YVONNE'S TAKE: What does progress feel like?

We are building. Or at least, that is what we are told. We are talking about a new development agenda. About the economy. About jobs. About infrastructure. About manufacturing, investment and growth. And these things matter. Of course they do. We need an economy that grows. We need jobs for our young people. We need roads, hospitals, energy, technology and infrastructure. We need to produce more, manufacture more and trade more. But somewhere along the way, we seem to have decided that these are the only things worth talking about. Because whenever someone raises the lived experience of ordinary Kenyans, the response is almost automatic: The macros are good. Inflation is coming down. The shilling is stable. The economy is growing. And yes, those are important indicators. But there are other indicators too. They are harder to measure. How safe do people feel? How much do they trust their leaders? Do young people believe they have a future? Can citizens speak freely without fear? Do people believe that when something terrible happens to them, the state will listen, investigate and deliver justice? Do we feel that those who govern us actually see us? These questions are sometimes dismissed as the softer side of development. I disagree. They are not soft issues. They are foundational issues. Because a country is not only an economy. It is a society. And societies are built not only with money and infrastructure, but with trust, dignity, empathy, justice and a sense that we belong to one another. Consider the atmosphere in which we are living. Over the past few years, we have witnessed protests, deaths, abductions and allegations of enforced disappearances. Families have been left searching for answers. Young people have expressed deep frustration about their prospects and their place in this country. And somehow, we have become increasingly comfortable treating some of this as a problem that can be resolved with compensation. A person loses a loved one, and there is a financial settlement. Someone is tortured or injured, and there is a figure attached to the suffering. Someone disappears, and money is offered to ease the consequences. But compensation is not the same thing as justice. There is a profound difference between saying: "This is what your suffering is worth." And saying: "We will find out what happened. We will find those responsible. We will hold them accountable. And we will make sure this never happens again." The first may close a file. The second begins to restore trust. And perhaps that is what we have been missing. Empathy. Not sentimentality. Not weakness. Not some nice quality that leaders can display when the cameras are on. Empathy is the ability to stop and ask: What would this feel like if it were me? What would it feel like to lose a child? To disappear and leave a family wondering where you are? To graduate and find no opportunity? To protest because you feel that nobody is listening? To live with the fear that speaking your mind might have consequences? And perhaps most importantly: What would it feel like to be governed by people who don't seem to understand any of that? Because leadership is not simply about speaking. Sometimes it is about listening. Really listening. Not listening to formulate the next response. Not listening to dismiss. Not listening to find the political angle. Listening to understand. And the tone matters. The tone with which leaders speak to citizens. The tone with which they speak about their opponents. The tone with which they respond to criticism. Because tone travels. When contempt becomes normal at the top, it eventually becomes normal everywhere else. Political disagreement becomes personal hostility. Criticism becomes betrayal. Citizens begin to see one another not as fellow Kenyans with different opinions, but as opposing camps that must defeat one another. And then we wonder why every new initiative is met with suspicion. Why even things that might be good are immediately viewed through the lens of mistrust. It is difficult to build anything together when the people being asked to build it do not trust those holding the blueprint. Trust is not a public relations problem. It is a development problem. And that is why I worry when we talk about development as though the human being is merely the end-point of an economic equation. We talk about GDP. Inflation. Debt. Infrastructure. Investment. Jobs. All important. But behind every number is a person. The unemployed young person is not a statistic. The family that has lost someone is not a budget line. The citizen who is afraid to speak is not a political inconvenience. And the person who has lost faith in government cannot simply be told that the macroeconomic indicators are improving. Because development ultimately has to answer a very simple question: Are people's lives getting better? Not simply on a spreadsheet. But in their homes. In their communities. In their sense of safety. In their dignity. In their hope. We should want the roads. We should want the jobs. We should want investment, manufacturing, technology and economic growth. We should want all the shiny things. But we should also want a country where people feel heard. Where disagreement does not make you an enemy. Where a grieving family receives justice, not merely a cheque. Where a young person can look into the future and see possibility rather than hopelessness. Where leaders understand that governing people requires more than managing numbers. It requires understanding people. Because if development is ultimately supposed to improve human lives, then humanity cannot be the thing we leave out of the development plan. So perhaps, as we embark on yet another grand development agenda, we should ask ourselves a question that does not appear on most economic dashboards: What does progress actually feel like? And perhaps the answer should be: It should feel like being seen. It should feel like being heard. It should feel like being safe. It should feel like having hope. Because those things may not always shine. But they are the foundations upon which everything else is built.