Protesters make signs with their arms in front of Kenya police officers during a demonstration against tax hikes in Nairobi, on June 18, 2024. [AFP]
Somewhere in Kenya, a mother is standing outside a police station asking where her child was taken. Somewhere else, a widow is carrying a worn-out file from one office to another, trying to recover land taken by someone wealthier and better connected than she is.
A young graduate is wondering whether merit still matters.
A victim is waiting for a case that has remained in court for years. A family is asking why a court order has been issued but not obeyed.
These people are not asking for favours. They are asking for justice. Yet a disturbing question is settling in the hearts of many Kenyans: Does the law protect everyone equally, or does it become strong when confronting the weak and strangely hesitant when approaching the powerful?
This question takes us back to the Old Testament. In ancient Israel, the city gate was more than an entrance. It was where elders gathered, witnesses testified, disputes were heard, and public decisions were made. The gate was the courtroom of the ordinary person. It was the place where power was expected to bow before truth.
That is why the prophet Amos cried out: “Hate evil, love good; maintain justice in the courts”- literally, establish justice at the gate (Amos 5:15).
Amos spoke to a deeply religious society. People attended worship, offered sacrifices and sang sacred songs. But outside the sanctuary, the poor were exploited, truthful witnesses were silenced, and the wealthy manipulated public institutions for personal gain.