In a nation where the median age hovers around 20 years, Kenya’s youth are the real owners of the country. Yet, our electoral system sidelines them until age 18, a threshold that feels increasingly arbitrary.
We should reduce the voting age to 16, and empower 16 and 17-year-olds to participate in decisions that will shape their lives. This rationality draws from constitutional principles, developmental studies, and demographic imperatives. But let’s probe deeper, why cling to 18 years when evidence and logic point elsewhere?
Consider the proximity to adulthood. At 16, young Kenyans are on the cusp of maturity, making choices in school, such as electing class representatives, club officials, or games captains. These choices demand rationality and discernment. These micro-elections hone skills in evaluating candidates and weighing options, transferable to general elections.
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International evidence from Austria, the first member of the European Union to lower the voting age to 16 for all types of elections since 2007 and Argentina, where voting is compulsory for citizens aged 18 to 70, and optional for those aged 16 and 17, shows no dip in decision quality.
In Kenya, with ethnic pressures and misinformation rife, early exposure could build resilience. But probe this: are school votes truly analogous to high-stakes national ones? Stakes differ, yet cognitive studies, the processes by which people learn to think, solve problems, and reason, affirm adolescents reach logical peaks by age 16, suggesting the gap until age 18 is overstated.
Demographics demand action. Kenya’s youthful population means excluding 16 and 17-year-olds skews representation. In 2022, 8 million 18 to 24-year-olds were eligible to vote, yet turnout lagged due to disillusionment. For statistical purposes, the United Nations defines “youth” as persons aged 15 to 24 years.
Why does Kenya choose to disenfranchise them? Lowering to 16 years could sensitise them earlier, instilling civic duty as a habit. Decisions at 16 years follow into adulthood’s first five years, fostering informed voters resistant to manipulation. Under guardianship, they gain political empowerment before economic vulnerability hits, navigating pressures like vote-buying.
Probing further, let us dissect whether guardianship prevents bias? Parental influence is real, with poverty and volatility, calls for safeguards like civic education, factoring the youth bulge, makes inclusion urgent to avert unrest.
Legally, the case is compelling. Our Constitution’s Article 38 reserves voting for adult citizens, but with the absence of research justifying 18 years, why limit it? No Kenyan law or study mandates this age based on maturity; it is a colonial relic blanketly applied.
When tied to the demonstrated skills of literacy and numeracy, proven by high school enrollment, 16-17-year-olds meet this and can be identified via birth certificates or passports used for school registration, which are practical IDs for voting, easing barriers like ID access that plague youth turnout.
Extend this to child rights. In a previous article, I argued for reforming petitions under Articles 37 and 119, where “person” isn’t age-qualified, allowing children to directly engage Parliament. Article 53(2) prioritises their best interests, and Article 21(3) addresses vulnerabilities. If the Constitution allows children to petition on governance matters, why bar them from voting? This framework positions youth as participants, not spectators.
Petitions are advisory, votes are binding—yet both affirm agency. Denying votes undermines the Constitution’s inclusive spirit.
Further justification lies in accountability. The Children Act 2022 sets criminal responsibility at 12 years, with full liability by age 16. If they face consequences for decisions, their voting judgment aligns. This rights-responsibilities balance questions: Why hold them liable for crimes but not entrust civic choices? Global norms separate these, but in Kenya, consistency could empower without risk, especially with education mitigating impulsivity.
By 2027, Gen Z could dominate, with Gen Alpha following closely in 2032, yet barriers persist. Lowering to age 16 is democracy’s evolution, reflecting our young society.
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In a nation where the median age hovers around 20 years, Kenya’s youth are the real owners of the country. Yet, our electoral system sidelines them until age 18, a threshold that feels increasingly arbitrary.
We should reduce the voting age to 16, and empower 16 and 17-year-olds to participate in decisions that will shape their lives. This rationality draws from constitutional principles, developmental studies, and demographic imperatives. But let’s probe deeper, why cling to 18 years when evidence and logic point elsewhere?
Consider the proximity to adulthood. At 16, young Kenyans are on the cusp of maturity, making choices in school, such as electing class representatives, club officials, or games captains. These choices demand rationality and discernment. These micro-elections hone skills in evaluating candidates and weighing options, transferable to general elections.
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
International evidence from Austria, the first member of the European Union to lower the voting age to 16 for all types of elections since 2007 and Argentina, where voting is compulsory for citizens aged 18 to 70, and optional for those aged 16 and 17, shows no dip in decision quality.
In Kenya, with ethnic pressures and misinformation rife, early exposure could build resilience. But probe this: are school votes truly analogous to high-stakes national ones? Stakes differ, yet cognitive studies, the processes by which people learn to think, solve problems, and reason, affirm adolescents reach logical peaks by age 16, suggesting the gap until age 18 is overstated.
Demographics demand action. Kenya’s youthful population means excluding 16 and 17-year-olds skews representation. In 2022, 8 million 18 to 24-year-olds were eligible to vote, yet turnout lagged due to disillusionment. For statistical purposes, the United Nations defines “youth” as persons aged 15 to 24 years.
Why does Kenya choose to disenfranchise them? Lowering to 16 years could sensitise them earlier, instilling civic duty as a habit. Decisions at 16 years follow into adulthood’s first five years, fostering informed voters resistant to manipulation. Under guardianship, they gain political empowerment before economic vulnerability hits, navigating pressures like vote-buying.
Probing further, let us dissect whether guardianship prevents bias? Parental influence is real, with poverty and volatility, calls for safeguards like civic education, factoring the youth bulge, makes inclusion urgent to avert unrest.
Legally, the case is compelling. Our Constitution’s Article 38 reserves voting for adult citizens, but with the absence of research justifying 18 years, why limit it? No Kenyan law or study mandates this age based on maturity; it is a colonial relic blanketly applied.
When tied to the demonstrated skills of literacy and numeracy, proven by high school enrollment, 16-17-year-olds meet this and can be identified via birth certificates or passports used for school registration, which are practical IDs for voting, easing barriers like ID access that plague youth turnout.
Extend this to child rights. In a previous article, I argued for reforming petitions under Articles 37 and 119, where “person” isn’t age-qualified, allowing children to directly engage Parliament. Article 53(2) prioritises their best interests, and Article 21(3) addresses vulnerabilities. If the Constitution allows children to petition on governance matters, why bar them from voting? This framework positions youth as participants, not spectators.
Petitions are advisory, votes are binding—yet both affirm agency. Denying votes undermines the Constitution’s inclusive spirit.
Further justification lies in accountability. The Children Act 2022 sets criminal responsibility at 12 years, with full liability by age 16. If they face consequences for decisions, their voting judgment aligns. This rights-responsibilities balance questions: Why hold them liable for crimes but not entrust civic choices? Global norms separate these, but in Kenya, consistency could empower without risk, especially with education mitigating impulsivity.
By 2027, Gen Z could dominate, with Gen Alpha following closely in 2032, yet barriers persist. Lowering to age 16 is democracy’s evolution, reflecting our young society.
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By Lawi Sultan Njeremani