MUGWE: Governor Kangata’s exit from UDA: Principled or calculated?

In traditional Agikuyu society, the idea of a dignified exit was not sentiment; neither was it a personal matter. It was a communal and spiritual order governed by principles held long before Kenya existed as a colonial project.

It was rooted in Kihooto, which was the reasoned justice that maintained the order of things, and in Thahu, which was the curse that followed disorder, rage and the desecration of what ought to remain sacred.

Conflict was not admired for its own sake. It was feared for its residue because it outlived those who started it. The Agikuyu understood that some relationships, partnerships and arrangements reached an inevitable loss. And when that point came, the community did not glorify destruction. It invoked a different philosophy called Njũra na ago, which means surrendering and walking away from the conflict before it consumes both man and homestead.

That was not cowardice. It was character.

The Kiama, or council of elders, gave structure and dignity to the exit. One did not look backwards in bitterness or leave the homestead in smoke and broken clay.

The Agikuyu had strict taboos around the sanctity of the nja, the compound. To pluck thatch from a hut in anger or deliberately break pots invited thahu, because violence inside the homestead was not just social disorder. It was spiritual contamination. Disharmony was believed to bring misfortune and disease upon those who remained.

So, when a relationship stopped serving its purpose, one gathered one's goatskins, informed the elders and walked away. The exit itself was the statement. The manner of leaving told the community more about a man's character than the years he had spent inside the homestead.

That is the frame through which Murang'a Governor Irungu Kangata's recent political declaration should be read. He arrived at his press conference with a prepared statement and a composed face. He did not defect.

He did not denounce. He did not scream into a microphone about betrayal. He simply announced, with the measured precision of a man who had thought very carefully about every word, that in 2027 he will not vie under a UDA ticket, and that he has no interest in the presidency or the deputy presidency.

He began not with accusation, but gratitude, recalling his association with the President dating back to 2013, and acknowledging it as meaningful. He then stated that the divergence is not personal but grounded in principle, specifically on matters of political strategy, engagement with citizens and policy priorities.

And then, after all that careful architecture, he said that when the appropriate time comes, he will not seek to defend his seat on the party's ticket, though he will remain a disciplined and committed member until 2027.

This was not a tantrum. It was choreography. He did not denounce the party in the language of fire and brimstone. Neither did he announce a new party with vuvuzelas, defectors and coloured scarves. Kang'ata performed his Njũra na ago in public and without rage.

Begs the question. Was Kang’ata principled or opportunistic?

Granted, what he did was not a small statement. But neither was it unusual. Many of us have made the mistake of treating it as an act of exceptional moral drama. It is not. It is Kenyan politics doing what Kenyan politics has always done. It is politicians starting to gather their goatskins.

Let us establish a principle before we examine the man. In democratic politics, political parties and coalitions are vehicles, not destinations. They are instruments of arrival.

And the politician who conflates the vehicle with the journey, who remains strapped to a brand long after the brand has stopped serving him, is not loyal. He is simply late.

This principle is called political entrepreneurship. Politicians are entrepreneurs in the electoral marketplace who are constantly searching for the vehicle with the highest return.

And so, they create, capture or abandon political vehicles accordingly. These parties are never homes of ideology. They are vehicles of timing, region, grievance, ambition and ethnic arithmetic. They carry people into office. And once there, the passengers begin asking whether the same bus is still roadworthy.

This is why our politicians speak so fondly of the ground. The ground is the great Kenyan excuse. It is invoked when ambition needs a moral witness. It is summoned when a politician wants to migrate without admitting that the migration is about survival. The people have spoken. The ground has shifted. The elders have advised. The youth have demanded.

Sometimes all that is true. But often times, the politician has simply calculated.

And calculation is not a crime in politics. Politics is, among other things, the management of survival. The problem is not that politicians calculate. It is that voters keep mistaking calculation for moral conversion.

