By Jerameel Kevins Owuor Odhiambo
Death is one sure thing in the natural order of existence but meeting it in the hands of the men in blue saddens the soul and renders the heart heavy with grief that pierces through the very fabric of our humanity. The tragic and deeply unsettling death of Albert Omondi Ojwang in police custody is not merely a statistic to be filed away in government reports, it is a damning indictment of a system that has lost its moral compass, a brutal reminder of the unchecked impunity that continues to fester like an untreated wound within our law enforcement agencies.
Here was a young teacher, a beacon of knowledge and hope, a father to a young child whose laughter will forever echo in empty rooms, whose only transgression was exercising his constitutional right to free expression. He was arrested under the cover of darkness, spirited away from his family like a common criminal, and delivered into the hands of those sworn to protect and serve, only to emerge hours later as another cold statistic of custodial death. This is not justice; this is state-sanctioned murder dressed in the uniform of law enforcement. As James Baldwin once wrote, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced” and today, we face the ugly truth of what our police force has become.
The mobilization of the entire machinery of the National Police Service, with all its resources and personnel, to pursue what is fundamentally a civil matter of alleged defamation is both galling and deeply ironic, representing a gross misallocation of state power that would be laughable if it were not so tragic. The Constitution of Kenya is unequivocal in its protection of freedom of expression and due process, principles that form the bedrock of any civilized democracy.
Defamation, by every legal standard and precedent established in our courts, is a civil dispute; not a criminal enterprise warranting midnight arrests and deadly detentions that transform police stations into execution chambers. The weaponization of criminal law to settle what should be civil disagreements represents a dangerous erosion of the rule of law and a return to the dark days of authoritarian rule. When police officers become judge, jury, and executioner over matters that belong in civil courts, we witness the complete breakdown of the separation of powers that protects citizens from tyranny. This is not law enforcement; this is state terrorism against its own people, disguised in the language of maintaining order.
Custodial deaths are not merely unacceptable, they are an abomination that strikes at the very heart of our humanity, eroding public trust in law enforcement and signaling a terrifying disregard for the sanctity of human life that should be sacred to every civilized society. The Constitution, under Article 29, guarantees every Kenyan the right to freedom and security of the person, including the explicit right not to be subjected to any form of violence from either public or private sources and freedom from torture and cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment. These are not mere words on paper; they are the sacred covenant between the state and its citizens, a promise that has been broken with Albert’s blood. When a citizen enters police custody, they enter a sacred trust the state becomes their guardian, responsible for their safety, their dignity, and their life. That trust has been shattered, ground into dust beneath the boots of officers who have forgotten that the uniform they wear is meant to serve, not to terrorize. As Nelson Mandela reminded us, “To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity” and in the cells of Central Police Station, Albert Ojwang’s humanity was not just challenged but extinguished.
Custodial deaths are not statistical anomalies or unfortunate accidents that can be explained away with bureaucratic doublespeak they are systematic violations of the most fundamental human right: the right to life, which stands as the foundation upon which all other rights are built. Every time a Kenyan dies in police custody, we witness the complete collapse of the social contract between the state and its citizens, a contract written not in law books but in blood and tears. How can we trust a police force that cannot guarantee the basic safety of those in their care, that transforms detention cells into death chambers? How can we have faith in a justice system where being arrested for a social media post becomes a death sentence, where words on a screen warrant the ultimate punishment without trial, without defense, without mercy? The badge has become a license to kill, the uniform a shield against accountability, and the police station a place where justice goes to die. This is not the Kenya our forefathers envisioned, not the democracy they fought and died to establish. As Maya Angelou powerfully stated, “Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future, and renders the present inaccessible” and the prejudice against citizens’ rights by those in uniform has rendered justice inaccessible to the very people it should protect.
