The Wakili Brief With Nzengu

08/31/2026

NAIROBI TRADERS ARE PROTESTING A KSH3.2 MILLION KRA DIRECTIVE. WHAT IS THE REAL ISSUE?

Nairobi traders took to the streets on Friday. At the centre of the protests is a KRA decision to increase the minimum amount of tax expected from a 40-foot container carrying consolidated goods from KSh2.5 million to KSh3.2 million. That is an increase of KSh700,000, or 28%.

The issue mainly affects small traders who import goods together in one container. Instead of one trader paying for an entire container, several traders combine their goods and share the shipping and clearance costs. It is a system commonly used by small businesses importing clothes, electronics, household goods and other merchandise.

KRA describes the KSh3.2 million figure as a minimum-yield benchmark. In simple terms, it is the amount of customs revenue KRA expects from a consolidated container before allowing it to move through the simplified clearance process without a more detailed assessment.

That distinction matters because, under customs law, tax is ordinarily supposed to be based on the goods actually being imported, their value and the tariff that applies to them. KRA also has the power to inspect goods, question declared values and recover additional tax where an importer has under-declared or undervalued a shipment.

KRA says the increase is partly intended to address under-declaration and undervaluation of imported goods, which it says have caused revenue losses and given non-compliant traders an unfair advantage over those who declare their goods correctly. In other words, KRA’s position is that the previous KSh2.5 million benchmark was no longer adequately reflecting the revenue it should be collecting from consolidated cargo.

Under-declaration is not a new problem. It happens where an importer declares goods at a lower value than they actually cost, understates the quantity being imported, or describes the goods in a way that attracts less tax. The law has always required importers to make accurate customs declarations, and KRA has the power to inspect cargo, question declared values, reassess the goods and recover any tax that should have been paid.

The more difficult issue is whether raising the minimum yield is the right way to deal with that problem.

Raising the benchmark may increase the amount of revenue collected from consolidated cargo, but it does not necessarily establish whether a particular trader has under-declared anything. Under-declaration is ultimately about whether the goods, quantities and values presented to Customs are truthful.

KRA already has significant legal and technological tools to establish that. It can inspect cargo, demand supporting documents, compare declared values, conduct audits and penalise false declarations. It also operates cargo scanners at the Port of Mombasa that can help identify concealed, undeclared or misdescribed goods.

Those scanners cannot, by themselves, establish whether an invoice has understated the value of the goods. That still requires documentary checks, valuation data and targeted inspections. But together, these tools form part of KRA’s existing enforcement machinery.

That is where the real concern arises. If under-declaration is the problem KRA is trying to solve, then the question is whether enforcement should primarily target the traders who actually under-declare, rather than increasing the minimum amount expected from all consolidated containers, including those whose goods may have been properly declared.

KRA says the review was undertaken in consultation with industry stakeholders and that a one-month grace period was given after stakeholders requested more time to prepare. But the public reporting does not clearly show which trader groups were consulted, how broad that consultation was, or whether the concerns now being raised by protesting traders were addressed before the new benchmark took effect.

That matters because consultation is not simply about saying stakeholders were spoken to. The real issue is whether the people most affected by the decision were given a meaningful opportunity to raise their concerns, and whether those concerns were considered before the new benchmark was implemented.

The commercial concern is also real. The simplified system exists because consolidated cargo contains many small consignments belonging to different traders. If the minimum benchmark is raised significantly, traders may end up choosing between meeting a higher revenue threshold or going through a slower, more complicated and potentially more expensive clearance process.

That is why describing the KSh3.2 million figure as merely a benchmark does not end the debate. An administrative measure can still have a direct financial effect on the people required to comply with it.

KRA’s concern about tax leakage is legitimate. Traders who declare their goods honestly should not have to compete with importers who evade duty by understating the value or nature of their goods. But enforcement should also be able to distinguish between a trader who is cheating the system and one whose properly declared goods simply attract a lower amount of tax.

That is where the real legal and policy issue lies. KRA clearly has the authority to enforce customs law and deal with under-declaration. The concern is whether increasing the minimum yield by 28% is a fair and proportionate way of doing so, or whether it risks making compliant small traders carry the cost of abuses committed by others.

