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President William Ruto speaks during a meeting of the East African Community–Southern African Development Community co-chairs at State House in Nairobi on August 1, 2025.
On January 22, the High Court took a quietly radical step. It reminded the presidency that power in Kenya does not generate itself. Rather, it flows from the Constitution and must return to it.
Judge Bahati Mwamuye’s ruling that the creation of 21 presidential advisory offices was unconstitutional was a statement in itself. These offices were invalid from the outset. They were not flawed. They were not irregular. They were not in need of correction. Void. It’s as though they had never existed in law, which is an important distinction in a country where illegal decisions are often normalised through repetition.
For years now, Kenyans have been told that governance is complicated. That structures are necessary. That advisors are indispensable. That modern leadership requires layers of consultants, strategists, envoys, coordinators and “special assistants” orbiting power. We were asked to accept this expansion as progress.
What the court has now confirmed is that much of it was unlawful.
No Public Service Commission recommendation. No Salaries and Remuneration Commission review. No public participation. No competitive recruitment. No transparency. No constitutional grounding. Positions created in private. Salaries approved in silence. Appointments announced as faits accomplis.
This was not an oversight failure either. It was design.
Because the Constitution did not forget to include these safeguards. It placed them there deliberately, precisely to prevent power from becoming a personal resource. Precisely to prevent public money from becoming political currency. Precisely to ensure that state offices are created because the country needs them, not because someone needs to be accommodated.
Those safeguards were bypassed. And when safeguards are bypassed repeatedly, across administrations and across years, it becomes culture. The cost of that culture is now visible.
Constitutional discipline
By conservative estimates, these advisory units have consumed well over two billion shillings since 2022. Salaries. Allowances. Travel. Offices. Staff. Vehicles. Hospitality. Consultancies. Entire bureaucratic ecosystems built around individuals whose positions, it turns out, had no constitutional foundation.
Two billion shillings. In an economy where hospitals are underfunded. Where universities stagger under debt. Where young people are locked out of opportunity. Where small businesses collapse under taxation. Where families ration meals. Where public servants wait months for payments. Two billion shillings went into structures that never legally existed. And what did Kenyans get in return? Look around.
Look at the cost of living. Look at youth unemployment. Look at currency pressure. Look at debt distress. Look at shrinking enterprise. Look at rising insecurity. Look at eroding trust in institutions. Look at a public that feels permanently on the edge.
If this is the outcome of “premium advice,” then the country has been paying luxury prices for amateur results. One does not need a billion-shilling advisory architecture to mismanage an economy. History has shown that incompetence is remarkably affordable.
Supporters of the administration will point to the court’s remark that the president may have acted in good faith. That is fair. Courts deal in evidence, not speculation. But good faith is not a substitute for constitutional discipline. It is not a defence against structural abuse. And it does not erase outcomes.
Leadership is not judged only by intention. It is judged by systems built, norms enforced, and lines respected. What we have witnessed over the last few years is a presidency increasingly comfortable operating in legal grey zones. Create first. Justify later. Appoint now. Regularize later. Spend now. Litigate later.
By the time courts speak, the money has moved. The benefits have been enjoyed. The networks have been cemented. The damage has been socialised. This is how institutional decay happens. Not through dramatic coups, but through quiet short cuts.
The ruling matters because it interrupts that rhythm. It says: not here. Not like this. Not anymore.
Rewarding loyalty
By ordering the Public Service Commission to audit all offices created within the Executive Office of the President since 2010, and especially since August 2022, the court has opened a door that many would prefer remain closed. An honest audit will not merely identify illegal offices. It will map an entire patronage architecture. It will show how power has been administratively fragmented to accommodate political interests. It will reveal how public service has been bent to serve private coalitions.
And once that map exists, it cannot be unseen. The question now is whether institutions will have the courage to follow through. Will unlawful offices be dismantled without negotiation? Will uncomfortable findings be published without editing? Will future presidents learn that constitutional short cuts are expensive? Will illegally disbursed funds be pursued, or quietly written off as “political realities”?
Those answers will determine whether this ruling becomes a turning point or a footnote. There is also a broader lesson here, especially as attention turns back to the still-unresolved question of Chief Administrative Secretaries and similar creations. The Constitution does not prohibit innovation. It prohibits impunity. It does not prevent governments from organizing themselves. It prevents them from doing so without accountability.
Kenya does not suffer from lack of ideas. It suffers from surplus arrogance. We have talented economists, administrators, scholars, and practitioners across this country who would gladly serve through lawful, competitive, transparent processes. What has crowded them out is not scarcity of competence, but an unbelievable abundance of convenience.
It is easier to appoint friends than to build systems. Easier to reward loyalty than to reward merit. Easier to bypass institutions than to strengthen them. This ruling pushes back against that instinct.
It reminds those in power that the Constitution is not decorative. It is operational. It is not a speech prop. It is a restraint. And for citizens, it offers something increasingly rare: proof that accountability is still possible.
Not guaranteed. Not automatic. But possible. Which, in this moment, is enough to matter.
The writer is an active citizen and owner of a tech start-up. lewisngunyi10@ gmail.com
