Sanctifying power while strangling protest in a nation at odds
By Aloys Michael, July 6, 2025In recent weeks, Kenya has witnessed two parallel developments that, while seemingly unrelated, speak volumes about the trajectory of our political environment.
On one hand is the proposal to build a Ksh1.2 billion interdenominational prayer altar within the grounds of State House. On the other is a legislative bid to amend the Public Order Act in ways that would significantly tighten restrictions on public demonstrations.
Together, these moves paint a troubling picture, one that hints at a shift from participatory democracy to performative sanctity.
The symbolism is striking. As space is made for prayer at the very heart of executive power, restrictions loom over the streets where ordinary citizens raise their voices. It is as if protest, a foundational democratic act, is being exchanged for prayer, as if sanctity can substitute for civic engagement.
At the core of the proposed bill are new restrictions that would, among other things, prohibit demonstrations within 100 metres of “protected areas” and place criminal liability on organisers.
While the aim of maintaining public order is not inherently problematic, the framing of the bill raises serious questions about proportionality, necessity, and constitutional legitimacy.
Kenya’s Constitution guarantees the right to assemble, demonstrate, picket, and present petitions to public authorities. Any attempt to limit this freedom must meet the rigorous standards outlined in Article 24; that is, any restriction must be reasonable, justifiable, and based on clear public interest.
Blanket restrictions, such as distance-based bans or heavy-handed policing powers, do not meet this standard. They cast too wide a net, capturing both peaceful demonstrators and the occasional lawbreaker in the same breath.
The justification for these amendments appears rooted more in fear than in fact. Recent youth-led protests may have been loud and disruptive, but they were largely peaceful. They gave voice to genuine frustrations from rising taxes and joblessness to growing public debt and stalled social reforms.
To respond to such civic expression with legislative restrictions is to treat symptoms, not causes. Worse still, it signals a government that views dissent not as feedback, but as a threat.
Meanwhile, attention is being redirected skywards literally through the announcement of a multimillion-shilling prayer altar at State House. The project has been presented as a personal and spiritual decision, not one funded by taxpayers. Yet even if financed privately, the symbolism is deeply public. State House is not a personal residence; it is a national institution, meant to serve all Kenyans regardless of faith.
Kenya is a secular state. This is not a suggestion or a philosophical position; it is constitutional law. When religious structures begin to rise in national political spaces, especially those associated with a single faith tradition, it raises valid concerns about exclusion and bias. What message does it send to citizens who subscribe to different faiths or none at all when the most powerful office in the land visually aligns itself with one religion?
Even more concerning is the timing. In a climate where many public institutions are struggling with universities underfunded, medical facilities overstretched, and basic services deteriorating, the optics of pouring resources into a religious monument appear disconnected from national priorities. This is especially true for the youth, who were promised empowerment but now feel sidelined, if not entirely ignored.
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And so the question must be asked: Are these developments mere coincidence, or are they part of a broader strategy? A strategy to sanctify the centre of power while making it more difficult for citizens to challenge it? A shift from engagement to insulation?
There is a worrying pattern here. When governments begin to equate loyalty with silence and governance with moral authority, they risk sliding into paternalism. Civic space narrows, scrutiny is branded as sabotage, and dissent is met not with dialogue but with regulation. The tools of law and religion, both powerful in their own right, can become instruments of control rather than guardians of justice and morality.
This is not to argue against prayer or religion in public life. Faith has long played a role in shaping values and inspiring leadership. But faith, like power, must be exercised with restraint and humility, not to entrench authority but to uplift a nation. Equally, the maintenance of public order should never come at the expense of civic liberty. The streets, as much as the ballot box, are an arena for democratic expression.
What Kenya needs now is not more sanctification of power, but more accountability within it. Not symbolic gestures that claim to unify, but structural policies that actually deliver justice, equity, and opportunity. A government secure in its legitimacy has nothing to fear from its people’s voices. It should welcome them.
As we inch closer to the 2027 elections, the choices made today will shape the democratic environment of tomorrow. The line between leadership and control is thin. The challenge lies in recognising when it is being crossed — and having the collective courage to defend what truly matters.
Silencing the streets while sanctifying the State House may offer short-term calm. But it risks long-term damage to the fabric of our democracy. We must resist the temptation to replace accountability with theatrics. After all, a nation cannot pray its way out of constitutional decay.