That is what sits at the heart of these protests.

The broader point is that tax enforcement must do more than raise revenue. It must also be targeted, transparent and proportionate. If KRA’s concern is under-declaration, then the strongest response is one that identifies and penalises those who actually under-declare, while protecting compliant traders from unnecessary additional costs. Otherwise, a measure intended to stop abuse risks being experienced as a penalty by everyone.

That is why this dispute is about more than KSh700,000. It is about how far KRA should go in using administrative measures to enforce tax compliance, and whether those measures fairly distinguish between those abusing the system and those simply trying to do business within the law.

Kenya Revenue Authority Citizen TV Kenya NTV Kenya The Star, Kenya Standard Digital Dennis itumbi State House Kenya William Samoei Ruto

08/19/2026

Beyond 2030: Can Kenya Build a National Vision That Outlives Its Governments?

Kenya has begun an important conversation about what comes after Vision 2030. On 12 August 2026, President William Ruto launched the National Conversation: Beyond 2030, opening a nationwide discussion about Kenya’s long-term development direction after the current national blueprint reaches its horizon.

Although “Vision 2060” has featured prominently in public discussion and has been used by some officials, the President’s formal framing has remained the National Conversation on Kenya’s Future Beyond Vision 2030, with Kenyans invited to shape the long-term development charter that eventually emerges. That distinction matters. If this is genuinely to become a national vision, its destination cannot simply be predetermined by government and presented to citizens for validation.

Vision 2030 was launched in 2008 with the ambition of transforming Kenya into a newly industrialising, middle-income country providing a high quality of life to its citizens. Much has changed since then. Kenya adopted the 2010 Constitution, embraced devolution and has experienced enormous technological, economic and social change. Artificial intelligence is reshaping economies, climate change presents new pressures, and public debt increasingly constrains development choices.

Some Vision 2030 ambitions have been achieved or substantially advanced, while others remain unfinished. The question before Kenya is therefore not simply what document replaces Vision 2030, but what we have learned from implementing it and what should guide the next generation of development.

A National Vision, Not a Government Programme

One of the strongest ideas emerging from Beyond 2030 is the distinction between a government programme and a national vision. Governments are elected for limited terms, but national development does not operate on five-year electoral calendars. Infrastructure, healthcare, education, industrialisation and economic transformation often require decades of consistent policy and investment.

The working group’s proposals have therefore included legislation to anchor the eventual national development framework and provide greater continuity across successive administrations. The concern is understandable: a nationally agreed development path should not simply disappear because a new government prefers different priorities or a different political slogan.

But legislation cannot permanently bind future Parliaments, nor should it prevent future generations from changing course when circumstances demand it. The better objective is to make departure from nationally agreed goals deliberate, transparent and accountable. A statutory framework could connect long-term objectives to national planning and budgeting, establish measurable indicators, require periodic reporting to Parliament and subject major departures to scrutiny and public participation. That would not eliminate political choice; it would make that choice accountable.

The Constitutional Question

The President also anchored the conversation around Article 3(1) of the Constitution, which provides that “Every person has an obligation to respect, uphold and defend this Constitution.” Article 3 does not itself require Kenya to adopt a long-term development plan, but the constitutional foundation for thinking about the country’s future is much broader.

Article 10 establishes national values including participation of the people, social justice, inclusiveness, good governance, accountability and sustainable development. The Bill of Rights protects economic and social rights, while Article 174 makes development, equitable sharing of resources and public participation central objectives of devolution. The Constitution’s public-finance provisions further connect development planning, budgeting and accountability.

The important question, therefore, is whether Beyond 2030 can translate these constitutional aspirations into measurable national outcomes that endure beyond individual administrations.

This also brings us to public participation. One of the important messages from the launch was that nobody has a monopoly on good ideas. A genuine national conversation requires more than people waiting for their turn to speak. It requires listening and the humility to recognise that someone else’s proposal may be better than our own.

That principle matters. Public participation should not become a procedural exercise where government has already decided the outcome and citizens are merely invited to comment. If Kenyans are genuinely being asked to shape the country’s future, the possibility of persuasion must be real. What finally emerges should be capable of changing because people participated.

