Its A Long Way To A Reformed Police Force

For some reason all Kenyan Police stations have a similar layout. It cannot be as per the latest police science. The oldest police station I have visited is Mombasa’s Central Police Station built in the early 1900s. The newest to visit is the Iten Police station built in the 1980s. The entrance to the police station is usually via a heavy wooden door heading straight to a high wooden counter barricaded with wire mesh. The high counter is the report desk. The cells are either right behind the report desk or in the adjacent room.

Usually, the cells have no toilets. Inmates use buckets. In some jurisdictions, the buckets are kept right at the entrance by the cheeky among inmates. New and uninitiated inmates accidentally dip their feet in the mess as they enter. It is the initiation ritual- kukanyaga (i.e. to step in the bucket). Inmates can see or hear the comings and goings. To me the design is influenced by the mindset in control of the force- not latest science.

Behind the counter, stand two usually indifferent officers in neatly pressed uniforms. Until recently, the two were both male and spoke with a heavy Kalenjin accent. Well, these days one of the report desk officers is usually female but the accent has remained- it is the lingua franca of the force. The language of the police force is strictly Kalenjinized Kiswahili. The gender ratio is the only thing that has changed since I first entered a police station in 1996. 

Private security at a past public function in Kilifi

Well, not quite- the furniture has grown older and the paint faded. There are also no loud screams emanating from the interrogation rooms. Urban Area Police Station in Mombasa was notorious for the loud screams. You could hear men wail and plead even as you walked in the street. 

The orderly line of driving students sitting by the roadside as they waited for the driving test usually listened in silence to the screams. It offered little comfort to imagine the wailing inmates were brutal criminals themselves. Probably, they deserved the treatment. Of course we all knew some were innocent and others were political detainees. It is all quiet now.

When I first entered a police station it was to request a permit to hold a wedding ceremony. All gatherings of more than ten required an official permit. This was to change later that year after the Inter-Parties Parliamentary Group agreement of 1997. This deal relaxed the rules on meetings allowing for political mobilisation and unfettered cultural ceremonies. 

I had to sit around the station for hours waiting for the OiC- Crime to sign my permit. OiC-Crime stands for Officer in-Charge-Crime Division. Apparently a wedding was deemed a criminal enterprise deserving the attention of a senior officer. My ‘appreciation’ for his magnanimity was a handsome five hundred shillings. He never asked- he only asked if he was welcome at the wedding. I took the cue and complied- I am a thoroughbred Kenyan.

“Since you might be very busy on Saturday, I thought I might buy you a soda instead- Sir” I said.

He was very pleased with my thoughtfulness. It was not my thoughtfulness really- those were my instructions. There was no way a Chief Inspector of Police would sign a wedding permit without the ‘appreciation’. Fortunately it was not the first time I was bribing a policeman. 

For all his power and rank, he sat on a simple wooden chair. His desk was old and marked in many places. It appears he or someone else scribbled telephone numbers and names on the desk. Apart from the standard issue stenciled forms in a cardboard tray, there was not a scrapbook or wad of paper. 

I first bribed a policeman in 1992. We were on our way home after a round of drinks with my mate. We argued over taking the longer and partially lit route home or taking the shorter, darker way. Usually, the shorter way wins especially if there are two of you. Two policemen lay in wait for us. I had no identity card on me. It is not an offense to leave your ID at home but a cop might lock you up until it is produced- or simply charge you with disorderly conduct or vagrancy. It cost a hundred shillings for each of us to buy our freedom. Fortunately that was not the first time to be temporarily detained by a policeman.

I was first detained for ‘questioning’ when I was thirteen. I was rushing to the shops after dark on my mother’s insistence. My eldest brother insisted on fish for supper. My intelligence was police were lurking at the corner. He and my mother dismissed my protests as cowardice claiming police were interested in criminals; not law-abiding types. We were detained and had to sit on the ground just a hundred yards from our home. I did not protest- I only blamed my mother and brother. I was released after a chit-chat between my brother and one of the cops. He was interested in how much the fish we planned to buy was to cost. At ten shillings, it was not enough to warrant further discussion. I returned with my brother’s ID and the thirty shillings required for ‘processing’ our release. It was not my first run in with the cops. That was back in 1981.

My first bad experience with the cops came two years earlier at Nakuru’s Afraha Stadium. My eldest brother took us to a match between Kenya’s Harambee Stars and Zambia’s KK’s First Eleven. It was the first time I watched our national team play. The legends Mahmoud Abbas, Josephat ‘Controller’ Murila and Joe ‘JJ’ Masiga were in the team.  The match ended in a 1-1 draw. The legendary Godfrey Chitalu was in the Zambian team.  Wilberforce Mulamba scored for Kenya. I cannot remember who scored for Zambia. It was not Chitalu.

