Violence Is Not Only Evil — It Is Also Stupidity

A Reflection on Kenya's Descent from Crisis to Permacrisis

There is a lazy assumption that war announces itself as evil and nothing more, a moral catastrophe requiring only condemnation. This is an incomplete verdict. War is also, often, simply stupid: an expensive, self-defeating instrument that consumes what it claims to protect. A country need not fire a single bullet to wage war on itself; it need only mistake vigilance for violence, and protection for punishment.

For decades, Kenya has worn a reputation it did not always ask for but rarely resisted: the demilitarised zone of a volatile region, an ambience of peace amid neighbours defined by coups, insurgencies, and civil collapse. Visitors have called it tranquil. Diplomats have called it stable. Kenyans themselves have called it home, in the fullest sense, a place where the social strata, however unequal and however contested, still produced a kind of resilience: citizens who quarrelled bitterly at the ballot box yet stood shoulder to shoulder when the roof caved in, irrespective of which flag they had waved the week before.

That reputation is now being tested by something quieter than war but no less corrosive: a political putrescence, a slow rot beneath the floorboards of the republic. It has turned brother against brother, not through invasion but through incitement, not through occupation but through impunity. It has produced a stalemate dressed up as stability, in which political goons operate under an unofficial license, and in which the very security operators charged with keeping vigil over the citizenry have, in places, changed uniforms in spirit if not in cloth, from guardians to tormentors. When the shepherd begins to graze on the flock, the field is no longer safe, no matter how green it looks from a distance.

Scholars of international relations have long observed that the world exists in a condition of fundamental anarchy, that there is no sovereign above the sovereign, and that in the absence of an enforceable higher law, power narrates its own legitimacy. War, rather than law, remains the ultimate arbiter of disputes between states, and within states the same logic quietly repeats itself. Institutions bend toward whoever funds and commands them. Raw force, unapologetic and often ruthless, continues to decide not only who wins and who loses, but critically, who gets to narrate the story afterward. This is not a defence of that arrangement. It is a description of it, offered as a warning against mistaking the description for the ideal.

Kenya's recent trajectory illustrates the warning precisely. We were plunged into a crisis, and were assured it would be managed. Instead, the crisis escalated, seemingly obliviously, into a polycrisis, several compounding failures arriving together, each one feeding the others. Now the polycrisis threatens to calcify into something worse still: a permacrisis, a condition in which emergency is no longer an event but a permanent address. And yet the official posture remains a stiff upper lip, delivered loudly from the rooftop with theatrical confidence: we are a grundnorm, we are told, the basic foundational order from which all else derives its validity; we will stick to our lane, we are assured, even as the lane itself buckles beneath us. This is a campaign built on fantasy rather than fact, one that has failed to look into the very reality unfolding in front of it, verisimilar to the notion of sunk cost familiar to any student of business: having invested so much political capital in a narrative, the instinct is to defend the narrative rather than correct the course, long after the evidence has turned.

We are oscillating between abjectification, unconstitutionalism, and anarchy. There is a newer term for what results from this kind of decay, borrowed unglamorously from the language of technology and consumer platforms but disturbingly apt here: enshittification, the gradual, then sudden, degradation of a system that once worked, as those who control it extract more and deliver less, confident that inertia and the absence of alternatives will keep users, or in this case citizens, from leaving. Political enshittification looks like a state that still holds elections but has hollowed out the meaning of consent. It looks like a security sector that still wears the uniform of protection while performing the function of intimidation. It looks like a government that speaks fluently in constitutional language while governing in the grammar of impunity.

None of this is inevitable, and none of it is unprecedented. Nations have rotted before and have also repaired before. But repair requires first admitting the rot, rather than reciting the old reputation as though it were still current fact. Kenya's peace was never a birthright bestowed by geography; it was a daily choice, made collectively and defended stubbornly, by ordinary people who decided again and again that a quarrel need not become a war. That choice is being tested now, not by an invading army, but by the slower, stupider violence of a political class unwilling to be governed by the very laws it swore to uphold. The task before the country is not to relearn how to fight. It is to relearn how to keep the peace it once took for granted, before the stiff upper lip stiffens into a rictus, and the grundnorm becomes a h

eadstone.

From Networking to Self Worth

Why the New World Wins

Nobody is hired for showing up. Nobody is remembered for a handshake. The world does not chase the loudest knock, it chases the work that keeps speaking long after you have left the room.

There are two ways to build a life among people. The old way begins with contact. The new way begins with work. Both promise the same destination, a network that opens doors, but they take very different roads to get there, and they leave very different marks on the person who travels them. The old philosophers, though they never used the word networking, already understood exactly why one road builds a person and the other slowly hollows one out.

The Old World and the Self It Builds

The old world runs on a simple sequence. You meet people first. You hope for opportunity next. Reputation, if it comes at all, arrives last, as a kind of reward for having been noticed.

Plato would have recognized this sequence at once. In his allegory of the cave, he described people mistaking shadows on a wall for reality itself, spending their lives reacting to appearances rather than turning to face the substance behind them. The old world's networker lives in a similar cave. Attention, proximity, and the right handshake become the shadows chased, while the substance, actual competence, waits untouched in the dark. What is admired is the flicker on the wall, not the thing casting it.

This sounds harmless enough until you look at what it does to a person over time. When your growth depends on being noticed by others, your sense of self starts to organize itself around approval. Psychologists call the mental structure we build around our identity a self schema, the set of beliefs a person holds about who they are, what they are capable of, and how they fit into the world. A self schema built inside the old world tends to form around one quiet, persistent question: am I being seen by the right people today.

