KAIKAI'S KICKER: Restore the honor of national awards

On my kicker, Kenyans have been reacting to the publishing of a list of 60 nominees for national awards by the joint secretariat of the Parliamentary Honours Advisory Committee. The keyword there is honours — but let’s continue.

The list has kicked up a storm, especially inside Kenya’s vibrant online community. Sections of the media have greeted the list with outrage, with The Standard newspaper stating without compromise: “Not our heroes.”

I sampled some of those online and offline conversations to try and find out why the outrage. I noticed that the common thread argued that, for most of the listed members of the National Assembly and Senate, there is little to link the national award to the name. What did some of the proposed award recipients do to deserve the listing? Then, some Kenyans raised issues with specific names in the honours list. In there, they said, were ex-convicts, shooters, public brawlers, drug dealers, and even “wash wash” practitioners. They offered little in terms of evidence, but I think their point is made.

Now, every Jamhuri or Mashujaa Day, the nation pauses to celebrate men and women who have served Kenya with distinction. The President confers national honours — medals meant to recognise exemplary service and moral excellence.

But when members of Parliament routinely feature on those lists, Kenyans are right to ask: what exactly is being honoured?

Let’s be honest — Parliament is not exactly the temple of integrity it ought to be. From silence in the House or absenteeism to corruption scandals, from misuse of public funds to political grandstanding, the Kenyan public often views their MPs with frustration rather than admiration.

So, when some of them receive national honours, it raises uncomfortable questions:
Is the honour a reward for service — or for political loyalty?
Is it recognition of performance — or compliance?

Meanwhile, across the country, teachers teach without resources, nurses save lives in understaffed hospitals, and police officers serve with little recognition. These are the true pillars of service. Yet, year after year, their names rarely make the honours list.

National honours should not be political decorations. They should be moral badges — earned, not granted. The Constitution expects leaders to be persons of integrity, serving the people selflessly.

When parliamentarians who have faced questions of ethics, mismanagement, or corruption are decorated by the State, the medal itself loses meaning.

Honours without honour cheapen the nation’s moral currency. They tell Kenyans that power, not principle, is what earns recognition.

It’s time to restore dignity to our system of national recognition.
Honours should celebrate service — not status.
Integrity — not influence.
And merit — not membership.

Because in a country yearning for honest leadership, the true honour lies not in the medal, but in the integrity of those who wear it.