Blog Series on the Shirika Plan: Part III Beyond rhetoric – can the Shirika Plan deliver?

The Shirika Plan’s language is aspirational, promising inclusion, dignity, and opportunity. But what does that look like on the ground? In Part III, we explore the gap between policy promises and the realities facing refugees and host communities from systemic barriers in Kenya’s identity ecosystem to a bureaucracy that often denies basic rights.

Beyond rhetoric – can the Shirika Plan deliver?

There is a gap between the Shirika Plan’s narrative, the government’s capacity to finance implementation, and the lived realities of both refugees and the communities that host them. The terrain on which the Shirika Plan promises integration is profoundly uneven. Both groups struggle to realise even basic rights, often starting with access to identity documents. And while financial systems like M-Pesa are touted as public infrastructure, their governance frameworks primarily serve citizens, not refugees, despite being rolled out in ways that shape the lives of both.

Refugees still battle a labyrinthine Refugee Status Determination (RSD) process: vague eligibility criteria, repeated interviews with frontline caseworkers, final decisions issued by a senior panel. Appeals, when they’re even possible, are muddled by bureaucracy. Rejection letters arrive years late, if at all. Appeal boards are adjourned repeatedly. In some cases, applicants are simply left waiting, their files deprioritised by a board perceived to be ministerial rather than quasi-judicial, raising concerns about political interference, national security overreach, and deeply embedded suspicion toward asylum seekers, particularly after Kenya’s 2011 invasion of Somalia and the retaliatory attacks that followed. While fast-tracking exists for vulnerable groups, there is an urgent need for a more tailored, rights-based approach.

And then there’s the issue of data. Refugees registering in Nairobi are often directed to camps, but their records don’t follow them. As a result, they’re blocked from obtaining residency. While Ruto points to refugee recognition within the integrated population registration system, many refugees never make it that far. The same is true for host communities, many of whom are caught in a thicket of hurdles when applying for national IDs, including multi-stage vetting or problems associated with double registration – where Kenyan citizens are mistaken for refugees and are consequently denied national IDs. 

Still, there are signs of progress. Refugee documents are now gazetted, and their integration with platforms like e-Citizen has begun. At the launch, Ruto was quick to highlight these wins:

“Equally importantly, there is undeniable progress with respect to key enablers of inclusion which include the recognition of the refugee ID in SIM card registration and banking, the development of a refugee database which is interoperable with government systems and strengthening local governance through the elevation of Dadaab and Kakuma-Kalobeyei camps and communities into special municipalities.”

But Shirika’s biggest elephant remains: freedom of movement. There’s no government commitment here. Refugees need a class-M work permit or travel waiver to leave the camps, but these are exceedingly rare. Some estimates suggest fewer than 30 have ever been issued. The criteria, “exceptional skills” unavailable in the Kenyan labour market, are unclear, restrictive, and politically charged. Rejections are frequent and unsubstantiated. Many of those labelled refugees were born in Kenya, have known no other country, and call it home. Yet they are shut out of its cities, its markets, and its economy.

This raises a simple but inevitable question: how does the government plan to enable socio-economic inclusion while physically containing refugees in camps? Is the intention to inject capital into these closed economies, as with the IFC-led investment schemes in Kakuma? If so, the vision is short-sighted. Economies need mobility, new markets, consumer bases, and supply chains. Constraining freedom of movement undermines both refugee rights and economic viability. Worse still, it contradicts Kenya’s own Refugee Act of 2021, which explicitly guarantees this right. It also undercuts access to higher education, universities are outside camp zones, and creates a jarring, discriminatory double standard: alien card holders are allowed to travel freely; refugees are not.

These systemic hurdles are significant, but the biggest obstacle may lie in one unresolved issue: freedom of movement. That’s the focus of our final post.