During the 2022 general election, my parents and I stopped talking. Not because of something unforgivable, but because we were supporting different candidates.
What started as simple debates around the dinner table slowly became heated arguments. Every conversation turned into a mini–political rally. My father quoted speeches, my mother defended her “chosen one,” and I, standing firm on my beliefs, refused to back down. Before long, meals were silent, the house tense, and our once-warm bond felt cold and divided.
It got so bad that on election day, we didn’t even watch the results together. We stayed in different rooms, scrolling through our phones, quietly praying that “our” candidate would win. Politics had turned us; a close, loving family, into rivals.
Then, just a few years later, something unbelievable happened. The same leaders who had spent months dragging each other’s names through the mud, accusing, insulting, and dividing the country shook hands. They smiled for the cameras. They called each other “brother.” They moved on like nothing ever happened.
But in our home, the damage remained.
We still don’t talk about politics. It’s become the one topic we avoid at all costs. The wounds may not be visible, but they’re there, the memory of hurtful words, of raised voices, of a family split by people who have since made peace for their own interests.
That’s when it hit me: we take politics too personally, while politicians take it strategically.
And this truth hit even harder recently when Raila Odinga passed away. Watching the nation come together, people who once swore never to stand on the same side showing up to mourn him, reminded me how temporary political rivalry really is. Leaders and their opponents shared the same stage, embraced, even shed tears together. In that moment, all the noise, the insults, the rivalries, none of it mattered.
It made me think about how much we lose when we let politics poison our relationships. How many friendships, families and communities stay divided long after the politicians have made peace.
We are the ones who carry the emotional scars long after they’ve shaken hands and shared state functions. We are the ones left cleaning up the mess of division, resentment, and mistrust they fuel to win votes.
As we approach another election season, I hope we’ve learned something. That we can support our leaders without turning against each other. That we can hold strong opinions without letting them destroy our bonds. That our love for country and each other should always come before love for any politician. That we can question what’s being sold to us, because if we’re honest, many of us were not just voting for leaders, we were defending egos, tribes, and political “teams” that didn’t even know our names. Because when all is said and done, they will shake hands again. They always do. But will our families still be whole when that happens?
And to the leaders, I wish they’d understand this: every word they say, every insult they throw, every lie they spread, doesn’t just stay in politics. It trickles down into homes like mine; where mothers stop talking to daughters, siblings block each other, and love takes a back seat to loyalty.
In 2027, I hope we choose better. Let’s campaign based on ideas, values, and development, not character assassination or cheap theatrics. Because when the dust settles, the only thing that truly matters is the relationships we still hav, not the leaders who used us to climb and then left us divided at the bottom.
Fashion9 years ago