Kenya is a country where political loyalty often opens doors wider than merit. When politicians lose elections, they are rarely left to fade into obscurity. Instead, they are appointed to head government departments, state agencies, and even foreign consular offices. To the casual observer, this might look like an effort to “keep everyone on board.” But in matters of national security, political reward appointments are like playing with fire—sooner or later, the flames can spread beyond control.
Imagine a Kenyan consulate abroad headed by a political appointee whose background is purely electoral politics, not security, diplomacy, or immigration law. Beneath them are visa officers—some possibly appointed through political connections rather than professional vetting—tasked with deciding who gets to enter Kenya.
A visa officer is not just a stamp-wielding bureaucrat. They are the first line of defense in keeping threats out. Their role is as much about national security as it is about travel documents. Yet, how many of our visa officers are trained with this mindset? How many know that every approval or rejection could affect Kenya’s safety for years to come?
The U.S. makes no apology for its tough visa process. Every Kenyan who has ever applied knows that securing a U.S. visa is no walk in the park. Why? Because U.S. consular officers are trained to think “security first.” Financial statements are not their starting point; the primary question is: “Could this individual be a risk to the United States?”
When U.S. presidents repeatedly mention Mexico and Canada in the context of national security, they are not speaking lightly. They understand that neighboring countries and points of entry are potential vulnerabilities. That’s why U.S. intelligence follows developments in nations where they have consulates—including Kenya—closely.
The vigilance is warranted. In the past decades, several terrorists from Somalia, Afghanistan, and Pakistan have entered Latin American countries like Mexico, intending to infiltrate the U.S. via the southern border. The tactic is simple but dangerous: gain access to a “softer” entry point, then cross into the target nation.
In 1984, three children—Dritan, Eljvir, and Shain Duka—illegally crossed from Mexico into the United States. They grew up in America, but by 2007, the brothers were plotting an armed terrorist attack on Fort Dix, New Jersey. Their case became a textbook example of how individuals can exploit migratory loopholes to later engage in acts of terror.
Another striking case is that of Murat Kurashev, a Russian national from a region linked to extremist activity. In 2018, Kurashev crossed the U.S.–Mexico border during a surge of migrant family entries. Despite concerns over his background, he was released into the U.S. interior. Years later, he was convicted for wiring money to a U.S.-designated terrorist group in Syria and planning to support their operations. The FBI concluded that if he had not been apprehended, he could have become operationally active in terrorism.
If terrorists and criminal networks can identify a “soft” entry route into the United States—a country with some of the world’s toughest border controls—they can do the same with Kenya. A compromised consulate abroad, staffed by politically appointed officers with minimal security training, could become an open door. Once inside Kenya, such individuals could use bribery to obtain Kenyan IDs, passports, or work permits. With authentic Kenyan documents, they could travel globally with far less scrutiny, bypassing many watchlists and security barriers.
The risk is multiplied when we consider who controls Kenya’s identity registration. A recent Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC) report ranked police officers and chiefs among the most corrupt public servants. Chiefs are not ceremonial figures; they are the first gatekeepers in civil registration. They authenticate whether a person is Kenyan, sign off on identity applications, and verify births at the grassroots level. Along the Somalia border, chiefs have been abducted or killed by Al-Shabaab militants—clear proof that the position is strategically targeted by terrorists.
Police officers, meanwhile, are responsible for homeland security—tracking threats, intercepting criminal networks, and enforcing the law. Yet, if both of these frontline roles are deeply compromised by corruption, the entire national security chain is weakened.
The examples from the Mexico–U.S. border show us that national security threats often begin far away from the eventual target. People will cross continents, change identities, and spend years embedding themselves—all to execute a single mission. If Kenya continue allowing politically driven appointments in its consulates, and if chiefs and police remain vulnerable to bribery, it risks becoming the “Mexico” in someone else’s playbook: a convenient transit point for dangerous actors.
Kenya cannot afford to view consular positions as political favors. Visa officers and consulate heads should undergo rigorous security training, background checks, and continuous evaluation. Chiefs and police officers must be held to the highest ethical standards, with corruption treated as a national security offense—not just a disciplinary matter.
