Kenya must strengthen, not scrap, the Woman Representative position

I've listened to the critics long enough. Regularly, I encounter another voice dismissing this constitutional position as "useless" or a "budget burden." Today, I'm setting the record straight on a provision that represents one of our democracy's most profound achievements.

Let me start with a simple truth that critics ignore: these women didn't just wake up one morning and demand a seat at the table. They fought for it. For decades.

When the first woman representatives were elected in 2013, they took up a position with a powerful mandate but zero funding. Think about that. We asked 47 women to represent entire counties—areas significantly larger than the constituencies that MPs represent—with absolutely no resources. For two years, from 2013 to 2015, they operated on promises and personal sacrifice. Many used their own money to serve communities that had elected them to deliver change.

It wasn't until June 2015, after relentless advocacy, that the National Government Affirmative Action Fund (Ngaaf) was finally established. Two whole years of working without the tools to do their job effectively. Yet somehow, critics now frame their eventual funding as excessive.

Let's talk about resource allocation. The National Government Affirmative Action Fund is distributed among 47 counties, while the National Government Constituencies Development Fund allocates significantly more resources to 290 constituencies. The arithmetic is stark: each of these leaders gets substantially less funding to serve an entire county, while MPs receive considerably more to serve smaller constituencies within those same counties.

Also read: A tale of love and hate: Unravelling the Women Reps

The arithmetic is simple, but the injustice is staggering. We ask women to do more with less, then criticise them when they struggle to meet impossible expectations.

Critics argue that their salary "drains taxpayer money." This logic is flawed. By the same reasoning, should we eliminate male MPs because they also earn salaries? Should we scrap the Senate because senators are paid? The 47 county representatives earn their salaries by serving as the constitutional voice for Kenyans. Their compensation isn't charity—it is payment for essential work in a democracy committed to inclusion.

Since Ngaaf's establishment, substantial resources have been distributed across all 47 counties, funding initiatives that have transformed communities. I've seen the impact first-hand: women's groups receiving grants for table banking, youth venturing into poultry farming and beekeeping, small-scale manufacturers adding value to agricultural products, vulnerable families getting bursaries for their children's education. These aren't abstract policy victories—they're tangible improvements in people's lives.

Women's voices

Yes, some of these leaders have underperformed. Some rarely speak in Parliament. Some haven't sponsored significant legislation. But this criticism reveals a troubling double standard. How many male MPs have similarly disappointing track records? How many male legislators sit silent in Parliament, contribute nothing meaningful to debate? The failure of individual politicians isn't a gender-specific problem—it's a leadership accountability issue that spans across all political offices.

When we single out these elected officials for blanket condemnation based on a few underperformers, we're applying a standard we never consistently apply to male politicians. We're essentially saying that women must be perfect to deserve political space, while men can be mediocre and still maintain legitimacy.

The constitutional framers included this position because they understood that representation matters, and historical exclusion requires intentional correction. Before 2013, women's issues were afterthoughts in legislative priorities. Maternal health, gender-based violence, economic empowerment for women—these concerns received minimal attention because those making decisions hadn't lived these experiences.

The woman rep position created a constitutional guarantee that women's voices would be present in Parliament. Not as tokens or nominated afterthoughts, but as directly elected representatives with popular mandates from voters in every county.

This isn't about giving women "special help" or creating "second-class representation." It's about acknowledging that democracy works best when it reflects the diversity of the people it serves. When women represent women's interests directly, policy outcomes improve. When marginalised communities have dedicated advocates in decision-making spaces, inclusive governance becomes possible.

Also read: Blow dryers and broken promises: The battle for Ngaaf funding

The critics proposing to abolish this position offer no alternative mechanism for ensuring women's political representation. They simply want to revert to a system where women competed for space in structures designed to exclude them—and failed predictably for decades.

I refuse to accept that Kenya should retreat from constitutional progress because some individuals haven't met expectations. The solution to underperforming representatives isn't eliminating the position—it's holding all politicians accountable to higher standards and giving the role the resources it needs to succeed.

The seat represents something larger than any individual politician or budget allocation. It embodies our commitment to building a democracy that works for everyone, not just those who've traditionally held power. It's a recognition that inclusion requires intentional action, not passive hope.

Critics can call it a "budget burden," but I call it an investment in democratic representation. They can dismiss it as unnecessary, but I see it as constitutionally essential. They can argue for its abolition, but I'll fight for its strengthening.

Kenya is stronger when all voices are heard. This constitutional provision ensures that promise remains reality, not rhetoric.

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