There was something revealing about Kenyans reaction to Rob Finnerty’s recent broadcast on American TV channel Newsmax . Commenting on what he saw as the decline of New York City, Finnerty made a passing comparison with Nairobi, linking immigration from Africa and other so-called “third world countries” to New York’s deterioration. The comment was brief, almost throwaway. Yet it struck a nerve.
Kenyans responded swiftly. Across social media, many denounced the remarks as insulting, not only to Nairobi but to Kenya and Kenyans generally. They demanded an apology. When Finnerty eventually apologised on X, many felt it was insufficient. If the original remark had been broadcast to a national audience, they argued, then the apology should receive similar prominence. He capitulated – though even this apology revealed a man who is so steeped in prejudice and arrogance. Perhaps ineducable.
But I digress. The revealing aspect of the episode is not what Finnerty said, nor even whether his apology was adequate. Instead it is what the Kenyan response tells us about Kenya itself.
In many ways, the episode is a vindication of the robust civic and constitutional consciousness that has developed since the promulgation of the Constitution of Kenya, 2010. The Constitution is no longer simply a document invoked by lawyers in courtrooms, politicians at rallies or civil society organisations in reports. For many Kenyans, it has become a language through which they understand power, dignity and accountability.
Traditionally, constitutions were judged by their institutions, their rights provisions or the court decisions they produce. Yet in a contemporary liberal constitutional state, like Kenya, the real success of a constitution lies elsewhere. A constitution succeeds when ordinary citizens begin to use it as a framework for understanding power and the world around them.
Sovereignty of the People
Consider Article 1, which declares that all sovereign power belongs to the people of Kenya and may be exercised directly or through democratically elected representatives. It is one of the Constitution’s most radical propositions. Sovereignty does not belong to the President, Parliament or government. These institutions exercise authority only because the people have delegated it to them.
Nairobi City skyline.
Photo credit: Wilfred Nyangaresi | Nation Media Group
For many years, sovereignty was understood in narrow electoral terms. Citizens voted, governments governed and public participation largely ended at the ballot box. The 2010 Constitution sought to change that relationship. It envisioned citizens who remained engaged between elections and actively participated in safeguarding constitutional values.
When Finnerty’s remarks circulated online, citizens did not wait for government officials or diplomatic missions – who are often slow and reluctant - to respond. They acted themselves. They criticised, organised and demanded accountability. True, whether one agrees with every aspect of that reaction is beside the point. What matters is that citizens regarded the defence of national dignity as their responsibility.
That is constitutional citizenship in action. Put differently, the people are not merely the beneficiaries of the Constitution; they are its principal custodians.
Article 28 recognises that every person has inherent dignity and the right to have that dignity respected and protected. Human dignity is neither earned nor bestowed. It does not depend on wealth, economic success or geopolitical influence. Nor is it diminished by poverty.
Few Kenyans would claim that Nairobi is beyond criticism. No doubt, like nearly every major city, Nairobi struggles with inequality, congestion, inadequate and poorly planned infrastructure and simply inexcusable administrative delinquencies. Plainly put, for a city with its ambition, it struggles alot. Therefore, honest criticism of these realities is necessary. In fact, Kenyans are Nairobi’s strongest critics. But criticism and prejudice are not the same thing.
And here is the difference: one seeks to illuminate problems so they can be addressed. The other reduces complex societies and human beings to stereotypes.
Constitution as the Yardstick
The implication that Nairobi could serve as shorthand for decline was objectionable not because it identified imperfections, but because it rested on assumptions about worth and status within a global hierarchy. Many Kenyans understood instinctively that economic disparities between nations cannot be converted into differences in human value.
In a nutshell, the episode points to a broader constitutional development. Increasingly, Kenyans – even when they do not directly reference the Constitution - seem to understand that constitutional values provide a yardstick against which conduct should be measured, whether it originates in government or elsewhere.
Rob Finnerty may have intended his comparison as a fleeting remark about New York. Yet the response it generated revealed something far more significant. It demonstrated that many Kenyans now instinctively recognise when principles of dignity, equality and sovereignty are at stake, and they no longer wait for others – or their tentative and floundering government - to defend them.
In the end, there is a point that requires restating. The struggle that produced the 2010 Constitution was never simply about drafting a perfect document. It was about fostering a civic culture founded on constitutionally enumerated values including dignity, rights, accountability and popular sovereignty. The real measure of a constitution is not the elegance of its text or the sophistication of its courts. It is whether ordinary citizens understand it, claim it and use it. Because, a constitution embraced by ordinary citizens is the most powerful tool of holistically transforming a society.
And that is the power of a constitution when the people make it their own: and the humbling of Rob Finnerty is your latest Exhibit.