The thrill I felt as we left the stadium was knocked out by an anti-riot policeman. I stopped briefly to stare at his riot gear. He was the tallest around and looked quite menacing in the gear. I must have held up the line. Instead of urging me on, he hit me with his truncheon on the head. I left the stadium in tears. I have very little liking for policemen- my dislike was rammed into me that afternoon. 

I am not alone in this – many Kenyans fear, distrust or simply hate the police. They are a necessary evil. In the aftermath of the recent elections patrols were heightened in so-called ‘hotspots’. This is probably a euphemism for areas that voted strongly against Uhuru Kenyatta. I remember turning into a company of policemen as I walked home from work. A woman ahead of me nearly bolted at the sight of some fifty men in uniform. A male companion urged her on. I crossed the street. The policemen had a whole side of the street to themselves. It did not matter they were simply walking back to camp.

In the ongoing drive to reform the force it would do well to improve the public perception of the force. To do that, most policemen will have to undergo a paradigm shift. The idea that we the people are ‘Raia’ and they are ‘Officers’ must die. ‘Raia’ simply means ‘civilian’ but its usage in the police force is almost derogatory. ‘Raia’ is a person who can be subjected to any cruel and dehumanising treatment by the police. Contrast this with ‘Mkubwa’. ‘Mkubwa’ or ‘Boss’ is a person who qualifies for the same treatment as an officer of higher rank. 

Raia on foot or travelling in a public service vehicle can be bullied or harassed at a road-block. On the other hand ‘Mkubwa’ in a top-of-the-range Toyota Land Cruiser is not to be inconvenienced. It does not matter that Mkubwa may be ferrying contraband in his luxury vehicle. The policeman at the road-block will salute and smile as they let the contraband through.

 To signal that an anonymous Mkubwa is on board Kenyan drivers often flick on the ‘emergency’ lights as they approach a police check. Kenyan police are programmed to dutifully obey such ‘commands’ without question. They will salute at any posh vehicle without inquiry. Basically the recently renamed National Police Service is a service for the elite and not the ordinary Raia. To the Raia it is an occupation force.

The police force as presently oriented cannot fulfill its duty to the citizenry. It is much more concerned with maintaining order as opposed to also upholding the law. Professionalism is wanting in the force. When I went to report a burglary at the Malindi Police Station early this year, the desk sergeant looked at me helplessly. I did not have a suspect in mind. The police force simply has no credible investigative capacity. It relies on confessions, witness accounts or tip-offs to track criminals. It has no forensic capability and does not have credible records on crime.

In its present setup, the police force can deal with chicken thieves and other petty criminals not organised crime. To fight terrorism, the FBI has literally been incorporated as a local police unit. The anti-terror unit operates under its tutelage. It is not any wonder that some Kenyans ended up in secret jails run by the CIA. The attitude and aptitude of the force is of questionable standard..

National security considerations are the only reason we have to work with what we already have in reforming the force. Otherwise it could be more sensible to disband the force and reconstitute it from scratch.  It should not be too difficult to prune the senior management to allow a new brood and mindset to take over the force. Surely, we cannot continue with a force whose answer to crime is general punishment of the population. 

Recent terror-related attacks in Garissa appear to be blamed on the general population. The clampdown has mostly netted those without identity cards. The guns and grenades that have killed dozens are yet to be netted. In Mombasa and the coastal region, attacks on police are blamed on the secessionist Mombasa Republican Council. The coast attacks usually involve gangs armed with crude weapons disarming policemen. 

Two things stand out from the vulnerability of the police force as exposed by the Garissa and coast attacks. The police lack local intelligence on prevalent crime in their areas of operation. Secondly, their combat preparedness is questionable. Attacks on police in more than half a dozen cases have led to police deaths. In the Tana Delta and Baragoi attacks dozens of policemen were killed by rag-tag bands. These deaths during peacetime are unwarranted. They should simply not happen.

The police force’s preferred mode of recording crime on paper coupled with its highly individualised command structure is an impediment to the fight against crime. It is highly unlikely that most information captured in four-quire ledgers ends up in an organised crime database. Criminals simply move from one place to another after committing offenses.  

After many bad experiences at the hands of the police, I do not expect much in the promised reforms. The police service simply does not have the spine for radical change. For a start, it would help to have a truly independent investigative bureau. However, the changes thus far have focused on personnel not reorganisation. 

The internal setup of the force remains intact. Piling in new equipment without addressing internal weaknesses is not the remedy.  I do not understand why ALL policemen and women have to be housed away from the communities they serve. Usually, they are housed in ramshackle makeshift structures. Is it any wonder they, like a swarm of bees in a hive, look at the world around with hostility? Me thinks not.