On a quiet Sunday afternoon in Vihiga County, with the date reading October 25, 2026, the conversation among Kenyans was not about harvests or football, but about something far more intangible and dangerous: the trust between a people and the institution meant to safeguard their democratic voice. Meshack Mulongo, a parliamentary aspirant for the Emuhaya constituency, stood before community events and chose not to make the usual promises of roads, water, or jobs. Instead, he delivered a stark warning to the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). He called on the electoral body to urgently establish mechanisms to counter Artificial Intelligence-driven fake news ahead of the 2027 General Elections. It was a plea born not of political ambition alone, but of a deep, growing anxiety about the coming election season. Mulongo’s message was simple: the IEBC must “play smart” in its preparations, because the public is watching, the public is doubting, and the public has every right to demand a process that is recognizably free and fair. He spoke of a commission under siege, not by bullets, but by information warfare, where a single manipulated video or a fabricated quote could undo decades of confidence-building. For ordinary voters, this is not abstract. It means scrolling through a Facebook feed and no longer knowing whether the face speaking to you is real, or whether the election result you are reading is a product of someone’s malicious imagination.
The IEBC, Mulongo argued, carries a vital duty to restore credibility and trust among Kenyans, and this burden weighs heavier as the country heads toward the polls. He was blunt about the current state of public confidence, noting that faith in the electoral body remains dangerously low. This is not a new problem. Elections in Kenya have often been followed by disputed results, accusations of rigging, and periods of political tension. But what concerns Mulongo is that the erosion of trust is happening months before the official campaign period even begins. He pointed to sustained attacks on the IEBC by a section of political leaders, especially from the opposition, as a contributing factor. Every allegation, every tweet, every public statement that undermines the commission’s independence weakens the invisible thread that holds the electoral process together. Voters hear these attacks and begin to wonder whether their votes will be counted, whether their voices will matter. Mulongo’s words carry the weight of someone who has walked the ground, listened to village elders, and spoken with young people who are disillusioned with the political class. He knows that if the IEBC fails to restore confidence, the consequences will not be contained in boardrooms or courtrooms. They will spill into the streets, into homes, and into the very fabric of Kenyan society. The commission, in his view, cannot remain passive. It must actively demonstrate its independence, communicate openly, and show Kenyans that it is not a passive observer but a determined guardian of democracy.
Adding another layer to his frustration, Mulongo faulted a recent Bill passed by a section of Members of Parliament that would ban live streaming of electoral results. He famously termed this move “a nail in the IEBC’s head,” a phrase that captured the anger of many Kenyans who have come to expect transparency in every aspect of their lives. In a nation where citizens can watch parliamentary proceedings online, track government tenders, and follow real-time news on their phones, the idea of going silent during the most critical moment of an election feels, to Mulongo, like a step backward. Kenyans, he insisted, are demanding more transparency, not secrecy. The live streaming of results, as imperfect as it may be, served as a check on potential malpractice. It allowed ordinary citizens to watch the numbers roll in, to compare them with official tallies, and to feel a sense of participation in the democratic drama. Banning that visibility, Mulongo suggested, is not a procedural detail. It is a signal that those in power are afraid of what people might see. He called it an uphill battle for the IEBC to fight, because the commission must now not only brace itself for the usual logistical challenges of a national election, but also for a political environment that seems intent on reducing its credibility. The decision to restrict live streams, whether motivated by concerns over misinformation or by other interests, was viewed by critics as an attempt to control the narrative rather than protect the process. For voters, it feels like being asked to trust an institution while being blindfolded.
The largest threat, however, is not a Bill or a politician. It is technology. Mulongo warned that the biggest danger to the 2027 polls is the rise of AI-generated misinformation, a form of deception that is uniquely difficult to counter because it uses the tools of creativity against the public. He described this as “the error of artificial intelligence,” where fake news is spread through social media with alarming speed and sophistication. Millions of Kenyans access their news through platforms like WhatsApp, Facebook, X, and TikTok, and for many of them, the algorithmic echo chamber has replaced the traditional newspaper or radio broadcast. This means that a fake audio clip of a candidate saying something inflammatory can reach a million people before the candidate has even woken up to deny it. AI can now fabricate videos of people who have never met, generate speeches that were never spoken, and manufacture images of events that never happened. Mulongo warned that unverified AI content could easily spoil public trust in the IEBC and trigger political tension across the country. This is not hyperbole. In a tight election, one viral fake story can inflame ethnic tensions, incite violence, or delegitimize a result. The danger of fake AI news, as he put it, is that genuine content can be manipulated, taken out of context, or subtly altered to incite the public and erode electoral credibility. A photograph of a ballot box being carried in one direction, paired with a misleading caption, can spark accusations of rigging. A deepfake video of an electoral official admitting fraud can convulse the entire nation. The IEBC, Mulongo insisted, must not treat this as a secondary issue or a problem for social media companies to solve alone. It must be prepared to fight for the truth in real time.
His proposed solution is grounded in practicality. He called on the Commission to formulate a proper communication desk and an official verification channel to check and instantly counter fake AI misinformation. This would be more than a public relations exercise. It would be a rapid-response unit that monitors the digital space, identifies false narratives before they go viral, and provides authoritative, verified information to the public. The desk would need to work hand-in-hand with platforms to flag content, with journalists to amplify accurate reporting, and with civil society to educate voters on how to spot deepfakes and manipulated media. It would also require the IEBC to be active, not reactive, meaning it should build relationships with fact-checkers, invest in media literacy, and make itself available to answer questions immediately when confusion arises. Mulongo warned with a memorable phrase: “Failure to counter fake AI news, IEBC will be left with a rotten egg on its face.” It was a vivid image, not just of embarrassment, but of being publicly shamed, of having to explain to angry voters why they were lied to, why they were manipulated, and why their trust was misplaced. The commission cannot afford to observe the chaos from the sidelines. It must be a protagonist in the fight against misinformation, because if it fails, the legitimacy of the election itself will be called into question. Mulongo’s demand for an official verification channel is not just a technical recommendation. It is a cry for the IEBC to recognize that in the twenty-first century, elections are won and lost not only at the ballot box, but in the digital corridors where public perception is formed.
Finally, Mulongo turned his attention to the voters themselves, reminding them that their power lies not just in casting a ballot, but in choosing wisely. He asked electorates to vote for people who will deliver service and development to them, not handouts. It was a timely reminder in an era where political campaigns often devolve into the distribution of money, food, and gifts, intended to buy votes rather than to earn them. Mulongo’s message respects the intelligence of the Kenyan voter, urging them to look beyond empty promises and to demand accountability. He knows that development is built not on bribes, but on policies, leadership, and vision. The IEBC can put up every safeguard, build every verification channel, and counter every piece of fake news, but in the end, democracy depends on the choices of informed citizens. The fight against AI misinformation is not a technical battle alone. It is a moral one. It requires leadership that values integrity, institutions that prize transparency, and a public that refuses to be deceived. As Kenya moves toward 2027, the words of Meshack Mulongo resonate as both a warning and a hope: that the country still has time to prepare, to build trust, and to ensure that its elections are not stolen by machines or manipulated by malevolent actors. The IEBC has a difficult road ahead, but the people are not asking for perfection. They are asking for honesty, for openness, and for an institution that stands firm against the storms of disinformation. In that spirit, the future of Kenyan democracy may depend less on algorithms and more on the human commitment to truth, to service, and to a nation that deserves better.