Socrates spent much of his life pushing against exactly this habit. His famous instruction to know thyself was not a call to know how others perceived you, but a call inward, toward self examination as the only honest source of understanding. A person who measures their worth through other people's eyes has quietly abandoned the examined life for an unexamined performance of one. And Socrates was clear that an unexamined life, however socially successful it looks, is not one worth living.

There is also an honesty problem, one Aristotle would have filed under his idea of virtue as a settled disposition rather than a temporary act. When you approach someone with nothing built yet, only the hope that proximity to them will rub off on you, they can tell. People are good at sensing when they are being approached for what they can give rather than for what can be exchanged. The old world's networker often becomes, without meaning to, a taker. And a self schema shaped by taking rarely produces confidence. It produces performance, a constant low level effort to seem more virtuous or valuable than one currently is, which Aristotle would simply call the absence of virtue dressed up as its imitation.

The New World and the Self It Builds

The new world flips the order. Work comes first. Reputation is earned from the work itself, not borrowed from anyone else's attention. The network arrives afterward, drawn in by something real that already exists.

Descartes offers a useful way to understand why this order is sturdier. Before he would accept any belief as true, he insisted on stripping away every assumption he had inherited from others and rebuilding his understanding from a foundation he could verify himself, arriving at the one certainty that could not be doubted, his own thinking existence. The new world applies the same discipline to identity. Instead of borrowing a sense of worth from other people's opinions, a person builds it from something they can verify directly, their own completed work. Just as Descartes refused to build knowledge on secondhand assumption, the new world refuses to build identity on secondhand attention.

This changes the internal question a person lives with. Instead of asking am I being seen, the question becomes am I getting better. That is a question you can actually answer through your own effort. It does not depend on another person's schedule, mood, or willingness to reply to a message. This is the psychological core of why the new world produces steadier growth. It shifts a person's locus of control, the sense of whether outcomes in life are determined by one's own actions or by outside forces, from external to internal.

John Locke had already made a version of this argument three centuries earlier, in a different context. He argued that a person comes to own something not merely by claiming it, but by mixing their labor with it, by working the land or shaping the material until it genuinely bears the mark of their effort. Reputation, in the new world, is earned the same way Locke described ownership being earned. It is not claimed by proximity to someone else's success. It is produced by mixing one's own labor into something until it becomes unmistakably yours.

There is a second effect, quieter but just as important. Self efficacy, the belief that you are capable of producing results through your own effort, grows only through evidence. Chasing opportunity gives you very little evidence of your own competence, because even when it works, you cannot always tell whether it worked because of your ability or because someone simply liked you that day. Building work gives you direct, repeated evidence. Aristotle called this kind of steady, evidence building process habituation, the idea that we become what we repeatedly practice, and that excellence, arete, is not a single act but a settled state built through consistent effort. Every finished piece of work, every problem solved, every skill sharpened, becomes proof you can point back to. Over time this proof accumulates into a self schema built on competence rather than charm, and competence based identity tends to be far more stable, because it does not require anyone else's validation to remain true.

Why the New World Is the More Effective Path

Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill, for all their disagreements, shared one core instinct, that the value of anything should be judged by its actual usefulness, by the real good it produces, rather than by its appearance or its intention. Judged by that standard, the old world fails its own test. Time spent chasing proximity produces very little durable utility, for the person doing the chasing or for anyone else, because nothing of substance is actually created in the process. The new world passes the test easily. Work that solves a real problem produces real utility, for the person who built it and for everyone who benefits from it afterward, and the network it attracts is simply utility recognizing itself.

Mill went further than Bentham on one point worth borrowing here. He distinguished between higher and lower pleasures, arguing that the satisfaction of genuine growth and accomplishment sits above the fleeting pleasure of mere approval or applause. The old world trades almost entirely in the lower pleasure, the momentary lift of being noticed. The new world trades in the higher one, the durable satisfaction of having built something real. One fades within the hour. The other compounds for years.

Put simply, the old world asks a person to become good at being noticed. The new world asks a person to become good at something worth noticing. The second task is harder in the short term, because it requires patience, deliberate practice, and the willingness to work without applause for a while. But it is far more effective for long term personal growth, for three connected reasons.

First, it builds identity from the inside out, in the Cartesian sense of resting on a foundation the person can verify for themselves. A self schema rooted in demonstrated skill survives criticism, rejection, and quiet seasons far better than one rooted in social proximity, because the evidence for it does not disappear when the room empties.

Second, it produces a healthier form of ambition, closer to what Aristotle called eudaimonia, a flourishing life achieved through the exercise of one's own excellence rather than through fortune handed down by others. When the goal is mastery rather than access, motivation becomes intrinsic, driven by the satisfaction of the work itself, rather than extrinsic, driven by the need for approval.

Third, it changes the emotional tone of every relationship that follows. When people approach you because of something you built, the relationship starts on equal footing, closer to the reciprocal exchange Locke imagined between free and rational people than to the dependent hierarchy the old world quietly recreates. You are not asking for a favor. You are offering an exchange. That single shift, from asking to exchanging, removes most of the anxiety that made the old world so tiring in the first place.

Closing Thought

Your network is not your net worth. It never really was. What decides your net worth, in the fullest sense of the word, is what you have actually built with your own hands and mind, the labor Locke said makes a thing truly yours, examined honestly in the way Socrates demanded, tested against real usefulness the way Bentham and Mill insisted it should be, and repeated until it becomes settled excellence in the way Aristotle described. Skill comes first. Proof follows skill. Reputation follows proof. Network follows reputation. And underneath all of it sits a self schema slowly rebuilt, from a person hoping to be chosen, into a person who no longer needs to be.

Stop trying to meet the right people. Become someone worth meeting. The rest tends to arrange itself.