There are too many tears. They stream down the cheeks of mothers like Ann Nyawira, who spent the night guarding the bullet-ridden corpse of her 21-year-old son, Brian Kimutai, so that the police officers who shot him would not tamper with the evidence.
On July 7, as Kenyans poured into the streets to mark Saba Saba while demanding a better future, the state answered with live bullets. Whispers swirl of “goons” deployed alongside officers to terrorise unarmed civilians. At last count, the Kenya Human Rights Commission had tallied 31 dead, 107 injured, two enforced disappearances and 532 arrests nationwide. The toll may still rise as more families come forward.
The names of all the departed should never leave us. Bridgit Njoki, just 12, was watching television in her living room when a bullet tore through her. Also among the dead is 18-year-old Kevin Muiruri, who was reportedly left bleeding in the street until strangers carried him to the hospital.
History will weep for what we are doing to these families. Their stories should trouble the political class. But they won’t. Our leaders are content to walk among us wearing the faces of monsters. They have decided it is easier to kill our children and call it peace than to confront their legitimate grievances. This is a cold and deliberate choice by the so-called broad-based government that is stuffed to the gills with law professors. Never mind what the pesky constitution says: in today’s Kenya, lawful dissent is no longer a right but a crime punishable by death.
The cruelty of this dark moment in our history is captured in a now viral clip: a heavily armed police officer, chest puffed with unaccountability, tells an unarmed civilian, “Niko na ruhusa ya kukuua… Utalala kwa fridge (I have permission to kill you… You will sleep in a fridge).
This is no longer, as has been the convenient excuse deployed before, the rogue behaviour of a few bad apples. This is police impunity run amok. It is also grim confirmation, if any were still needed after the brutal killings of teacher Albert Ojwang and vendor Boniface Kariuki, that state-sanctioned murder has become routine business for our men and women in uniform.
President William Ruto once loudly condemned the excesses of the Uhuru Kenyatta administration, which he served as deputy for a decade. He vowed that his government would not leave bodies floating in River Yala. He kept his promise. Now, the bodies of those needlessly shot dead by the police bleed on pavements, alleyways, behind market stalls and, in the case of 12-year-old Brigit Njoki, in living rooms. An administration unaccustomed to delivering efficiency everywhere else has become disturbingly adept at manufacturing death, even from the innocence of a childhood afternoon.
There is no “moving on” from this moment. Just as with Albert Ojwang’, the dead will not be buried quietly. Their blood must mark a turning point. We must demand a full, independent commission of inquiry into who gave the orders. We must insist on transparent investigations, full reparations for the families, and the immediate disarmament and prosecution of every officer with innocent blood on their hands.
Kenya’s ruling class must summon whatever enlightened self-interest it has left and confront these existential questions: What kind of country do you think will emerge from this crucible? What future can we promise our children when the state finds their idealism (which is grounded in the 2010 constitution) so offensive? Who are you really governing, if your legitimacy is so fragile that you have to kill children to maintain it?
The political class will, in all likelihood, gamble that naked tribal loyalty, fear, polished propaganda, and the support of soulless political mercenaries will shield them from real accountability. But that is a temporary refuge. History always delivers its verdict and this time, it will be written by the comrades of the young people this government is killing today. Their memory will outlast your power.
To govern wisely is not to terrorise or suppress. To govern is to protect even those who disagree with you. Especially those who disagree with you. Kenya cannot build its future on the backs of murdered children. If we try, the centre will not hold
The writer is a lawyer and media practitioner
