While on his most recent trip to China, President William Ruto made a startling admission. He lamented that Kenyans do not compliment him. The moment, captured on camera and widely shared, betrayed more than frustration—it revealed a dangerous disconnect between a president and his people. Standing on foreign soil, he appeared to plead with international lenders—his de facto ‘masters’—for recognition, claiming that despite his efforts, Kenyans refuse to clap.
But Mr President, compliments are earned. They are not begged for on foreign podiums. They are not coerced through propaganda machines or demanded from citizens whose daily lives have become a theater of pain, sacrifice, and hopelessness. Compliments are the people’s reward for leadership that uplifts, empowers, and delivers—not for PR stunts, staged interviews, or inflated promises.
Speaking for myself, I have a few questions for you, Mr President.
Should Kenyans compliment you for the abduction, silencing, and in some cases, killing of brave young Kenyans whose only ‘crime’ was to demand accountability, transparency, and justice? Should they applaud you for overseeing a shrinking democratic space, where fear now stalks civil society, activists are demonised, and dissent is criminalised? Should we clap for a government that treats peaceful protest as treason and patriotism as rebellion?
Should Kenyans be grateful for an economy so battered and bruised that putting food on the table has become a daily miracle? Should they cheer while children drop out of school because their parents can’t afford school fees? While mothers choose between paying rent and buying medicine? While fathers queue outside hospitals that have neither doctors nor drugs? How can a government ask for praise when it can’t even ensure the basics of life?
And what of devolution? Mr President, devolution was the crown jewel of our 2010 Constitution—a promise to bring services closer to the people, to promote equity and local development. But under your watch, counties have become ghost institutions, robbed of their financial autonomy, starved of resources, and reduced to beggars knocking on Treasury’s door. Should we compliment the collapse of this revolutionary idea?
Let us speak of agriculture—a sector that once fed the nation and sustained rural economies. Today, farmers are suffocating under the weight of unaffordable inputs, fake fertilisers, and rigged markets. Their toil no longer guarantees dignity or returns. They watch helplessly as cartels connected to power profit from their sweat. Should they now rise to applaud you?
Our education system is a mess. Chaotic curriculum changes have plunged learners and teachers alike into confusion. Funding delays, under-resourced schools, and policy flip-flops have destabilised a sector that should be the bedrock of our national future. Do you expect compliments for confusion?
The health sector is collapsing. Hospitals lack basic drugs, doctors and nurses are on perpetual strike, and patients die not because their conditions are incurable—but because our system is broken. Pregnant mothers die on delivery beds. Cancer patients languish without pain relief. Is this what we are to celebrate?
Mr President, Kenyans are not ungrateful. They are simply awake. They have opened their eyes to the widening gulf between your promises and their lived reality. They are tired of being gaslit into believing all is well when they can barely afford a meal. They are tired of hearing that the country is “on the right track” while they bury the victims of failed policies, systemic corruption, and elite arrogance.
You often tell us that you inherited a bad economy. That may be true. But you campaigned on the promise to fix it. You assured us that you had a plan, a solution, a vision. Now, nearly three years into your term, it is evident that you did not come to a fix. You came to consolidate power, protect cartels, and build castles in the air while Kenyans drown in hardship.
Mr President, leadership is not theatre. It is not about optics, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, or grandstanding in foreign capitals. Leadership is service. It is about accountability, delivery, and empathy. You are not owed applause for showing up. You are elected to perform, and when you fail, the people reserve the right not only to withhold compliments—but to remove you from office.
And let me be clear: Kenyans are planning to extend their “non-compliments” all the way to 2027—at the ballot box. There, they will offer you not the standing ovation you crave, but a resounding vote of no confidence. They will not forget the tears of mothers who buried their sons because of police brutality. They will not forget the hunger, the joblessness, the hopelessness. They will not forget the broken promises, the arrogance of power, the contempt for suffering.
Mr President, if you seek compliments, then earn them. Earn them by listening to your people, not lecturing them. Earn them by fighting corruption, not protecting the corrupt. Earn them by restoring public trust, not weaponising institutions. Earn them by delivering development that touches every household—not by feeding us slogans and empty statistics.
So no, Mr President, this is not a compliment. It is a wake-up call. Perform or perish at the polls.
By Gitobu Imanyara |
