Why hiring and firing of vice-chancellors is often contentious

In recent years, many Kenyan universities have become theatres of a strange and recurring drama around hiring and firing of vice-chancellors. These are captains of academia meant to steer the institutions through the turbulent waters of knowledge, politics, and reform. It is a play that begins with fanfare and ends in dissonance, often starring the University Council, the Public Service Commission, and the Cabinet Secretary for Education. All these actors are locked in a perplexing tug-of-war over who holds the pen that writes the fate of vice-chancellors.

From Nairobi to Eldoret, Egerton to Kisii, corridors have whispered of suspensions, court orders, reinstatements, and hurried replacements, as if the governance of universities were a stage for power and not scholarship. The heart of this confusion lies in two legal provisions that dance awkwardly within the same law, the Universities Act of 2012. Section 35(1)(a)(v) declares that in the case of public universities, the Council shall appoint vice-chancellors and their deputies, but only after a competitive process conducted by the Public Service Commission (PSC), and in consultation with the Cabinet Secretary. Section 39, on the other hand, strikes a different tune, stating that the Cabinet Secretary shall appoint the vice-chancellor on the recommendation of the Council, following a competitive recruitment conducted by that same Council. Two processes, two gatekeepers, two visions of authority. And therein lies the storm.

This contradiction, though subtle on paper but seismic in practice, has created a labyrinth in which appointments wobble between legality and legitimacy. In Okiya Omtatah v Public Service Commission & 3 Others (2020), the court waded into these troubled waters and emerged declaring that Section 35 supersedes Section 39. This judicial compass has not silenced the storm. For while the courts may interpret, the institutions must live the law and they are living it painfully.

Imagine a VC appointed under Section 39, chosen by the CS upon the Council’s recommendation. Now, should trouble brew, who holds the axe? The CS, who made the appointment, or the Council, which runs the institution? In contrast, under Section 35, the appointment emerges from a triad, that is the Council, the PSC, and the CS. This a bureaucratic trinity where accountability is as diffused as perfume in the wind. The result is a peculiar imbalance. Those who recruit may lack the power to dismiss, while those who wish to dismiss may not have been part of the appointment. Governance becomes a game of musical chairs, where authority shifts and blurs, leaving institutions gasping for clarity.

This legislative mistake is a slow poison dripping into the veins of university governance. When laws speak in two tongues, institutions lose their footing. Councils hesitate fearing overreach. The PSC asserts its constitutional mandate. The CS flexes executive muscle and amid the contest, universities drift. VCs, caught in the crossfire, are either emboldened by political backing or paralysed by uncertainty.

Policies stall, reforms wither, and the academic spirit, once proud and noble, becomes collateral damage in the war of power. Universities were meant to be sanctuaries of thought, yet the governance of these temples now mirrors the intrigues of the state itself. Each appointment becomes a reflection of influence, each removal a question of allegiance. The very law meant to protect institutional autonomy has birthed confusion that undermines it. In this tangle, accountability, which is the cornerstone of public service, dissolves into thin air. A VC cannot serve the public if they serve two masters.

What the Universities Act needs is not another court decision, but legislative surgery. Parliament must harmonise Sections 35 and 39 into a single, unambiguous provision that establishes both the process and the power balance with finality. Let there be one clear appointing authority, one transparent process, and one unmistakable line of accountability. If the CS is to appoint, let the same office hold the authority to dismiss but always upon the advice of the Council, which remains the guardian of the autonomy.

Conversely, if the Council is to appoint, let its power to remove be explicit and insulated from political interference. Clarity will not diminish oversight, it will dignify it. The PSC, too, deserves its rightful place not as a shadow player but as the custodian of meritocracy in public service. It can oversee the recruitment to ensure fairness, but it must not usurp the governance role of the university. The CS, a steward of national policy, must guide and not micromanage. The Council, composed of minds entrusted with institutional vision, must govern, not merely endorse. When each actor plays its part within clearly drawn lines, the symphony of governance can once again find harmony.

To harmonise the law is not to rewrite history, but to give the future a fair chance. The Parliament must therefore rise above the chorus of competing interests and amend the Universities Act with clarity and courage. Only then will Kenya’s universities be governed not by confusion, but by conviction and coherence. Only then will the VC’s office cease to be a prize in a political contest, and once more become what it was meant to be - the lighthouse of learning guiding the nation’s mind. Let clarity replace confusion, let law serve wisdom. Harmonise the Act, restore order, and let our universities breathe again.