The scene was etched into the national consciousness, a
fleeting moment captured on a phone camera that spoke volumes about Kenya's
enduring challenges.
A young boy, 11 years old, in Turkana, a fifth-grader by his
own account, was hunched diligently over his books, his small figure
illuminated solely by the harsh, solitary glow of a street floodlight.
It was late, past 10
pm, the kind of hour when most children his age are tucked safely in bed.
The person filming, startled by the sight, approached. But
as the camera drew closer, the boy didn't look up with curiosity or a shy
smile.
Instead, his eyes darted, his body tensed, and in a flash,
he was on his feet, abandoning his precious bag and books and bolting into the
darkness.
The videographer spoke to him reassuringly, asking him not
to run away.
The boy stopped and told the stranger that he was doing his
homework, that he was an orphan living with his destitute grandfather, that
they had no lights at home, and that he did his homework here many times.
"Why are you
running?" the bewildered videographer called out. The boy, hesitant,
eventually stopped, his voice small and trembling as he offered a chilling
explanation: "I thought it was the police."
This single, raw exchange rips open a profound and deeply
unsettling truth about Kenya.
In a region where the threat of wild animals is real, where
the infamous bandits of the north cast a long, violent shadow, the greatest
perceived enemy of a boy seeking an education under a floodlight in Lodwar was
not the hyena lurking in the shadows, nor the armed criminal, but the very
institution sworn to protect him.
“I thought it was the
police,” stuck with me!
This is the stark, absurd and heartbreaking reality of a
policing philosophy that produces not trust and cooperation, but fear.
For decades, the DNA of Kenya's police force has remained
largely unchanged from its colonial origins.
The British imperialists established a constabulary not to
serve and safeguard the indigenous population, but to enforce their will,
suppress dissent, and maintain order through coercive force.
They established a police force. It was an instrument of
control, designed to instill obedience, not to build legitimacy and community
partnerships.
Decades after the Union Jack was lowered, much of this
imperialist shadow persists, manifesting in tactics and attitudes that are
fundamentally antithetical to a democratic, rights-respecting society.
The consequence is a pervasive, almost instinctive, fear
among ordinary citizens when confronted by law enforcement.
This fear is not a
figment of imagination; it is a lived reality for countless Kenyans,
particularly those in marginalized communities, informal settlements, or rural
areas like Turkana.
It is born from a history punctuated by documented instances
of arbitrary arrests, extortion, police brutality, extrajudicial killings, and
a chilling lack of accountability for most of such abuses.
When the uniform that
should represent safety instead evokes apprehension, the fundamental social
contract between the state and its people is irrevocably damaged.
The weight of this fear is immense, its implications
far-reaching.
It actively discourages citizens from reporting crimes,
especially if the perpetrators are perceived to have connections within the
police, or if the act of reporting itself might lead to further victimization.
This environment allows human rights violations by law
enforcement to frequently go unpunished, fostering a culture of impunity that
further erodes public confidence in the police and the state.
It stifles civic engagement, making communities hesitant to
collaborate with authorities even on matters of their own safety and
well-being.
For the Turkana boy, the floodlight offered a fragile,
public sanctuary, a place where the visibility might, paradoxically, offer a
sliver of protection from the very people he had been taught to fear in the
shadows.
His flight was a silent indictment of a system that has
failed to transform from a force into a service.
This deeply problematic situation is simply unsustainable
for a nation that aspires to be a regional economic powerhouse, a stable
democracy, a stabilising factor in the East and Horn of Africa and a champion
of human rights.
It stands as a fundamental impediment to genuine
development, social cohesion, and the full realization of the rights enshrined
in Kenya's progressive constitution.
For the Turkana boy well wishers stepped in to transform his
life fundamentally - to help him have a realistic aim at his dreams.
For policing and the
people of Kenya, where will the transformation come from? The time for
incremental adjustments is over; it is long overdue for all stakeholders – the
government, civil society, and crucially, the police service itself,
particularly its leadership and the National Police Service Commission – to collectively embark on a radical
re-engineering of the police force into a genuine 21st-century police service.
This transformation demands a profound paradigm shift,
shedding the last vestiges of the colonial police mentality.
It requires a fundamental re-orientation of training and
doctrine, moving decisively away from paramilitary, control-oriented approaches
towards a human rights-based, community-oriented philosophy.
Police officers must be trained to view citizens as partners
in safety, not as subjects to be controlled and extorted, and to prioritize
service delivery and protection over enforcement through coercion.
Hand in hand with this must come the establishment of truly
robust and independent accountability mechanisms.
This means strengthening institutions like the Independent
Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA) and ensuring that investigations into
police misconduct are thorough, impartial, and lead to swift, transparent
disciplinary actions and prosecutions where warranted.
Furthermore, genuine professionalisation and improved
welfare for police officers are non-negotiable. Investing in better
remuneration, adequate housing, and conducive working conditions can
significantly reduce susceptibility to corruption and foster a greater
commitment to professional standards.
Continuous professional development, encompassing
comprehensive training on human rights, gender sensitivity, and de-escalation
techniques, is paramount.
The philosophy of community policing must transition from a
buzzword to a core operational principle, fostering genuine trust and
collaboration.
This entails police officers becoming visible, approachable,
and deeply integrated into local communities, working hand-in-hand with
residents to identify and resolve local problems.
Finally, leveraging modern technology can significantly
improve policing efficiency, transparency, and accountability, from modernising record-keeping to enhancing forensic capabilities and utilising data analytics
for smarter resource deployment.
The image of the Turkana boy under the floodlight, his fear
laid bare, must serve as a powerful and urgent catalyst for this transformation.
It is not merely about extending electricity grids to every
corner of the nation, vital as that is. It is about ensuring that when the
lights do come on, the chilling shadow of fear cast by the very protectors of
the law has dissipated.
It is about building a police service that inspires
confidence, safeguards rights, and genuinely serves the people of Kenya,
allowing every child, regardless of their circumstances, to pursue their dreams
without the chilling spectre of arbitrary authority.
Only when this fundamental trust is established can Kenya
truly step into its future, unburdened by the ghosts of its colonial
authoritarian past.