The interdiction of officers is mere window dressing, a cosmetic response to a cancer that has metastasized throughout our entire criminal justice system, spreading its poison from the lowest constable to the highest ranks of command. The interdiction of the officers at Central Police Station and the involvement of the Independent Policing Oversight Authority are necessary steps, but they are cold comfort to a nation that has seen too many such investigations fade into oblivion like morning mist, with justice perpetually delayed and systematically denied. We have witnessed this theatrical performance before officers suspended with pay, investigations launched with fanfare, families promised justice that never comes, and eventually, silence as the media moves on and public attention wanes. This cycle of impunity must end, for it makes a mockery of our courts, our constitution, and our collective conscience. The family of Albert Ojwang deserves more than empty promises and bureaucratic procedures; they deserve answers, accountability, and above all, justice that is swift, decisive, and uncompromising. As Martin Luther King Jr. warned us, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” and the injustice in Central Police Station threatens the very foundation of justice in our entire nation.
Justice Ogolla’s landmark decision in the Alexander Monson case made it crystal clear that police officers who torture, deny treatment, or fail in their fundamental duty of care to those in custody are criminally liable, and their actions constitute a gross violation of the right to life and dignity that cannot be overlooked or forgiven. The chilling echoes of that case resound through the corridors of Central Police Station today, where yet another family has been left to mourn a son, a father, a teacher whose only mistake was to speak his mind in a country that supposedly guarantees freedom of expression.
The Monson precedent established that ignorance is not a defense, that following orders is not justification, and that the uniform does not grant immunity from the law principles that seem to have been forgotten in the darkness of police cells. Albert’s death is not an isolated incident but part of a pattern, a systematic failure that has turned our police stations into houses of horror where citizens enter alive and leave as corpses. The legal precedent is clear, the constitutional principles are unambiguous, yet officers continue to act with the confidence of men who believe they are above the law. As Chinua Achebe observed, “The trouble with Nigeria is simply and squarely a failure of leadership” and the leadership of our police force has failed not just Albert Ojwang, but every Kenyan who believes in justice.
This tragedy transcends the individual case of Albert Ojwang; it represents every Kenyan who has been silenced by fear, brutalized by power, or killed under the false pretext of law enforcement in a system that has lost its way. It is about the systematic misuse of police powers to settle personal scores, intimidate critics, and suppress the very dissent that is essential to a healthy democracy. It is about a justice system that now stands at a crossroads, forced to decide whether it will stand with the people who fund it, vote for it, and believe in it, or with the perpetrators of state violence who have turned the instruments of justice into weapons of oppression. The badge that should symbolize protection has become a mark of fear; the uniform that should inspire confidence now instills terror in the hearts of ordinary citizens. When teachers fear to speak, when fathers are afraid to express opinions, when citizens self-censor for fear of death, we have not achieved order we have created a police state. This is not about politics or personalities; this is about the fundamental question of whether Kenya will remain a democracy or slide into the abyss of authoritarianism where might makes right and the strong prey upon the weak.
We must ask ourselves as a nation: How many more Albert Ojwangs must die before the state acknowledges that a badge is not a license to kill and a uniform is not a shield against accountability that protects the guilty while condemning the innocent? The time for half-measures and hollow promises has passed; the moment for decisive action is now, before more families join the tragic fellowship of those who have lost loved ones to police brutality. We demand nothing less than a transparent, public, and genuinely independent investigation into Albert Ojwang’s death that leaves no stone unturned and no question unanswered.
We demand the immediate prosecution of all those responsible not just the foot soldiers who carried out the killing, but those who gave the orders, those who created the culture of impunity, and those who continue to shield murderers from accountability. We demand prompt and regular feedback on the progress of investigations, not the usual bureaucratic silence that allows cases to die in dusty files. We demand comprehensive police reforms that transform our law enforcement from an occupying army into a service that truly protects and serves all Kenyans regardless of their social media posts or political opinions. The Constitution is not a suggestion to be ignored when convenient; justice is non-negotiable and cannot be bartered away for temporary peace. The blood of Albert Ojwang cries out from the ground for answers, and this nation will not rest, will not be silent, will not be pacified until every stone is turned, every lie exposed, every cover-up unraveled, and every guilty party from the constable to the commander is brought to book and made to face the full weight of the law they have so callously violated.
The writer is a legal researcher and lawyer
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