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For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely embarrassed watching the evening news with my children—my daughter Wangechi, 21, and my son, Lord Byron, 13. And for the first time, I found myself angry with my President, not as a political observer, but as a parent.
Listening to the President—especially the part where he ranted on and on about how an unnamed political opponent had impregnated a girl “his daughter’s age” and killed the baby—was jarring. It was not just political; it was deeply personal, crude, and wholly inappropriate for a national platform.
As a parent seated next to a girl the same age as the one invoked in that statement, I felt a line had been crossed. This was no longer about politics; it was about dignity, values, and the example set before impressionable minds.
I could only hope that the President himself later watched that same clip at home—with his wife and daughter beside him. Only then, perhaps, could he grasp the full weight of his words: The discomfort they caused, the confusion they stirred, and the burden they placed on parents forced to explain the inexplicable.
At one point, I considered switching off the television. The news anchor had hinted at what was coming—an unedited clip of political leaders abandoning all restraint, hurling insults with reckless abandon.
Turning off the TV would have spared my children the discomfort, yes—but it would also have been a form of censorship within our own living room. It would have hidden from them the true character of those who lead us. So I let it play.
When the clip ended, I attempted damage control—offering context, suggesting that perhaps anger had driven the President to speak as he did. But before I could go far, my children stopped me.
“Dad,” they said, almost in unison, “he is the President. A President should not speak like that in public.” They were right.
Every profession has its language. Doctors speak in technical terms their patients often cannot decipher; lawyers rely on Latin phrases in courtrooms; pastors slip into tongues in moments of fervent prayer.
Leadership, too, must have its language—measured, deliberate, and dignified. A leader’s words must be chosen with care, not just for the immediate audience, but for the nation and the world beyond the microphone and the political platform.
Great leaders are remembered not only for what they did, but for what they said. Martin Luther King Jr. is immortalised for his “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963—a moment that continues to inspire generations.
Jesus Christ is remembered for the Sermon on the Mount, where he set enduring standards for compassion, humility, and moral clarity.
But history also teaches us the opposite: That a leader’s words can destroy as much as they build. Ferenc Gyurcsány saw his credibility collapse after his leaked 2006 “Oszöd Speech,” where candid remarks made in private ignited public outrage. Enoch Powell derailed his own promising career with the infamous ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech in 1968.
Even physically, words can take their toll. William Henry Harrison delivered the longest inaugural speech in American history under harsh weather, only to fall ill and die shortly thereafter—a stark reminder that excess, even in speech, has consequences.
What, then, am I saying? Simply this: leadership demands restraint. The President cannot afford to speak like his opponents—without measure, without filter, without regard for the broader audience. When he descends into personal attacks, especially those touching on intimate and sensitive matters, he diminishes not just his office, but the very standard of public discourse.
To be clear, his opponents—engaging in childish taunts about physical appearance—are no better. Political rivalry need not devolve into verbal street brawls. The nation deserves more.
Mr Muchiri is a journalist
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For the first time in my life, I felt genuinely embarrassed watching the evening news with my children—my daughter Wangechi, 21, and my son, Lord Byron, 13. And for the first time, I found myself angry with my President, not as a political observer, but as a parent.
Listening to the President—especially the part where he ranted on and on about how an unnamed political opponent had impregnated a girl “his daughter’s age” and killed the baby—was jarring. It was not just political; it was deeply personal, crude, and wholly inappropriate for a national platform.
As a parent seated next to a girl the same age as the one invoked in that statement, I felt a line had been crossed. This was no longer about politics; it was about dignity, values, and the example set before impressionable minds.
I could only hope that the President himself later watched that same clip at home—with his wife and daughter beside him. Only then, perhaps, could he grasp the full weight of his words: The discomfort they caused, the confusion they stirred, and the burden they placed on parents forced to explain the inexplicable.
At one point, I considered switching off the television. The news anchor had hinted at what was coming—an unedited clip of political leaders abandoning all restraint, hurling insults with reckless abandon.
Turning off the TV would have spared my children the discomfort, yes—but it would also have been a form of censorship within our own living room. It would have hidden from them the true character of those who lead us. So I let it play.
When the clip ended, I attempted damage control—offering context, suggesting that perhaps anger had driven the President to speak as he did. But before I could go far, my children stopped me.
“Dad,” they said, almost in unison, “he is the President. A President should not speak like that in public.” They were right.
Every profession has its language. Doctors speak in technical terms their patients often cannot decipher; lawyers rely on Latin phrases in courtrooms; pastors slip into tongues in moments of fervent prayer.
Leadership, too, must have its language—measured, deliberate, and dignified. A leader’s words must be chosen with care, not just for the immediate audience, but for the nation and the world beyond the microphone and the political platform.
Great leaders are remembered not only for what they did, but for what they said. Martin Luther King Jr. is immortalised for his “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963—a moment that continues to inspire generations.
Jesus Christ is remembered for the Sermon on the Mount, where he set enduring standards for compassion, humility, and moral clarity.
But history also teaches us the opposite: That a leader’s words can destroy as much as they build. Ferenc Gyurcsány saw his credibility collapse after his leaked 2006 “Oszöd Speech,” where candid remarks made in private ignited public outrage. Enoch Powell derailed his own promising career with the infamous ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech in 1968.
Even physically, words can take their toll. William Henry Harrison delivered the longest inaugural speech in American history under harsh weather, only to fall ill and die shortly thereafter—a stark reminder that excess, even in speech, has consequences.
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What, then, am I saying? Simply this: leadership demands restraint. The President cannot afford to speak like his opponents—without measure, without filter, without regard for the broader audience. When he descends into personal attacks, especially those touching on intimate and sensitive matters, he diminishes not just his office, but the very standard of public discourse.
To be clear, his opponents—engaging in childish taunts about physical appearance—are no better. Political rivalry need not devolve into verbal street brawls. The nation deserves more.
Mr Muchiri is a journalist
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
By Muchiri Karanja