Women are told to lead smaller, occupy less space—not because they are wrong, but because they are women
In late May, Homa Bay Governor Gladys Wanga addressed an open letter to Siaya Governor James Orengo — a man she had long revered as an elder and a model of principled leadership — after remarks he made left her feeling diminished and humiliated. Rather than absorbing the wound in silence, she chose to name it publicly, framing her personal pain as a window into the systemic pressures women leaders in Kenya endure daily. Her letter was not an act of retaliation but of witness — a careful insistence that the words of respected men carry consequences far beyond their immediate targets, shaping the world every woman in public life must navigate.
- Remarks from a senior political figure Wanga regarded as a father figure cut deeply enough that she broke her initial silence and wrote a lengthy, emotional public letter.
- The letter exposed a persistent imbalance: women leaders in Kenya face gendered insults, ridicule, and pressure to diminish themselves in ways their male counterparts almost never encounter.
- Wanga argued that when respected elders reinforce these patterns — even unintentionally — their words ripple outward, echoing the exclusion and dismissal millions of women experience in homes, workplaces, and public spaces.
- Rather than escalating the conflict, she chose a tone of reconciliation, honoring Orengo's legacy while refusing to accept the old rules of silence that have long governed women in power.
- The letter lands as both a personal reckoning and a political signal: women in Kenyan leadership are naming systemic harm openly and demanding a different kind of public life.
Gladys Wanga, governor of Homa Bay County, sat down in late May and wrote a letter — lengthy, emotional, and addressed to James Orengo, her counterpart in Siaya County and a man she had long admired. His recent remarks about her, she wrote, had caused her pain and humiliation. But the letter reached beyond a dispute between two politicians. It was a reckoning with how women in power are treated in Kenya, and how the words of respected men shape the terrain women leaders must cross every day.
Wanga was careful to write as herself — not as governor, not as a party official — but as a woman who had entered public life and found the rules different for her than for her male colleagues. She acknowledged Orengo's stature openly, calling him a figure of courage and principled leadership for her generation. The respect was genuine. So was the wound. Criticism from someone regarded as an elder carries a different weight than ordinary political opposition, and that weight was precisely what made the moment demand a response.
Her deeper argument was systemic. When remarks directed at a woman carry undertones that diminish her because of her gender, they do not stop at their target. They ripple outward, becoming familiar echoes to the millions of women who have faced exclusion, intimidation, and dismissal in workplaces, homes, and public spaces. Women leaders, she noted plainly, are subjected to attacks that men in equivalent positions rarely encounter — told to speak more softly, lead smaller, occupy less space, not because they are wrong, but because they are women.
Yet Wanga did not escalate. She demanded no apology and threatened no consequences. She honored Orengo's contributions to Kenyan public life and then, deliberately, chose forgiveness — leaving the door open for dialogue and collaboration. The letter was a careful act of leadership: it named a real problem without destroying a relationship, used a personal moment to illuminate something structural, and offered a path forward that required no one to lose face. Whether the broader culture of Kenyan politics would shift remained uncertain. But Wanga had made one thing clear — women in leadership would no longer absorb the old rules in silence.
Gladys Wanga, the governor of Homa Bay County, sat down and wrote a letter. It was not a quick note. It was lengthy, emotional, and addressed to James Orengo, her counterpart in Siaya County—a man she had long admired. The letter, released on a Thursday in late May, was her response to remarks Orengo had made about her. Those remarks, she wrote, had caused her pain and humiliation. But the letter was about more than hurt feelings between two politicians. It was about something larger: the way women in power are treated in Kenya, and how the words of respected men shape the world women leaders must navigate.
Wanga was careful to frame her statement as personal, not official. She was not writing as the governor or as chair of the Orange Democratic Movement. She was writing as herself, a woman who had entered public life and found herself on the receiving end of criticism that felt different from what her male colleagues experienced. She began by acknowledging Orengo's stature. He was a senior leader, someone from an earlier generation of Kenyan politics, and she had always held him in high regard. "To many of us who entered public life after your generation, you have represented courage, conviction and the possibility of principled leadership," she wrote. The respect was genuine. So was the disappointment.
Wanga explained that she had initially chosen silence. Not every disagreement, she believed, needed to become a public spectacle. But this moment felt different. It demanded reflection because of what it signaled beyond the immediate conflict. The remarks had stung partly because they came from someone she regarded as an elder, almost a father figure—someone whose judgment she valued and whose approval mattered. When criticism comes from such a source, it carries weight that ordinary political opposition does not.
But Wanga's real concern was not personal. She argued that the comments reflected a pattern much larger than herself. When remarks directed at a woman carry undertones that diminish or ridicule her because of her gender, age, or position, they do not stop at their immediate target. They ripple outward. They become familiar echoes to millions of women and girls who have endured gender-based violence, exclusion, intimidation, and dismissal in workplaces, homes, and public spaces. Women leaders, she noted, are subjected to insults and attacks that men in similar positions rarely face. The playing field is not level. The rules are not the same.
Wanga articulated a truth that many women in leadership understand but rarely state so plainly: women are often told to speak more softly, lead smaller, occupy less space, defer—not because they are wrong, but because they are women. The pressure is constant and comes from everywhere. And when respected leaders reinforce these messages, even unintentionally, they shape how society perceives women in power. They influence whether women are seen as capable or as overstepping, as strong or as aggressive, as leaders or as something else entirely.
Despite the weight of her critique, Wanga maintained a tone of reconciliation throughout the letter. She did not escalate. She did not demand apologies or threaten consequences. Instead, she emphasized that strength and dignity are never diminished by kindness. She acknowledged Orengo's contributions to Kenya's public life and said those contributions deserved honor. And then she chose forgiveness. She left the door open for dialogue and collaboration, signaling that her goal was not to punish but to move forward—to build something better.
The letter was a careful act of leadership. It named a real problem without destroying a relationship. It used a personal moment to illuminate a systemic issue. And it offered a path forward that did not require anyone to lose face. Whether Orengo would respond, whether the broader culture of Kenyan politics would shift, remained to be seen. But Wanga had made clear that women in leadership would no longer accept the old rules in silence.
Notable Quotes
When remarks directed at a woman carry undertones that diminish, ridicule or reduce her because of her gender, age or place in public life, they travel far beyond their immediate target.— Gladys Wanga, in her open letter
Strength and dignity are never diminished by kindness.— Gladys Wanga, concluding her letter
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Wanga choose to write an open letter rather than speak to Orengo privately?
Because private conversations don't change the culture. She was naming something that affects not just her, but every woman trying to lead in Kenya. A private apology wouldn't reach the millions of girls watching.
Do you think Orengo understood what his remarks signaled?
That's the harder question. He may have seen it as ordinary political criticism. But Wanga's point is that there is no such thing as ordinary when you're a woman. The same words land differently.
She forgave him at the end. Does that undermine her critique?
No. Forgiveness and accountability aren't opposites. She's saying: I see what you did, I understand the pattern it reflects, and I'm choosing not to let it destroy us. That's actually more powerful than anger.
What does she mean by women being told to "lead smaller"?
It's the constant message: don't be too ambitious, don't speak too loudly, don't take up too much room. Men are told to lead. Women are told to lead, but quietly. It's exhausting.
Can one letter change how women in politics are treated?
Not alone. But it names the problem in a way that's hard to ignore. Other women will read it and feel seen. That matters. That's where change begins.