The Destination and the Route

Perhaps the central question is who ultimately owns the vision. Governments are elected on manifestos and must remain free to pursue different policies. That is part of democratic choice. But a national vision should occupy a different space.

If Kenyans collectively agree on long-term outcomes in healthcare, education, infrastructure, industrialisation, employment and living standards, future governments need not be forced to use identical policies to achieve them. One administration may prefer one healthcare model and another may propose a better one. Different governments may pursue different economic or industrial policies.

The national vision should establish the destination, while democracy determines the best route for getting there.

This balance could protect long-term national development without freezing political choice. The objective should not be to make national policy impossible to change, but to institutionalise accountability around the outcomes Kenyans have collectively agreed to pursue.

The success of Beyond 2030 will therefore not ultimately be measured by the size of its launch, the number of conferences held or the elegance of the final document. It will depend on whether Kenyans can agree on where the country should go, translate those aspirations into measurable commitments and build institutions capable of maintaining long-term purpose across political transitions.

The conversation must also reach beyond political leaders and conference rooms to farmers, workers, businesses, young people, professionals, counties, civil society, academia and communities across Kenya. More importantly, it must preserve the principle expressed at the launch: we should be willing to present our ideas, listen to others and accept a better idea when we hear one.

Whether the eventual framework is called Vision 2060, Beyond 2030 or something Kenyans have yet to propose is ultimately secondary. What matters is whether Kenya can create a national development vision that belongs not to one President, one political party or one administration, but to the Republic itself.

That is the promise, and the real test, of Beyond 2030.

William Samoei Ruto State House Kenya

06/19/2026

Kenya at the G7: Why Presence at the global table matters.

President William Ruto’s participation in the G7 Summit has, predictably, generated considerable debate in Kenya. Some have welcomed the invitation as an important diplomatic achievement. Others have viewed the trip through the lens of domestic politics, government expenditure and the economic difficulties facing ordinary Kenyans.

Those concerns should not simply be dismissed. Citizens have every right to question the cost, purpose and measurable results of international engagements undertaken in their name. Accountability does not stop at the airport.

However, it is equally important that our political differences do not prevent us from recognizing moments that elevate Kenya’s position in the world.

The G7 brings together some of the world’s most economically and politically influential countries. Kenya is not a member of the group. An invitation to participate is therefore not an entitlement or a routine diplomatic formality. It is an acknowledgment that Kenya has become an increasingly important voice in conversations extending beyond East Africa.

President Ruto attends such a forum not merely as an individual politician, but as the constitutional representative of the Republic of Kenya. Whatever one’s political opinion of him, the Kenyan flag displayed at the summit belongs to all of us.

A Voice for Africa Where Decisions Are Made

For many years, decisions with enormous consequences for Africa have been made in rooms where African countries have had little or no meaningful representation.

Those decisions affect the cost of borrowing, international taxation, climate financing, development assistance, trade, technology, mineral resources and the conditions under which African economies participate in the global market.

Africa cannot continuously demand a stronger voice in global affairs and then treat an invitation to speak in an influential forum as insignificant simply because we disagree with the leader carrying the message.

Representation alone will not transform the continent. Nevertheless, absence almost certainly guarantees that Africa’s interests will be interpreted and presented by others.

President Ruto’s participation gives Kenya an opportunity to place African concerns directly before leaders who exercise substantial influence over international financial institutions, investment flows and global economic policy. Questions of unsustainable debt, prohibitively expensive capital, climate financing and the need to process African resources within Africa are not abstract diplomatic subjects. They directly affect employment, taxation, infrastructure, public services and the cost of living across the continent.

Kenya’s Growing Diplomatic Profile

The invitation also says something important about Kenya.

Our country has long occupied a distinctive position as a diplomatic, commercial and security hub. Nairobi hosts major international institutions, multinational companies, humanitarian organizations and diplomatic missions. Kenya has also frequently served as a mediator and regional convening power.

Participation in forums such as the G7 reinforces that profile.

Diplomatic influence is not built during a single summit. It accumulates through relationships, consistency, credibility and repeated participation in consequential conversations. Every invitation strengthens Kenya’s access to decision-makers, investors, institutions and potential partners.

