In Kenya, with the next general election just a couple of years away, an uncomfortable question is hanging over the country: will citizens be able to get the truth when they need it most? On Monday, media practitioners from across the country gathered in Nairobi to issue a clear and urgent appeal to government agencies — close the gaps in access to official information before it is too late. Their warning was blunt. When official records are delayed, locked away, or simply unavailable, the space left behind does not stay empty for long. False stories, manipulated videos, and fabricated documents rush in to fill it. That is exactly what Kenyan journalists fear as the 2027 election cycle approaches. The event was held to mark the International Day for Universal Access to Information, hosted by the Media Council of Kenya and the Commission on Administrative Justice, under the theme “Upholding Information Integrity in the Digital Age: The Role of Access to Information in Addressing Information Disorder.” Journalists, media owners, government representatives, civil society organisations, academics and development partners all sat in the same room, not just to celebrate a right, but to debate how to protect it in an era of digital chaos. The phrase that kept coming up was “information disorder” — a broad term covering misinformation, disinformation, and maliciously shared content. Beneath all the formal speeches and panel discussions, the message was simple and deeply human: democracy cannot survive without access to reliable information, and right now, too many people are being left in the dark.
The event was more than a ceremonial gathering. It was a recognition that Kenya’s constitutional promise of access to information, enshrined in Article 35, is not being fully kept. Nora Mbagathi, Executive Director of the Katiba Institute, made that point powerfully. “Access to information is a right, not a favour,” she said. “When we ask for information, we are exercising a right firmly enshrined in our Constitution. We need that access to take part in public participation, to hold those in power accountable and to keep government transparent.” Her words were directed not only at state institutions but also at the public. Too often, citizens approach requests for official documents with hesitation, as if they are asking for a privilege. They are not. Public records belong to the people. They are not gifts to be granted selectively. They are part of the foundational contract between a government and its citizens. Without access to those records, people cannot know whether school funds were spent properly, whether contracts were awarded fairly, whether election processes were followed, or whether those in authority are telling the truth. Mbagathi’s reminder was timely because many Kenyans have grown weary of being treated as outsiders in their own governance. The conversation at the event made it clear that access to information is not a niche concern for journalists and lawyers. It is a daily need for every person who wants to understand how the country is being run and to have a real voice in its future.
One of the most memorable warnings came from Zubeida Kananu, President of the Kenya Editors Guild. She spoke about what happens when credible information is missing, delayed, or hard to reach. “We create an information vacuum,” she said. “And in today’s digital world, an information vacuum does not remain empty for long. Someone fills it. And during an election, that becomes even more serious. You cannot fight misinformation by withholding information.” That observation cuts to the heart of the problem. Governments often think that staying silent gives them control. They imagine that if they do not release sensitive documents, they can avoid controversy, manage narratives, or protect their reputation. But in the modern information environment, silence is not safety. It is an invitation. If the electoral commission does not publish clear data on voter registration, someone will publish a fake document. If the police do not explain a security incident, someone will post a video with false captions. If the government does not provide authoritative statistics, social media influencers will invent their own. By the time an official correction finally arrives, the false story has already been shared thousands of times. Kananu’s words were a direct challenge to the mindset that secrecy can protect national interest. In truth, transparency is the strongest defence against misinformation. It is not enough to say that the public should trust the government. The government has to give citizens something trustworthy to hold onto.
The conversation also turned inward, to the media’s own responsibilities. Eric Oduor, Secretary-General of the Kenya Union of Journalists, urged media organisations to invest heavily in rigorous verification. As audiences confront an overwhelming flood of unverified content online, journalism has to be more than just fast. It has to be reliable. Oduor challenged media houses to invest in journalism that people can actually trust, especially during elections when the cost of error is so high. This is not simply about adding a fact-checking desk, though that would help. It is about building a culture of patience, discipline, and evidence. Reporters need time to cross-check sources, access primary documents, and ask the difficult follow-up questions. Editors need to resist the pressure to publish first and correct later. The rise of artificial intelligence and deepfake technology has made this work even harder. Maina Muiruri, Chairperson of the Media Council of Kenya, acknowledged that reality. He said artificial intelligence, emerging technologies, and user-generated content have forced the council to revise the Code of Conduct for Media Practice. “The tools reshaping our information space carry new ethical responsibilities,” he said. This is a major acknowledgement that the old rules, developed for an older media landscape, are no longer enough. Today, a journalist might receive a video that appears to show a politician making a shocking statement, only to discover it was generated by artificial intelligence. Without careful verification, the journalist could unknowingly broadcast a harmful falsehood. Ethical journalism in the digital age demands not only accuracy in what is published, but honesty about what is known, what is uncertain, and what remains unconfirmed.
Charles Dulo, Chairperson of the Commission on Administrative Justice, shifted the focus back to the institutions that hold official records. He said that as the country approaches the 2027 elections, access to primary records will become more important than ever. “Citizens need credible information to understand the electoral process, assess public issues and participate meaningfully,” he said. “Journalists need access to primary records and authoritative sources to investigate claims and provide evidence-based reporting.” These are not abstract ideals. They are practical necessities. In the run-up to an election, journalists need to scrutinise campaign financing, verify candidate qualifications, understand election technology, and report on disputes. They cannot do that effectively if they are forced to rely on rumors, anonymous tips, or carefully staged press conferences. They need raw documents. They need data. They need the kind of information that can only come from government files. Dulo also called for stronger cooperation among government agencies, the media, and other stakeholders. No single organisation can fix information disorder alone. Government agencies must release information proactively, not just respond under pressure. Journalists must use that information responsibly. Civil society must help citizens understand their rights and question what they see online. The Commission on Administrative Justice, which already handles access to information complaints, has an important watchdog role. But the law can only go so far if the culture remains secretive. Information officers must see themselves as public servants in the truest sense, not gatekeepers protecting their employers from scrutiny.
Taken together, the messages from Monday’s event point to a larger truth about the future of Kenyan democracy. The right to access information is not a privilege for reporters. It belongs to every citizen. It is the right that makes all other rights meaningful. Without it, people cannot defend their interests, participate in public decisions, or judge whether their leaders deserve another term. The 2027 General Election will be a serious test not just of political parties, but of Kenya’s institutions. Will official records be available in time for journalists to verify them? Will government agencies release information without being dragged to court? Will citizens be able to distinguish between evidence and propaganda in a digital landscape filled with manipulated content? The participants at Monday’s event did not pretend to have easy answers. But they offered a path forward. That path includes proactive disclosure, stronger ethical standards, rigorous verification, public education, and genuine cooperation across all sectors of society. The media practitioners who spoke were not attacking the government. They were defending the public’s right to know. Their central message was clear and human: you cannot fight misinformation by withholding information. In the digital age, nature abhors a vacuum. The only question is whether Kenya will fill it with trusted, verifiable, independent truth — or leave it to be overrun by lies. The choice is not abstract. It will determine whether the next election is one of facts or one of illusions, and whether citizens truly get the chance to decide their own future.