Ruto-led system. His strategy here is clear: use social media to bypass traditional media filters and speak directly to the masses. His behaviour is reminiscent of populist leaders worldwide, from Donald Trump in the US to Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, both of whom have leveraged social platforms to galvanise support and control the narrative.

However, Gachagua’s social media strategy is not without its pitfalls. Critics argue that his posts often lack evidence to substantiate his claims, which could erode his credibility over time.

Additionally, his constant portrayal of victimhood risks alienating moderate members of the public, who may see it as a sign of weakness rather than resilience.

This is trademark Gachagua, though. This is a man revelling in the murk and swimming with the crocodiles. For him, no mountain is too high and no valley too deep. Controversy is the only constant in his political career, from his fractious relationship with former President Kenyatta to his frequent clashes with political rivals within and beyond the Mt Kenya region.

But, perhaps, the most contentious episode of his political swagger was his public attack on Uhuru’s mother and former First Lady Mama Ngina Kenyatta during the 2022 election campaigns.

In African culture, mothers hold a near-sacred status, and Gachagua’s tirade against Mama Ngina was widely condemned as a breach of social norms.

It also exposed his tendency to take political risks, even when the consequences are uncertain, and showed how his acerbic tongue could become a double-edged sword that can entertain and captivate audiences, but also provoke backlash.

Now stripped of the trappings of power and reduced to a commoner, he does not shy away from repeating claims of persecution by state operatives.

Though yet unproven, these claims raise important questions; if true, they could boost his profile, turning him into a symbol of resistance, and history is replete with examples of leaders who rose to prominence by portraying themselves as victims of oppression.

On the other hand, if the claims are unfounded, they could undermine his credibility, and in politics, the truth has a way of surfacing, and a false narrative can be more damaging than silence.

That, however, does not appear to worry the former DP. For now, all that matters is the limelight. He seems to understand that, in politics, visibility is power, and every stage an opportunity, every microphone a tool, and every audience a potential voter base.

But what happens when politics intersects with populism, victimhood, religion, and media? The result is a potent and volatile, mix.

Populism thrives on emotional appeals, but without substance, it risks being dismissed as empty rhetoric.

Victimhood can generate sympathy, but overuse may lead to fatigue. Religion can inspire, but its politicisation risks alienating diverse constituencies.

In Rigathi Gachagua, we see the complexities of these factors as they collide. His political journey is a reminder that relevance in politics is not guaranteed — it must be fought for, stage by stage, post by post, and speech by speech.

Whether his candle burns brighter or flickers out will depend on his ability to evolve and adapt to Kenya’s dynamic political landscape.

For now, one thing is clear: Rigathi Gachagua is not going away quietly. And in the theatre of Kenyan politics, that makes him a figure to watch.