Ritual of Impeachment: Why Governor Mutai's survival exposes Kenya's broken oversight

Kericho Governor Eric Mutai arrives at Parliament Building, Nairobi, during day two of the impeachment hearing, on August 28, 2025. [Elvis Ogina, Standard]

On Friday, August 29, 2025, the Senate voted 26 against 16 to save Kericho Governor Erick Mutai from losing his job.

His dramatic survival after being impeached by the County Assembly of Kericho has reignited a familiar debate about the emptiness of impeachment proceedings in Kenya and the Senate’s persistent inconsistency in handling them.

If I had sat in the Senate chamber during that session, I would have voted against his impeachment, not because Mutai was cleared of weighty allegations levelled against him but because the process that birthed his removal was riddled with fundamental legal and procedural defects. The Senate may have saved him, but the truth is that his survival was technical rather than substantive.

In reality, impeachment in Kenya has become a hollow ritual that is often reduced to political theatrics and negotiated settlements instead of serving as a credible mechanism of accountability. 

The charges Mutai faced including fiscal impropriety, abuse of office and procurement irregularities were serious enough to demand scrutiny. Yet the County Assembly of Kericho bungled its own case.

The impeachment motion was rushed, contradicted its own Standing Orders, and violated constitutional provisions under Article 181 of the Constitution of Kenya 2010 which clearly defines the grounds for the removal of a governor. The framers of the Constitution anticipated this procedure to be both solemn and rigorous rather than the careless political exercise it has become.

Article 181(1) stipulates that a governor may be removed for gross violation of the Constitution or any other law, where there are serious reasons to believe he has committed a crime under national or international law, or for abuse of office or gross misconduct. These are heavy charges. They require not only political numbers in the assembly but also clear evidence, adherence to due process, and respect for natural justice as demanded under Article 50. The Kericho process failed on those very grounds. 

The Senate of Kenya has, over the years, vacillated between two contradictory approaches; Sometimes it prioritises the substantive weight of allegations, while other times it gives more weight to the technicalities of procedure. In Mutai’s case it chose the latter. This inconsistency has undermined public faith in both the Senate and the larger area of devolved government.

Consider the record.

In 2020, Ferdinand Waititu of Kiambu was impeached and the Senate confirmed his ouster. The evidence of massive corruption, irregular tenders and abuse of office was deemed strong enough. The same fate befell Mike Sonko of Nairobi in December 2020, when the Senate emphasized the gravity of the allegations and dismissed his claims of political persecution. In those cases, substantive allegations prevailed over procedural complaints. 

In other cases the Senate shifted ground. Anne Waiguru of Kirinyaga, despite facing corruption related accusations, was spared when senators cited procedural irregularities and insufficient evidence. Martin Wambora of Embu, famously impeached multiple times, always clawed his way back thanks to procedural shields and judicial interventions. Granton Samboja of Taita Taveta, Kawira Mwangaza of Meru, the late Nderitu Gachagua of Nyeri, and recently Abdi Guyo of Isiolo benefited from similar reasoning. The Senate and at times the courts argued that impeachment could not stand because the motions failed to meet constitutional thresholds. The inconsistency is glaring. Some governors are removed on the basis of substance while others survive on procedure. 

This dual standard makes impeachment a game of political chance rather than a constitutional instrument of accountability. It reduces the Senate to an auction house where outcomes are determined not by the strength of evidence but by political arithmetic, alliances, or external pressure. The law becomes an afterthought. For Mutai, survival was guaranteed the moment the County Assembly failed to tie its charges to clear evidence and failed to respect due process. He lives to fight another day, but the questions around his governance remain unresolved. 

Kenyans must confront the uncomfortable truth that impeachment is not working. What exists is not the constitutional safeguard envisioned by Article 181 but a hollow ritual that exposes the weaknesses of both the assemblies and the Senate. County Assemblies often approach impeachment casually, drafting motions that cannot withstand legal scrutiny. Their debates are driven less by evidence and more by politics, personal vendettas or the pursuit of leverage over governors. In Kericho it was evident that Mutai’s impeachment was politically choreographed but legally careless. The assembly ignored its own Standing Orders, denied the governor adequate time to defend himself, and failed to ground its charges in admissible evidence. No Senate worth its salt could have endorsed such a flawed process, even if the allegations themselves deserved investigation. 

