A State That Values Airtime Over Teachers and Doctors Has Lost Its Soul

 

The hypocrisy is staggering. In Kenya, the Salaries and Remuneration Commission (SRC) routinely claims it “lacks money” to pay doctors, nurses, and Junior Secondary School (JSS) teachers adequately. Yet somehow, there is never a shortage when it comes to Members of Parliament and political officeholders. It is a contradiction that speaks to misplaced priorities and a moral failure at the very top of the state.

Take the glaring example of Speaker Moses Wetang’ula, who receives KSh 25,000 every month just for airtime. That is more than the entire monthly salary of a JSS teacher earning KSh 17,000. A teacher who spends their life shaping young minds, inspiring children, and carrying the hopes of the nation is expected to survive on less than what a politician receives for making phone calls. The irony is brutal and deeply symbolic: those who heal the sick and mold the nation’s children are told to be patient, to sacrifice, and to wait for “better economic times.” Meanwhile, the political class fattens itself on privilege as if public funds were their private inheritance.

It is not just airtime allowances that reveal this disturbing imbalance. MPs, ministers, and senior political officeholders enjoy a multitude of perks that ordinary citizens can only dream of. Lavish allowances, luxurious office renovations, travel budgets that run into billions, and high salaries continue to flow without scrutiny. The contrast between their wealth and the deprivation experienced by frontline workers is not merely economic—it is ethical. It is a question of values.

Meanwhile, public hospitals, institutions, and schools crumble under neglect. Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH), the flagship public hospital, has become emblematic of this failure. Cancer facilities are understaffed and underfunded. Patients queue for months, sometimes years, for life-saving treatment, while hospital wards struggle with basic resources. The very doctors who risk their lives in these corridors are the same professionals SRC claims the government “cannot afford” to remunerate adequately.

The educational system mirrors this neglect. Junior Secondary School teachers, who shape the future of the nation, continue to earn paltry salaries that fail to match even the cost of basic living. The irony deepens when we realize that these teachers form the backbone of Kenya’s human capital—the very foundation upon which all economic and social progress depends. Yet their work is undervalued, and their compensation frozen under the pretense of budgetary constraints.

Contrast this with the extravagance in government spending. The current administration has recently been reported to plan KSh 3.1 billion in travel expenses over the next two months alone. That figure is almost incomprehensible, particularly when juxtaposed against the daily realities of Kenyans who rely on public institutions for basic survival—hospitals without essential drugs, schools without desks, and teachers who cannot afford to feed their families. It is a stark illustration of priorities that are upside down.

Such spending is not limited to travel alone. Office renovations for political elites, bloated allowances, and unexplained perks have become standard practice. While ordinary citizens tighten their belts, the state seems to reward indulgence over responsibility. A hospital bed at KNH may cost patients their lives because the institution lacks equipment or proper medication, yet politicians are allowed to spend millions on furniture, renovations, and “comforts” that bear no tangible impact on national development.

The cumulative effect of this neglect is devastating. Health outcomes stagnate. Schools cannot offer quality education. Frontline professionals feel undervalued, demotivated, and, in some cases, forced to strike or seek employment abroad. Kenya loses the very people who hold the promise of the nation’s future in their hands—teachers, doctors, and nurses. Meanwhile, the political class continues to expand its privileges, insulated from consequence.

This is a moral crisis, not merely a financial one. A state that can afford lavish perks for a few but cannot adequately pay those who directly serve its people has lost its soul. It is a state where the values of care, responsibility, and service have been replaced by indulgence, self-interest, and spectacle. When airtime budgets surpass teachers’ salaries and when billions are allocated to politicians while hospitals fail to provide cancer treatment, the nation is being told, in no uncertain terms, where its government’s loyalties lie.

The question Kenyans must ask is simple: what kind of country prioritizes luxury over life, indulgence over education, and privilege over service? A government that can plan extravagant travel, approve luxurious office renovations, and protect MPs’ interests, yet consistently fails to provide fair salaries and working conditions for the people who actually sustain society, is a government that has lost touch with its citizens.

We must demand accountability. The SRC must stop offering excuses and start demonstrating fairness. Political elites must understand that public funds belong to the people, not their comfort. And most importantly, the state must redirect its priorities to reflect moral and social responsibility: adequately remunerate doctors, nurses, and teachers, invest in hospitals and schools, and ensure that public services meet the needs of ordinary Kenyans.

Until this happens, Kenya will continue to watch its frontline workers struggle while politicians indulge in excess. The disparity is more than economic—it is a measure of a nation’s values. A state that prioritizes airtime, allowances, and travel over life-saving healthcare and quality education is a state that has lost its moral compass.

If we do not demand better, we condone the hypocrisy. If we allow politicians to indulge while the nation’s healers and educators go underpaid, we accept that public service is a privilege for the few, not a duty to the many. It is time for Kenyans to demand that the SRC, the political class, and the state at large stop treating public funds as their personal inheritance.

A government that cannot honor those who sustain its people is a government that has lost its soul—and a nation cannot thrive under such moral bankruptcy.