We often speak of corruption in Kenya as a ghost—a nebulous, malevolent spirit that haunts our institutions. We see its effects in the potholes that never get fixed, the hospitals without medicine, and the soaring public debt.
But what if corruption is not a ghost, but a
machine? A meticulously engineered apparatus with a clear power source? A new,
startling account from the very heart of our government suggests precisely
that, and it forces us to confront the engine of this machine: our own
electoral complacency.
Justin Bedan Muturi’s revelations in his book, The fight for order, stemming from his tenure as Speaker of the National Assembly, are not just a list of scandals. They are a forensic dissection of a state institution in deliberate decay.
He describes a Parliament “built on loopholes”, where millions could
vanish without a trace, where MPs signed for allowances for meetings they never
attended, and where car logbooks and title deeds for mortgages simply
disappeared.
This was not mere incompetence; it was a
culture of impunity, thriving in an environment where accountability was dead. Members
claimed mileage for road trips while they were flying, or even claimed mileage
to their constituencies while attending conferences in Australia. The payroll
was compromised, procurement rules were ignored, and the most basic financial
controls were abandoned.
The critical question that screams from every
page of this account is: Why? Why would an entire legislature, tasked with
overseeing the nation’s purse, willingly plunge itself into such chaotic,
self-serving malfeasance?
The answer lies not just within the walls of
Parliament, but in how its occupants get there. This is where the toxic
practice of six-piece voting enters the picture. This system, where voters are
urged to elect all six representatives from a single party—like robotically
picking a branded set—is not a neutral political strategy. It is the very fuel
for the corruption machine JB Muturi describes.
Six-piece voting creates a political ecosystem where loyalty is not to the voter, but to the party boss and the shadowy networks that fund the campaign. The politician’s debt is to the cartel that bankrolled their blanket victory, not to the citizen who ticked the box out of tribal or party allegiance.
Once in office, how can such a legislator possibly
hold the executive to account when the party whip demands a judicious closing
of the official eye? How can they vote according to conscience or
constitutional duty when their political survival depends on pleasing the
apparatchiks?
JB Muturi’s portrait of a Parliament unable to manage its own petty cash is a direct consequence of a system that elects individuals based on political colour, not individual competence or integrity.
If an MP can get away with forging a mileage claim because his party or the
office of parliament protects him, why would he not later turn a blind eye to a
multibillion-shilling scandal that implicates the same office or party’s
leadership? The rot starts with the imprest and ends with the looting of entire
national agencies.
We must therefore ask ourselves: Are we, the
voters, complicit in this? Have we become the unwitting mechanics, keeping the
corruption machine running by accepting the six-piece voting calls without
question? We lament the cartels, yet we elect their chosen candidates on a
single slate. We decry the patronage system, yet we empower it with our votes
or lethargic abstentions.
The path to dismantling this machine is as
difficult as it is straightforward. It requires a conscious, deliberate
rejection of political herd mentality. It demands that we evaluate each
aspirant on their own merit—their character, their manifesto, their track
record, their ethical standing, their impulsiveness—rather than the party
symbol next to their name. It means splitting our votes, if necessary, to
reward integrity and punish greed, regardless of the political consequences for
a party’s dominance.
JB Muturi has handed us a damning report card
from the heart of our democracy. It details the symptoms of a grave illness.
The diagnosis, as rightly pointed out, is a political process that prioritises
blind loyalty over merit. The prescription is in our hands. At the next ballot,
will we again be the fuel for the machine? Or will we, finally, pick up the
tools to break it?
The choice is not between one party and
another. It is between cartels and the country.
Social consciousness theorist, corporate trainer & speaker, agronomist consultant for golf courses and sportsfields, and author of 'The Gigantomachy of Samaismela' and 'The Trouble with Kenya: McKenzian Blueprint'
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