Efforts to tackle official abuses in Kenya are failing

FINDING evidence of police brutality in Kenya should not be too tricky. Amateur footage of officers shooting suspected crooks in the back of the head is shared on social media. Vigilante police groups post photographs of suspects they have killed, or intend to kill, on Facebook. “Let them have their time in hell,” one officer wrote beneath an image of a bloody corpse.

Yet since starting work six years ago, Kenya’s police watchdog has managed to secure convictions against just three officers, despite receiving nearly 10,000 complaints of abuse. The Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA) was among a raft of state institutions established under Kenya’s constitution of 2010. The new dispensation was meant to make the country fairer and less corrupt after 1,400 people were killed, hundreds by the police, in a disputed election three years earlier.

Little has changed. Corruption scandals abound and inequality persists, even as Kenya grows richer. When the country returned to the polls last year, 92 people died, according to a government-appointed commission. Most were killed by the police, who were also accused of mass rape and torture.

IPOA was a bold creation. When it was formed, there was only one police watchdog in sub-Saharan Africa. Yet its paltry conviction rate has disappointed many. Activists blame internal divisions and poor investigative skills for some of its shortcomings. After police raided a house during last year’s election violence and allegedly beat to death a six-month-old infant, IPOA failed to identify the culprits. Instead it recommended a judicial inquest, which often takes years to complete.

See something, say nothing

IPOA has a poor record on witness protection, too. In 2015 three officers visited the home of Josephat Mwendwa, a motorcyclist who complained to the authority that he had been shot and wounded by the police. “We will kill you and your body will never be found,” the officers allegedly told him. Six months later the mutilated corpses of Mwendwa, his lawyer and the taxi driver who had driven them to court were found in sacks by a river. They had last been seen in a police cell. Such incidents inevitably deter complaints.

IPOA’s relationship with the police itself is troublingly fraternal. In June an inquest ruled that Alexander Monson, a young Briton, had been beaten to death by the policemen who detained him on suspicion of possessing cannabis in 2012. The Monson case was IPOA’s first investigation, and the body hailed the ruling as a triumph. Yet it had previously backed tendentious police claims that the Briton died of a drug overdose, even theorising in court that bruises to his groin were caused by vigorous oral sex.

Such convolutions point to deep-seated problems within many of Kenya’s new watchdogs. The state bodies they oversee are too powerful and have little incentive to co-operate. Policemen who kill or injure suspects are meant to report themselves to IPOA, but because there is no punishment if they do not, few bother. Evidence is often destroyed, while officers refuse to testify against those being investigated, an IPOA official complains.

Self-preservation hampers progress too. Kenya’s president, Uhuru Kenyatta, largely selected the panel that chose IPOA’s board. The body’s budget, like those of other oversight bodies, is set by parliament, which the ruling party dominates. Going after the powerful and politically connected is risky.

So IPOA has restricted itself mainly to investigating low-ranking policemen, just as Kenya’s anti-corruption commission has generally gone after fairly small fry. It has a higher conviction rate than IPOA, but of the 26 officials convicted in the year to June 2017, nearly half had stolen less than $100. The commission’s former chairman reckons that $6bn is stolen from the government’s budget every year. The recent detention of prominent officials has excited Kenyans. But no politician of note has been charged and cases are often dropped when the media’s attention wanes.

Politicians have little interest in ending a system from which they benefit. So it is hardly surprising that Kenya’s constitution is not robust enough to stem corruption. “These laws and institutions were not created to actually address the underlying problems,” says Patrick Gathara, a commentator. “They’re there for show.”

There has been one exception. Kenya’s judiciary was once known for its pliancy and crookedness. But in recent years it has shown its mettle. Last year the Supreme Court overturned Mr Kenyatta’s election and ordered a rerun. The ruling emboldened other judges, who have struck down bad laws.

A purge of corrupt judges 15 years ago, less presidential involvement in appointments to senior courts and doggedly independent chief justices are some of the reasons for this improvement. But, having made enemies in government, the courts face pressure too. Their budgets have been slashed and judges have been intimidated.

Kenya’s government is gaining the upper hand over those who might hold it to account. But there has been little pushback from the public. The killing of protesters—hardly covered by Kenya’s once independent media—is welcomed by many in the middle class, who fear instability will undermine the economy. The murder of criminal suspects is similarly applauded. Judges who challenge the government are dismissed as partisan and frequently vilified. “Our rulers are getting away with what they want because we are letting them,” says a lawyer. “We are getting the government we deserve.”