By Anthony Mwala

President William Ruto’s recent attack on Wiper Patriotic Front leader Kalonzo Musyoka in Kiambu was shockingly revealing.

The shock was not for what it said about Kalonzo, but rather, what it exposed about how power is increasingly understood at the highest level of the state.

The President dismissed Kalonzo as “brainless,” arguing that despite nearly 50 years in politics, he has failed to construct a tarmac road to his rural home.

” Barabara ya kwenda kwake ni matope na vumbi kwasababu hana akili. Atatoa Akili wapi kuwawekea lami kama hana akili ya kutengeneza barabara kwake? Posed Mr Ruto rhetorically.

It was an infantile line, unprcedented and quite unpresidencial- some unwise remarks essentially delivered for applause.

But it carried a dangerous implication: that the true measure of leadership is the ability to bend public resources toward personal or parochial ends.

Kalonzo Musyoka’s political résumé is not in dispute. He has served as Deputy Speaker, Assistant Minister, Cabinet Minister across multiple portfolios, and Vice President. Roads, however, are not built by individuals; they are planned, funded and executed by the state through established institutions and budgetary processes. The role of leaders is to influence policy and priorities—not to personalize infrastructure.

Ironically, during his tenure as Vice President, Kalonzo launched the Kibwezi–Tsikuru road, envisioned as part of a wider corridor linking the region to Isiolo. The project stalled, as many national projects do—not because it failed to serve a private interest, but because it was embedded in the slow, often frustrating machinery of public planning.

That is precisely the point.

Since when did the misuse of public office become something to applaud rather than condemn?

Public resources are collected from all citizens and are meant to serve the common good—not individual villages, private farms, or political strongholds.

When a leader diverts public funds to benefit their home area simply because they can, they are not being effective; they are abusing trust, violating the law, and entrenching a culture where power equals entitlement.

If Kalonzo Musyoka spent decades in public life without diverting state resources to build a road to his village or his private property, that should not be framed as failure. It should be read as restraint. As respect for the Constitution. As an understanding that leadership is stewardship, not ownership.

True statesmanship lies in resisting the temptation to personalize power, especially when opportunity presents itself.

It lies in accepting that development must follow policy, equity and national interest—not personal proximity.

When a President uses a public platform to ridicule another leader for not misusing authority, the message to the country is  terminally corrosive. It speaks loudly to Ruto’s (mis) understanding of Chapter 10 of the Constitution of Kenya and may well  explain why corruption has been entrenched in public life.

This thinkin normalizes corruption, mocks ethical restraint, and reframes abuse of office as “development.” Integrity is cast as foolishness; impunity as cleverness.

That is not just careless rhetoric—it is a dangerous lesson in a democracy already struggling with accountability.

It tells young leaders that ethics are optional, that public office is a shortcut to private gain, and that loyalty to the law is negotiable.

Yet history is clear: nations are built by leaders who separate public duty from private interest—not by those who blur the line and call it progress.

That is the distinction that matters.

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