LocationsBy Martin Namasaka
Bringing Government Closer: Anne Muthoni’s Vision for Inclusive Devolution and People-Centred Governance
July 23, 2025
The kettle whistles softly in the corner, steam curling up like a slow dance. There’s a comforting warmth in the air—one that feels earned, not accidental. A soft breeze lifts the lace curtain on the window behind Anne Muthoni Muchiri as she places two cups of tea on the table. You can smell the earthy aroma of ginger and cardamom steeped in black tea—strong, deliberate, much like her.
The walls are dotted with books on governance, community empowerment, and public finance, but the room isn’t cold or official—it breathes with story. On the mantle, a photograph of her father, Joseph Muchiri, stands in a modest frame. He wears his Kenya Air Force uniform, gaze steady, jaw set with quiet authority.
“That’s where it all started,” Anne says, nodding toward the picture, her fingers lightly brushing the rim of her cup. “Everything I do today goes back to how he raised us—on principles, not possessions.”
In this space, everything feels intentional. Every word. Every silence. Every lesson.
And as she begins to speak about her journey—one woven through policy halls and community forums, spreadsheets and street protests—you don’t just listen. You feel it. You are not sitting across from a bureaucrat. You’re sitting with a builder—of trust, of spaces, of voice.
What inspired you to dedicate your career to advancing public participation and governance at the county level—and how does this connect to your work on SDG 16?
That’s a big question, and for me, a deeply personal one.
I didn’t stumble into governance. I was shaped for it, long before I knew what the word meant. I grew up under the care of my father, Joseph Muchiri, a former Kenya Air Force officer, and a man of few words but infinite values. He raised my two siblings and me on his own, after my mother passed away. There wasn’t much in terms of material wealth, but what we lacked in possessions, we made up for in dignity.
My father ran our home like he ran his platoon: with discipline, fairness, and compassion. He taught us that leadership isn’t about titles or loud speeches, it’s about showing up consistently, even when no one is watching. He led with quiet strength, and in doing so, he passed down the most important lesson I’ve ever learned: service is sacred.
So when I found myself working in county governance, specifically through the Joint Devolution Programme (JDP) under UNDP Kenya, I didn’t see it as just a job. I saw it as a way to honour his legacy. SDG 16 promoting peace, justice, and strong institutions, fits like a glove. It’s about giving power back to the people. It’s about restoring dignity, especially to those who’ve been left behind. That’s what my father stood for. That’s what I now stand for.
In your experience working in Embu County, how is devolution helping to rebuild trust between citizens and local government, especially among historically marginalized groups?
Devolution, when done right, is revolutionary.
It has brought government out of the boardrooms and into community halls, church compounds, open-air markets right where the people are. In Embu County, I’ve witnessed this shift firsthand. The distance between a citizen and a decision-maker is no longer measured in kilometres, it’s measured in access, voice, and trust.
One person who stands out in this journey is Chief Officer for Economic Planning, Macharia Njeru. Working with him has been one of the highlights of my career. He’s the kind of public servant who doesn’t just read the Constitution, he lives it. I’ve seen him push for gender-responsive budgeting with a passion that’s rare. He doesn’t just open the door for women and youth, he walks them in, pulls out a chair, and says, “Your voice matters.”
That’s powerful. And it works.
When citizens see leaders who truly listen, who act on what they hear something beautiful happens: trust returns. People begin to believe again. They stop seeing government as a distant entity and start seeing it as a partner.
The recent youth-led protests in Kenya signalled a growing demand for accountability and engagement. How is the Joint Devolution Programme helping counties like Embu deepen public participation, especially for women and youth?
What the protests showed us is that the hunger for inclusion is real and urgent. Young people are not just demanding to be heard; they’re demanding to be respected, represented, and responded to.
Through the JDP, we’re responding to that call. We’ve helped Embu institutionalize public participation in a way that’s not symbolic—it’s structural. We’ve developed inclusive policies that make public forums more accessible and representative. That means creating space not just physical, but psychological—for women, youth, and persons with disabilities to speak freely.
We’ve trained county officials on how to host participatory budget forums that are actually engaging. We’ve worked with civil society to mobilize marginalized voices. And most importantly, we’ve ensured there’s follow through. Because nothing kills participation faster than silence after speaking.
Is there a story or moment from your work that captures the power of collaboration or innovation in this space?
