A lot is happening in the country.
For a moment, one might be tempted to think our come-to-Jesus moment is finally here.
But allow me to focus on the calls by a group of Kenyans demanding change in our Judiciary.
The Law Society of Kenya, for instance, has pointed out that while reforms have occurred in the Judiciary post-2010, corruption and delays continue to plague the justice system, eroding its credibility and public trust.
LSK is calling for a more effective framework for investigating complaints against judicial officers.
That issue, I will leave to the due process to address. Sober Kenyans remind us that our 2010 Constitution is undoubtedly the strongest document stabilising this country, especially in recent times.
That a Mama Mboga somewhere knows the preamble of the Constitution empowers people to question government decisions is something that would have been unimaginable during the colonial and post-independence eras.
This 2010 Constitution grants every Kenyan the power to hold leaders accountable and seek justice.
But justice is meaningless when delays in our courts make it an illusion.
I recently shared with colleagues in the newsroom a case that has dragged on for years.
One was quick to ask how a matter that has been before judges for more than five years remains unresolved.
Does this stem from the shortage of judges in our courts? Or is it a deliberate move by vested interests to stall the process, hoping victims will give up, forget, or even pass away?
This, to me, has been the reality behind Constitutional Petition 122 of 2013 by survivors of sexual violence.
This petition sought to hold the Kenyan government accountable for its failure to prevent or address the post-election sexual violence of 2007-08, prosecute perpetrators, and provide redress to survivors.
The petitioners, including eight survivors and supporting organisations, highlighted the state’s neglect of its constitutional and international obligations, which led to widespread impunity and compounded the harm suffered by survivors.
In 2020, the High Court awarded compensation to four survivors, acknowledging state failures in preventing and investigating sexual and gender-based violence.
Yet, to date, the compensation remains unpaid.
The remaining four survivors, whose appeal was filed in 2021, are still waiting for their day in court.
Three years have passed, and no hearing date has been set. Three good years. Imagine. I recently met these survivors.
They hoped I might be the bearer of good news, that their long-awaited Sh4 million compensation had finally been released.
The others held on to the faint hope that their appeal finally would be heard.
I have come to a conclusion that justice is an elusive thing and the hoi polloi of this country might never get it if this is how duty-bearers handle sensitive matters involving the well-being of the most vulnerable citizens. Most of these survivors have left Nairobi because life in the city has become too hard.
They’ve moved to their hometowns, trying to survive as they wait for justice.
Some have even started losing hope. One survivor told me they’re now relying on prayers for God to step in and make something happen.
This Sh4 million might sound too little to the looters and grabbers, but to the four survivors, this means partially restoring their lives.
While reparations is about more than just money, this compensation could as well transform their lives.
It could help cover their long-overdue medical treatments for injuries and trauma caused by the violence and provide a stable foundation to rebuild their lives.
For these survivors who have faced neglect and systemic failures, this payment is not just about money. It’s about acknowledgement, healing, and a chance to move forward with hope.
They need
the money.
Until our Judiciary and the office
of the Attorney General, which is responsible for releasing this money,
become a beacon of hope rather than
an emblem of delay and despair, justice for these survivors will remain a
distant dream. It should not be that
way