That access does not automatically produce prosperity. It must be converted into tangible benefits through capable negotiation, disciplined follow-through and transparent implementation. But without access, there is very little to convert in the first place.

A country seeking investment, export markets, affordable financing and technological partnerships cannot afford to withdraw from the places where such relationships are developed.

From Aid to Investment and Value Addition

One of the most important conversations taking place today concerns the nature of Africa’s economic relationships with the rest of the world.

For decades, African countries have exported raw materials and imported finished products at significantly greater cost. The continent has often carried the environmental and social burden of extraction while much of the value, technology and employment has been created elsewhere.

Kenya and Africa must advocate a different model—one based on investment, domestic processing, skills development, technology transfer and shared prosperity.

When Kenya argues at an international forum that African resources should be processed in Africa, it is advancing a principle that goes far beyond any individual administration. It is asserting that the continent should not remain merely a source of raw materials, but must become a centre of production, innovation and value creation.

The true measure of the President’s participation will therefore not be the photographs, ceremonial meetings or speeches. It will be whether the engagements lead to investment, jobs, better financing arrangements, stronger trade opportunities and meaningful partnerships.

That is the standard against which the government should ultimately be judged.

Patriotism Does Not Require Political Agreement

Kenya is a vibrant democracy. Criticism of the government is legitimate, necessary and constitutionally protected. Supporting the international standing of the country does not require anyone to abandon that criticism.

We should be capable of doing both.

We can demand accountability at home while welcoming greater influence abroad. We can question the cost of a presidential visit while recognizing the value of Kenya’s invitation. We can disagree strongly with President Ruto’s policies while hoping that his engagements produce positive results for the Kenyan people.

There is a meaningful distinction between opposing a political leader and diminishing the country he temporarily represents.

Presidents come and go. Kenya remains.

When Kenya is invited into an influential global conversation, the opportunity belongs not only to the administration of the day. It belongs to the country, its institutions, its businesses, its young people and future governments that may benefit from the relationships being established today.

Presence Must Be Followed by Results

None of this means that every international trip should be celebrated uncritically. Diplomatic visibility without domestic results can quickly become symbolism without substance.

The government should explain what Kenya sought from the summit, what commitments were made, what agreements emerged and how ordinary Kenyans will benefit. Parliament, the media and the public should continue asking those questions.

But scrutiny should be informed by a recognition that international diplomacy is not separate from national development. It is one of the instruments through which countries pursue development.

Kenya’s presence at the G7 should therefore be viewed neither as a personal triumph beyond criticism nor as a meaningless excursion deserving automatic ridicule. It should be regarded as a valuable national opportunity whose results must be carefully assessed.

In an increasingly competitive and uncertain world, countries must fight to be seen, heard and taken seriously.

Kenya has secured a place in an important global conversation. We should expect our President to use that opportunity wisely, hold his administration accountable for the outcome, and still appreciate what it means to see our flag at the table.

Our politics may divide us, but Kenya’s advancement should never become something we celebrate or condemn merely according to who occupies State House

05/13/2026

Ship operator and employee charged in 2024 collapse of Baltimore's Francis Scott Key Bridge.

Prosecutors filed criminal charges against the operator of the ship that crashed into Baltimore’s Francis Scott Key Bridge leading to the deaths of six construction workers.

05/10/2026

Nairobi, Paris, and the New Scramble for African Partnership: Law. Policy. Power — explained simply.

Tomorrow and Tuesday, Nairobi will host the Africa Forward Summit 2026, formally themed “Africa–France Partnerships for Innovation and Growth.” It is co-hosted by President William Ruto and French President Emmanuel Macron, bringing together African heads of state, business leaders, investors, innovators, youth, civil society, and French officials. The summit runs May 11–12, 2026, with a Business Forum at the University of Nairobi and the heads-of-state summit at KICC. 

This is not just another diplomatic photo opportunity. It is France coming to Nairobi with a message: France wants a new African chapter — and Kenya is now one of the stages on which that chapter will be written.

For decades, France’s African policy was centered largely on Francophone West and Central Africa. But that old map is changing. France has lost influence in parts of the Sahel, including Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger, where anti-French sentiment and military governments have pushed Paris out or reduced its role. Reuters reports that France is now courting wider Africa, especially English-speaking countries, with Nairobi hosting the first summit of this kind in an Anglophone African country. 

