NAIROBI, Kenya- Lately, the country has been bombarded with a flurry of revelations—tell-alls that are supposed to shock us, shake us, and leave our jaws on the floor.
At their core, exposés are meant to uncover the truth, lay bare what’s hidden, and pull back the curtain on power.
In my classic villain expectations, I’d want nothing short of explosive secrets—stories of espionage, attempted coups, grand-scale economic crimes—backed by actual evidence, not just political theatrics.
Take, for example, a recent bombshell from the U.S. published by The Atlantic: leaked Signal group chats from top Trump Administration officials, complete with receipts. That’s the kind of exposé that rattles institutions and fuels meaningful debate.
Exposés are powerful when they reveal dirty dealings that harm the public, especially when those in power are involved.
Here in Kenya, we’ve had our fair share too. Think Jacob Juma’s revelations on corruption—which kicked off a series of serious (and unfortunate) events.
Then there was the saga of the Artur brothers, the horrors of the Shakahola religious cult, and most recently, the whistleblower story linking the government to the Adani Group’s shady dealings. These are not just headlines—they’re wake-up calls.
But do these exposés achieve their purpose? Ideally, they’re meant to halt injustice and ensure accountability. In reality, they often fade into the noise of endless court battles and public fatigue. Justice becomes a distant hope. The cases drag on, and public interest wanes.
That’s where the doubt creeps in. Do exposés still matter if there are no real consequences? Do they deter future wrongdoing—or are they just spectacles with no bite?
Take politicians, for example. The late George Saitoti once shook the nation by naming four MPs in Parliament as drug traffickers.
We’ve seen other leaders follow suit. Every election season, there’s a press conference, a fiery interview, a so-called revelation. Remember the former Prime Minister? His post-election pressers almost feel scripted now—another act in a long-running drama of accusations, followed by handshakes with the very regimes he condemned.
Now, enter Rigathi Gachagua. Since his fallout with the Kenya Kwanza administration, he’s taken to throwing subliminals—hints of corruption and betrayal.
But without evidence, it’s all just smoke. If there’s something serious, let’s see it. Otherwise, it starts to look like bitterness dressed as bravery.
And let’s not forget Ndindi Nyoro and Justin Muturi—both promising earth-shattering interviews only to serve lukewarm tea. What exactly were they hoping to achieve? Political relevance? A foot in the door for 2027?
Gachagua has promised a “bombshell” tonight. The question is—will it actually detonate? Or will it be another underwhelming reveal in a long list of anticlimactic disclosures?
At the heart of it all is this: exposés were once sacred tools of justice and truth. But when they’re reduced to political gimmicks, they lose their meaning. Used right, they can change nations. Used wrong, they just add to the noise.
Something to think about.
