The passing of Professor Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o on May 28, 2025, at the age of 87, marks the loss of one of Kenya’s most profound voices—a Kikuyu intellectual whose life and work embodied courage, cultural pride, and an unwavering commitment to justice. Ngũgĩ’s exile, sparked by his fearless critique of the Kenyan government through works like Ngaahika Ndeenda (I Will Marry When I Want), was a testament to his resolve to hold power to account.
His legacy starkly contrasts the divisive politics of former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, whose recent actions reveal a troubling approach to leadership. Gachagua would do well to borrow a leaf from Ngũgĩ’s book—a fallen soldier whose life offers enduring lessons in unity, principle, and the power of constructive dissent.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o was no ordinary writer. Born in Kamiriithu, Kiambu, in 1938, he rose from humble beginnings to become East Africa’s leading novelist, crafting works like Weep Not, Child and A Grain of Wheat that captured the soul of a nation grappling with colonialism and its aftermath. His decision to write in Gikuyu, rejecting English as a colonial imposition, was a radical act of cultural reclamation.
In Decolonising the Mind, he argued that African languages were the authentic voice of the continent’s people, a stance that cemented his role as a cultural revolutionary. But it was his 1977 play, Ngaahika Ndeenda, co-written with Ngũgĩ wa Mirii, that led to his detention without trial by the Jomo Kenyatta government and later exile under Daniel arap Moi’s regime. The play’s sharp critique of capitalism, corruption, and post-independence elitism struck a nerve, exposing the betrayal of Kenya’s hard-won freedom.
Ngũgĩ’s exile—first to the UK, then the US—never dulled his voice. From abroad, he continued to champion African literature and critique neocolonialism, even as Moi accused him of fomenting rebellion among Kenyan students. His return to Kenya in 2004, only to face a brutal attack believed to be politically motivated, underscored the cost of his truth-telling. Yet Ngũgĩ remained steadfast, using his pen to unite, not divide, advocating for a Kenya where cultural identity and social justice could coexist.
Contrast this with Rigathi Gachagua, whose recent actions reveal a troubling penchant for divisive politics. In May 2025, Gachagua attacked Kikuyu musicians for allegedly “betraying” their community by aligning with President William Ruto’s administration, calling for boycotts and labeling them traitors. This rhetoric, condemned by former Nyeri MP Ngunjiri Wambugu as a slide toward authoritarianism, seeks to control rather than inspire.
Gachagua’s approach—pitting Kikuyu artists against their own people—fractures the very community he claims to represent, stoking regional tensions in a nation already weary of ethnic politicking. His words echo the exclusionary tactics Ngũgĩ critiqued in his works, where elites manipulate identity for power rather than progress.
Where Ngũgĩ used his art to bridge divides—between tradition and modernity, colonizer and colonized, Kikuyu and Kenyan—Gachagua’s politics deepen them. Ngũgĩ’s exile was a sacrifice for speaking truth to power; Gachagua’s attacks risk alienating allies for personal gain. Ngũgĩ’s vision was inclusive, rooted in the belief that language and culture could unite a nation. Gachagua’s rhetoric, by contrast, demands loyalty over dialogue, threatening boycotts against those who dare think differently.
What can Gachagua learn from Ngũgĩ? First, the power of constructive critique. Ngũgĩ’s works challenged the government not to destroy but to rebuild, urging Kenya to live up to its ideals. Gachagua’s accusations, however, demonize dissent, stifling the very creativity that Ngũgĩ championed.
Second, Ngũgĩ’s commitment to cultural identity was never about supremacy but about empowerment. Gachagua’s focus on “Mt. Kenya unity” risks reducing a proud people to a political voting bloc. Finally, Ngũgĩ endured exile and violence with grace, never resorting to bitterness. Gachagua, facing political setbacks, could embrace this resilience, engaging opponents with ideas rather than ultimatums.
As we mourn Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, we celebrate a Kikuyu icon who transcended tribe to speak for humanity. His life reminds us that true leadership unites through shared values, not shared enemies.
Rigathi Gachagua has a choice: to deepen divisions or to heed the wisdom of a fallen soldier, whose pen was mightier than any political feud. Let Ngũgĩ’s legacy inspire a politics of inclusion, where hard questions are asked not to tear down, but to build a better Kenya.
