Imanyara: State Is A Criminal Enterprise

The Lagat affair has exposed, with chilling clarity, the depths to which President Ruto’s administration is willing to sink in its contempt for the people of Kenya. The message has been delivered unambiguously: no amount of public outcry, no volume of protests, and no evidence of wrongdoing will compel this administration to hold one of its own accountable. Instead, the state has chosen defiance, stonewalling, and ultimately, a dangerous game of political attrition—dragging out the crisis in hopes that public anger will eventually dissipate. But Kenyans must not relent. The stakes are far too high.

We watched in disbelief as Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen, the Inspector General of Police, and the Director of Criminal Investigations, marched into Parliament and lied not just to the Senate, but to the entire nation. These were not minor misstatements or bureaucratic evasions. They were bold-faced lies, told under oath, before the representatives of the people. Lies intended to obstruct justice, shield criminals, and mock the rule of law. Lies that confirmed our worst fears: we are not merely dealing with incompetence, mismanagement, or policy disagreements. We are dealing with a well-organized, well-dressed criminal enterprise that has captured the state.

At the centre of this storm is Mr. Eliud Lagat, whose continued occupation of office, despite a mountain of evidence implicating him, is both a symptom and symbol of a deeper rot. 

In any functioning democracy, his resignation or removal would have been swift and uncontroversial. Instead, what we are  witnessing is the mobilization of state machinery to protect one man and, by extension, to protect the interests and secrets of those above him. This is no longer about one official. It is about a system determined to preserve itself at any cost.

What is most disturbing is not simply the lies told in Parliament, but the audacity with which they were delivered. There was no shame, no fear, no pretension of respect for the institutions of accountability. Instead, there was a calculated demonstration of impunity, a public declaration that the law is malleable, the truth negotiable, and the people irrelevant. When those entrusted to serve the public instead serve criminal interests and dare the public to respond, the republic stands at the edge of a precipice.

The Lagat affair is not an isolated incident. It is part of a pattern; a governance culture where murder, theft, and cover-ups are not aberrations but methods of rule. We saw this same arrogance in the handling of past scandals, in the brutal suppression of dissent, in the systematic weaponization of state institutions against perceived opponents, and in the normalization of state-sponsored corruption as an instrument of political survival. Each of these episodes chips away at the foundation of our nation, eroding public trust and turning government into a tool of organized plunder.

At its core, this is not simply about corruption. It is about the transformation of the state into a criminal syndicate. The distinction matters. Corruption can, in theory, be curbed by better policies, stronger oversight, and institutional reform. But when the state itself becomes a criminal enterprise, when the people wielding power derive their authority not from the Constitution but from their ability to protect and perpetuate criminal networks, the crisis transcends policy debates. It becomes a struggle for the very soul of the nation.

History offers sobering lessons. Across the world, nations that have allowed their governments to descend into criminality have paid steep prices: economic collapse, social unrest, violent repression, and eventually, state failure. Kenya is not immune. Already, the cost of this criminality is being felt by ordinary Kenyans: in rising poverty, in broken healthcare systems, in a collapsing shilling, in a justice system that serves the powerful and punishes the weak, and in the growing sense of despair that pervades our society.

But despair is exactly what this administration hopes for. By dragging out the Lagat affair, by lying to Parliament, by weaponizing state organs to protect their own, they seek to exhaust the public’s outrage—to make impunity feel normal, inevitable, and unchangeable. They are betting on our silence. We must not give them that victory.

Throughout our history, Kenyans have risen against tyranny, against dictatorship, against injustice. From the fight for independence to the struggle for multi-party democracy to the battle for constitutional reform, our people have repeatedly demonstrated the courage to stand against oppressive regimes. The moment we face now is no different. What is required of us is the same clarity of purpose and unity of action. This is not simply about protesting one official or one scandal. It is about defending the Constitution, the rule of law, and the idea of a government that serves its people. It is about rejecting the normalization of criminal governance. It is about refusing to be ruled by men who believe that public office is a license to loot, murder, and lie with impunity.

We must demand the immediate removal and prosecution of Lagat and all those implicated in this scandal. We must demand that Parliament assert its constitutional authority to hold the Executive accountable. We must demand that the Judiciary remain fearless in upholding the law. And above all, we must remain vigilant, organized, and unyielding in the face of state-sponsored criminality. 

The hour is late. The choices are stark. But as history has shown, when the people stand united, even the most entrenched regimes can be brought to account. 

The fight for Kenya’s future is now.

Gitobu Imanyara is a human rights lawyer, journalist, and politician. He is the Publisher & Editor in Chief of The Platform for Law, Justice & Society (www.theplatformke.co.ke)