Moral absolutism a major flaw in Gen Z political logic

The Gen Z did not just fight a Bill; they declared a moral crusade. The world was split clean—it was us versus them; patriots versus sell-outs; the unquestionably good versus the irredeemably evil; without space for nuance or overlapping contexts. At the time, it was a powerful tool, because it enabled us to single out who the problem was. The conflict was binary and simple enough to apply this tool on. It was a question of: Are you for, or against, the Finance Bill?

Moral absolutism

This appears to have been a preamble to a more sinister addiction that was slowly festering deep within the heart of the movement. It started with influencers who did not amplify the cause—careers nuked. X users who questioned the script after the protest? Buried under retweets screaming “enemy”. This was not accountability anymore—it was excommunication, a purity test with no end. They no longer wanted reform; they wanted a utopia where dissent was a death sentence. This was moral absolutism—rigid, blind and fatal.

We do not exist in a black and white society. Kenya, specifically, is a jungle of grey—42 tribes, a million hustles and loyalty that swaps hands for a sack of maize. But the Gen Z demand a monochrome truth. No nuance and no context is important outside of that of whoever is angry that day—just a verdict: eternal cancellation. But politics is not a sermon; it is meant as a negotiation. Gen Z dogma, however, flips the table even before the talks start, under the misguided notion that “if I’m angry, then I must be right”.

One misstep, and you are gone, complex contexts notwithstanding. With such a powerful weapon at their disposal, you would think the wielding of said weapon would be strategic; it is not. It is emotional, expended on a whim without due process, a mere dopamine hit for the self-proclaimed righteous.

Sustainable war plan

But as they are beating on each other, President Ruto and his cronies are busy auctioning the country to the highest bidder while harvesting the same rage to isolate and drag through the mud the people they could not buy. Orchestrated attacks on the likes of Hanifa and Shoba Gatimu on X (people whose social credibility is still intact) are commonplace. And with an audience that is perpetually primed for confrontation, a spark is all it takes to get swarms of people in your mentions.

We are building an army whose strategy is to kill half its soldiers out of fear that they will not shoot the enemy accurately enough. It is not a sustainable war plan.

Contrast this with the political elite—masters of the long con. Former President Daniel Moi banned parties, then welcomed dissidents back with ministries. A terrible example, yes, but looking at it from a political organisation standpoint, it is a blueprint that has resulted in governments since (including this one). Former President Mwai Kibaki and ODM leader Raila Odinga turned 2007’s carnage into a coalition, splitting power like a cake—another terrible example, but only a fool believes they have nothing to learn from their enemies. President Ruto stabbed former President Uhuru Kenyatta, then danced back into State House with a nod and a deal.

These men do not cancel—they reconcile, not from virtue, but for survival. Their strength is not speed; it is endurance. Gen Z mobilizes in hours—X ignites, streets flood, then just as instantly dissipate at the hands of an insatiable need for blood. The elite take months—quiet meetings, greased palms—but when they organise, it is concrete. That is the edge: long-term structuring over short-term hype. The political elite move past differences because power demands it. Gen Z’s cancelling spree shrinks their ranks; the elite’s pragmatism grows theirs.

Rough politics

An even more heartbreaking result of this is the replacement of rough politics with equally rough politics. Young leaders that emerge have to carry the weight of anticipated perfection because we have no grace. Young people that step up only get one shot, which could be snuffed out by an unfounded allegation. One wrong move, one wrong cup of coffee, one misplaced photo with the wrong person, and your entire work comes tumbling down. It is a crabs-in-a-bucket race—nobody wins. We have grown a movement so starved of bodies it is eating its own tail.

So how do we fix this? First, ditch the binary. Truth bends, and allies do not need to be saints. Second, cancel surgically—hit the kingpins, hit the cells of propaganda and hit with precision. Third, build, do not just break. Register voters, fund campaigns, support emerging voices through consistent improvement, even when they inadvertently fall short. The elite thrive because they organise beyond rage—Gen Z must too. Our numbers are a weapon, but numbers without strategy is just a crowd.

Final thought: this isn’t just Gen Z’s flaw—it is Kenya’s. We have been cancelling each other since Jomo Kenyatta snubbed Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, since Moi banned political parties. Gen Z’s just modernised the script with better Wi-Fi. But if we do not pivot, we will fade—a spark drowned by the elite’s slow, steady tide.

Moral absolutism and perpetual cancelling will not topple the elite—it will just exhaust the righteous. And in Kenya, exhaustion is the system’s oldest trick.

[email protected].