Citizens, too, have a role. We must question who is issuing our visas, who is authenticating our IDs, and whether those people are competent, loyal, and incorruptible. If we fail to ask these questions now, we might one day discover that the greatest threat to our safety was not outside our borders, but inside the very offices meant to protect us.
Imagine a Kenyan consulate abroad headed by a political appointee whose background is purely electoral politics, not security, diplomacy, or immigration law. Beneath them are visa officers—some possibly appointed through political connections rather than professional vetting—tasked with deciding who gets to enter Kenya.
A visa officer is not just a stamp-wielding bureaucrat. They are the first line of defense in keeping threats out. Their role is as much about national security as it is about travel documents. Yet, how many of our visa officers are trained with this mindset? How many know that every approval or rejection could affect Kenya’s safety for years to come?
The U.S. makes no apology for its tough visa process. Every Kenyan who has ever applied knows that securing a U.S. visa is no walk in the park. Why? Because U.S. consular officers are trained to think “security first.” Financial statements are not their starting point; the primary question is: “Could this individual be a risk to the United States?”
When U.S. presidents repeatedly mention Mexico and Canada in the context of national security, they are not speaking lightly. They understand that neighboring countries and points of entry are potential vulnerabilities. That’s why U.S. intelligence follows developments in nations where they have consulates—including Kenya—closely.
The vigilance is warranted. In the past decades, several terrorists from Somalia, Afghanistan, and Pakistan have entered Latin American countries like Mexico, intending to infiltrate the U.S. via the southern border. The tactic is simple but dangerous: gain access to a “softer” entry point, then cross into the target nation.
In 1984, three children—Dritan, Eljvir, and Shain Duka—illegally crossed from Mexico into the United States. They grew up in America, but by 2007, the brothers were plotting an armed terrorist attack on Fort Dix, New Jersey. Their case became a textbook example of how individuals can exploit migratory loopholes to later engage in acts of terror.
Another striking case is that of Murat Kurashev, a Russian national from a region linked to extremist activity. In 2018, Kurashev crossed the U.S.–Mexico border during a surge of migrant family entries. Despite concerns over his background, he was released into the U.S. interior. Years later, he was convicted for wiring money to a U.S.-designated terrorist group in Syria and planning to support their operations. The FBI concluded that if he had not been apprehended, he could have become operationally active in terrorism.
If terrorists and criminal networks can identify a “soft” entry route into the United States—a country with some of the world’s toughest border controls—they can do the same with Kenya. A compromised consulate abroad, staffed by politically appointed officers with minimal security training, could become an open door. Once inside Kenya, such individuals could use bribery to obtain Kenyan IDs, passports, or work permits. With authentic Kenyan documents, they could travel globally with far less scrutiny, bypassing many watchlists and security barriers.
The risk is multiplied when we consider who controls Kenya’s identity registration. A recent Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC) report ranked police officers and chiefs among the most corrupt public servants. Chiefs are not ceremonial figures; they are the first gatekeepers in civil registration. They authenticate whether a person is Kenyan, sign off on identity applications, and verify births at the grassroots level. Along the Somalia border, chiefs have been abducted or killed by Al-Shabaab militants—clear proof that the position is strategically targeted by terrorists.
Police officers, meanwhile, are responsible for homeland security—tracking threats, intercepting criminal networks, and enforcing the law. Yet, if both of these frontline roles are deeply compromised by corruption, the entire national security chain is weakened.
The examples from the Mexico–U.S. border show us that national security threats often begin far away from the eventual target. People will cross continents, change identities, and spend years embedding themselves—all to execute a single mission. If Kenya continue allowing politically driven appointments in its consulates, and if chiefs and police remain vulnerable to bribery, it risks becoming the “Mexico” in someone else’s playbook: a convenient transit point for dangerous actors.
Kenya cannot afford to view consular positions as political favors. Visa officers and consulate heads should undergo rigorous security training, background checks, and continuous evaluation. Chiefs and police officers must be held to the highest ethical standards, with corruption treated as a national security offense—not just a disciplinary matter.
Citizens, too, have a role. We must question who is issuing our visas, who is authenticating our IDs, and whether those people are competent, loyal, and incorruptible. If we fail to ask these questions now, we might one day discover that the greatest threat to our safety was not outside our borders, but inside the very offices meant to protect us.
