The mirage of hope, optimism in Kenya

I heard someone say that this is a great time to be Kenyan. I think the statement was meant to goad me into a tirade and lament about all the things that are wrong with our existence.

And then, I presume, he would have produced the Fortune magazine article that ranks Kenya among the seven most promising economies in Africa.

But, in my new found sanguinity, I bit back any retort I might have had. Because really, you and I know that there is no reason for Kenya not to be in the top two (or at most three) of African economies.

Where Nigeria beats us in numbers and South Africa in governance, we make up for both deficits in sheer fortitude, savviness and street smart.

And we do not need a publication to tell us that, other than to give us some transient comfort that not everyone outside of our borders is put off by our leaders' political theatrics and drunken displays of power.

We know that as a country we are capable of becoming an economic powerhouse. And that there is a lot to be hopeful about. But while hope and promise are admirable and worthy, they are built on the conviction that we will do what we say we're going to do.

That we can come together across political, economic and tribal divides and put the interests of the country first above our own.

I will let you be the judge of how well we're doing in that department. But what I know is that Kenyans, like you and I, the ones who do not have political patronage or 'godfathers', are beside themselves with consternation.

Because for every story of hope and promise, there is another one on the next lane about pillage, plunder and disregard for our rights as Kenyans, and as human beings.

In my bid to embrace optimism I will acknowledge that yes, there are multiple initiatives that have been put forth by our leaders with the best of intentions. To improve infrastructure, the quality of life, access to services and on the list goes.

But then greed, impunity and all their relatives are lined up on the other side of the door rubbing their hands in glee. I'm sure by now you have seen the news on how the 2013/2014 county allocations were utilised.

According to a World Bank report, out of every Sh100, 46 per cent was spent on salaries, 30 per cent on administration (fuel, office costs, etc.) and a paltry 21 per cent on development projects.

This is in contravention of the public policy guidelines that state that a minimum of 30 per cent county budgets should be expended on development projects. It is important to note that the 30 per cent is a minimum and not the guideline.

Of the 47 counties, 80 per cent underperformed on their development mandate, essentially invalidating the essence of devolution.

Even worse is that this kind of conduct not only seems to be tolerated but encouraged, going by the reluctance to hold the relevant governors accountable.

It is atrocious that this conversation has become a recurrent theme under the devolution agenda. Every few months reports of flagrant misuse are reported and every few months the cycle repeats itself. This is a fundamentally flawed approach to public funds.

The lack of accountability and impunity that accompanies malfeasance is worrying, but my question is why the perpetrators are allowed to get away with the behavior unchecked, even when the proof is out in the open.

There are always going to be individuals whose main aim of being in office is to loot taxpayer's funds, the same applies to private enterprise. However, that is why controls and punitive measures for reprobates exist.

The approach towards malfeasance is three-fold. One, put in checks and mechanisms to ensure that the misconduct is discouraged before it happens. Second, punitive measures for those who go ahead and flaunt the rules.

Dish out punishment that is dire enough so that you make an example out of the offenders. And lastly, reward those who not only play by the rules but create positive change.

We can have this conversation until the cows come home. But unless there is real buy in from the powers that be then we might as well be banging our heads against the wall. How much more do we need to speak out to see change?

How many more articles do we need to write? How many people need to express their indignation for their voices to be heard?

At some point, our boundless optimism starts to sound like empty rhetoric. We cannot continue to tout the powers that the 2010 Constitution bequeaths us with pride and fear in equal measure.

Because we know in our heart of hearts that if you shout too loudly about the monsters that we need to tame to reap the fruits of the promised land, you might not live to see it.

And quite honestly, no one wants to be collateral damage on the way to the proverbial Canaan.