It’s been two whole years since the young homies and the Gen Z crowd in Kenya stood up, took to the blocks, and demanded a fair shake from a system that was squeezing them dry. But today, the harsh reality is exactly what we expected: the suits in high offices are still playing dirty games. The investigations into the kids who got killed or just straight-up disappeared have ground to a halt. No one is being held accountable, and the families are left out in the cold, begging for answers from a system that doesn't care.

Let’s keep it a hundred: this stalling tactic is as old as time. Whenever the streets demand justice, the government acts like they are on it, only to drag their feet until they think everybody forgot. They did it back in the day, and they are doing it right now. They want the families to get tired, run out of money, and just give up. But the community doesn't forget, and those scars don't just fade away because the government wants to look the other way.

You’ve got these civilian oversight groups like IPOA talking about how they can’t find evidence because officers didn’t have name tags on or were wearing plain clothes. Come on, man, stop the cap. If a regular kid from the slums does something, the police will find him in five minutes, no questions asked. But when it’s one of their own behind the trigger, suddenly everybody's blind, deaf, and dumb. It's the classic double standard, and the streets see right through the facade.

The human rights groups have documented the bodies and the missing kids, but those reports are just sitting on some big shot's desk gathering dust. The reality is that the law only works one way—to protect the people at the top and keep the rest of us down. The youth who went out to protest were just trying to survive and make a better life, but they got met with iron and lead, and now the state wants to act like they don't know who did it.

It’s written right there in the constitution that people have the right to protest and make their voices heard. But in real life, those words don't protect you when you're standing on the pavement facing down armored trucks. The state talks about the "rule of law" when they want to lock up regular folks, but when it’s time to hold their own goons accountable, the law suddenly goes on a permanent vacation.

For the mothers, fathers, and siblings left behind, this wait is pure torture. They didn't just lose a family member; they lost their hope, their future, and often the person who was keeping food on the table. And on top of that grief, they have to deal with endless court dates, missing files, and a cold shoulder from the very people who are supposed to protect them. It’s a dirty game, and it’s always the poor families who pay the price.

Even the international community is quiet, showing they don't really care about black lives on the ground as long as their trade deals and political alliances stay secure. They’ll shake hands with the bosses in suits while ignoring the mothers crying on the streets. It’s fake love all around, and it shows that at the end of the day, we’ve only got ourselves to rely on.

Two years later, the message is still loud and clear: the system is never going to hand over justice on a silver platter. They want us to stay quiet and move on, but the streets are always going to keep the receipts. Until the people force their hand, those files are going to stay locked up, and the struggle for the homies we lost will keep burning in the hearts of the community.

* Sources: * Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA), Republic of Kenya * Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR) * Constitution of Kenya, 2010 * United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR)