What you need to know:
Sir, an increase in taxes means they'll be an increase in mental health issues in Common Man.
Mr President, an increase in taxes means that Common Man's business - which is the spine of the economy - will suffer mortal damage.
Dear Mr President,
My name is Common Man. It's been a minute, Big Man. Remember me? We last rubbed shoulders four years ago, while you were on the campaign trail.
Sir, going by what you once derisively said - that newspapers are waste paper used to wrap meat - Common Man highly doubts if you'll read his impassioned plea. Still, hey; nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Speaking of which, Mr President, the only place Common Man will see the meat is on display, in his local butchery. And the only time Common Man will savour wet fry is in his wildest dreams. With the recent increase in taxes, meat has become a mirage for Common Man.
Your Excellency, if you don't read this, I pray to Jesus that you'll read the mood of Common Man. Please? Read the pulse of Common Man. It's easy. Go in disguise. There are makeup artists who'll make you look like Moi, Undercover Boss style. Drop the motorcade. Drop all trappings of power. Then drop in at joints frequented by Common Man. Break with Common Man his mouldy bread of sorrow. Drink from Common Man's bitter cup of suffering. That's not a populist move; it's a presidential mode.
Sir, an increase in taxes means they'll be an increase in mental health issues in Common Man. If we're not careful, depression will be the next pandemic. That is, if it isn't already, albeit hush-hush. And the billions we'll use to mitigate this health scare will be more than the money brought to the exchequer, via the tax increase.
Mr President, an increase in taxes means that Common Man's business - which is the spine of the economy - will suffer mortal damage. Already, Common Man and thousands of his peers have been forced, by Covid-19, to pull the plug on their babies.
Two hard choices
Sir, an increase in taxes means that Common Man will not afford basic necessities for his family. The other Saturday morning at Common Man's local supermarket, it hurt him when a boy and girl shuffled out when they realised that the price of bread had gone up by five shillings. They had 50 bob. Common Man asked the watchman to call them. Common Man did what any caring Common Man would do. Good grief. In a country that's over five decades old, the difference between life and death is five shillings.
Big Man, without food, Common Man's children are faced with two hard choices; dumpster-dive or die. Case in point? Jacaranda Grounds in Soweto, Nairobi. There's a businessman who sells sugarcane to passers-by. Often, you'll see Common Man's hungry kids surreptitiously pick cane peelings, which the seller dumps several metres from his business spot. Discarded cane peelings. That's their main meal.
This may sound like a harsh indictment, Mr President; but the Scripture cautions Common Man that a nation that's forcing its children to live an accursed existence is a nation that's inviting God's curses.
Sir, an increase in taxes means the poverty mentality will be more ingrained. This means that, for instance, when a fuel tanker overturns and spills its contents, instead of Common Man seeing a menace, he'll scream, "manna". Even if another tanker exploded three days prior just around the corner, and turned Common Man into an unrecognisable stump of firewood.
Mr President, an increase in taxes means that Common Man's debt will go through the roof. (That is if he even has a roof). Common Man is already borrowing from shylock to pay shark, to pay... ad infinitum. Common Man's on a debt-driven downward spiral. He's on survival mode; vetting calls and text messages, via Truecaller.
Your Excellency, that's all Common Man has. For now.
God bless you, Mr President. God bless this our land and nation.