Anyone familiar with Kenya’s fragile frontier politics would wonder why a government that has battled waves of insecurity in border communities and clung to stringent identification measures for decades would suddenly scrap a process as critical as vetting in the very regions where threats remain high.

President William Ruto’s recent decision to abolish the 60-year-old vetting system for national ID applicants – long a fixture in Northern Kenya and other border areas – has ignited equal measures of praise and suspicion. Supporters hail the move as a long-overdue dismantling of institutionalised discrimination. Critics see it as a high-stakes political manoeuvre with “2027” written all over it.

Unspoken question

Some whisper the unspoken question: is the state quietly opening the door to register voters from across the borders ahead of the next General Election?

For decades, the vetting requirement served as the gatekeeper. Introduced in the 1990s, it targeted communities such as Somali, Nubian, Arab and Asian minorities, forcing applicants to produce exhaustive family histories – sometimes tracing lineage back to grandparents. Chiefs, assistant chiefs and elders would interrogate applicants about ancestry and local history to confirm citizenship in regions where birth records were scarce.

The system emerged in the shadow of the Shifta War and was reinforced after a series of cross-border security scares. Successive administrations deemed it indispensable for preventing militants, illegal migrants and other threats from acquiring Kenyan IDs. While it slowed legitimate applications and fuelled resentment, it was considered a necessary safeguard in porous frontier zones.

‘Discriminatory system’

Ruto, however, tore down the gate. Standing before a jubilant crowd at Wajir’s Orahey Grounds, he declared the system discriminatory: “If it is about vetting, let all children of Kenya be vetted equally without any discrimination.” The announcement fulfilled a campaign pledge to North Eastern voters.

Under the new policy, all Kenyans will now apply for IDs under uniform requirements: a birth certificate, a parent’s ID, and a chief’s letter, followed by biometric capture at the National Registration Bureau. The Interior ministry insists security agencies – including the DCI and NIS – will still conduct verification, but without the ethnic and regional filters of the old vetting process.

The official narrative centres on equality and inclusion. A national ID is the key to education, healthcare, banking and the right to vote. Without it, citizens are invisible to the state. Government officials argue that removing bureaucratic bottlenecks in under-served regions will unlock opportunities for thousands.

But political calculus is hard to miss. Northern Kenya has historically posted low voter registration and turnout – partly because of the vetting bottleneck. Yet in tight presidential races, the Somali vote has proved decisive. Raila Odinga’s margins in 2007, 2013 and 2017 were bolstered by overwhelming support from the North Eastern counties. In 2022, Ruto cut into that base, aided by fatigue with handshake politics.

Loathed barriers

By dismantling a process widely loathed in the region, Ruto is signalling that his administration will “remove barriers previous governments upheld”. Analysts say that if the change translates into mass registration and higher turnout, the President could be cultivating a dependable bloc for 2027 – particularly as his Mt Kenya support shows signs of strain and youthful Gen Z activism unsettles traditional political alignments.

According to political analyst Mwangi, legitimate Kenyan citizens subjected to stringent vetting exercises often feel disenfranchised in their own country. He views the move to facilitate ID access as positive but raises critical concerns about safeguarding against fraud.

“The challenge is ensuring foreigners don’t get the documents,” Mwangi explains. “The border between Kenya and Somalia isn’t a wall – it’s marked by beacons. Your cousin or brother could live on the other side. Given the pastoralist lifestyle, where communities move seasonally across borders, it becomes very difficult to distinguish genuine Kenyans from foreigners.”

Burden of proof

The burden of proof now shifts to local people, who are presumably best placed to identify community members. However, questions emerge about their capacity – and willingness – to maintain strict standards. Would locals resist the temptation to vouch for cross-border relatives?

Mwangi identifies politicians as another complicating factor. “Leaders interested in getting elected see votes, not security threats. President Ruto is under pressure to replace numbers he’s lost elsewhere. Border leaders can convince him he’ll gain more votes by registering these people.” This dynamic creates opportunities for communities to invite non-citizens to register as Kenyans, potentially leading to security risks if such individuals later engage in crime or terrorism in urban centres.

Security veterans share these concerns. Former Linda Boni Operations Director James Ole Seriani cautions that the policy could unravel hard-won security gains: “This is not just paperwork – it’s a national security matter with political consequences.” He recalls past cases where foreign nationals acquired Kenyan IDs and even joined the armed forces.

Unresolved historical lapses

Governor George Natembeya, himself a former regional security chief, has pointed to unresolved historical lapses – such as incomplete screening exercises and refugee registrations – that left thousands in legal limbo, creating fertile ground for manipulation.

Abdikadir Dekow, a seasoned security officer who has served in elite units including the GSU, Interpol, ASTU and DCI, warns of surveillance loopholes, especially in public transport. “Militants use matatus, Proboxes, boda bodas, even small boats to move around. Screening must be tightened,” he urges.

Dekow also flags the danger of “silent” Al-Shabaab sympathisers – locals who provide logistical and financial support to militants. “Every terror cell survives on sympathisers. Some are wealthy individuals who finance operations,” he warns.

Political backlash

For Ruto, the stakes are stark. If the reforms win him loyalty in the North without triggering security crises, the gamble could pay off handsomely in 2027. But if porous borders and lax controls allow non-citizens to acquire documentation, the political backlash could be equally decisive.

In Kenya’s frontier politics, the line between inclusion and infiltration remains razor-thin. Political observers believe President Ruto is betting that by dismantling old guardrails, he can deliver equality – and secure an electoral edge.