NAIROBI, Kenya — Tuesday’s protests in Nairobi took a dark and dangerous turn — not because of the usual standoff between demonstrators and police, but because of a chilling new alliance that played out in broad daylight.
As Kenyans marched to demand justice, hired goons armed with clubs, whips, and crude weapons roamed the streets alongside uniformed police officers.
The two groups, shockingly, appeared to operate in sync, confronting protesters and terrorizing passers-by in what looked less like law enforcement and more like state-sanctioned street violence.
The arrival of motorbike-riding gangs turned tense into terrifying. Witnesses say the goons didn’t just infiltrate the protests — they led the charge in dispersing crowds.
Some wielded sticks, others barked threats. And standing just steps away? Officers from the National Police Service (NPS), not intervening — but watching.
For an institution whose motto is “Utumishi kwa Wote” (Service to All), the optics couldn’t be worse.
Rather than restoring order, the police appeared to have outsourced it to groups with no legal authority, accountability, or regard for citizen rights.
This wasn’t a rogue incident. The sight of goons and cops working in unison wasn’t just disturbing — it was coordinated.
They shared targets. They flanked protest lines. They operated like comrades-in-arms, forming what looked like a unified force determined to stamp out dissent.
The timing? Conveniently aligned with recent remarks by Nairobi Governor Johnson Sakaja, who had ominously warned protestors to “not try again,” adding, “they’ll find me in town.”
Whether coincidence or orchestration, Tuesday’s events suggest that message had muscle behind it.
But here’s the twist that makes this more than just political drama — it’s a direct violation of Kenyan law.
Under Article 244 of the Constitution, the police are mandated to “respect human rights and fundamental freedoms and dignity,” using force only when absolutely necessary and proportional.
The National Police Service Act is even clearer: officers may only use reasonable force, and even then, they must ensure that any action complies with the law, preserves life, and upholds the rights of all Kenyans — protesters included.
The Kenyan Penal Code outlaws vigilante groups and the use of organized civilian violence.
Allowing — or worse, cooperating with — non-uniformed civilians to perform policing duties is not just unethical, it’s illegal. It violates due process and erodes public trust in legitimate law enforcement.
In fact, Section 88 of the Penal Code criminalizes the arming of civilians for violent purposes.
Those who incite or authorize such actions — including public officials — risk criminal culpability.
And what should the police have done instead? That’s simple. They should have protected peaceful demonstrators.
They should have arrested, not collaborated with, individuals wielding crude weapons. They should have drawn a clear line between state authority and mob intimidation. Instead, that line was blurred — maybe even erased.
This isn’t the first time the country has seen this disturbing tactic.
During previous demonstrations in Kericho, Kakamega, and Uasin Gishu, similar gangs appeared wielding brand-new jembe and hammers, with many suspecting they were bussed in to disrupt legitimate protests.
But this time, the coordination was harder to ignore — and impossible to excuse.
With no official statements distancing the NPS from these groups, Kenyans are left wondering: who’s really in charge of public order?
Clearly the right to protest has been grossly violated.
Under Article 37 of the Kenyan Constitution, citizens have the right to assemble, demonstrate, and picket.
This right is not a favor from the state but a guaranteed right.
When police stand by — or worse, collaborate — as armed civilians violently suppress that right, it’s not just a breach of protocol. It’s a violation of the Constitution.
Moreover, the National Police Service Act and Public Order Act prohibits civilians from assuming policing roles as those are only to be exercised by members of the police service.
The presence of untrained, unidentified civilians wielding weapons amounts to illegal policing.
If proven, such actions could open the door to legal redress, both for individual victims and through public interest litigation.
Organizations like the Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA) are constitutionally mandated to investigate police conduct and hold police accountable for such abuses.
Globally, such unlawful alliances have drawn legal consequences.
In the Philippines, the International Criminal Court opened investigations into police death squads allegedly aided by civilian vigilantes during Duterte’s war on drugs.
In Venezuela, UN-led inquiries exposed state-backed paramilitary groups violently quelling protests — prompting calls for international prosecution.
In India and the United States, police complicity with violent civilian groups sparked legal battles, public inquiries, and international criticism.
Kenya is not an island. It exists within a community of nations where justice systems — and global tribunals — are watching.
Tuesday’s protest wasn’t just about justice for one man. It’s become a constitutional crisis — a broader reckoning over how far the state can go before it breaks its own laws.
