Tanzania’s Democracy Bloats as Accountability Crumbles, While Citizens Worry Silently

By Adonis Byemelwa

As dawn breaks over Tanzania, the country stirs not just to a new day, but to a new political reality. The Independent National Electoral Commission has announced a major shakeup: 8 new constituencies have been created, and 12 others renamed. On paper, this is supposed to bring leadership closer to the people. But in the minds of many, a different question looms—closer to serve, or closer to spend?

Speaking to the public, Chairperson of the Independent National Electoral Commission, Court of Appeal Judge Jacobs Mwambegele, declared: “In accordance with Rule 18(1) of the 2024 Electoral Commission Regulations, I wish to inform the public that, starting Thursday, February 27, 2025, the Commission would begin the process of reviewing, adjusting, or renaming electoral constituencies."

Judge Mwambegele went on to specify that the window for submitting requests to divide or rename constituencies would run from February 27 to March 26, 2025.

He emphasized that this exercise is being conducted under the powers granted by Article 74(6)(c) of the 1977 Constitution of the United Republic of Tanzania and Section 10(1)(d) of the Independent Electoral Commission Act No. 2 of 2024.

These laws empower the Commission to investigate and redraw boundaries across the Union for parliamentary elections. According to Article 75(4) of the Constitution, this boundary review can be done from time to time, but at the very least, every ten years.

It all sounds procedural, almost routine. But for many Tanzanians—already grappling with rising living costs, stretched public services, and a Parliament bursting at the seams with over 390 MPs—this doesn’t feel like democratic fine-tuning. It feels like more weight on an already overburdened system.

People in Mbagala or Busanda aren’t losing sleep over constituency names. They’re worrying about the basics: whether their children will find desks at school, whether the local clinic will have medicine, whether there’ll be clean water in the taps or just more talk from officials. When leadership feels far away, changing borders won’t fix that. And when it feels unaccountable, multiplying its branches only spreads the problem wider.

So, while Judge Mwambegele quotes the Constitution and outlines timelines, ordinary citizens hear something else: the sound of another layer being added to a government they’re already struggling to afford.

It’s hard not to feel like the people are being asked to carry more so the system can do less. In a democracy, redrawing lines isn’t just a technical exercise—it’s a test of trust. And right now, that trust is wearing thin.

These newly formed constituencies—Kivule from Ukonga, Chamazi from Mbagala, Mtumba from Dodoma Mjini, Uyole from Mbeya Mjini, Bariadi Mjini from Bariadi, and Katoro from Busanda—are said to respond to population growth and administrative efficiency.

Nonetheless, here’s the truth that resonates in the alleys of Chamazi, on the buses of Uyole, and in the dusty markets of Mtumba: more MPs don’t always mean more progress.

Critics haven’t held back. With general elections around the corner in 2025, the timing of these changes raises red flags. Is this really about representation, or just another expensive shuffle before ballots are cast? Behind every new constituency lies a ballooning cost to the taxpayer: more salaries, more offices, more vehicles, more allowances. And for what?

Adding more constituencies is like buying more pots when there's not enough water to fill the ones you already have. It’s a move that confuses movement for momentum. Experience elsewhere paints a clearer picture.

Take the United States: a country of over 330 million people governed by just 535 members of Congress. With a GDP north of $25 trillion, they haven’t seen the need to multiply their legislative ranks to achieve development. Tanzania, with a fraction of that economic power, is now stretching its already strained public finances to accommodate even more lawmakers.

And across the Atlantic, Namibia offers a different kind of example. In 2024, President Nangolo Mbumba (after succeeding the late Hage Geingob) made a bold call—trim the cabinet. It wasn't popular with the political elite, but it resonated with a public weary of bloated government and unfulfilled promises. That courage to cut back in the name of progress is something we could learn from.

Because ultimately, it's not the number of MPs that drives change—it’s what they do. A parliamentarian, at their best, should be the people’s compass in budget debates, a hawk over public spending, a shield against corrupt deals, and a bridge between dusty villages and the promises made in marble halls.

Nonetheless, in the Tanzania we live in today, many seem more invested in ribbon-cutting ceremonies and weekend political theatrics—chasing allowances while classrooms go roofless, clinics remain understaffed, and graduates walk the streets with degrees but no prospects.

And here’s the irony that hits hardest: while the challenges multiply for ordinary Tanzanians, so do the perks for their representatives. With the creation of 12 new constituencies, the number of MPs is now over 390.

That’s 390+ mouths to feed from the national purse. Opposition leader Freeman Mbowe didn’t mince words—he said each MP takes home around TSh 16 million per month. On top of that, they pocket a sitting allowance of TSh 540,000 per day during parliamentary deliberations. Multiply that by hundreds of MPs and sitting days, and it's no longer politics—it's premium payroll masked as governance.

Economist Zitto Kabwe has also weighed in before on the spiraling cost of bloated government. He’s warned that growing the state without growing accountability or productivity only ends in economic strain, not transformation.

And he’s right. This isn’t about envy—it’s about equity. It’s about asking: who exactly is the government working for, and who’s footing the bill?

In countries like Sweden and Denmark, where integrity isn't a campaign promise but a working principle, MPs live modestly and are held to high standards. They don’t get fat allowances or grand motorcades. They get results. Because leadership there is measured by service, not by how much you can squeeze out of the state.

Instead of carving up the country into even more political slices, why not make the existing ones work better? Why not strengthen ward offices and local councils, make village governments more than ceremonial shells, and turn oversight bodies into actual watchdogs? Let’s demand MPs who answer hard questions, not just show up for photo ops. Let’s stop feeding a machine that grows but doesn’t move.

Because every shilling spent on padding Parliament is a shilling not spent fixing a water pipe in Lindi, or stocking a health center in Kigoma, or building a computer lab in Tanga. And we feel it—every single day. We don't need more chairs in the Bunge. We need more action. More accountability. More truth.