From floods to femicide: Why Kenya must value every life equally

In recent weeks, Kenyans have once again been confronted with painful reminders of how fragile life can be. Floods have claimed dozens of lives, with at least 88 people reported dead and thousands displaced.

Homes have been destroyed, livelihoods lost, and entire communities left to rebuild. These are not just natural disasters. They expose deep gaps in preparedness, governance, and our collective responsibility to protect life.

At the same time, other forms of loss continue quietly, often with far less attention. Data shows that nearly a third of Kenyan women have experienced physical violence since adolescence.

Cases of femicide continue to rise, yet many disappear from public attention as quickly as they emerge. Queer Kenyans face violence and discrimination, often hidden by stigma and fear.

Sex workers operate without adequate protection, leaving them vulnerable to abuse. Deaths linked to police brutality and in custody persist—many unresolved and largely forgotten.

These realities force us to confront a difficult question: Do we truly believe that every life matters? When young people took to the streets during the March for All Lives, they were not acting in defiance for its own sake. They were insisting that the value of human life must not depend on identity, profession, or circumstance.

They were insisting that empathy must not be selective. For too long, public discourse in Kenya around the right to life has been narrowed and politicized. Certain voices, particularly in religious and political spaces, have focused heavily on issues such as abortion and surrogacy.

These are important debates, but when they dominate entirely, they reduce the meaning of life to a single-issue agenda. What does it mean to defend life in a country where so many lives are lost to violence, neglect, and systemic failure?

We cannot claim moral authority while ignoring those who die in floods. We cannot speak of dignity while turning away from women killed in their homes.

We cannot advocate for life while remaining silent on those targeted because of who they are, those who die in police custody, or those who perish because the healthcare system fails them. This is not an attack on religion or culture. It is a call for consistency, honesty, and humanity.

To those who champion the right to life, we must ask difficult questions. Does that right extend to the woman murdered for asserting her independence? To the young man killed because he did not conform to gender norms? To the sex worker denied justice because of stigma?

To the patient who dies because our healthcare system fails them? If the answer is not yes, then we must confront an uncomfortable truth: Our advocacy is not about life. It is about convenience, politics, and control. Selective compassion creates a hierarchy of human worth. Some lives are loudly defended while others are ignored.

Some deaths provoke outrage while others become statistics. Over time, this normalises silence and allows injustice to persist. It sends a message that some lives matter less. A principle as fundamental as the right to life cannot coexist with selective empathy. To claim that life is sacred while ignoring preventable deaths is a contradiction we can no longer afford.

The March for All Lives is about expansion—calling for a broader understanding of what it means to value life. To be truly pro-life should mean opposing all forms of violence, demanding accountability, strengthening healthcare systems, and protecting people from harm regardless of who they are.

We must ask ourselves why some deaths move us more than others, and what that says about who we value as a society.

A nation that truly values life does not pick and choose. It protects all lives equally. Because in the end, this is not just a political or religious issue. It is a human one. If every life matters, then every life must matter equally.

Kathia is a Human Rights Defender and a communications expert