Teacher Under Siege: Blamed by parents, pressured by politicians, abandoned by Policy

Kenya’s teacher is fighting a battle on three unforgiving fronts. From the home, blame rains down whenever results disappoint. From the political arena, pressure mounts through intimidation, interference, and calculated silence. From policy corridors, abandonment masquerades as reform. The teacher has become the most convenient casualty in a system that refuses to take collective responsibility for its own failures. This is not just unfair; it is dangerous.

For years, society has perfected the art of outsourcing responsibility to the classroom. Parenting has been diluted into an expectation that teachers will not only instruct, but also discipline, counsel, motivate, moralise, and compensate for broken homes and distracted guardians. Many parents disengage early, ignore warning signs, fail to supervise learning, and abdicate discipline altogether. Yet when the final results emerge after four long years, outrage erupts. Fingers point squarely at the teacher. Rarely does anyone ask uncomfortable questions about attendance, home study culture, screen addiction, indiscipline, or emotional neglect. The teacher becomes the fall guy for a collective failure that began long before the learner entered the classroom.

This culture of blame is corrosive. It reduces education to exam scores while ignoring the ecosystem that produces them. It erodes trust between parents and teachers and replaces partnership with hostility. Most tragically, it sends a clear message to learners: accountability is optional as long as someone else can be blamed. No education system can thrive under such moral contradiction.

While teachers grapple with parental hostility, politics has tightened its grip on learning institutions. Schools, colleges, and universities have been turned into extensions of campaign trails and power networks. Teachers and headteachers are no longer judged purely on professional merit but on perceived loyalty, silence, or ideological alignment. Arbitrary transfers have become tools of punishment. Promotions stall without explanation. Principals are summoned, warned, or sidelined for reasons that have nothing to do with pedagogy and everything to do with politics.

This political intrusion has poisoned institutional leadership. Fear has replaced professional independence. Innovation has been sacrificed at the altar of survival. Teachers learn quickly that speaking truth to power carries consequences. As a result, many retreat into compliance, doing just enough to avoid trouble. When educators are forced to choose between integrity and job security, the entire system loses. A classroom governed by fear cannot nurture critical thinkers, innovators, or responsible citizens.

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Even more damning is the betrayal embedded in policy implementation. Kenya has no shortage of bold education reforms. What it lacks is honesty, patience, and sustained support. Policies are announced with confidence, deadlines are imposed with urgency, and expectations are raised with little regard for ground realities. Teachers are expected to translate complex frameworks into daily practice almost overnight. Training is rushed, materials are inadequate, infrastructure is uneven, and timelines are unforgiving. When inevitable gaps emerge, policymakers retreat, and teachers are left exposed to public criticism.

The Competency-Based Education framework illustrates this failure vividly. Its philosophy is sound, its intentions noble. But philosophy does not teach children; teachers do. And teachers require time, resources, clarity, and consistent support. Instead, many are navigating overcrowded classrooms, inadequate learning materials, confused parents, and shifting guidelines. The policy lives comfortably in boardrooms and documents, while its burdens are carried by the teacher in the classroom. When cracks appear, it is the teacher—not the policy—that is declared incompetent.

This abandonment has created a demoralised workforce. Teachers are exhausted, not because they resist change, but because they are asked to carry reforms alone. Burnout is rising. Professional pride is eroding. The joy of teaching is slowly being replaced by anxiety and defensiveness. Many teachers no longer ask, “How can I do better?” but “How do I survive this term?” That shift should alarm every Kenyan.

Yet despite this siege, teachers continue to show resilience that borders on heroism. They adapt, retrain, improvise, and persevere. They buy materials from their own pockets, mentor learners beyond school hours, and mediate conflicts that have nothing to do with academics. They shoulder expectations far beyond their job descriptions. What they ask for in return is not praise, but fairness. They want parents who understand that education begins at home. They want politicians who respect institutions and keep partisan interests out of schools. They want policies that are realistic, coherent, and adequately resourced.

Kenya must confront an uncomfortable truth: you cannot reform education by weakening teachers. Accountability without support is cruelty disguised as efficiency. Reform without consultation is arrogance. Blame without introspection is cowardice. If parents remain absent, politicians intrusive, and policymakers detached, no curriculum—however progressive—will succeed.

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Restoring the dignity of the teacher is not optional; it is foundational. Parental responsibility must be reasserted and normalised. Engagement cannot begin in the final year of schooling. Political interference in school administration must be confronted openly and decisively. Education institutions must be protected as neutral spaces dedicated to learning, not influence. Policy makers must slow down, listen more, fund adequately, and walk alongside teachers through implementation rather than abandoning them at the first sign of difficulty.

Most importantly, teachers must be given a stronger voice. They are not obstacles to reform; they are its engine. Silencing them weakens the system. Ignoring their lived experiences guarantees policy failure. A country that refuses to listen to its teachers is choosing blindness over wisdom.

The future of Kenya’s education system will not be determined by how loudly reforms are announced, but by how honestly they are implemented. It will not be measured by policy documents, but by classroom realities. And it will not be secured by blaming teachers, but by standing with them.

A teacher under siege cannot build a strong nation. Until Kenya lifts the siege—at home, in politics, and in policy—the classroom will remain a battlefield, and learners will continue to pay the price for adult irresponsibility.

By Hillary Muhalya