In a society that too often sidelines people living with disabilities, a bold message rang out from Nairobi during this year’s International Cerebral Palsy Day: inclusion must move beyond rhetoric and take root in tangible, systemic change.
The call was led by Ben Isaboke, Director of Sight of Relief Organization, who convened advocates, families, and community leaders to confront the country’s longstanding neglect of persons with cerebral palsy. Far from a ceremonial commemoration, the gathering emerged as a critical platform for pushing back against the deeply embedded stigma and structural failures that keep thousands of Kenyans living with disabilities on the margins.
Isaboke did not mince words. His call to action was twofold: recognize the humanity and rights of people with cerebral palsy and hold institutions accountable for the neglect that contributes to their exclusion.
He spotlighted the unique plight of police officers who have acquired disabilities while serving the public—individuals often forgotten once they can no longer serve as instruments of state power. “Their sacrifices must not be erased by bureaucracy or public indifference,” he stated, urging the country to shift from sympathy to sustained support.
But the conversation wasn’t just about those already affected. Isaboke boldly confronted the preventable nature of many cases of cerebral palsy in Kenya, linking the condition to under-resourced and mismanaged maternal healthcare systems. “Let’s be clear: many of the children born with cerebral palsy are victims of a broken healthcare system,” he said, pressing for urgent reforms in delivery wards and prenatal care.
For years, birth-related complications have silently robbed families of peace and children of opportunity—yet the government continues to sidestep full accountability. While officials pledge “commitments” and “frameworks,” hospitals in rural and urban poor areas remain ill-equipped, understaffed, and sometimes deadly.
Speakers at the event also tackled the toxic cultural narratives that surround disability. From whispered shame in family circles to outright exclusion from education and employment, the weight of public stigma often burdens families just as heavily as the condition itself. Stanley Harry, speaking on behalf of the National Council Children Society, delivered a pointed critique of Kenyan society’s relationship with disability: “Disability is not a curse or a punishment—it is a form of human diversity. But generations have been taught otherwise.”
Harry reminded the audience that many children with disabilities are still being hidden away in homes, denied basic rights, and treated as burdens rather than citizens. “We must ask ourselves: What kind of society punishes difference by erasing it?” he posed.
Despite the heartfelt speeches and vows of reform, the hard truth remains—Kenya’s disability rights landscape is largely defined by neglect, half-measures, and symbolic gestures. While laws exist on paper, enforcement is another story entirely. And while the government now threatens legal action against parents who hide disabled children, it offers few real solutions to the poverty, shame, and systemic exclusion that drive such behavior.
If society wants to see a future where people with cerebral palsy and other disabilities thrive—not just survive—it will take more than annual events and token commitments. It will require policy backed by funding, education informed by inclusivity, and a justice system that protects the rights of all, not just the able-bodied elite.
This year’s International Cerebral Palsy Day gathering was a mirror held up to the nation. The question is: will Kenya look away, or finally confront the reflection staring back?