I recall vividly that the current crop of Kenya Private Schools Association (KPSA) leadership assumed office two years ago against a heavy backdrop of scepticism, doubt and mistrust. The elections that ushered them in were characterised by scenes more commonly associated with partisan politics than professional associations – fracas, open confrontation and deep divisions. In the aftermath, many school directors retreated into silence, suspended their membership renewals and chose to take a back seat.
Sadly, their fears have since been confirmed. Two years down the line, KPSA is not merely moribund; it is a pale shadow of its former self—an organisation that has lost its vitality, authority, and purpose. To borrow a blunt but fitting expression, KPSA today is as dead as dudu.
KPSA elections are slated for April next year, and already the familiar rituals of lobbying, alliances, quiet deals, and public posturing are underway. Yet elections should never be reduced to a contest of personalities or positions. They should be moments of collective introspection. For KPSA, this coming election presents a rare opportunity to confront uncomfortable truths about leadership failure, lost relevance, and a sector that increasingly feels orphaned despite its undeniable contribution to national education. The incumbent leadership has not lived up to members’ expectations, and the consequences of that failure are now painfully visible across the private education landscape.
Private schools in Kenya are arguably at their lowest point in recent history—not because they lack capacity, innovation, or commitment, but because they lack a credible national voice. Despite being serious stakeholders in education, private schools continue to be ignored, disregarded, sidelined, and at times openly dismissed by government agencies. Policy pronouncements are made without their meaningful input, reforms are rolled out with minimal consultation, and decisions that directly affect their operations are often communicated as directives rather than negotiated outcomes. This marginalisation is not accidental. It flourishes where leadership is weak, incoherent, or absent.
The irony is striking. Private schools do not merely complement the government’s policy of free and compulsory basic education; they extend it, deepen it, and in many cases improve upon it. They absorb excess demand, innovate faster, respond more flexibly to parental expectations, and invest heavily in quality teaching, infrastructure, and learner support. In both urban and rural settings, private schools have kept education systems functional where public provision has been overstretched. Yet contribution alone does not translate into influence. Influence must be organised, articulated, and defended through credible leadership.
This is where KPSA has failed its members. An association exists to aggregate voices into power, concerns into policy positions, and numbers into legitimacy. When leadership lacks intellectual depth, policy fluency, and moral authority, even the most vibrant sector becomes politically invisible. The current leadership has neither compelled government attention nor commanded professional respect. As a result, private schools find themselves spoken about, regulated, and judged—but rarely listened to.
For KPSA to be taken seriously, it must deliberately and strategically occupy the policy and institutional spaces where education decisions are shaped. It must establish a respected presence in key education parastatals such as the Kenya Institute of Curriculum Development (KICD), the Kenya Education Management Institute (KEMI), the Kenya Institute of Special Education (KISE), CEMASTEA, the Kenya National Examinations Council (KNEC), and other relevant bodies. These institutions influence curriculum design, assessment philosophy, teacher training, school leadership, special needs education, and systemic reform. Absence from these spaces amounts to surrendering influence before the conversation even begins.
Representation, however, is not about occupying seats for the sake of optics. It demands individuals who can engage at a high intellectual and professional level—people who understand curriculum theory, assessment validity, governance frameworks, teacher professional development, and learner welfare. It requires leaders who can articulate private-sector concerns without sounding defensive, commercial, or reactive. Without such representation, private schools remain policy takers rather than policy shapers, condemned to perpetual reaction instead of strategic engagement.
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Respect, too, is not demanded; it is earned. For KPSA to gain respect from government, regulators, and the public, its members must elect credible leaders. Crucially, these leaders need not be school directors. Leadership of an association is fundamentally different from ownership of an institution. The skills required—policy engagement, negotiation, research literacy, ethical clarity, and strategic communication—are often found beyond proprietorship. Limiting leadership to school owners alone risks entrenching conflicts of interest and narrowing the association’s vision at a time when breadth and sophistication are urgently needed.
What KPSA needs now are leaders with gravitas rather than visibility, competence rather than charisma, and service rather than self-promotion. Leaders who can speak with authority without shouting, challenge policy without antagonism, and defend the sector without embarrassing it. Leaders who understand that advocacy is built on preparation, data, and credibility—not on populist rhetoric or emotional outbursts.
The stakes could not be higher. When private schools lack representation, they become easy targets for blanket regulation and public suspicion. When their association is weak, bad practices go unchecked, and the entire sector is judged by its worst actors. When leadership fails to self-regulate, external regulation becomes harsher, less nuanced, and less sympathetic. In such an environment, even well-run schools suffer reputational damage and policy hostility that they did not create.
April’s elections, therefore, must be approached as more than a routine change of guard. They must be treated as a rescue mission. Members must resist the temptation to vote along regional, commercial or personal lines. They must ask harder, more uncomfortable questions. Who understands education policy beyond slogans? Who can sit confidently across the table from KICD, KNEC, or CEMASTEA and be taken seriously? Who can articulate the private sector’s contribution without sounding apologetic or arrogant? Who has the moral courage to confront malpractice within the sector rather than excuse it?
Private schools matter to Kenya’s education system. Their contribution is real, measurable and indispensable. What they lack is not legitimacy, but leadership worthy of that legitimacy. If KPSA continues on its current path, private schools will remain fragmented, unheard, and perpetually reactive. But if members seize this moment and elect credible, capable and principled leaders, the association can reclaim its voice, restore its relevance, and reassert its place in national education discourse.
Leadership ultimately determines whether stakeholders are ignored or engaged, sidelined or respected. April will reveal whether KPSA members are prepared to choose renewal over comfort, competence over familiarity and vision over entitlement. The future of private education in Kenya depends on that choice.
By Ashford Kimani
Ashford Kimani teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as a Dean of Studies.
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