Written in gold, wielded in iron: Katiba@16 and the realities of power
Sixteen years after Kenyans voted to redraw the architecture of power, the Constitution’s promises are being tested by the very institutions entrusted to protect them
By Levis Wangamati
Sixteen years ago, Kenya did more than promulgate a Constitution. It attempted to redraw the architecture of power itself.
When Kenyans voted overwhelmingly for the 2010 Constitution, they were not merely ratifying a legal draft. They were declaring an end to an era defined by unchecked executive authority, fragile institutional restraints and entrenched impunity. The charter promulgated at Uhuru Park was written in gold — ambitious, progressive and deliberately designed to place the citizen at the centre of governance.
Sixteen years later, the symbolism remains potent. But the contradiction has deepened.
As political leaders, jurists, civil society actors and ordinary citizens gathered at the Kenyatta International Convention Centre for the Katiba@16 symposium yesterday, Kenya found itself commemorating a document whose promises continue to be tested by the institutions entrusted with upholding them. The question is no longer whether Kenya possesses a progressive Constitution. It does. The harder question is whether those who exercise public power possess the discipline to live within its boundaries.
That is where the golden promise of 2010 collides with the iron realities of statecraft.
Nowhere is that collision sharper than in the struggle over public assembly. Article 37 guarantees every person the right, peaceably and unarmed, to assemble, demonstrate, picket and present petitions to public authorities. It represents one of the Constitution’s most significant shifts — transforming citizens from passive subjects of state power into active participants in governance.
Speaking at KICC, President William Ruto acknowledged that the 2024 Gen Z demonstrations reflected genuine demands for accountability and better governance. He described peaceful protest, criticism and dissent as essential to democracy, while insisting that constitutional protection does not extend to violence, looting or the destruction of property. He also called for credible allegations of human rights violations to be independently investigated.
That distinction matters. No constitutional right is a licence for criminality. But public order cannot become a convenient cloak for suppressing legitimate dissent. The true test of Article 37 is not whether the State tolerates protest when it is politically comfortable, but whether it protects that right when citizens use it to challenge those in authority. The street remains where the constitutional promise either holds or fractures.
A constitutional government is not defined merely by its capacity to govern. It is defined by its willingness to accept limits on that authority. That is why an independent judiciary is indispensable. The 2010 Constitution did not establish courts simply to resolve disputes — it empowered the bench to police the boundaries of executive and legislative power. When state agencies disregard court orders, delay compliance or treat judicial decisions as political inconveniences, the damage extends well beyond the individual case. It weakens the foundational principle that no office, however powerful, stands above the law.
Former Chief Justice David Maraga’s warning that Kenya’s constitutional order is under siege speaks directly to that concern. A court order cannot be binding only when its outcome suits the government of the day. Constitutionalism requires legal boundaries to remain binding precisely when they become inconvenient — and most especially then.
The metaphor of power wielded in iron becomes most acute within the security apparatus. The State has legitimate authority to maintain public order, but that authority is constitutionally bounded. Police officers are not exempt from the Constitution; they are subject to it. Allegations of enforced disappearances, arbitrary detention and excessive force therefore strike directly at the credibility of the Bill of Rights. When citizens fear that political expression could expose them to unlawful state action, constitutional protection weakens in practice, whatever the text says in theory. Ruto’s call for independent investigations is significant, but its credibility will ultimately depend on institutions capable of establishing facts and enforcing consequences without fear or favour.
Parliament, too, carries a burden the Constitution did not design it to shed. Its responsibility is not simply to process government policy. It is to scrutinise public spending, investigate executive conduct and represent the sovereign will of the people. Former Attorney General Githu Muigai pointed at the symposium to challenges facing key oversight structures and raised the broader question of whether Parliament is fully exercising its constitutional mandate. Political alignment between lawmakers and the executive is not inherently a constitutional failure — coalition politics naturally produces cooperation. The danger emerges when political loyalty overwhelms institutional duty. When Parliament becomes more concerned with protecting an executive than scrutinising it, one of the Constitution’s critical lines of defence quietly disappears.
A fair assessment of Katiba@16 must also engage the government’s strongest argument. The Ruto administration presents its Bottom-Up Economic Transformation Agenda as a practical attempt to realise Article 43, which guarantees socioeconomic rights including healthcare, housing, food and social security. Ruto has argued that these rights should be judged by their impact on the daily lives of Kenyans, not merely by constitutional rhetoric. That argument carries genuine weight. But economic delivery cannot substitute for institutional accountability. A government can build housing while remaining bound by court orders. It can expand healthcare while remaining obligated to protect peaceful protesters. It can pursue economic transformation while respecting independent institutions. The Constitution does not demand a choice between development and the rule of law. It demands both.
That is why the voices from civil society, professional bodies and constitutional watchdogs matter as much as those from the podium. A healthy democracy requires journalists, lawyers, activists and civic organisations to scrutinise authority without being treated as enemies of the state. The maturity of a democracy is not measured by how passionately its leaders praise the Constitution. It is measured by how much space exists for those who disagree with them. When that space narrows, constitutional rights risk becoming beautiful words with very little protection behind them.
All of these institutional questions converge, with increasing urgency, on 2027. The next general election will be more than a contest between political coalitions. It will be a full audit of Kenya’s constitutional machinery — the independence and readiness of the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission, the integrity of electoral technology and procurement, the neutrality of the security services and the depth of public trust in the process. Elections expose institutional weaknesses because political stakes magnify every flaw. If electoral institutions command public confidence, disputes can be resolved through constitutional channels. If that confidence collapses, suspicion can rapidly harden into conflict. Kenya cannot afford to wait until election day to discover whether its institutions are ready.
The constitutional work of 2027 begins now — and it is already overdue.
The central misconception of the post-2010 era is that drafting progressive rules is sufficient to secure democracy. It is not. Kenya possesses Article 37, Article 43, judicial independence, devolution and a comprehensive Bill of Rights. The constitutional framework is remarkable in its ambition. What remains unfinished is the political culture needed to animate it. A constitution possesses no self-executing power. Judges must interpret it with courage. Parliament must defend it with independence. The executive must submit to it with honesty. Institutions must enforce it without fear. And citizens must demand its protection without apology.
The 2010 Constitution was never meant to sit in legal treatises or be commemorated once a year at KICC. It was designed to safeguard the citizen at the police station, protect rights in the courtroom, enforce accountability in Parliament and guarantee fairness at the ballot box. It was enacted to ensure that the state remains the servant of the people — not its master.
Sixteen years on, Kenya does not need more speeches praising its constitutional design. It needs institutions with the courage to enforce limits when doing so is politically difficult, citizens vigilant enough to defend their rights and leaders honest enough to accept that public power is a constrained trust — not a personal inheritance.
The Constitution was written in gold.
But so long as power continues to be wielded in iron, the struggle to fulfil its promise remains the defining political duty of our time.
Similar Posts by The Mt Kenya Times:
- Mt Kenya Times ePAPER August 28, 2026
- Kenya is losing fifteen mothers a day — and the numbers are getting worse
- Consolata International University opens new academic year with call to humanise artificial intelligence
- Mang’eni challenges universities to put entrepreneurship at the heart of learning
- Why Jetour struggles to build a fan base in Kenya
About the Author
