I felt sorry for Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua. The photos and videos on social media of a downcast DP, a stricken look on his face, brought out the liberal journalistic instinct of rushing to the side of the underdog.
It was the look of a man at the exact moment when it dawns on him that he is being had—royally. He looked shocked and hurt.
In another life, I was in a situation where two people exchanged a fleeting pregnant look which I can describe this way.
You are Tippu Tip’s Bantu righthand man in his African expeditions. You have delivered a full load at the docks in Shimoni and you are there, the three of you: The slaver, the captain of the slaving dhow and you, the handy Bantu.
Then, from the depths of the hold, somebody shouts that there is room for one more eunuch on the rack. And you have only hours to catch a fast wind to Arabia. A quick meaningful look passes between the captain and Al Haji Tippu Tip.
You have one-tenth of a second to decide: A life singing soprano to the Grrreat Bwana in the burrrj or gamble your life. Flight is out of the question: They will wing you with a musket ball, just to bring you down, and drag you to the rack. The gunshot wound will heal with the damage of the gelding—or not.
At that moment in those photos and videos, the DP looked like a deer caught in the headlights; blink and you are political roadkill. I didn’t indulge the pity for too long. I went and lay down in the cool shade of a tree until the feeling passed.
Now that the farms are planted, the rains are here and there is nothing to do until it is time to weed, we can indulge in some delicious speculation. Think of this as the five rules of deception (keeping in mind that I am using deception because I can’t think of a better term). What I mean is, the game of surviving and winning in a vicious political context.
First, a Deputy President can never unpack his political bags. If you look secure, as if you have a share certificate, the boss becomes insecure. And with good reason.
Political security, accompanied by the occasional arrogant outshining and upstaging of the boss, are not strange bedfellows with scams to replace him, and not necessarily at the next election. Unless you are the big boss, only a fool is happy and secure in big office. You will be begging for it.
Secondly, absolutely no sentiment. Emotion has no place in the higher tiers of human endeavour. I remember Mr Gachagua saying that the Kikuyu are very wise people but they never forgive betrayal.
“And since we are wise people, one thing we dislike is betrayal.... If you betray us, we will hate you,” he is reported to have said in an address to grassroots leaders in the Mt Kenya region.
Taking this view is very limiting. When you are making important decisions, you want to open up all your options.
I’m willing to bet that when President Ruto appoints idiots to jobs he knows they can’t do, it is not because of the gratitude he feels. It is because he wants to establish the reputation of a leader who is grateful; which works to glue his followers to him. If it made good political calculus to dump the whole lot of them, I’d be very surprised if he hesitated on account of feelings.
Similarly, Mr Gachagua should not bet his dairy farm on feelings such as loyalty, gratitude and love. If he cannot manipulate the situation so that his defenestration threatens his boss’s political interests, he should sit back and take it like a man.
Thirdly, a clever man never wears his true feelings on his face. He throws a blanket of steel over his own long-term calculations and buries them so deep in his mind that they unconsciously drive his decisions but he can—comfortably—take a lie detector and deny then without a flutter of the gauge.
Fourth, read the game with ruthless honesty. Don’t spare yourself. I do hope that Mr Gachagua knows that Mr Ruto will not hand over power to him in 2032 or whatever other time and that he will have to fight him for it—just like Mr Ruto fought his erstwhile boss.
Similarly, Mr Gachagua should know that Mr Ruto has no intention of having him as his running mate in 2027. Mr Gachagua would have to convince his boss that it is the smart thing to do.
Lastly, a clever man or woman must weigh their options with obsessive care, inspiration be damned. If a killer punch is coming your way, you can decide to roll with it—if you have Floyd Mayweather’s footwork—and stay in the game. Or you can decide to take it cold and square in the face—if you have Muhammad Ali’s chin—for a chance to get in and punch back, or a respectable political funeral. You never walk into a political punch without a good reason – and a (funeral?) plan.
So, is Mr Gachagua the maize-crunching, clueless village bumpkin or the political grandmaster of the Mountain? Pass the tea...no sugar, please.
