The death of Kenyan blogger Albert Ojwang in a police cell is not just another case to be added to the growing list of unexplained or unresolved deaths in custody. It is a question posed directly to the conscience of a nation. What has become of Kenya? Has it laws? Has it order? Has it leadership?
Albert Ojwang was arrested and taken into custody. Days later, he was dead. The initial police version suggested suicide. But even that crumbled under the weight of evidence. Five pathologists, independent and qualified, examined his body. Their conclusion was clear and deeply disturbing. The injuries on Ojwang’s body were not consistent with suicide. They were consistent with repeated, forceful, external assault.
Dr Midia, one of the pathologists, described the findings with clinical precision. Bleeding on the scalp. Bruises on the face, the back of the head, the neck, the limbs. These were not injuries one could inflict upon oneself. They were spread too widely and inflicted with too much force. The suggestion that a man in custody, under police supervision, died by self harm no longer holds.
Then came the President’s admission. A moment of truth, perhaps. A moment of clarity, certainly. In an address to the public, the head of state acknowledged that Ojwang had been killed by police. The words landed heavily. And they should. For what does it say about a country when its leader must inform its people that those paid to protect are responsible for a citizen’s death?
Who will speak for Kenya now? Who will speak for its angry, frightened, unheard youth? The ones who live each day wondering whether simply voicing an opinion will land them behind bars. Or worse, in a coffin. Is it still safe to speak in Kenya? Is it still legal to dissent?
Where is the Legislature, in all this? What of the Members of Parliament who enjoy handsome salaries funded by the very people now being buried without justice? Have they taken a stand? Or are they more comfortable in silence, hoping the public anger will soon pass?
The Judiciary must now be called to answer. Not with vague statements, but with concrete action. Section 62 of the Police Act, Cap 84, Laws of Kenya, is unambiguous. It states that nothing in the Act exempts a police officer from being prosecuted under any other law in force. In simple terms, police officers are not above the law. If they commit an offence, they must be prosecuted like any other citizen.
And let us be clear. Murder, under Kenyan law, carries a serious penalty. Life imprisonment. Even death. Will we see this applied to the officer or officers responsible for Ojwang’s killing? Will there be arrests? Will there be open trials, not secretive disciplinary hearings held behind closed doors? Or will this case be smothered, slowed, and eventually forgotten like so many others before it?
What about the family? What restitution, what apology, what compensation could ever make sense of their loss? How does one sit across from grieving parents and explain that their son, a young man with ideas and opinions, was taken into state custody and never walked out alive?
This is not just about Albert Ojwang. It is about every Kenyan who has ever felt invisible in the eyes of the law. It is about the young people who fear that their lives are cheap, easily discarded, and that justice is something reserved for the powerful. How many more must die before the system takes real, lasting action?
What message does it send when the President has to publicly name the police as responsible for a civilian’s death? It should not take a national scandal for the truth to come out. There should be systems in place to prevent these deaths. There should be accountability mechanisms that work without presidential intervention. The fact that it took this long, and required such high-level confirmation, shows just how far trust has eroded.
Will the courts now act swiftly? Will the officers be prosecuted in accordance with the law? Or will time pass, evidence disappear, and public attention shift elsewhere? Will the death of Albert Ojwang become yet another line in a long and painful history of injustice?
Kenya is a country with talent, potential, and promise. But none of that matters if the basic right to life is not protected. No investment, no infrastructure, no speech about economic growth can cover up the wounds inflicted by unchecked violence and impunity.
Until justice is served, this question remains. Who will hear Kenya out? Who will hear the cries of its youth? Who will stand up, not in whispered concern but in full voice, and demand that this never happen again?
Who will speak when the next voice is silenced? And how many more Albert Ojwangs must there be before we say, enough?
Story by Rachael Twinomugisha, a legal analyst and commentator on international human rights law and criminal justice issues across Africa and beyond.
