NAIROBI, Kenya – When a court finds a preacher guilty of the murder of 191 people, including 190 children, the tragedy demands more than outrage. It forces society to confront a difficult question: at what point does religious leadership stop being an expression of faith and become a machinery of control, exploitation and death?
The conviction of Paul Nthenge Mackenzie and his co-accused persons in the Shakahola massacre has brought this question back into sharp focus. The court rejected the defence that the victims had voluntarily fasted to death, finding the accused guilty of murder. The case has exposed the devastating consequences of religious teachings enforced in circumstances where followers, including children, were unable to protect themselves.
Yet the word cult deserves careful examination. It is widely used to describe groups associated with extreme beliefs, authoritarian leadership or harmful practices, but it is not a simple synonym for an unfamiliar religion. Used carelessly, it can stigmatise people because of what they believe. Used thoughtfully, it can help identify patterns of manipulation and abuse that might otherwise remain hidden behind religious language.
The real question is not whether a group looks strange to outsiders. It is whether its leaders exercise power in ways that deny members their freedom, dignity, safety and ability to leave.
A Word With No Simple Definition
The word cult carries considerable emotional and political weight. In popular usage, it often describes a religious group whose leader demands unquestioning loyalty and whose practices depart sharply from wider social norms. In academic discussions, however, the term remains contested, partly because it can blur the distinction between unconventional beliefs and demonstrably harmful conduct.
Religious-studies scholar Damaris Parsitau addressed this difficulty in submissions to the Kenyan Senate’s Ad Hoc Committee investigating the Shakahola tragedy. The committee’s report cautioned that definitions of a cult and related terms can be politicised and should be used carefully.
That warning matters. A small religious community, a movement with unfamiliar rituals, or a preacher whose theology differs from mainstream churches is not necessarily dangerous. Nor should the state decide the legitimacy of faith simply by measuring it against popular opinion.
The more useful approach is to examine conduct: Is a leader manipulating followers through fear? Are members being isolated from family and independent sources of information? Are children being denied food, medical care, or education? Are threats, intimidation or violence used to enforce obedience? Can people question the leadership or leave without punishment?
These questions move the debate away from religious labels and towards evidence.
The Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR), in its monitoring findings published in March 2024, documented allegations and findings concerning indoctrination, radicalisation, coercive fasting and the exploitation of followers in Shakahola. The commission also identified serious failures by state institutions to protect people from harm.
This is the distinction Kenya must preserve: unusual belief alone is not proof of abuse, but religious authority cannot excuse conduct that violates fundamental rights.
When Obedience Becomes A Weapon
Faith often asks people to trust, sacrifice, follow moral guidance and commit themselves to a community. Those things can be meaningful and entirely voluntary.
The danger begins when trust is converted into an instrument of domination.
A leader who presents himself as the sole interpreter of divine will may make disagreement appear sinful, questioning seem rebellious and departure feel like a betrayal of God. If followers are also cut off from relatives, independent information or outside assistance, the leader’s authority can become difficult to challenge.
In such circumstances, people may comply not because they have freely considered their options, but because they fear spiritual punishment, social rejection or physical harm.
This is why the language of consent requires scrutiny. A person may appear to agree with a leader while operating under intense pressure. Children are especially vulnerable because they depend on adults for food, shelter, medical treatment and protection. They cannot be expected to exercise the same independence as adults, and their welfare cannot be surrendered to a leader’s interpretation of scripture.
Shakahola therefore raises a question beyond theology: who intervenes when a religious leader’s instructions place vulnerable people in immediate danger?
The answer cannot be that authorities should wait until bodies are discovered.
Religious Freedom Is Not A Licence To Harm
Kenya’s Constitution protects freedom of conscience, religion, belief and opinion under Article 32. That protection is essential in a diverse society where people must be free to worship, change their religion, reject religion or practise their faith without arbitrary state interference.
But religious freedom exists alongside other constitutional rights, including the right to life, human dignity, security and the protection of children.
The state must therefore navigate two responsibilities at once: protect freedom of religion and prevent abuse committed under its cover.
That balance requires evidence-based intervention, not blanket suspicion of religious communities. Authorities should not shut down a group merely because its beliefs are unpopular. They should, however, investigate credible evidence of coercion, abuse, unlawful confinement, child neglect, violence or other criminal conduct.
Where the law has been broken, religious status should not shield the perpetrators from accountability.
The Senate’s Ad Hoc Committee report on Shakahola examined the proliferation of religious organisations and the circumstances surrounding the deaths. Its work underscores the need to consider oversight, accountability and safeguards against extreme indoctrination without treating every religious organisation as a threat.
Regulation must be designed carefully. Broad or vague powers could be abused against minority faiths, critics of government or unpopular religious leaders. Clear legal standards, credible investigations, judicial oversight and due process are indispensable.
Why The Warning Signs Matter
The most important lesson from Shakahola is that the word cult should not become a label applied only after a catastrophe. Society needs to recognise the behaviours that make a group dangerous before the damage becomes irreversible.
Several warning signs deserve serious attention: leaders demanding absolute obedience; instructions to abandon essential medical care; the denial of education to children; pressure to surrender money or property; isolation from family; threats against dissenters; and the use of spiritual fear to prevent people from leaving.
No single sign automatically establishes that a group is a cult or that a crime has occurred. Context and evidence matter. But when several warning signs appear together—particularly where children are endangered—they should prompt questions from families, community leaders, social workers and relevant authorities.
Families should be able to raise concerns without automatically being dismissed as enemies of a person’s faith. Religious organisations should have credible internal safeguarding systems. Authorities must take reports of abuse seriously, document evidence and act within the law.
Religious leaders also have a responsibility to speak clearly against the exploitation of vulnerable followers. Silence can leave harmful practices unchallenged and allow abusive leaders to claim that their actions represent faith itself.
The Danger Of Waiting For A Massacre
Shakahola also exposed the consequences of institutional failure. In its 2024 findings, the KNCHR said the state had failed to protect people from harm and abuse, pointing to shortcomings in the criminal justice and security systems.
That assessment should prompt a wider examination of how warning signs are handled. When complaints emerge about a religious leader, are they investigated promptly? Do agencies share relevant information? Are children and vulnerable adults protected? Are investigators equipped to distinguish lawful religious practice from coercion and criminal conduct?
These are practical questions, not merely philosophical ones.
Kenya does not need a campaign against religion. It needs institutions capable of protecting people without discriminating against their beliefs. It needs families and communities that can question dangerous instructions without being intimidated. And it needs leaders who understand that spiritual authority carries responsibilities rather than immunity.
The challenge is to intervene early enough to prevent harm while respecting the constitutional freedoms that make a pluralistic society possible.
The Question Kenya Must Answer
Shakahola should change the way Kenyans discuss cults. Instead of asking only whether a group deserves the label, we should ask what its leaders demand, how they exercise power, what happens to those who refuse and whether members can leave freely.
Those questions are more precise, fairer to legitimate religious communities and more useful to investigators.
A belief does not become criminal simply because it is unfamiliar. But neither does conduct become lawful simply because it is described as a command from God.
The ultimate test of religious leadership is not the number of followers it attracts, the intensity of their devotion or the certainty with which a preacher speaks. It is whether that authority respects human dignity and the rights of the people who place their trust in it.
In the aftermath of Shakahola, Kenya must ensure that religious freedom remains protected, that criminal conduct is confronted and that the next warning sign is not ignored until it becomes another national tragedy.