KHALID: Reparations must deliver justice, not political expediency

On Wednesday, April 22, more than 50 victims and families of victims of human rights violations as well as activists gathered in Nairobi for a sobering and necessary conversation on how Kenya should repair the damage inflicted during the 2024-25 Gen Z protests.

The meeting focused on the Draft Guidelines on Reparations developed by the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights. What emerged was not just a list of recommendations, but a clear warning that if mishandled, the reparations process risks becoming yet another state managed exercise in optics rather than a genuine pathway to justice.

At the heart of the concern is the proposed 90-day timeline. On paper, speed may appear commendable. In reality, it is deeply problematic. Reparations processes are inherently complex, requiring meticulous documentation, verification, victim engagement and most importantly, trust building. Attempting to compress all this into three months signals not urgency but haste.

Many at the meeting interpreted this timeline as politically motivated ¾ an attempt to quell public anger ahead of the June 25 commemoration of Gen Z martyrs. If that perception takes root, the entire process risks losing legitimacy before it even begins.

Reparations are not simply administrative exercises. They are moral and legal obligations. They must acknowledge harm, restore dignity and lay the foundation for accountability and non-repetition. A rushed process undermines all three.

One of the most striking outcomes of the meeting was the call for a formal state apology. This is not a symbolic demand. In transitional justice processes globally, official acknowledgment of wrongdoing is a critical first step in restoring public trust.

For many victims, the absence of acknowledgment has been as painful as the violations themselves. A clear, unreserved apology by the President would signal a break from denial and impunity and an acceptance of state responsibility for the excesses witnessed during the protests.

However, apology alone is insufficient. Participants emphasised the need for guarantees of non-repetition. This goes beyond rhetoric. It requires concrete measures including reform of security agencies, accountability for those who ordered or carried out abuses and institutional safeguards to prevent future violations. Without such guarantees, reparations risk being reduced to compensation for harm that the state is not committed to preventing in the future.

The question of compensation itself sparked intense debate. The Draft Guidelines appear to lack a coherent and transparent framework for determining awards, raising concerns about inconsistency and perceived injustice.

Victims and their families proposed minimum compensation thresholds: Sh5 million for loss of life, Sh4 million for sexual and gender-based violence, Sh5 million for missing persons, Sh3 million for enforced disappearances, Sh4 million for amputations and Sh250,000 for wrongful arrests and detention. All the above figures to be exclusive of all medical costs.

These figures are not arbitrary. They reflect an attempt to assign value, however imperfectly, to different categories of harm. Crucially, they also highlight a broader concern of the need for proportionality and clarity.

Why, for instance, would certain violations attract higher compensation than the irreversible loss of life? Without a clear rationale, compensation frameworks risk appearing arbitrary, undermining confidence in the process.

Equally important is the recognition that reparations must extend beyond monetary payments. Victims are not simply claimants. They are individuals whose lives have been disrupted, whose dignity has been violated and whose futures have been altered. Psychological and psychosocial support is therefore not just optional, it is essential. So too is public recognition. The proposal that victims be formally commended by the state as defenders of justice and democracy reflects a desire to reclaim narratives that have often been distorted or ignored.

The meeting also underscored the importance of inclusivity. Strict evidentiary requirements, particularly those centred on medical or postmortem documentation, risk excluding victims whose cultural or religious practices prohibit such procedures.

For example, locking out Muslims who refuse postmortems and considering this as withholding of evidence will be foolhardy. In a country as diverse as Kenya, a one-size-fits-all approach to evidence is both impractical and unjust.

Expanding admissible evidence to include community testimonies and religious records is not merely a procedural adjustment. It is a recognition of lived realities.

Another critical issue is the categorisation of violations. Not all harms are the same and reparations frameworks must reflect this. Participants highlighted the need to distinguish between victims who were forcibly disappeared and later returned, and those who remain missing.

The latter category represents an ongoing violation, marked by uncertainty, psychological torment and unresolved grief. Treating these cases as equivalent would fail to capture the depth of harm experienced by families of the missing.

Perhaps most significantly, the meeting insisted that reparations must be linked to accountability. Information gathered during the process should not be confined to administrative records. It must serve as evidence in investigations and prosecutions.

Reparations without accountability risk entrenching impunity, signalling that violations can be compensated but not punished.

Finally, there was a strong call for memorialisation. The proposal to gazette June 25 as a public holiday and to establish a national monument is about more than remembrance.

It is about ensuring that the events of 2024-25 are not erased or rewritten. Collective memory is a powerful tool in preventing recurrence, reminding both citizens and the state of the consequences of unchecked power.

In conclusion, the KNCHR Draft Guidelines present a critical opportunity. If done right, they could mark a turning point in Kenya’s human rights journey, demonstrating that the state is capable of confronting its past and committing to a more just future.

However, if rushed or diluted, they risk becoming another missed opportunity - another process that promises much but delivers little.