In what critics are now describing as the darkest season for Kenya’s justice system since the return to multi-party democracy, the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions under Renson Ingonga is facing mounting scrutiny over a string of high-profile case withdrawals, prompting outrage from civil society, legal experts, and the public alike.
From corruption scandals implicating senior state officers to brutal police crackdowns during demonstrations, the pattern is becoming unmistakable: the powerful are exonerated, while the powerless are sacrificed at the altar of political expediency. As case after case collapses under suspicious circumstances or is mysteriously withdrawn, many are left asking whether the ODPP is a prosecutorial authority or a political shield.
Human rights activist Boniface Mwangi doesnnot hold back.
“We are witnessing the death of justice in real time. The ODPP is not just sleeping on the job,it’s actively complicit. How do you explain the withdrawal of cases involving grand theft, extrajudicial killings, and abuse of office without a single conviction?” he asked. “This is state capture of the judicial system.”
At the center of the storm is Director of Public Prosecutions Renson Ingonga, who assumed office with a promise to uphold the rule of law and restore public confidence. Instead, critics argue, he has turned the ODPP into a political tool, prioritizing loyalty to the executive over justice. Ingonga’s tenure has been characterized by glaring omissions, curious delays, and selective prosecution that increasingly appear orchestrated.
“It is clear that DPP Ingonga has failed the litmus test of independence,” said Dr. Miguna Miguna in his X -formerly Twitter account.the firebrand lawyer and former political detainee. “He is not only enabling a culture of impunity, but he’s also actively subverting justice. Under his watch, thieves are celebrated, murderers are promoted, and whistleblowers are silenced.”
Miguna was particularly scathing in his assessment of the government’s handling of police brutality. “How many Kenyans have to be killed by police bullets before someone is held accountable? How many mothers must weep? Ingonga and his puppet masters in the regime are presiding over a cesspool of blood and corruption.”
One particularly jarring example was the withdrawal of charges against senior police officers implicated in the July 2023 anti-finance bill protests, where over 60 people were killed by police gunfire. Despite damning video evidence and postmortem reports pointing to state brutality, the cases were thrown out. No explanation. No justice.
Likewise, long-standing corruption cases involving billions in public fund such as the KEMSA COVID-19 heist, the Arror and Kimwarer dam scandals, and the Fertilizer import scandal,have all either stalled or been silently withdrawn.
Legal experts say the pattern points to a deliberate strategy. “There is no plausible legal justification for withdrawing so many serious cases unless political interests are dictating outcomes,” said Nairobi-based constitutional lawyer Martha Okello. “The rule of law is being replaced by the rule of power.”
The irony is stark. As perpetrators walk scot-free, innocent citizens languish in overcrowded prisons, often denied bail over petty offenses. “It’s a complete inversion of justice,” said Boniface Mwangi. “If you steal a wallet, you get ten years. If you loot public coffers, you get a state commendation.”
The public backlash has spilled onto social media, with hashtags like #JusticeIsDead, #IngongaResign, and #StateCaptureKE trending repeatedly. Several civil society organizations, including the Kenya Human Rights Commission (KHRC), have demanded an independent audit of the ODPP’s case withdrawals and have threatened to file a petition for Ingonga’s removal from office.
“The DPP’s constitutional mandate is to prosecute criminal cases without fear, favor, or prejudice,” KHRC said in a strongly worded statement. “His current trajectory violates this sacred duty and undermines public trust in the justice system.”
Meanwhile, the presidency and key government figures have remained conspicuously silent, raising further concerns about complicity at the highest levels. Some opposition leaders allege that the ODPP is being used to sanitize the image of certain politicians ahead of 2027.
“Cases that touch the friends of power are thrown into the shredder,” said a Pro-Ruto legislator who sought anonymity.“This is not justice. This is judicial laundering.”
Renson Ingonga, for his part, has dismissed the criticisms, calling them “unfounded and politically motivated.” In a recent press briefing, he stated, “Every decision to withdraw a case is based on the law and available evidence. We do not bow to public pressure or political influence.”
But few are buying that narrative. “You can’t tell us it’s about evidence when journalists and civil society can find more proof than your office with all its resources,” said Miguna. “Either he is incompetent or compromised—either way, he must go.”
The situation has become so dire that international observers are taking note. A recent report by Amnesty International flagged Kenya’s justice system as increasingly politicized, warning that failure to restore integrity could have far-reaching consequences on governance and democracy.
Back home, faith in institutions continues to erode. “We have no functional accountability systems left,” said Boniface Mwangi. “The executive controls Parliament. Parliament controls the judiciary. The judiciary dances to the tune of the ODPP. The ODPP answers to State House. And the people? We’re just spectators at our own funeral.”
As the list of withdrawn cases grows and public anger deepens, the message seems to be loud and clear: in today’s Kenya, justice is not just blind—it’s gagged, tied up, and shoved into the trunk of a getaway car driven by power.
