The celebrations were grand. The speeches were polished. The cameras captured every handshake, every smile, and every promise. But beneath the carefully curated images of this year’s Madaraka Day celebrations in Wajir lay a troubling reality: the growing culture of political pettiness, symbolism without substance, and leadership that often prioritizes appearances over accountability.
By no means am I attempting to diminish the importance of Madaraka Day. It remains one of the most significant dates on Kenya’s calendar. It is a day that reminds us of our journey toward self-governance, dignity, and freedom. It is a day that honours those who sacrificed their lives, comfort, and futures so that Kenyans could determine their own destiny.
Yet every year, as the celebrations grow larger, one question becomes harder to ignore: Are we truly living the spirit of Madaraka, or are we merely performing it?
There is a popular Kenyan saying: “Watu si wajinga bwana.” People are not foolish. They see beyond the banners, the political theatre, and the carefully crafted speeches. They understand when leaders are genuinely committed to service and when public events become platforms for political messaging.
Madaraka signifies freedom. Freedom from oppression. Freedom from exploitation. Freedom from a system that treated citizens as subjects rather than human beings with dignity and rights. Ironically, decades after colonial rule ended, many Kenyans feel that the structures of abuse never truly disappeared; only the faces in charge changed.
The colonial administration may have left, but the mentality of using and manipulating fellow citizens for political gain appears deeply rooted in our governance culture.
This year’s celebrations in Wajir exposed that reality.
What should have been a moment of national reflection instead felt like another opportunity for promises to be made from a podium. Promises of development. Promises of institutions. Promises of transformation. Promises that Kenyans have heard countless times before.
The question remains: Has the government truly played its part?
That is the uncomfortable conversation many leaders prefer to avoid.
I have grown weary of hearing grand visions of milk and honey while ordinary citizens continue to struggle under the weight of economic hardship. Every election cycle introduces a fresh catalogue of promises, yet the lived reality of millions of Kenyans remains largely unchanged.
And despite my criticism, I still hope.
I dream of a Kenya with a functioning economic system. A country where taxes are paid willingly because citizens trust that their contributions will be used responsibly. A nation where the resources discovered in Turkana genuinely transform lives and strengthen the economy. A country where development is not measured by political speeches but by tangible improvements in the lives of its people.
The French philosopher Montesquieu famously warned that those entrusted with power are naturally inclined to abuse it unless checks and balances exist. His observation remains as relevant today as it was centuries ago.
Power without accountability creates arrogance.
Promises without implementation create frustration.
Leadership without vision creates despair.
We have reached a point where every public event seems to produce another announcement, another project, another institution. During the Madaraka celebrations, promises of universities emerged once again. Similar commitments have been made in places like Tharaka Nithi and elsewhere
But Kenya’s challenge is no longer simply constructing institutions. Our challenge is creating opportunities.
A university building alone does not guarantee a future.
A degree does not automatically create employment.
A graduation gown cannot hide the growing hopelessness among thousands of young people entering a labour market that cannot absorb them.
Development should never be reduced to ribbon-cutting ceremonies and headline-grabbing announcements.
Roads are important. Schools are important. Hospitals are important. But these are not gifts from politicians. They are responsibilities of government.
Building roads should not be presented as an act of generosity.
Providing education should not be marketed as a campaign reward.
These are obligations financed by taxpayers and guaranteed by the social contract between citizens and the state.
Madaraka Day should challenge us to think beyond infrastructure and ask a deeper question: What kind of society are we building?
Are we nurturing a nation grounded in values, integrity, accountability, and compassion?
Or are we simply constructing physical projects while neglecting the moral foundations necessary for national progress?
Even some of the rhetoric displayed during the celebrations reflected the strange political environment we inhabit today. Leaders took to the podium with carefully crafted messages, political jabs, coded language, and statements whose meanings seemed intentionally vague. The result was a spectacle that sometimes felt more focused on political positioning than on the aspirations of ordinary Kenyans.
That is why this year’s Madaraka celebrations left many people with mixed feelings.
The event succeeded in its ceremony but struggled in its substance.
The symbolism was powerful, but the message often felt hollow.
The pageantry was impressive, but the accountability remained absent.
As we commemorate Madaraka, we must remember that freedom is not simply the absence of colonial rule. Freedom means having leaders who respect the intelligence of citizens. Freedom means institutions that work. Freedom means economic opportunities for young people. Freedom means holding power accountable regardless of who occupies office.
Most importantly, freedom means refusing to be distracted by appearances while deeper problems remain unresolved.
When you celebrate Madaraka Day, do not only admire the uniforms, the speeches, or the military parades. Think about the Kenya you want to leave behind for future generations. Think about the kind of leadership the country deserves. Think about the promises that have been made and whether they have been fulfilled.
Because Madaraka was never meant to be a performance.
It was meant to be a promise.
A promise that power would serve the people and not the other way around.
And until that promise is honoured, the true spirit of Madaraka will remain unfinished business in the Kenyan story.
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