Kangata’s statement is therefore less a mystery than a familiar Kenyan ritual. It was syllogism. Before every major election, politicians begin to reposition themselves. Some move early and call it principle. Some move late and call it consultation. Others wait for the nomination and call it injustice. And others are pushed out and call it betrayal.

But the underlying instinct is the same. Survival. The political vehicle is always temporary. The career is the constant. The politician is always making a rational decision. He may even be responding to real public discontent. But that does not automatically make the move noble. It only makes it politically intelligible.

Kang’ata is almost certainly reading the mood in Murang’a and the wider mountain. In 2022, UDA was not merely a party. It was a vessel of grievance, economic anxiety anti-dynasty sentiment and hope. It carried anger, aspiration and the belief that a new political arrangement would speak more directly to the region’s concerns. The mountain did not merely vote for a party. It was emotionally investing in a narrative.

But we are no longer in 2022. Political emotions age. Coalitions depreciate. Slogans meet fuel prices, taxes, pending bills and household pressures. The poetry of opposition becomes the prose of administration. A party that once felt like liberation begins to look like a government. And governments are judged differently from movements.

But political entrepreneurship is not a Kenyan invention. It is a global constant.

Winston Churchill crossed from the Conservatives to the Liberals and later returned to the Conservatives. Ronald Reagan began as a Democrat before becoming the Republican president who helped define modern American conservatism. Emmanuel Macron stepped outside France’s old Socialist and Republican machinery to build En Marche as his own presidential vehicle.

Closer home, Uhuru Kenyatta moved through Kanu, Narc-Kenya, PNU-linked formations, TNA and Jubilee, before eventually becoming president. Raila Odinga travelled through NDP, LDP, ODM, Nasa and Azimio, proving that in Kenyan politics the party’s name is often less important than the man, the moment and the coalition assembled for that cycle.

President Ruto himself moved from Kanu to ODM, then URP, Jubilee, and finally UDA, each migration timed to the changing road ahead. That’s why I am surprised that we are surprised at all by Kangata’s move.

Politicians rarely confuse the vehicle with the destination. They want to keep power, influence and relevance. This is why Kangata’s move should be seen for what it is. It is a signal of positioning for self-preservation which in politics is not an insult. It is a skill.

That is why the manner in which his dignified exit matters. He created distance without burning the homestead. In essence, he left room for cooperation today and separation tomorrow. He preserved optionality. And in politics, optionality is oxygen. That was Njũra na ago in political form.

But voters should not confuse dignified exits with public sacrifice. There is nothing sacrificial about a politician protecting his reelection prospects. Kang’ata may be right. He may be early. He may be strategic. But he is still doing what politicians do. Managing risk.

The same will happen elsewhere. Politicians and aspirants across the country are already quietly conducting their own calculations. Some are watching whether the party that lifted them in 2022 still has enough emotional power to carry them in 2027.

Some are waiting to see whether new coalitions will form. Some are publicly loyal but privately shopping. Some are attacking defectors today and preparing their own exit. Others will discover the voice of the people tomorrow.  

We should expect more of this across the political spectrum. Those in government and in opposition will reposition. Those in small parties will bargain upward, while those in big parties will hedge sideways. Those without parties will suddenly discover movements which will register as parties. Those with parties will join coalitions, then complain of being shortchanged. And those who were enemies yesterday will become besties today. The costume changes, but the appetite remains.

This is not chaos. It is what we have normalised as Kenyan politics. It is not whether politicians will realign. It is whether the electorate will keep treating every realignment as a moral awakening.

Finally, my unsolicited advice is to Kang’ata. Your dignified departure will not substitute the substance of your destination. Ambiguity is a shelter. Not a home. The old Agikuyu wisdom remains wise.

When a relationship stops serving a man, the exit itself becomes the statement. Murang’a will eventually ask the harder question, which will not be what you have walked away from, but what you are walking toward, and whether it is worth them accompanying you on that journey.

The politician who never changes his mind is either a fool or a liar, and usually both - Bertrand Russell