That is why this summit matters.

What is the summit about?

At its core, Africa Forward is about moving the Africa–France relationship away from the old language of aid, military presence and post-colonial influence, and toward investment, innovation, trade, financing and industrial growth.

The official summit agenda focuses on seven broad areas:

1. Energy transition and green industrialisation
2. Reform of the international financial architecture
3. Sustainable and value-added agriculture
4. Artificial intelligence and digital transformation
5. Blue economy
6. Health systems and sovereignty
7. Peace and security 

In plain English: the summit is about money, markets, jobs, technology, food, health, security and power.

President Ruto has framed it as a summit of outcomes, not speeches, with emphasis on bankable projects, investment pipelines, technology transfer, skills development and job creation. 

Why is Kenya hosting it?

Kenya is not Francophone. That is exactly the point.

By choosing Nairobi, France is signaling that its Africa policy can no longer be limited to its former colonies. Kenya offers France a different African doorway: English-speaking, regionally influential, strategically located, diplomatically active, and increasingly visible on climate finance, global debt reform, technology, peacekeeping and regional security.

For Kenya, the summit is a branding opportunity. Nairobi wants to be seen not just as East Africa’s business hub, but as a continental convening power, the place where Africa talks to Europe, China, the Gulf, the U.S., and itself.

What does this mean for Kenya–France relations?

It deepens them.

Kenya and France have already been expanding cooperation in infrastructure, energy, transport, defence, trade and urban development. Reuters also notes that France signed a defence pact with Kenya in 2025 covering areas such as intelligence-sharing, maritime security and peacekeeping. 

The summit now gives that relationship a larger political frame. France gets a respected African partner outside its traditional Francophone sphere. Kenya gets diplomatic visibility, investment attention and leverage.

But Kenya must be careful. Partnership is good. Dependency is not. The test is whether Kenya walks away with real projects, fair financing, technology transfer, local jobs and protection of national interests, not just elegant communiqués and smiling photographs.

What does this mean for Africa–France relations?

This summit is France trying to rewrite the script.

The old script was: France as patron, Africa as recipient.
The new script France wants to sell is: France as partner, Africa as co-builder.

That sounds good. But Africa has heard beautiful language before.

The real question is whether France is prepared to treat African countries as equals in financing, trade, industrial policy, technology, climate justice and global governance. France says the summit is about “balanced partnerships” and fairer global governance, rejecting predation and new imperial tendencies. 

That is the right language. But Africa should judge this summit by the contracts, financing terms, ownership structures, local content, skills transfer and long-term economic value — not by protocol.

What about U.S.–Kenya relations?

This is where things get interesting.

Kenya has become a diplomatic prize. The United States sees Kenya as a key African security, health and strategic partner. France now sees Kenya as a gateway to Anglophone Africa. China remains deeply engaged in infrastructure and trade. The Gulf states are increasingly active. India, Turkey and others are also expanding influence.

Kenya is therefore playing a multi-alignment game: Washington, Paris, Beijing, Brussels, Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, all while trying to keep Nairobi’s own interests at the center.

That can be good for Kenya if managed wisely. Competition among global powers can bring investment, financing and technology. But it can also turn Kenya into a bargaining table for other people’s interests.

The goal should be simple: Kenya must not become anyone’s pawn. Kenya must become a price-setter.

What agreements are expected?

As of now, the publicly available information points to expected outcomes around investment, development finance, private-sector partnerships, clean energy, AI, agriculture, health, blue economy, infrastructure, skills and job creation. The official materials emphasize bankable projects, investment pipelines, mutual investment, health system strengthening, food sovereignty, digital competitiveness, energy access and connectivity. 

However, the final list of signed agreements may only become clear during or after the summit. That distinction matters. Summit language often announces “partnerships” broadly, but the legal substance is in the signed instruments: MOUs, financing agreements, investment commitments, commercial contracts, development finance facilities, and joint statements.

Is this good for Kenya and Africa?

Potentially, yes.

