By Alphonce Otieno
What Hon. Raphael Tuju’s Story Tells Us About Our Politics:
In Kenyan politics, development is often praised in speeches but punished at the ballot box. Few stories show this painful contradiction better than that of Hon. Raphael Tuju.
When Tuju entered active politics, he did not do so for fame or personal wealth. By his own account, his goal was straightforward: to help his community escape poverty and to put in place real foundations for development. For a brief moment, it seemed that this kind of politics—focused on results rather than slogans—might succeed.
In just three years, the impact of his leadership was visible. The Ndori–Luanda Kotieno Road was tarmacked, improving transport and opening the area to trade and investment. Health services were strengthened through the construction and upgrading of hospitals, and a mobile clinic was introduced in Rarieda to reach remote and vulnerable communities. Schools were built, students received sponsorships, and access to clean water expanded. These were not promises. They were completed projects that touched daily life.
Yet, in a bitter twist, these achievements did not translate into political support.
Instead of being rewarded, Tuju faced hostility. He was branded a traitor by sections of the community he sought to serve. Political tensions escalated to dangerous levels. There were threats to burn his home. His supporters were targeted. His cousin was left permanently disabled due to political violence. His late mother lived in fear and could not freely travel to Ndori Centre for more than a decade. At one point, protesters walked all the way from Uyoma to Ndori, a disturbing sign of how deeply political intolerance had taken root.
“This is the tragedy of our politics,” one observer remarked. “We punish results and reward slogans.”
Many political analysts argue that under genuinely free and fair conditions—without external political direction—Raphael Tuju would have won decisively. His development record, administrative ability, and strong national and international networks set him apart from his competitors. As one local opinion leader put it, “Tuju did not fail because of poor performance. He failed because he lacked political protection in a system where party loyalty matters more than service.”
This experience is not unique. It reflects a broader pattern, particularly within Luo politics, where party allegiance has often been placed above development outcomes. Time and again, leaders with the ability to cooperate across political lines, attract investment, and deliver tangible progress have been rejected for failing to conform to dominant political loyalties.
The cost of this approach has been high. Communities are left with poor infrastructure, limited economic opportunities, and broken public services—not because capable leaders were unavailable, but because they were politically unacceptable.
An elder once summed it up quietly but powerfully: “We chose the party over the road, the slogan over the hospital. And in doing so, we chose poverty over development.”
Tuju’s story is therefore larger than one man’s political loss. It is a mirror held up to society. It forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: that progress can be rejected when it does not align with prevailing political expectations. It shows how service and sacrifice do not always earn acceptance, and how visionary leaders can be pushed aside even when they deliver real change.
This is not an argument against political parties. Parties are a vital part of democracy. But when party loyalty becomes more important than roads, schools, water, and healthcare, politics loses its moral purpose. It stops serving people and starts serving itself.
In the end, Raphael Tuju’s legacy leaves us with a simple but difficult question: when a leader delivers tangible development that improves lives, should party politics matter more than those results? Until voters are willing to reward performance over slogans, the tragedy of service will continue—and communities will keep paying the price.
In that sense, Tuju’s story is not just about the past. It is a warning about the future of our politics, and a challenge to choose leadership over loyalty, and people over politics.
