COMMENTARY
By Steve Wambu
It is now official: the “D” in Wiper Democratic Movement stands not for democracy, but for discipline — of the iron-fisted, pre-1991, single-party vintage.
This week alone, two letters emerged from the Wiper Party Secretariat that read less like party communication and more like dispatches from a stern politburo.
First, to Kevin Kinengo Katisya — Speaker of the Kitui County Assembly — the party delivered a curt reminder that his response to a previous show-cause letter had been received, reviewed, and deemed to have unveiled grounds for “disciplinary action.” He now has an appointment with the Party’s Disciplinary Committee on July 14 at the Karen Headquarters.
That he is entitled to legal representation is a generous footnote. But the punchline lies in the bureaucratic flourish: the committee will proceed “to deliberate and make a decision as it deems fit your absence notwithstanding.” One can almost hear the rubber stamp warming up.
Then there’s Jacquelyne Cate Kalenga, a Nominated MCA in Kitui, who appears to have fallen out with the mother ship over a Kes. 300,000 fine slapped on her after an internal appeal. Instead of parting with the cash quietly, Kalenga sought redress at the Political Parties Dispute Tribunal (PPDT). The Tribunal, with a swat of legalese, dismissed her case for “want of substance and merit”.
Unamused, the Wiper National Executive Council (NEC) reconvened, re-read her appeal, and re-resolved: pay the fine in 7 days or consider yourself expelled, no further warnings issued.
She didn’t pay. She didn’t respond. As of July 1, Kalenga is essentially a political ghost in Wiper’s world — erased without ceremony.
These letters, while clumsily drafted, are a masterpiece in political contradiction. On the surface, the party promises fair hearings “as required under the party constitution and relevant laws.”
But just beneath, the message is clear: the verdict is pre-written, attendance is optional, and punishment is inevitable. Whether you’re a Speaker of an Assembly or a Nominated MCA, there is only one correct posture — obedience.
For a party that once shouted loudest for constitutional freedoms, democratic pluralism, and the sanctity of due process, this internal conduct paints a disturbing portrait. Wiper seems less a movement of ideas and more a monolith of directives.
The ideology? Absolute compliance. The ethos? Obey or be expelled. The guiding principle? Pay your dues — or else.
And so, what remains is a shell of a democratic entity, clutching tightly to internal control even as it hemorrhages credibility.
Wiper may well need to update its name. “Wiper Democratic Movement” no longer fits. “Wiper Patriotic Front” may be more apt — complete with central command, standing orders, and disciplinary councils that never blink.
And just like that, we are reminded that in some corners of Kenya’s multiparty landscape, the ghost of the one-party state still lingers. It wears a new face, but carries an old broom — sweeping away dissent, with procedural formality and institutional polish.
Stay Anchored.
