Justice on Trial: The Tragic Death of Albert Ojwang and the Questions We Must Ask

By Fred Allan 

The tragic death of Albert Ojwang, a young, vibrant social media influencer from Kenya, after being arrested and transported over 300 kilometres from Homa Bay, leaves not only a bitter taste but also a trail of haunting questions in its wake.

Albert was not just a name on a trending hashtag. He was a son, a friend, a voice — a young man who had embraced the digital era to speak his mind, shape opinion, and engage his community. He was, by all standards, a Kenyan exercising his right to free expression, something enshrined in our Constitution. And yet, his story has ended in a cold, tragic silence — a silence that now demands loud, urgent questions.

The first question that cries out for an answer is a simple one: Why was it necessary to drag Albert more than 300 kilometres away from his home county just to detain him?

The alleged offence? A derogatory remark supposedly made against a senior police officer — a matter which, if indeed criminal, could have been handled efficiently by a local court in Homa Bay. In a country that prides itself on devolution and accessible justice, was it truly impossible to process a social media comment through legal means within the same jurisdiction it was made?

The optics of such a long transfer — from Homa Bay to an unfamiliar cell far from home — reek of more than just due process. They reflect something darker: a desire to intimidate, a show of force against a young man whose only weapon was his internet and a typing keyboard.

Secondly, our law enforcement officers — especially those in uniform and on the ground — deserve both respect and support. They operate under immense pressure, often with limited resources, in an increasingly volatile society. They are trained to be resilient, impartial, and calm in the face of provocation. They are, in many ways, the face of state power and the front line of public safety.

Which is why this incident is not just about one man’s death — it is a mirror reflecting our collective failure to uphold discipline at the highest levels of the chain of command.

If a mere insult, typed on a screen, is enough to provoke the might of the police machinery into such extreme response — what then is the threshold of tolerance? If uniformed men and women, trained to withstand the daily barrage of human chaos, cannot endure the sting of online criticism, what hope does a civilian have?

This is not a defence of insult or disrespect. It is a plea for proportion — for restraint. For sanity.

To the junior officers who were possibly following instructions — we extend compassion. You operate in a system where disobedience can mean career death. But that does not absolve the system of responsibility. If there is a culture in our security institutions that prioritizes ego over ethics, command over compassion, we must name it and tame it.

The circumstances of Albert’s detention remain murky. Maybe, as some hope, nothing untoward happened to him in custody. Maybe it was a tragic medical emergency. Maybe. But how do we convince a grieving public, an already sceptical citizenry, when the entire process began on such shaky, suspicious ground?

We must ask: Was Albert safe? Was he fed? Was he given medical attention if he needed it? Was he treated with dignity? Who watched over him in that cell, far from his family, alone?

Albert’s death is not just a personal tragedy — it is a national one. It is a loss of potential, of creativity, of youth. It is a blow to every young Kenyan who believes in speaking up, who believes they can question power without dying for it.

He was not a threat. He was not a criminal mastermind. He was a Kenyan with an opinion — and now he is gone.

Trust Kenyans. They will mourn him not with silence, but with questions. With demands. With resolve. They will refuse to allow his death to be just another hashtag, buried beneath the digital dust of yesterday’s outrage. Just like that, because of ego, government has one more thing for which to do damage control. Unsuccessfully, I predict.

The time has come to rethink our justice systems, our policing culture, and our tolerance for dissent. If our officers, trained to uphold the rule of law, cannot absorb criticism without unleashing force, then perhaps we are training them wrong. If our laws are bent to punish opinion rather than protect rights, then clearly we are writing the wrong future.