That does not mean Mutai is exonerated. Far from it. Surviving impeachment is not the same as being cleared. Article 10 of the Constitution, which enshrines the national values and principles of governance including integrity, accountability, transparency, and sustainable development, remains binding on every governor. Chapter Six on Leadership and Integrity provides even higher standards for public officers. If indeed there is evidence of fiscal impropriety, abuse of office, or other misconduct, then the Ethics and Anti Corruption Commission, the Directorate of Criminal Investigations, and the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions must step in. Impeachment is only one weapon in the arsenal of accountability. Criminal prosecution, administrative sanctions, and audit recoveries are equally valid and may be more effective when impeachment is corrupted by politics. Mutai is therefore not off the hook. His case should now migrate to investigative and prosecutorial institutions which, if they act with independence, can do what the Senate failed to do. 

Other than Mutai's survival from impeachment, the Kericho saga exposes a deeper structural handicap in our counties which is the quality of oversight at the County Assembly level. The Constitution under Article 185 grants county assemblies legislative authority and oversight over the county executive.In practice, many assemblies are unable to exercise this mandate effectively. The problem is partly one of capacity. Many Members of County Assembly are semi literate, lacking the expertise to scrutinize complex budgets, procurement records, or legal frameworks. This is not merely an elitist observation. It is a practical problem. When billions of shillings flow through counties annually, oversight requires more than the ability to shout aye or nay. It requires intellectual competence, analytical ability, and independence of mind. Sadly, many assemblies are dominated by individuals whose qualifications would barely allow them to serve as clerks, let alone legislators. 

This is a paradox of devolution. A County Executive Committee Member is required by law to hold at least a university degree. Yet the MCAs, who are supposed to oversee those CECs and the governor, face no such threshold beyond basic literacy. The result is predictable. Assemblies are easily compromised, manipulated by governors, or misled by technical jargon they cannot decipher. Oversight collapses, and impeachment motions become either clumsy political attacks or clumsy political shields. If devolution is to survive, Kenya must amend the law to require minimum academic qualifications for MCAs. Just as Parliament requires MPs to have certain levels of education, save for the postponement of operationalizing this law, so too should the assemblies demand higher standards. 

The framers of the Constitution did not intend devolution to be reduced to petty politics. They intended it to be a transformative vehicle of development grounded in accountability and the rule of law. That is why Article 174 enumerates the objects of devolution, including promoting democratic and accountable exercise of power, fostering national unity, protecting the rights of minorities, and enhancing checks and balances. Yet these lofty objectives collapse when the very institutions tasked with ensuring accountability are captured by mediocrity or compromised by money. 

The Senate, as the protector of counties, has also abdicated its responsibility. Instead of developing a coherent jurisprudence on impeachment, it has oscillated between political expediency and legal technicalities. Some governors are removed for gross misconduct while others are spared on flimsy grounds of procedure. This inconsistency betrays not only the people of Kenya but also the Constitution itself. The Supreme Court, in cases such as Martin Nyaga Wambora v County Assembly of Embu and Others, has emphasized that impeachment must adhere strictly to constitutional provisions, must be fair, and must be based on solid evidence. Yet neither the assemblies nor the Senate seem to have internalized this jurisprudence. They continue to treat impeachment as a political plaything rather than a solemn instrument of governance. 

The lesson from Kericho County is very telling. If counties are to be saved from the jaws of corruption and mismanagement, oversight must be strengthened at all levels. Assemblies must be professionalized, the Senate must develop consistency, and investigative bodies must act without fear or favor. Impeachment in its current form is broken. But accountability need not be abandoned. Mutai’s survival should not embolden governors to think they are untouchable. Rather, it should remind Kenyans that the Constitution has multiple tools for dealing with leaders who betray public trust. 

Kericho’s drama may have ended in the Senate, but the story is not over. The people of Kericho, like all Kenyans, deserve governors who respect Article 10 and Chapter Six, who treat public office not as an ATM but as a sacred trust. Until that vision is realized, impeachment will remain a hollow ritual and devolution will continue to limp under the weight of unchecked corruption.