It is good if it brings:

* affordable financing;
* local manufacturing;
* value addition;
* technology transfer;
* jobs for young Africans;
* stronger health and food systems;
* fairer climate financing;
* and more African bargaining power.

It is not good if it becomes another elite diplomatic ceremony where African leaders clap for foreign capital while ordinary citizens see no change.

For Kenya and Africa, the opportunity is real. But so is the risk.

The best outcome is not “France returns to Africa.”
The best outcome is Africa negotiates better with France and with everyone else.

Because Africa is not lacking partners. Africa is lacking fair terms.

And if Nairobi can help shift the conversation from dependency to dignity, from extraction to value addition, from speeches to jobs, then this summit may be more than diplomacy.

It may be a small but important sign that Africa is no longer waiting to be invited into the future.

Africa is building it.

04/28/2026

Gachagua’s Impeachment Case: Power, Procedure, and the Question of a Predetermined Outcome.

A three-judge bench led by Justice Eric Ogola has begun hearing petitions challenging the October 2024 impeachment of former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, with claims of procedural flaws, lack of fair hearing, constitutional violations, and alleged political motives, including bribery.

When Rigathi Gachagua was impeached as Deputy President, the moment was unmistakably political. It played out in Parliament, shaped by numbers, alliances, and momentum. But now, as the matter sits before the High Court in Nairobi, the focus has shifted. The question is no longer just whether he lost office. It is how he lost it and what the law requires if that process is found wanting. To understand where the case now stands, one must begin with how the impeachment unfolded.

The process began in the National Assembly, where Members of Parliament debated allegations said to meet the constitutional threshold for removal of a Deputy President under the Constitution of Kenya. Those proceedings were followed by a vote to impeach, after which the matter moved to the Senate for trial, as required by law. The Senate’s role was to hear the charges, consider representations from both sides, and determine whether the threshold for removal had been met. The proceedings were conducted in a public-facing manner, reflecting the constitutional expectation that impeachment is not merely a legal exercise, but a political accountability process carried out in the open. At the conclusion of that process, the Senate upheld the impeachment. Gachagua was removed from office.

From that point, the dispute moved from Parliament to the Judiciary. Initially, Gachagua’s challenge appeared to follow a familiar path. He sought to contest the legality of the impeachment and, in practical terms, to be reinstated to office. That is often the first instinct in such cases: challenge the process, invalidate the outcome, and return to the position that was lost. But that is no longer the center of gravity in this case. As the High Court proceedings have begun, Gachagua’s legal strategy has evolved. The emphasis has shifted away from reinstatement and toward a declaration that the impeachment itself was unconstitutional. Flowing from that, he is now seeking the financial and institutional consequences that would follow such a finding. This includes claims for salary and benefits he would have earned for the remainder of the term, as well as broader damages arising from what he characterizes as an unlawful removal.

The practical stakes are not abstract. Constitutionally, the benefits attached to a retired Deputy President include a monthly pension equivalent to 80% of the last monthly salary, a lump sum payment, vehicles, fuel allowance, medical cover, staff support, armed security, a diplomatic passport, and VIP airport lounge access. That is why the new prayer for compensation matters. Gachagua is not merely seeking a symbolic declaration. He is asking the court to treat the impeachment as legally defective and, if so, to restore the financial and status consequences that would ordinarily attach to a former Deputy President. But the counterpoint is equally important. There is a clear legal distinction between a Deputy President who completes a term or leaves office in the ordinary course, and one who is removed through impeachment. The legal framework governing state officers generally ties post-office benefits to lawful service and exit. Impeachment, by its nature, is not a neutral departure. It is a constitutional finding, political in character, that the officeholder no longer meets the standards required to remain in office. From that perspective, if the impeachment was valid, the loss of office may carry consequences beyond removal itself, including the loss or limitation of benefits that would otherwise attach to the office. An impeached Deputy President does not automatically stand on the same footing as one who has completed a term. However, if the impeachment is found to be unconstitutional, the situation changes materially. The removal would then be treated, in law, as having been improperly effected. In that scenario, the claim for salary, benefits, and even recognition as a former Deputy President gains legal footing, not because the political process is being re-litigated, but because the legal consequences of an unlawful process must be addressed. This is precisely why the court’s role is so carefully defined.

