If Kenya is to grow in justice and truth, its citizens must perfect the art of asking questions. Not just loud ones. Not just clever ones. But quality questions — the kind that stir the soul, stretch the mind, and shift the direction of conversations, policies and consciences.

Questions are not chaos. They are conscience. They are not rebellion. They are responsibility. In the arsenal of non-violent resistance, few tools are as potent as the well-asked question. 

A good question delays injustice, interrupts corruption and denies oppression the comfort of fluency. It forces systems to pause — to explain, to account, or at least to lie better. A single, piercing question can wear out a corrupt regime, especially one addicted to underhand deals and shallow slogans.

That is why questioning must become second nature to the Kenyan citizen. We must ask — and ask well. Because silence is not peace. And passivity is not patriotism. 

Yet our political culture resists this. Leaders prefer monologues — speeches where they shine and no one speaks back. They brand questioners as naysayers or enemies of development. But the truth is: a questioning public is not a threat to democracy — it is its lifeblood.

This generation, especially the youth, is no longer content with status or swayed by staged appearances. They are informed. They are watching. And they are asking.
And if you run from their questions, they will assume — rightly — that you’re running from the truth.

But this civic virtue must be taught early — in our homes, our churches, our classrooms. In many African cultures, questioning elders was mistaken for disrespect. Children were raised to keep quiet and told that silence was honour. 

We are now witnessing a generational shift: the young are unlearning fear, while the old struggle to accept that being questioned is not mutiny — it’s maturity.

Curiosity is no nuisance. It is a virtue. In a world overflowing with information, the true leaders will not be those who say the most, but those who ask — and can answer — the best questions. 

Even God asked questions. “Where are you?” “Whom shall I send?” “Who touched me?” These were not for information — they were invitations to reflection and transformation.

That God asks questions gives questions a sense of the sacred. The very first question in the Bible — “Where are you?” — asked by God to Adam in the Garden of Eden, was not about information. God, all-knowing, knew exactly where Adam was. But that question was an invitation to reflection, repentance, and restoration. It was a call to face the truth of their actions and their distance from the Creator. God’s first question is a question of relationship, of accountability, and of coming back into the light.

God received questions too — raw and defiant ones. That God takes questions cancels the popular spiritual cliché that “you cannot ask God questions.”
On the contrary — the Bible is full of faithful people who did just that. Moses questioned God’s justice. Habakkuk questioned His methods. Job questioned His fairness. And God didn’t curse them for asking — He engaged them instead. This means questioning is not a sin. It is often the path to holiness. David questioned God’s silence. In the Psalms, one question recurs like a drumbeat in the dark: “How long, O Lord?” This question — at once desperate and devout — is the cry of those who trust God’s justice but cannot see it; who believe in righteousness, but feel surrounded by its absence. 

And this is the question that many Kenyans ask today. How long will injustice thrive? How long will leaders lie, steal, and then ask for our silence? How long will the cries of the hungry be met with jokes at rallies? How long will the state punish the brave and reward the corrupt? It is a biblical protest. It is a holy lament. It is what faithful citizens ask when governance fails and conscience awakens.

This question is not just for God — it is also for our political leaders. How long will you pretend all is well when the people suffer? How long will you mock the questions of the youth instead of answering them?

In Scripture, God does not rebuke those who ask “How long?” Instead, He often responds with comfort, with justice — sometimes with judgment.

Kenyans must therefore perfect the craft of asking questions. Not only as a democratic right, but as a spiritual discipline — a way of seeking truth, resisting evil, and holding both heaven and earth to account. The asking of such questions is not weakness — it is strength.
It is faith in motion. It is love refusing to accept that corruption must win.

So ask, Kenyans. Keep asking. And to those in power: listen! Behind the question “How long?” is a people awakening to its voice — and one day, to its power.

Jesus welcomed questions. He never shut down sincere seekers or silenced confused disciples. He even took questions from those who came to test him. When a lawyer asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?” — even though it began as a test — Jesus responded with a story so profound that it gave us the greatest ethic of love: the parable of the Good Samaritan. A moment that began with legal manouvering ended up defining what it means to love. That’s the difference between surface talk and soul talk. Between drama and depth. Life’s deepest answers are reserved for those who ask with depth, not drama; with hunger, not hype.

The openness of Jesus shows us something essential: clarification is not weakness — it is wisdom. To question is to resist blindness. To anticipate questions is to live accountably.

That’s true in faith. But it’s just as true in politics. In a system where leaders dread questions, democracy is already in danger. A government that fears being questioned is not safeguarding order — it’s suffocating truth. A home that forbids questions becomes a prison.

To question is to grow. To invite questions is to lead with integrity. To respond to questions with grace is to build trust.

And so, Kenya must raise a questioning citizenry — one not silenced by power or shamed by tradition. A people who ask soul-deep questions that stir repentance, expose injustice, and call forth righteousness. Like Nathan before King David: “Why have you despised the word of the Lord?” That question resurrected a dead conscience — and turned a wayward king toward God.

In these times of deep national need, we don’t just need more information. We need better questions. And we need the courage to keep asking — until the answers come. By Edward Buri, The Standard