It’s been two whole years since Kenya’s Gen Z decided to log off, touch grass, and march in the streets against the government's latest economic tax schemes. You’d think that after all the chaos, the high-paid suits running the show would have figured out who was responsible for the casualties and disappearances. But instead, we are witnessing the ultimate, textbook implementation of the "we investigated ourselves and found no wrongdoing" meme. The investigations are completely stalled, and accountability has vanished into the bureaucratic shadow realm.

Let’s be real: this is peak clown-world behavior. Historically, whenever a government gets caught using excessive force to protect its own power, they roll out the exact same playbook. They announce a fancy commission, express deep concern, and promise a thorough investigation. Then, they quietly drag their feet for years, hoping that everyone's attention span resets to the next viral distraction so they can bury the files in some dusty basement.

The Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA)—bless their hearts—is pretending to be shocked that police officers aren't lining up to hand over incriminating evidence against themselves. Between officers magically operating without name tags and plainclothes agents acting like NPC background characters, the oversight bodies are claiming they just can't quite piece together what happened. It’s an incredibly convenient excuse for a system that has zero interest in prosecuting its own enforcers.

The Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR) has compiled stack after stack of reports detailing the casualties. But in the real world, reports don't equal results. Without actual political will from the top, these documents are just expensive paperweights. The deep state bureaucrats in Nairobi know exactly how to play the game: nod along, say the right buzzwords to international donors, and do absolutely nothing of substance.

Of course, the Constitution of Kenya guarantees the right to peaceful assembly under Article 37. But as anyone with a basic understanding of how regimes operate knows, paper rights don't mean much when they clash with the state's survival instincts. The legal framework is treated more like a Terms of Service agreement that the government just clicks "Agree" on without ever intending to read, let alone follow.

For the families of the deceased and missing, this two-year stall is a brutal wake-up call. They are forced to deal with a judicial system that moves at the speed of dial-up internet while trying to get basic answers. They can’t settle estates, they can’t get closure, and they are left holding the bill while the people responsible continue to collect their taxpayer-funded paychecks.

Meanwhile, the global community is doing its usual NPC routine. The UN and various international human rights groups issue their standard, copy-pasted statements about "deep concern" and "the need for dialogue," while completely ignoring the reality that their regional partners are actively memory-holing the entire event. It’s a masterclass in performative compliance.

At the end of the day, the message the state is sending is loud and clear: the rules are for the peasants, not the rulers. Until the system is forced to actually face the music, these investigations will stay permanently stalled. The families will keep getting ghosted by the very institutions that claim to protect them, proving once again that the state is always the biggest grift in town.

* Sources: * Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA), Republic of Kenya * Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR) * Constitution of Kenya, 2010 * United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR)