ADVERT 
ADVERTThere was a time when the Luo Council of Elders commanded reverence. Its voice carried weight not because it wielded political power, but because it stood above politics. It was the court of last resort in communal disputes, the guardian of Luo customs, and the moral conscience of the community. Its authority rested on neutrality. Once an elder took sides in partisan battles, he ceased to be an elder in the traditional sense and became just another political actor.
Today, that distinction is rapidly disappearing.
Under the stewardship of Jaduong Odungi Randa, the Council increasingly appears to have exchanged the dignity of impartial custodianship for the convenience of political patronage. Instead of standing above the fray, it has descended into it—sometimes enthusiastically—raising troubling questions about whether it still serves the Luo nation or whichever political faction happens to have the microphone that day.
Nothing illustrates this institutional confusion more vividly than the events of the past week.
On one hand, the Council publicly presided over the installation of Babu Owino as a Luo elder, an event interpreted by many as recognition of his growing influence within Luo politics. Barely days later, the same Council appeared at Bensouda’s homecoming in Homa Bay, where its leadership reportedly castigated the Linda Mwananchi faction of ODM—the very political camp with which Babu Owino is closely associated.
ADVERTWhat exactly is the Council’s ideological position?
Is Babu Owino worthy of elevation one day and his political allies worthy of condemnation the next?
Can the Council genuinely claim neutrality while simultaneously appearing to endorse competing political narratives within the same party?
Such contradictions do not reflect wisdom. They reflect an institution struggling to distinguish cultural authority from political opportunism.
Historically, Luo tradition deliberately insulated the office of the elders from partisan politics. The Council existed to unify, not divide. Its mandate was to mediate conflicts, not manufacture them. That explains why neither Jaramogi Oginga Odinga—the towering patriarch of Luo nationalism—nor his son Raila Odinga ever sought or received coronation as Ker. Their immense political influence was intentionally kept separate from the sacred authority of traditional leadership.
That separation preserved the legitimacy of both institutions.
Today, however, that protective wall appears to be crumbling.
Instead of acting as referees, the elders increasingly resemble players on the pitch. Instead of reconciling rival camps, they publicly endorse one side against another. Instead of speaking for the entire Luo nation, they increasingly appear to speak for whichever political coalition occupies the podium.
The danger extends far beyond ODM’s internal succession battles.
A community without a trusted, neutral cultural institution loses its collective bargaining power. When every pronouncement of the Council is viewed through a partisan lens, it ceases to represent all Luo people. It becomes merely another political pressure group.
That is a dangerous transformation.
Across Kenya, communities often rely on respected traditional institutions to articulate common interests irrespective of party affiliation. Such institutions provide continuity even when politicians disagree. They mediate internal conflicts before they become permanent fractures. Most importantly, they negotiate from a position of moral authority because they are perceived as belonging to everyone.
Can the Luo Council still credibly perform that role?
If the Council openly campaigns for particular factions within ODM, endorses specific politicians, and appears at rallies where political rivals are denounced, how can it later claim neutrality when called upon to reconcile those same factions? A judge who joins one litigant’s campaign cannot later preside over the case.
Reports emerging from the Bensouda homecoming in Homabay only deepen these concerns. According to attendees and media accounts, senior elders urged Luo voters to remain loyal to ODM, support specific leaders, and back President William Ruto in 2027. If accurately reported, such directives represent a profound departure from the Council’s traditional role. Elders may hold personal political opinions like any citizen, but the institutional authority of the Council should never be deployed to prescribe electoral choices or imply that dissent amounts to cultural disloyalty.
The Constitution guarantees every Kenyan the freedom to choose political leaders without coercion. Traditional authority should strengthen democratic participation—not narrow it.
Even more troubling is the impression that the Council is becoming available for political endorsement on demand. Today it is one faction. Tomorrow another. This growing perception that cultural legitimacy can be rented for political convenience is perhaps the greatest threat to the institution’s credibility.
Respect, once commercialized, quickly loses its value.
The Luo community deserves better.
It deserves elders who can summon James Orengo, Gladys Wanga, Oburu Odinga, Babu Owino, Opiyo Wandayi, John Mbadi, Kaluma, and every other leader into one room—not because they share political loyalties, but because they command universal respect. It deserves elders who speak uncomfortable truths to every politician, regardless of status, rather than applause lines tailored to whichever rally they attend.
Our forefathers never envisioned elders as political campaigners. They envisioned them as custodians of justice, restraint, memory, and unity.
That moral capital is being squandered.
The Council of Luo Elders still has an opportunity to reclaim its place. But doing so requires a conscious retreat from partisan theatres. It requires refusing to be used as a cultural seal of approval for politicians. It requires rediscovering the ancient principle that an elder belongs to the people before he belongs to any political camp.
Otherwise, history will remember this generation not as the guardians who preserved the dignity of the institution, but as the custodians who auctioned its neutrality.
For when elders become political mercenaries, they cease to be the conscience of the community. They become just another campaign committee wearing traditional regalia.
