This week, I keep return­ing to a verse that won’t leave my heart: Eph­esians 4:15,  “…speak­ing the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body…” It touched me deeply, and I pray it touch­es this nation as well, espe­cial­ly its leaders.

There comes a time when love must thun­der, not just whis­per. That time is now, and the storm must begin in Parliament.

To our esteemed Mem­bers, I write with gen­uine respect, not to mock, but to touch your hearts. You are not just law­mak­ers; you are guardians of a sacred trust. How­ev­er, some­where along the way, the House meant to reflect our nation­al con­science has fad­ed, qui­et­ly becom­ing what many now call a “House of Transaction.”

At the 2025 Devo­lu­tion Con­fer­ence, Pres­i­dent Ruto spoke out about what many are afraid to admit: that some law­mak­ers ask for mon­ey from offi­cials under over­sight. “It can­not con­tin­ue to be busi­ness as usu­al,” he warned. This was no con­cert. It was a pub­lic plea from the high­est office in the nation.

When Par­lia­ment becomes a mar­ket­place, over­sight dis­ap­pears. Reports are bought rather than pro­duced. Whistle­blow­ers are silenced. Account­abil­i­ty turns into extor­tion. As Sen­a­tor Richard Ony­on­ka said, MPs can’t pro­vide over­sight because “they are part of the take.” These aren’t accu­sa­tions. They are confessions.

Then came a voice famil­iar with Par­lia­ment, for­mer Speak­er Justin Muturi. In July, he revealed a qui­eter form of cor­rup­tion: “sweet­en­ers” embed­ded in con­sti­tu­tion­al amend­ments like NG-CDF, NGAAF, and SOF, meant to buy MP loy­al­ty. “Par­lia­ment has been reduced to a House of Trans­ac­tion,” he said. He was right.

We are now see­ing a new form of bud­get­ed cor­rup­tion. Not hid­den, not denied, but built into the leg­isla­tive process. If it ben­e­fits the Mem­ber, it gets approved eas­i­ly. If it helps the coun­try but pro­vides no finan­cial gain, it gath­ers dust.

Mean­while, Kenyans suf­fer in silence. Stu­dents drop out, clin­ics remain emp­ty, and lead­ers rush by in motor­cades, nev­er walk­ing back. Crit­i­cal issues in health, edu­ca­tion, and men­tal health are often ignored unless they require a trip to Mom­basa. Cor­rup­tion is no longer whis­pered. It’s embed­ded in the system.

Still, not every MP is guilty. Lead­ers like my own MP, Dr. Makali Mulu, remind us that integri­ty still exists with­in the House. But when Par­lia­ment assem­bles, some­thing trag­ic often hap­pens, per­son­al con­vic­tion col­laps­es under what is offi­cial­ly known as col­lec­tive respon­si­bil­i­ty, yet what schol­ars and social com­men­ta­tors now call col­lec­tive stu­pid­i­ty. This term describes the phe­nom­e­non where intel­li­gent indi­vid­u­als, when act­ing as a group, make deci­sions that are far less wise than they might have cho­sen alone. It is the oppo­site of the wis­dom of crowds.

Even before motions reach the cham­ber, many qui­et­ly fade away in par­ty cau­cus­es, where loy­al­ty is val­ued more than log­ic, and courage is exchanged for com­pli­ance. In such spaces, even inde­pen­dent minds must strug­gle to stay free.

Even angels would be demo­nized in such a sys­tem. A Par­lia­ment that pun­ish­es hon­esty and rewards silence makes it impos­si­ble for truth to thrive. And in such an envi­ron­ment, even the Pres­i­dent can­not bear the bur­den of reform alone. Some of Ruto’s bur­dens are not his own. He inher­it­ed a sys­tem so bro­ken that good inten­tions alone are not enough.

But it doesn’t have to stay this way. Par­lia­ment can still lead the way. This House can be the birth­place of heal­ing. If our law­mak­ers choose to move from bro­ken­ness to bold­ness, the rest of the coun­try will fol­low. If not, this sea­son will be remem­bered not for laws passed, but for oppor­tu­ni­ties lost.

So I return to Scrip­ture: “speak­ing the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.” (Eph­esians 4:15)

Let that growth begin now. With you. For Kenya. Think green, act green!