Why Ruto, MPs standoff over graft is good news for Kenyans

Even a choreographed fire has its heat. You can rehearse the dance of flames, but the fire still burns—melting some, waxing others, and leaving pieces that can never be reassembled.

Kenya now watches such a fire. The ruling elite once fought Gen Z to the death for daring to speak against corruption. They thought bullets and teargas could quench youthful rage. But now the fire burns in their own courts, in parliament and the executive, among the very hands that once poured fuel on the nation.

Yet the fight between politicians feels almost too good to be true. But Kenyans have learnt that there is a whole machine behind the scenes whose job is to design tactics, craft hook-lines, and stage spectacles meant to stupefy and manipulate the people.

Citizens are no longer as naive as before. They are refusing to be caught again. And so, though they see the drama unfolding between political gangs, they are holding back their celebration.

The real victory is not when one corrupt faction humiliates another—it is when the people refuse to be manipulated, when they demand accountability, and when they refuse to stitch the mask of corruption back onto the nation’s face.

The skepticism is healthy. Kenyans are digging for the bigger picture—seeking the behind-the-scenes files to test the drama for authenticity. For we must not romanticize these quarrels as contests of principle. They are contests of appetite. Even gangs split—because ambition has no loyalty, and the hunger for power devours faster than brotherhood. The same reasons gangs fracture are the same reasons political parties crumble: too many generals, not enough territory. Those who once toasted together over spoils soon turn on each other when the plate seems smaller.

The political season we are in is one of money worship—where money is paraded as the answer to every problem, until it becomes the problem. Like now. The political gangs soon realize they cannot keep fighting—destruction is naturally unappealing. To appease, they must invoke a moral sense. Mammon, once enthroned, proves a deceiver. Money promises answers but leaves a trail of weighty questions and a fragile peace.

But there are people who use money without bowing to it. They trade in another currency—moral power. They speak truth and trust its force to deliver consequences without a money assist.

If the current standoff between the executive and parliament is not choreographed, then it is good news for the mwananchi. Let them bruise each other. The punches they exchange, in their greed and arrogance, will leave both sides scarred. And Kenya is better off with a defaced face of corruption than with a smiling mask that hides rot!

What water can quench the standoff? Not money. Money fires aren’t put out by money—they’re put out by morals. And that is the one commodity our leaders lack.

Kenyans must resist the temptation to celebrate too quickly. The real victory is not when one corrupt faction humiliates another—it is when the people refuse to be manipulated, when they demand accountability, and when they refuse to stitch the mask of corruption back onto the nation’s face.

Kenya is aflame, but not with the fires of progress. The blaze consuming us is corruption—greedy, choking, and endless. And while many imagine that the cure for money problems is more money, history proves otherwise. Because until Kenya learns that money fires are quenched only by morals, we shall always be a country burning—never purified.

Everywhere you turn, the evidence is clear. A scandal breaks, and more billions are poured in as “solutions.” Education collapses, and the response is another inflated tender. Hospitals fail, and the reflex is to throw more money into leaking buckets. But money cannot fix what money itself has poisoned. These are not budgetary fires; they are moral ones.

Morals are the only water that can douse them. Honesty, accountability, and service are not optional virtues; they are national survival tools. Without them, every coin we mint turns into fuel. A nation without moral water cannot build, no matter how much revenue it collects, no matter how many loans it secures.

Corruption is not an economic crisis but a moral collapse. And moral collapse can only be reversed by moral resolve. Leaders who cannot be trusted with one shilling will squander a billion. Leaders who mock integrity will never legislate justice. Leaders who have turned worship into performance will never baptize this country into righteousness.

Kenya’s fire will keep raging until we quench it with what money cannot buy: character. The fight is not just about laws and policies; it is about whether we can summon the courage to say no to greed and yes to truth. Only then will we be purified. Because money fires are never quenched by money—they are quenched by morals.

And here lies the paradoxical hope. When corruption burns itself from within, the people glimpse what lies beneath the polished speeches and choreographed parades. They see the greed laid bare, the brotherhood fractured, the mask slipping. And sometimes, that clarity is the beginning of change.

If fire can melt wax and expose what cannot be reassembled, perhaps this time, Kenya will not restore the mask. Perhaps this time, we will allow corruption’s ashes to remain ashes, and build something new on the ground where lies once ruled.

For until Kenya learns that money fires are quenched only by morals, we shall always be a country burning—never purified.

The church will always have a role in steering the country out of darkness into the light. But present-day Kenya needs exorcists who dare to step into the fire and declare: this is evil, and it must go. We must choose exorcism over reconciliation of evils, truth over choreography, justice over spectacle.

Some say the church should step in to reconcile the warring sides. But the church is not a marriage counselor for two evils. It is not called to make thieves shake hands and smile for cameras. The church cannot reconcile demons—it must exorcise them.

The time we are in does not just need a preaching church. The national terrain is shifting fast toward an exorcising church. A church that fears demons will soon be irrelevant. The liberating church must go into the very places where Satan lives. Otherwise, it will remain a timid spectator, blessing evil with silence while the nation burns..

Kenya needs a church that is willing to name corruption as sin. A church that refuses invitations to political banquets, but instead walks with the oppressed in the streets. A church that refuses to play referee in the theater of evil but instead proclaims judgment on the stage itself. Only a prophetic-exorcising church can go beyond resisting to threatening the political choreography.