Hon. Mustafa Abdirashid Ahmed MCA Iftin and current Deputy Speaker of Garissa County Assembly./COURTESY
In an unusually blunt and forceful statement, the President has confronted one of the most sensitive and long-whispered scandals in the nation’s political life, the alleged habit of rent-seeking in parliamentary oversight.
This was no routine caution, no carefully couched diplomatic warning. His words were sharp, his tone uncompromising, aimed squarely at a practice that has quietly flourished for years yet rarely been addressed in public.
The allegations at the heart of his warning are serious. Members of Parliament, entrusted with the constitutional duty to hold the government to account, are accused of using that very mandate as a tool for personal enrichment.
The method, according to those familiar with the claims, is as brazen as it is calculated. Through the powerful committees of the National Assembly, Cabinet Secretaries, Principal Secretaries, heads of parastatals, and even governors are summoned for intense, often humiliating grilling sessions.
While such scrutiny is meant to expose wrongdoing and ensure proper use of public resources, it is alleged that the drama sometimes serves another purpose to intimidate officials into “resolving” matters privately, away from the cameras, often with financial incentives changing hands.
For years, this behaviour has been an open secret in political corridors. The oversight process, intended as a shield for public interest, has in certain cases been turned into a sword for private gain.
Summonses, instead of signalling an impartial search for truth, are sometimes seen as an opening gambit in a negotiation for benefits. What should be a constitutional safeguard has, in the view of critics, become a marketplace, one where access, influence, and reprieve are traded for a price.
The President’s decision to publicly challenge this practice signals both a political risk and a political necessity. For the Executive, Parliament is not merely an institution of accountability but a partner in passing legislation and approving budgets.
Confronting MPs directly could strain these relationships, especially if those implicated feel targeted or humiliated.
Yet, silence would only reinforce the perception that impunity is a permanent fixture of public life.
The deeper issue is cultural. In Kenya, politics has long been viewed as the surest and fastest route to wealth.
The cost of winning an election is often high, and the temptation to recover those costs once in office is ever-present. This mindset has bred a cycle in which politics funds corruption and corruption fuels politics.
Rent-seeking within oversight is simply one manifestation of a wider malaise, the commodification of public office.
By naming the problem, the President has raised expectations that something tangible will follow. But words alone, no matter how forceful, cannot dismantle an entrenched system. Institutional reforms will be needed to bring credibility back to oversight.
Committee hearings could be made more transparent, with full records and live broadcasts to limit backroom bargaining.
An independent body with powers to investigate MPs for abuse of office could serve as a deterrent. Whistleblower protections must be strengthened so that public officials who face coercion can speak out without fear of retaliation. And in the longer term, campaign finance reform could reduce the pressure on elected leaders to monetise their positions.
Still, fairness demands recognition that not every MP is part of the problem. There are legislators who approach oversight with seriousness and integrity, who challenge the Executive without seeking personal reward.
For them, the President’s sweeping condemnation could be disheartening, as it risks blurring the line between genuine accountability and corrupt practice. Oversight, when done properly, is a cornerstone of democracy.
To undermine it entirely would be to weaken one of the few checks on executive power. The challenge, therefore, is to separate the legitimate from the illegitimate, to target the abuse without paralysing the function.
The public, too, has a role. It is not enough to demand accountability from the Executive alone; citizens must hold their representatives to the same standard. A Parliament that acts as a watchdog only when the price is right is not protecting the public; it is running a private enterprise.
The President’s confrontation with rent-seeking MPs may well be a turning point, but only if it leads to sustained action.
The danger is that this moment of exposure could fade into the long catalogue of political scandals that sparked outrage but changed nothing.
The entrenched habits of power are not dismantled by speeches, they are dismantled by sustained pressure, enforceable rules, and a public unwilling to look away.
For those MPs accustomed to using oversight as a bargaining tool, the spotlight has shifted uncomfortably in their direction.
The old ways may no longer be tenable, at least not with the same impunity. The choice now lies with them: retreat from corrupt practices, challenge the allegations openly, or adapt to a new political climate where oversight returns to its rightful purpose.
For the nation, the moment is one of possibility. If the President’s words mark the start of a genuine reform effort, Parliament could reclaim its moral authority and restore public faith in its work.
If not, this will become yet another chapter in the story of Kenya’s struggle with political integrity, a story in which the ending has been rewritten far too many times to inspire confidence.
In the end, oversight is not just a political function; it is a public trust. When it is sold, the cost is borne not by the officials who pay or the MPs who collect, but by the citizens whose services are delayed, budgets misused, and futures compromised.
This is the real price of rent-seeking politics.
The President has named it. The country now waits to see who will confront it, who will cling to it and whether the chains will be broken or reforged in silence.
