OPINION: Homa Bay’s dusty roads are not a failure of the Luo community

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OPINION: Homa Bay’s dusty roads are not a failure of the Luo community

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In

the aftermath of a Linda Mwananchi rally in Homa Bay last weekend, images of

dusty roads in Homa Bay circulated widely on social media, sparking a fierce

debate that has dominated much of this week’s socioeconomic and political

commentary. For some, the images revealed a shocking level of underdevelopment

and quickly became an indictment of the people of Homa Bay, and the wider Luo

community, for failing to hold their leaders accountable.

Much

of this criticism, however, comes from the vantage point of privileged regions

that have historically benefited from disproportionate access to state

investment, infrastructure and economic opportunity. To interpret Homa Bay’s

present condition without acknowledging these historical patterns of uneven

resource allocation risks turning a history of structural inequality into a

story of communal failure. There is an uncomfortable irony in seeing those who

have benefited from the state’s largesse now using the consequences of that

inequality as evidence against the communities that have borne its costs.

This

is not an argument against accountability. Homa Bay residents have every right

to demand better from their elected leaders. Elected officials should be judged

by their stewardship of public resources and their ability to deliver services.

But accountability should not become a convenient way of erasing history. Homa

Bay’s dusty roads cannot be understood simply by looking at the politicians

currently occupying county offices. They are part of a much longer story of how

power and resources have been distributed in Kenya.

One

of the questions repeatedly posed by these critics was; What has Homa Bay done

with devolution? The question sounds reasonable until we consider the starting

point. Thirteen years into devolution, Homa Bay is not the same county it was

in 2013. Devolution has brought resources, services and development closer to

residents. There has been some progress, albeit frustratingly slow, and it

would be dishonest to suggest that nothing has changed. The fundamental problem

with this criticism is that it assumes every county entered the devolved system

from the same starting line.

They

did not.

Some

counties entered devolution with stronger road networks, established

institutions, greater urbanisation, stronger commercial activity and decades of

accumulated infrastructure. Others entered with significant deficits.

Devolution could decentralise resources and decision-making, but it could not

erase decades of unequal development overnight. More importantly, the

historical inequality predates devolution by decades.

When

Kenya became independent in 1963, the country inherited an economic geography

profoundly shaped by colonial rule. Infrastructure, investment, education and

commercial activity were concentrated in particular regions, while other areas

were left with far weaker foundations for economic development. The

post-independence state did not attempt to correct these disparities; in the

decades that followed, political choices often reinforced them.

This

was at the heart of the political disagreement between President Jomo Kenyatta

and Jaramogi Oginga Odinga. Their differences reflected fundamentally different

visions of how the resources of the new Kenyan state should be distributed and

how quickly historical inequalities should be addressed. Jaramogi's insistence

on a more egalitarian approach to land, resources and development increasingly

collided with a political establishment that was consolidating power and

economic opportunity around particular interests.

The

publication of Sessional Paper No. 10 of 1965 must therefore be read within

this broader context. African Socialism and its Application to Planning in

Kenya articulated principles of equal opportunity and equitable

development, while simultaneously confronting the reality of scarce resources

and competing development priorities. The tragedy is that the egalitarian

aspirations contained in the paper were not consistently reflected in the

political and economic distribution that followed.

The

pattern did not end with Kenyatta.

Under

Daniel arap Moi, Nyanza remained politically distant from the centre for much

of his presidency, particularly as the region became a stronghold of opposition

politics. The experience of political repression and the concentration of

development and state resources elsewhere reinforced a longstanding perception

that political loyalty mattered in determining access to the state.

The

transition to Mwai Kibaki's presidency brought new optimism, and his government

presided over significant national development. Yet the historical imbalance

did not disappear. Major infrastructure and economic investment continued to be

unevenly distributed, while Nyanza's political relationship with the centre

remained complicated.

Under

Uhuru Kenyatta, the pattern again became visible in different ways. The Jubilee

administration invested heavily in infrastructure in Central Kenya, and the

distribution of major projects continued to generate questions about regional

equity. The handshake between Uhuru Kenyatta and Raila Odinga in 2018

temporarily altered the political relationship between the centre and Nyanza,

but it did not erase decades of accumulated developmental disparities.

This

history matters because development is cumulative.

A

region that receives roads, electricity, schools, hospitals and other

infrastructure over several decades develops an economic foundation that makes

further investment easier. Better infrastructure attracts businesses;

businesses create jobs; jobs increase incomes; and increased economic activity

generates further investment.

The

reverse is equally true.

Regions

that begin with inadequate infrastructure face higher costs and greater

barriers to investment. A dusty road is therefore not simply a dusty road. It

can be a symptom of decades of accumulated disadvantage.

County

governments receive a constitutionally guaranteed minimum of 15 per cent of

nationally raised revenue, while the overwhelming majority of national revenue

remains at the national level. Counties therefore operate within a broader

national system in which major infrastructure and investment decisions remain

substantially influenced by the national government.

Devolution

was never designed to magically equalise counties overnight. It was intended,

among other things, to address historical marginalisation. But decentralising

resources does not automatically undo the effects of decades of centralised

development.

The

people of Homa Bay did not choose the conditions under which their region

entered independence. They did not determine the colonial distribution of

infrastructure. And they did not control the national decisions that shaped the

allocation of state resources over the subsequent six decades. The dusty roads

of Homa Bay should therefore not become an indictment of the Luo people. They

should be a reminder of a national development story in which some regions

accumulated advantages while others struggled to catch up.

And

until Kenya is willing to confront that history honestly, asking marginalised

communities why they have not caught up will remain an exercise in blaming

those who inherited the disadvantage rather than interrogating those who

perpetuated it.

Reporting originally appeared via Citizen Digital. Read the full source for additional context.