The annual crisis over the Division of Revenue Bill is slowly emerging as the favorite piece of political theatre for Kenyan legislators.
The standoff between the National Assembly and Senate over county revenue allocations has become one of the most predictable features of Kenya’s budget process.
While the Senate demands more cash for devolved units, the National Assembly, like an overzealous office accountant, clutches the national purse strings.
Negotiations then “collapse” in typical fashion, before a mediation committee is set up. Then, after weeks of manufactured panic and media grandstanding, the honorable members always come to an understanding.
The process repeats itself the following year.
In 2025, the National Assembly floated KSh405.1 billion for counties while the Senate demanded KSh465 billion. They settled at KSh415 billion. By 2026, Kenyans witnessed similar circumstances when the National Assembly offered KSh420 billion, with the Senate demanding KSh454.7 billion. Another mediation committee was then constituted to “save the day” and avert a looming paralysis in counties.
With the end-game always a middle-ground compromise, the yearly duel between the two Houses of Parliament has been framed as a choreographed routine, with the charitable interpretation that the two Houses are fulfilling their constitutional mandates.
While Senators get to pose as fierce defenders of devolution for their local voters, Members of the National Assembly present themselves as the “reasonable” guardians of fiscal discipline.
An increasingly popular saying in Kenyan politics goes: when chaos erupts in one corner, look in the opposite direction; that is where the real action is taking place. Over the years, Kenyans have repeatedly been treated to highly publicized political dramas that appear to consume national attention, only for controversial decisions and self-serving deals to be quietly executed behind the curtain.
As Kenyans are glued to the customary splitting of hairs during Division of Revenue Bills, it escapes everyone that the national government keeps a lion’s share of the budget, denying the grassroots the constitutionally prescribed 15% of the total national revenue.
In other words, Parliament routinely stages high-profile battles over a fraction of public resources while comparatively limited scrutiny is directed at the much larger pool of resources under tight control by high offices in Nairobi.
This raises questions over whether the annual Division of Revenue conflict is truly about defending devolution, or a convenient distraction from the concentration of fiscal power in Nairobi, which is against the spirit of devolution.
It is both a tragedy and confusing that both Houses claim to represent the same ordinary Kenyans. Yet year after year, citizens witness the same cycle of performative disagreement, mediation, and compromise without any substantial effort to reform the process.
If parliamentarians actually cared about the Kenyans they claim to represent, they would have codified a predictable, formula-based framework years ago to spare taxpayers this costly, recurring circus. They haven’t done that because the circus serves a purpose.
Until Kenyans refuse to be distracted by the sideshows, the annual Division of Revenue drama will continue to be a well-rehearsed performance designed to keep taxpayers in the dark about how their money is actually being spent.