Absolutely and I think about it often.
One initiative that stands out is the “Accelerating SDGs through Localisation” programme. It’s more than just a mouthful, it’s a bold effort to bring the Sustainable Development Goals to life at the county level. And in Embu, it’s changing the game.
We worked closely with the county to align their 2025/2026 planning and budgeting cycles with the SDGs. That meant not just ticking boxes but actually transforming how things are done. We helped the county finalize their public participation policy, supported oversight training for the County Assembly, and ensured budgeting was data-driven and equity-focused.
What makes this innovative is the depth of collaboration. Civil society, community members, technical officers, development partners, we all came together with one goal: to build a county that works for everyone. Embu is now a frontrunner in SDG localisation, and we’re seeing the ripple effects in planning, financing, and service delivery.
What’s one moment that really moved you emotionally in this work?
I’ll never forget this day, it stays with me.
We were organizing a public participation forum in Embu. I was nervous. We had done our outreach, sent the invites, mobilized through community leaders but still, you never know if people will show up.
Then they came.
First, a group of women arrived early, notebooks in hand, ready to take notes and ask hard questions. Then came the youth, full of energy, ideas, and challenges to the status quo. Finally, I saw two persons with disabilities—one on crutches, another with a caregiver slowly making their way into the hall.
That moment hit me hard. These people had made the effort not because they were being paid to, but because they believed in their right to be heard. As they took the mic, proposed ideas, asked bold questions, I felt tears behind my eyes.
That’s when it became crystal clear to me: this isn’t about documents or reports. It’s about voice. It’s about power. And it’s about people who’ve been told “you don’t matter” showing up and saying, “Yes, we do.”
What are some of the biggest challenges you've encountered in promoting participatory governance and what lessons have you learned about making citizen engagement more effective?
One word: trust.
Or rather the lack of it. Many communities have been excluded from governance for so long that when you invite them to a forum, they think: Why bother? They won’t listen anyway. And honestly, I don’t blame them. Participatory governance has sometimes been reduced to window-dressing.
Another challenge is accessibility—both physical and digital. Many forums are held in places that people can’t easily get to, or at times that don’t work for working-class citizens. Then there’s the language barrier, the fear of speaking in public, or the perception that technical documents are “not for us.”
So here’s what I’ve learned: inclusion must be intentional. It must be planned, resourced, and followed through. It means preparing communities and preparing officials. It means simplifying language, diversifying meeting formats, and most importantly showing communities that their voice leads to action.
When people see their input reflected in real decisions when they see a water project built because they spoke up, they begin to believe again.
From your perspective, what more needs to be done at the county, national, or even global level to fully realise SDG 16 and build inclusive societies?
We need to take civic education seriously especially at the grassroots. People can’t engage if they don’t understand the system or their rights within it. We need digital inclusion—because so many decisions are moving online, and if you’re offline, you’re left behind.
At the county level, we must build capacity for data-driven decision-making and strengthen accountability. At the national level, we must protect civic space, support oversight institutions, and embrace transparency as a value, not just a buzzword.
Globally, solidarity matters. We must share innovations, fund grassroots efforts, and commit to long-term engagement, not just one-off projects. SDG 16 is not a checkbox. It’s a mirror that reflects who we are as a society.
If you could imagine one big change in how citizens and counties interact five years from now what would it be? And what role do you see UNDP playing in that transformation?
I envision a future where real-time, two-way communication between citizens and county governments becomes the norm. Imagine a youth in Mbeere submitting a proposal for a local project via an app—and being able to track that proposal’s journey: from submission to budget allocation to implementation.
That’s the dream.
And it’s possible with the right investment in digital platforms, civic tech training, and a culture of transparency. UNDP can and should play a catalytic role: supporting counties with infrastructure, capacity-building, and partnerships to make digital governance a reality.
Because the future of governance is participatory. It’s inclusive. And it’s digital.
And I’m here for it, all of it.
Final thoughts?
Sometimes, when I’m walking through Embu and I see a new project going up a women’s resource centre, a youth innovation hub, a water kiosk and I know that it began with a community conversation I helped facilitate…I smile.
Because I remember the girl I was watching my father do the right thing, even when it was hard.
And I think: He’d be proud.
That’s why I show up. Every day. For dignity. For voice. For Kenya.
