It was an ordinary day in Senende, Vihiga County, but the discourse resonating within the local assembly where Kimilili MP Didmus Barasa spoke was far from mundane. “The Somali community from the Northern region are unequivocally Kenyans,” he asserted with deep conviction, his voice echoing with historical gravitas and vibrant clarity. But do such declarations suffice to recalibrate the narrative? For those caught in the crossfire of misperception, these words hold an epochal promise.
According to Barasa, the time to lump together people with sinister stereotypes is long past its due. “Criminals,” he emphasized, “are not tethered to any particular ethnicity. They sprout from every nook and cranny of this nation.” It is a salient point—a clarion call urging us to transcend superficial judgments. His analogy was simple yet potent: ascribing crime to an entire community is akin to painting a varicolored canvas with a single shade of misunderstanding, robbing it of its vibrancy.
The Kenyan Somali community, as Barasa passionately highlighted, “are Kenyans who deserve to be respected.” Such poignant words served as a testament to a truth that should be self-evident. This perspective is not merely a political soundbite—it is fundamentally a moral stance, one underscoring our duty to shed the burden of ignorance.
Amidst the assembly of esteemed dignitaries, which included figures like Farouk Kibet—a close aide to President William Ruto—and the articulate Majority Leader of the National Assembly, Kimani Ichung’wah, Barasa’s statements aligned seamlessly with a significant policy shift instigated by President Ruto himself. Would this landmark move pivot the narrative from prejudice to inclusivity? Recent directives have eradicated the burdensome extra vetting processes imposed on Northern Kenya’s residents seeking national identification.
Dated February 5, 2025, President Ruto’s declaration is a turning point in an ongoing quest for equality. It prescribes a revisitation and potential reform of the protocols binding the issuance of National Identity documents. This directive is not merely bureaucratic scaffolding; it is a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of historical grievances, with the hope of anchoring the aspirations of the marginalized.
President Ruto, through this proclamation, acknowledged what has long been a palpable injustice. The additional layers of scrutiny faced by inhabitants of frontier counties, standing as a grim testament to discrimination cloaked in procedural norms, are to be dismantled. “As mandated by Article 12(1)(b) of the Constitution,” the President affirmed, “each citizen is entitled unequivocally to the benefits of identity documents.”
Could it be an echo of the national conscience awakening? Despite the nuances in legal language and the technicalities of policy, the crux lies in the Constitution’s very heart—Articles 27(1) and 27(4)—which advocate equality and denounce discrimination of any kind. They are, in essence, promises etched in the nation’s legal fabric, now unsequestered by new ministerial guidelines.
The Ministry of Interior and National Administration has piloted a progressive framework, meticulously engineered to redefine the protocol for issuing Identity cards in border counties. Is this the dawn of a new era where the biases of yesteryear give way to equitable opportunities and recognition?
We must reflect: Are these measures, steeped in bureaucratic reform yet dripping with ethical merit, sufficient to mend the fractures of distrust? The change is here—tangible and regulatory—but the metamorphosis of perception must also follow. For only when law and empathy stride hand in hand can true justice be adorned in the rightful garb of equality.
Edited By Ali Musa
Axadle Times International–Monitoring
