Coast is bleeding, its leaders are silent and the people have had it

For decades, the people of Kenya’s Coast region have been told to wait—wait for development, wait for security, wait for opportunity. As the rest of the country moves forward, the Coast remains trapped in a cycle of neglect, not because of a lack of potential, but because of a glaring failure of leadership.

The truth is painful but necessary: the biggest problem facing the Coast today is not geography, not resources, and not even history. It is weak, compromised, and self-serving leadership that has repeatedly failed its people.

Time and again, Coast leaders have demonstrated that their primary interest is not development but proximity to power. They campaign loudly during elections, invoking the struggles of the people, only to disappear into the corridors of privilege once elected. The result is a region rich in culture, tourism, and economic potential, yet plagued by poverty, insecurity, and underdevelopment.

Take the issue of insecurity, for example—a crisis that has now reached horrifying levels. Over the past weekend, an 11-year-old girl in Mombasa was raped and brutally murdered. A child, violated and killed in a city that claims to be a major urban and tourist hub. Yet what has been the response from our leaders? Silence. Deafening silence.

Not a word from those elected to represent the people. Instead, we see images of leaders dining and laughing—feasting while their constituents mourn. This is not just negligence; it is a moral failure of the highest order.

Leadership is not about access to power; it is about responsibility to the people. When leaders cannot even speak out against the rape and murder of a child, they forfeit any claim to moral authority.

The failures are not limited to security. Infrastructure—a key driver of economic growth—has been consistently neglected. For years, Coast leaders have lamented the state of the Nairobi–Mombasa highway, a critical artery for trade, tourism, and connectivity. They have promised its dualling, acknowledged its dangers, and used it as a campaign tool. Yet today, nothing has been done.

Instead, we see major investments going into other regions, including the Nairobi–Kisumu highway. While development anywhere in Kenya is welcome, the silence of Coast leaders in the face of their own region’s neglect is telling. Where is the outrage? Where is the advocacy? Where is the pressure? Where is the leadership? The answer is simple: it does not exist.

For many of these leaders, their loyalty lies not with the people who elected them but with the power structures that sustain their political survival. They would rather remain silent than risk falling out of favour.

Perhaps the most glaring example of this failure is in Lamu. For years, the county has been under what can only be described as an illegal and permanent curfew. What was introduced as a temporary security measure has become a long-standing restriction on the lives and livelihoods of the people. Businesses close early. Movement is restricted. Investment is discouraged. Development is stifled.

Yet our leaders have not meaningfully challenged this reality. They have not demanded an end to the curfew. They have not stood with their people. They have normalised it.

How can a region develop when its people live under perpetual restriction? How can investors be attracted to a county where economic activity is effectively shut down by nightfall? How can young people build livelihoods under such conditions? The silence of leadership in Lamu is not just complicity; it is betrayal.

Across the Coast—from Mombasa to Kwale, Kilifi to Lamu, Taita Taveta to Tana River—the pattern is the same: grand promises during campaigns, followed by quiet submission once in office. The people are left to fend for themselves while their leaders chase personal gain, political appointments, and proximity to power.

This is why the Coast remains underdeveloped—not because it lacks resources, but because it lacks leaders willing to fight for its future.

However, the people are no longer blind. There is a growing realisation across the region that we cannot continue on this path; that we cannot keep electing leaders who do not serve us; that we cannot support governments that do not prioritise our development.

As Coast people, we are now making a conscious decision: we will not support any leader or any government that does not place our development at the centre of its agenda. We will demand accountability. We will demand action. We will demand leadership that speaks, acts, and delivers.

The Coast is not a peripheral region. It is a vital part of this country. Its people deserve safety. Its economy deserves investment. Its future deserves leadership. And if the current crop of leaders cannot rise to that responsibility, then they must make way for those who will.

Chief executive officer, VOCAL Africa