Kenyan sculptor Philemon Sang has found himself at the centre of a deeply troubling saga after reports emerged that he was allegedly assaulted and that his latest artwork — a statue of President William Ruto — has been stolen.
Sang, a Nakuru-based artist celebrated for his intricate and lifelike sculptures, has previously gained national recognition for crafting a viral piece of athlete Faith Kipyegon, which captured the hearts of many Kenyans.
His most recent creation, however, has drawn a far more controversial reaction.
The sculpture, depicting President Ruto dressed in United Democratic Alliance (UDA) colours — the party’s trademark yellow — and flashing the two-term hand signal, was intended as a tribute to the head of state. Instead, it appears to have placed Sang in harm’s way.
According to emerging accounts, the sculptor was attacked by a group of unidentified assailants, described by witnesses as “goons,” allegedly in connection with the political symbolism of his work.
The artwork itself has also reportedly been stolen, though full verification of the claims is still pending as investigations continue.
While details remain murky, the case highlights the vulnerable position of artists who operate in politically charged environments. In Kenya — as in many other countries — public art often carries more than aesthetic appeal; it is a statement of identity, loyalty, and legacy.
Statues and monuments of political figures can quickly become flashpoints for division, admiration, or hostility, depending on the shifting winds of power and perception.
For Sang, the personal toll could be significant. Beyond the physical harm allegedly inflicted on him, he now faces loss of income, reputational damage, and emotional distress.
There is also the broader issue of artistic freedom: whether creators can safely express themselves when their work touches on political or partisan themes.
Observers have noted that this incident underscores the growing politicisation of art in Kenya, where creative expression can easily be interpreted through a political lens. In some cases, artists find themselves celebrated as patriots or vilified as provocateurs — depending on who their work appears to favour.
The reported theft of Sang’s statue raises additional concerns about the security of public artworks and the informal forces that sometimes dictate their fate.
Whether through politically motivated sabotage, scrap-metal theft, or intimidation, such acts erode not only cultural heritage but also public confidence in artistic expression as a safe and respected profession.
As authorities are called upon to investigate, questions abound: Who targeted Sang, and why? Was the attack politically motivated, or an act of personal vendetta? Will the missing artwork ever be recovered?
Until answers emerge, the story of “the man who made Ruto’s statue — allegedly assaulted, and his art stolen” stands as a powerful and sobering reflection of the uneasy intersection between art, politics, and power in Kenya.
For many, it serves as a reminder that while art may aim to celebrate and unite, it can also expose its creators to the dangers that lie beneath the surface of political expression.
