By David Takozekibi
Budiope stands today in a fragile political moment, one shaped not by the steady rhythm of democratic choice but by the turbulence that arises when both the people and their leaders act out of desperation. Our biggest danger is no longer simply voters struggling within difficult circumstances; it is leaders who will do anything to be chosen, leaders whose pursuit of office overwhelms the responsibilities that come with it. In such an environment, politics ceases to be a contest of ideas. It becomes a contest of survival, and the cost of that shift is far greater than most people realise.
Political researchers have long explained what happens when leadership begins from a place of desperation. Institutions weaken. Rules bend. The weight of public service collapses under the pressure of personal ambition. As political scientist Francis Fukuyama once observed, “When political systems become captured by powerful individuals or small groups, institutions cease to serve the public good and begin to serve private interests.” In Budiope, the consequences of such capture now sit in plain sight.
In anticipation of the compromised environment that has become characteristic of Budiope’s elections, the campaign team I headed on behalf of candidate Geoffrey Dhamuzungu [Budiope East] introduced internal safeguards, instructing agents to sign in green ink and use uniquely numbered stamps when confirming DR forms at their stations, in the NRM primaries. These were protective innovations, never claimed to be part of official NRM procedure, but adopted to deter tampering and establish authenticity in a terrain where malpractice was anticipated. Though later disregarded by the tribunal on technical grounds, their very necessity revealed the climate in which we were operating: one where candidates without bags of money, influence, or institutional protection had to defend the integrity of their votes against a growing obsession among the powerful to go unopposed.
Such evidence was submitted to the party’s Electoral Commission, but it was all disregarded, which paints a picture far removed from the principles that a democratic society rests upon. Out of 269 polling stations, only 45 produced verifiable Declaration of Results forms, those signed in green ink and stamped by trained agents. Another 45 came back without the required stamps, raising questions about their authenticity. But the most striking figure is this: 157 polling stations had no DR forms at all. No records. No signatures. No verifiable declaration of what happened there. Yet results were somehow manufactured and announced for them.
The numbers tell a clear story. Nearly 70 percent of all registered voters, 88,531 people, effectively did not participate in the process that supposedly represented their will. No matter where one stands politically, such figures do not speak of competition. They speak of a process stretched beyond its limits, a process unable to capture the voice of those it claims to represent.
Additional sworn testimony revealed that in many villages, exercise books were used in place of official DR forms, even as the proper forms were available for other elective positions. It documented tallying that took place outside authorised centres, including at private residences where forms were intercepted and altered before being transmitted to the legitimate tally centre.
The district registrar responsible for overseeing the process was later arrested on allegations of forgery while simultaneously occupying roles in institutions directly linked to one of the candidates, a conflict of interest that should trouble anyone who values democracy.
But beyond documents and data lies the lived experience of the people. On the ground, where elections are supposed to reflect community choice, fear became the dominant language. Testimonies describe hired groups and security personnel dispersing crowds, beating supervisors, whipping drivers, and chasing supporters away from polling stations. Tear gas was released in rural villages that had never seen such scenes before.
Roadblocks appeared not to guide voters but to turn them back. In some sub-counties, especially Gumpi, Bugaya, and Ngandho, intimidation replaced civic participation.
On that day, democracy felt distant, and the ballot lost its meaning. Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o captured this reality with precision: “The biggest weapon wielded by corrupt leadership is the weapon of fear.” In Budiope, fear has increasingly replaced persuasion, turning political participation into an act of personal risk rather than civic duty.
Political researcher Larry Diamond warns that “democracy fails not when people stop voting, but when they no longer believe that voting can change anything.” In Budiope, this belief is fading, not because people are apathetic, but because the system itself has taught them that their voice can be overridden, ignored, or violently suppressed.
This is what desperation politics looks like. It is not just the loud confrontations at tally centres or the arrests splashed across headlines. It is the quiet collapse of trust between leaders and the led. It is the steady normalisation of intimidation. It is the slow erosion of the citizen’s voice until voting becomes a ritual rather than a right.
As Prof. PLO Lumumba sharply put it, “When politics becomes a matter of life and death, then ethics die first.” In Budiope, the erosion of ethics is no longer a theoretical warning; it is a lived reality that has reshaped the meaning of elections. The tragedy is that Budiope has lived in this rhythm for too long. The signs are everywhere: schools that remain underfunded, health centres without essential supplies, roads that never improve, and a youth population that grows more frustrated with each passing year. In such conditions, politics shifts from a platform of ideas to a marketplace of survival. Here, Budiope mirrors what African political theorist Jean-François Bayart famously described: “Politics in many African states becomes an economy of the belly—a struggle to control resources rather than to serve citizens.”
A bar of soap becomes an argument. A 10,000-shilling note becomes a manifesto. A threat becomes a strategy. And voters, trapped between economic hardship and political uncertainty, begin to choose not out of belief but out of resignation.
Yet even in this despair, the people of Budiope have not lost their sense of right and wrong. The very act of collecting evidence, submitting petitions, reporting irregularities, publishing testimonies, and demanding accountability shows that this community still recognises what a genuine election should look like.
Beneath the fear that marked recent events lies a population that understands that leadership can, and should, be different. Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe once wrote, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership.” Replace “Nigeria” with “Budiope,” and the truth remains. Choosing leaders out of desperation will only deepen the cracks. Choosing out of preparation, looking at competence, integrity, vision, and a track record of service, offers a path back to dignity. Desperation creates debts that the future must pay. Prepared leadership creates opportunities that the future can build upon.
Budiope’s story is not yet finished. It can still reclaim its voice. It can still redefine its politics. It can still decide that the desperation of yesterday will not dictate the destiny of tomorrow. But to do so, it must first recognise that democracy cannot grow in an environment where fear overshadows the ballot, where institutions bend under pressure, and where leaders fight to be chosen instead of fighting to serve.
The price of choosing in desperation is always high. And the price of leaders desperate to be chosen is even higher. But the moment Budiope decides to rebuild its political foundation, not on fear, not on manipulation, but on dignity and preparation, it will begin a new chapter. One written not in intimidation, but in hope.
David Takozekibi is a Former NRM Parliamentary Aspirant (2021), Petitioner in the 2021 Budiope East Primaries and Head of the 2025 Dhamuzungu Campaign Team.
