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Empty Podium
By Fabian Stennett
Writer. Citizen. Listener. Voice from the margins.
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They came. They spoke. They left.
And all that remains… is the podium.
A wooden relic. Scratched, stained with sweat and lies. It stands tall, but hollow — a symbol of everything we’ve been told but never given.
The empty podium is no longer just a stage for speeches.
It is a monument to leadership without substance.
To promises without plans.
To politics without soul.
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Where Words Echo But Never Land
I’ve watched them, year after year, mount the stage with charisma in their eyes and promises on their tongues. They speak in rhythms — carefully rehearsed lines written by men who’ve never known what hunger feels like, what a dry tap sounds like at 6 a.m., what it means to walk barefoot five miles to school only to find no teacher showed up.
They speak of development while potholes deepen and dust suffocates the lungs of schoolchildren.
They speak of job creation while every corner shop is filled with idle youth holding degrees but no prospects.
They speak of access to water while women still carry buckets on their heads, trekking long distances to scoop from muddy rivers shared with livestock.
They speak of transformation while the poor stay where they’ve always been — behind, forgotten, neglected.
Every election cycle, they return to the microphone.
They smile. They gesture. They point into the crowd like they see you.
But they don’t. Not really.
They see votes. They see statistics. They see a ladder.
And once they’ve climbed high enough, they kick it away.
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The Podium is Empty Because the Promises Were Too
An empty podium is not just the absence of a speaker.
It is the absence of accountability.
The absence of integrity.
The absence of conscience.
It’s the spot where they declared that water would flow to every home.
That every youth would have an opportunity.
That rural roads would connect forgotten villages to the center of progress.
But visit those places today — and you’ll see:
The pipes were never laid. The wells were never drilled.
The youth are still on the corners, selling time to the streets.
And the roads? Just scars in the earth, some barely passable by foot, let alone by ambulance or tractor.
They come with blueprints and buzzwords, but no budgets.
They announce job initiatives, but forget to fund them.
They sign memoranda for rural development, but the ink dries faster than the soil does after drought.
They are present during the campaign… but absent during the consequence.
They build stadiums and media platforms, but not schools.
They launch empowerment schemes with ribbon-cutting ceremonies, but nothing ever flows past the photo op.
They celebrate anniversaries of broken promises — complete with fireworks.
The podium has heard it all:
Economic renewal. Agricultural revolution. Infrastructure masterplans.
But still — no water.
Still — no jobs.
Still — no roads.
And yet, the podium doesn’t forget.
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The Cost of Neglect
Let me speak plainly.
Neglect has a cost — and it is paid by the poor.
It is paid by the child who drinks contaminated water and doesn’t make it to next week.
It is paid by the farmer who can’t get his produce to market because the roads have turned into rivers of mud.
It is paid by the young graduate who burns in the fire of ambition but has no outlet for talent.
These aren’t statistics.
These are lives.
These are dreams that died in daylight, waiting for a promise that never arrived.
And the leaders?
They come back every five years with a fresh suit and the same speech.
They stand at the same podium, repeat the same rehearsed lines.
They promise light while sitting in air-conditioned offices powered by generators, knowing the grid fails every day.
The people clap again — not because they believe, but because clapping is easier than crying.
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A Call Beyond Speeches
Let this be a warning — and a wake-up call.
We don’t need another voice that can move a crowd.
We need leadership that can move a nation.
We don’t need polished rhetoric.
We need water in the taps.
Jobs in the hands.
Roads on the ground.
We’re not asking for miracles.
We’re asking for truth.
For vision.
For delivery.
If you dare mount the podium, don’t come with empty hands and full words.
Come with a conscience. Come with a plan.
And more importantly — come back after the applause dies.
Because when leaders vanish after the campaign, what they leave behind is not just an empty stage.
They leave an emptiness in the hearts of those who believed.
A vacuum that no promise can ever fill again.
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Closing Reflection: A Podium in Every Village
In every town square, every dusty community center, every neglected parish hall — there is a podium.
Sometimes made of wood. Sometimes of cement blocks. Sometimes just a loudspeaker nailed to a mango tree.
But they all stand for something more.
They stand for the hope that someone will show up and care.
They stand for communities still willing to listen, still willing to believe.
They stand as reminders that we are not fools — just patient.
But our patience is thinning.
So if you're not ready to serve, if you're not prepared to lead with humility, consistency, and courage — then leave the podium alone.
Because from now on, we’ll be watching.
Not just listening.
Watching what you build — not just what you say.
Watching who you serve — not just who you entertain.
If your only strength is speech and your only tool is charm, then this isn’t your stage.
No more empty podiums.
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Fabian Stennett
Writer. Citizen. Listener. Voice from the margins.
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