By Arch. Dr. D.K. Gitau |The Diaspora Times Editor.

President William Ruto walks into the 88th United Nations General Assembly as one of the most polarizing African leaders of his time. At home, he is battered by protests, accused of corruption, and condemned for a brutal crackdown that has left Kenyans dead or disappeared. Abroad, however, he is welcomed like a reformer and peacemaker—proof that in the theater of global diplomacy, morality is optional while usefulness is everything.

Diaspora forums and human rights groups have loudly petitioned the UN to bar him from addressing the Assembly. They argue, rightly, that a president under whose watch abductions, police killings, and rampant impunity flourish has no moral ground to preach peace. Their anger is real, their voices sincere, but the exercise may be little more than shouting at the wind. The United Nations does not operate as a tribunal of justice; it functions as a stage of power. And for the Americans and their allies, Ruto is useful—very useful.

Haiti is his passport to global indulgence. With the U.S. unwilling to send its own troops into the chaos of Port-au-Prince, and Latin America unwilling to step in, Ruto volunteered Kenya as the sheriff of last resort. The Multinational Security Support (MSS) mission has become his shield. However shaky his legitimacy at home, Washington cannot afford to undermine the very leader it has banked on to clean up a crisis in its own backyard. Haiti, in other words, has become Ruto’s diplomatic insurance policy.

Then comes the Democratic Republic of Congo. The U.S. and the UN view stability in the Great Lakes as critical for global supply chains and mineral access. Through the EAC and AU, Kenya has positioned itself as a mediator, inserting Ruto directly into one of the region’s most combustible conflicts. For Washington and New York, Kenya is not just another state—it is a hinge in the regional balance of power. And for that, Ruto remains indispensable.

This is the hypocrisy of international politics in its purest form. At home, he is accused of presiding over bloodshed, economic sabotage, and youth disillusionment. Even the most basic social safety nets have been ripped away. The worst was the removal of Linda Mama, a program introduced by former First Lady Margaret Kenyatta to assist women while giving birth. Today, mothers in Kenya are told about the much-hyped Social Health Authority (SHA), which in reality is failing to help anyone.

The backlash has not only come from civil society. Lawmakers themselves are breaking ranks. MP Githunguri Gathoni Wamucomba has been one of the loudest critics of the program’s discontinuation, lamenting in Parliament that women are now being abandoned at their most vulnerable moment. She has warned that thousands of mothers face the risk of giving birth in undignified conditions, forced to beg, borrow, or die silently because a once-functional program was scrapped without a viable replacement. Wamucomba’s voice captures a deeper unease: even within Ruto’s own political ecosystem, there are cracks of dissent. The removal of Linda Mama has become a national symbol of betrayal—proof that while the president seeks international glory in Haiti and the DRC, he has turned his back on the most basic needs of Kenyan families.

The irony is heavy: the same man who sends police to bludgeon Gen Z protesters is asked by the UN to lecture on democracy and stability. Kenyans see a despot; the world applauds a statesman. It is the same script once written for Mobutu in Zaire, Kagame in Rwanda, and Museveni in Uganda—leaders who crushed dissent but were kept in Western embrace because they served someone’s strategic interest.

Diaspora activists understand the contradiction all too well. From Washington to Geneva, petitions are circulating demanding that Ruto be denied the UN podium. Their slogans echo the pain of families torn apart by disappearances, the cries of mothers whose sons never returned from protests, and the anger of citizens suffocating under debt. But while these movements carry moral weight, they collide with the brick wall of realpolitik. The United Nations does not disinvite sitting presidents. America does not discard those willing to do its dirty work. Petitions may trend on social media, but in Turtle Bay, Ruto will still speak.

Hence, those spending sleepless nights lobbying senators or chasing American politicians should spare that energy for more fruitful battles. In Washington, interests come before ideals, and those in power will always choose strategic convenience over moral consistency. America will never sacrifice its agenda in Haiti or the DRC for the sake of Kenya’s protesters—because in the hierarchy of power, its interests come first.

And so the 88th UNGA becomes another stage for irony. Ruto will walk in not as the embattled Kenyan president, but as a “global statesman,” hailed for his role in Haiti and the DRC. The hypocrisy will sting Kenyans watching from home—those who cannot afford food, who bury their children after police shootings, who live with the fear of midnight abductions. Yet the lesson is brutally clear: the world does not reward justice, it rewards utility.

At home, he may be a despot; abroad, he is a darling. That is the tragedy—and comedy—of power in our time.