Migori’s flying shoe is symbolic and should not be misconstrued as a lack of decorum.
Political scientists and historians can draw many governance lessons from similar events worldwide.
The constant factor has been that for every flying shoe, whether thrown in Kenya, Iraq, or elsewhere, the targets have mostly been heads of state.
Footwear has become a symbol of silent defiance, and Migori's reaction won’t be the last.
In a 2008 news conference in Baghdad, an Iraqi journalist stood up and hurled his shoe at then-US President George Bush, subsequently shouting: “This is a farewell kiss from the Iraqi people.”
Years later, Muntazer al-Zaidi stated that his only regret was having just two shoes.
His protest followed Bush’s earlier suggestions that the Iraqi people would welcome US forces with flowers. So, he waited for the perfect moment to deliver an adequate reply—his shoe.
Muntazer became the face of the anger, frustration, and betrayal that many Iraqis experienced during the US invasion of their country.
In September 2014, another shoe was hurled at former President Uhuru Kenyatta while he sat on the presidential dais in Migori.
It must be remembered that at the time, the UhuRuto regime oversaw numerous “counterterrorism” operations, such as Operation Usalama Watch, which resulted in numerous human rights violations. Likewise, there was brutal suppression of any opposition to their regime.
The interconnectedness of the shoe hurled at Uhuru and these violent operations and responses by his administration must not be overlooked.
Research indicates that there have been at least 67 high-profile instances of shoe throwing at leaders. Therefore, when videos circulated online showing a shoe being thrown at Ruto, I analysed it as an act of protest launched from deep frustration.
The Ruto regime has subjected Kenyans to excessive suffering that many can no longer endure. The regime is overseeing extrajudicial killings and enforced disappearances with no accountability. The economy is failing. Taxes are at an all-time high, purchasing power has diminished, and people can barely afford a meal. Justice has become elusive, and there are far too many empty promises amid a governance culture that no longer serves its people.
There are many more transgressions, and despite the public protesting and calling for reforms, the regime has become stone deaf. The Migori flying shoe, therefore, was aimed at a system that has ceased to listen.
What is striking is how Kenya’s leadership reacted with condemnation and legal threats rather than introspection. A wise and intelligent government interprets symbols, and right now, Kenyans are speaking not through their leaders, but through their frustrations.
But let me speak a language Ruto can understand as a self-proclaimed Christian. The Bible says in Proverbs 29:2 that “when the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when the wicked rule, the people groan.” At present, that groan is audible everywhere—in classrooms, markets, bus stops, hospital queues, and every place imaginable.
Perhaps the most powerful message from Migori was in what followed—a deafening silence. The kind that serves as a warning, much like a calm sea before a storm.
In political history, silence is often the final breath before collapse. Apathy doesn’t imply the populace agrees; rather, they have stopped expecting anything better and are on the brink of lighting a fuse to a powder keg.
The
Migori shoe struck a deeper chord—the country’s conscience. Leaders should be
worried when shoes stop flying.
Nerima is the Manager for Inclusion and Political Justice at the Kenya Human