Impeachment is often described as a political process, and in many respects, it is. Parliament exercises a constitutional mandate in a political environment, and courts are generally reluctant to step into that space to second-guess political judgments. The Judiciary does not sit to decide whether Parliament made the “right” political decision in removing an officeholder. But that description should not obscure the other side of impeachment. Impeachment is not merely a political ritual. It is a constitutional removal process with quasi-judicial features. That means procedure is not a technicality; procedure is what gives the process legality. Without fair procedure, impeachment risks becoming arbitrary, and arbitrariness is the enemy of constitutional supremacy. Put differently, the absence of procedure can quickly become the absence of legality. However political the process may be, it still operates under the Constitution. Parliament may vote, debate, and decide, but when its decision overturns a national electoral mandate, the process must carry the discipline of law.

Where the complaint is that the process itself violated the Constitution whether through lack of fair hearing, insufficient time to prepare a defence, procedural irregularities, or an allegedly predetermined outcome, the issue becomes justiciable. It is no longer only about the merits of the political decision. It is about whether constitutional standards were followed in arriving at that decision. This is also where the comparative constitutional argument becomes important. One of Gachagua’s lawyers argued that Kenya’s impeachment timeline was unusually compressed when compared with other constitutional democracies. The argument was that in Nigeria, impeachment timelines may run several months; in South Korea, the Constitutional Court has up to 180 days to determine impeachment questions; and in the United States, while there are no rigid timetables, impeachment trials have historically taken weeks or months rather than days. The point was not that Kenya must copy those systems exactly. The point was that where impeachment overturns a popular electoral mandate, constitutional democracies tend to favor deliberation, investigation, and participatory legitimacy over raw speed. That framing turns the case from a complaint about political loss into a legal argument about constitutional process.

The public participation argument is also central in Gachagua’s case. The position is that removing a Deputy President, a person elected on a national ticket, requires meaningful public participation of a serious and inclusive kind. It is argued that the process also failed to provide sign language and braille services, thereby excluding persons with disabilities from effective participation. That is a legally important point because public participation is not just about opening a room or receiving memoranda. It must be accessible, inclusive, and meaningful. If a constitutional process excludes categories of citizens, especially persons requiring reasonable accommodation, then the question becomes whether the participation was real or merely procedural.

That is also where the allegation of a predetermined outcome becomes important. If the result was effectively settled before the hearing began, then the process becomes less about constitutional accountability and more about political confirmation. The legal question, however, is whether that concern can be proven through procedure, timelines, conduct, and the record, not merely political perception. Gachagua’s lawyers have also argued that the impeachment process moved with undue speed, denying him a meaningful opportunity to defend himself, and therefore falling short of constitutional requirements of fairness and due process. Framed that way, the case invites the court not to overturn a political outcome simply because it disagrees with it, but to assess whether the Constitution was complied with in producing that outcome.

Still, the opposing view is not frivolous. Impeachment is designed to move with some urgency because it concerns the continued fitness of a high constitutional officeholder. Parliament may argue that the Constitution gives it power to regulate its own proceedings and that courts should be slow to impose foreign timelines or turn impeachment into an open-ended inquiry. It may also argue that political motives, even where alleged, do not automatically invalidate a process if the constitutional steps were followed. That is why the court’s task is delicate. It must decide whether the speed and conduct of the process crossed the constitutional line from efficiency into unfairness, and whether the alleged political motives infected the process in a legally meaningful way.

If the court accepts that the process was constitutionally sound, the impeachment stands, and with it the consequences that attach to removal through that mechanism. If, however, the court finds that the process was flawed, the consequences do not automatically restore political office, but they may trigger legal remedies; financial, reputational, and institutional. The court is therefore not only being asked what happened politically; it is being asked what should follow legally if a political process was carried out unlawfully. That is why the current posture of the case is more measured than it first appears. It is no longer a direct contest for power. It is a structured constitutional inquiry into process, legitimacy, and consequence.

In the end, the case turns on a simple but powerful question: not whether Parliament had the power to impeach, but whether it exercised that power lawfully. And depending on the answer, the law may require more than just a political conclusion. It may require a legal reckoning.