WANJAWA: Is Ruto a genius strategist or a political survivor?

One of the most enduring myths in Kenyan politics is the idea of the all-seeing, all-calculating president.

In our collective imagination, Jomo Kenyatta was the patriarch, Daniel arap Moi was the giraffe who saw far, Mwai Kibaki was the reluctant economist king, Uhuru Kenyatta the reluctant prince, and now William Ruto is cast as the political chess master.

For many, Ruto has already earned his place as a genius strategist. Rising from humble beginnings to State House, outmanoeuvring rivals inside Jubilee, surviving a fractured handshake era, and then out-hustling the “system” in 2022—these are feats that, in the eyes of his supporters and critics alike, cement his image as a political genius.

The perception is that, like Moi, Ruto is always 10 steps ahead. He plots uppercuts, sets traps, and has an uncanny ability to reinvent himself when cornered. Even when Kenyans are reeling from one of his missteps, commentators are quick to remind us: “Don’t be fooled. The man is playing chess while others are playing checkers.”

Take the most recent case: the formation of a panel to oversee compensation for victims of police brutality during the Finance Bill protests. To some, this looks like a classic Ruto move—diffuse anger, neutralise opposition rhetoric, reclaim moral ground and paint himself as a listening president who can course-correct. To believers in the chess-master narrative, it is another piece in a larger game of survival and control.

BUT WHAT IF IT ISN’T?

What if, instead of giraffe-like foresight, what we are witnessing is something far more ordinary – and far more dangerous? What if President Ruto is not a master strategist but a leader stumbling from crisis to crisis, improvising as he goes?

This alternative framing is uncomfortable but necessary. It suggests that many of Ruto’s decisions are not products of grand design, but of panic, poor consultation and political short-termism. The Finance Bill saga is a case in point. The government badly misread public anger, forcing a humiliating retreat. That is not the sign of a leader who “saw far”. It is the sign of a leader caught flat-footed.

The compensation panel, then, may not be a chess move at all. It may be what Kenyans have come to call “firefighting politics” – quick, poorly thought-out responses to calm a storm without addressing the root cause of the turbulence. Rather than a stroke of genius, it may simply be a patchwork attempt to save face.

This interpretation forces us to look at Ruto not as a political giraffe, but as a one-man show prone to self-destruction. His critics argue that he centralises decisions, often bypasses expert advice and treats government less like an institution and more like a personal project. In such a setup, consistency is impossible. Policies are announced and abandoned within days. Plans shift without explanation. Advisers are sidelined.

The danger of this model is that it produces government by impulse. It thrives on big announcements, dramatic U-turns and reactive panels – but struggles to deliver long-term solutions. It may generate headlines, but it erodes trust. It may create the illusion of decisiveness, but it often reveals indecision.

We must also ask: are Kenyans mistaking survival instincts for strategy? It is possible that what looks like foresight is simply political agility. Ruto has a remarkable ability to recover from setbacks, but bouncing back from blunders does not necessarily make one a master planner.

Sometimes, leaders stumble into outcomes that make them look clever in hindsight.

This is not unique to Kenya. Across Africa and beyond, strongman politics often thrives on the myth of the omniscient leader. The narrative serves both the ruler and his subjects: it makes him look untouchable, and it absolves citizens from expecting accountability – after all, if he sees far, then who are we to question him? But the reality is often more mundane. Leaders blunder, improvise and sometimes, self-destruct.

SO WHERE DOES THIS LEAVE US WITH RUTO?

If he is indeed a chess master, Kenyans must brace for more unpopular but calculated moves, each feeding into a larger vision that may only make sense years down the line. But if he is, in fact, an erratic improviser, then we are witnessing not a grand strategy but the slow unraveling of a one-man show — where the President’s inability to consult, listen, and stick to a plan will eventually undermine him.

The truth may lie somewhere in between. Ruto is both a hustler with sharp instincts and a leader with glaring blind spots. His political survival so far has been as much about resilience as it has been about planning. The challenge for Kenyans is to stop being seduced by the myth of the chess master and start holding him accountable for results, not just manoeuvres.

For in the end, whether Ruto is a giraffe or a gambler, the stakes are the same: the lives and livelihoods of millions. And Kenyans deserve more than a leader playing politics—whether by design or by accident.