Obado's conviction is good but that is not enough

Former Migori Governor Okoth Obado at Milimani High Court for his judgment over the alleged murder of Sharon Otieno. [Nancy Gitonga, Standard]

The conviction of former Migori Governor Okoth Obado for the murder of university student Sharon Otieno marks one of the most consequential moments in Kenya's criminal justice history. For years, many Kenyans have become accustomed to a familiar script, whereby the rich and politically connected evade accountability while ordinary citizens bear the full weight of the law. The guilty verdict therefore represents more than the resolution of one criminal case, signalling that political influence is not an absolute shield against criminal responsibility.

Yet even as we celebrate accountability, we should also ask whether imprisonment alone constitutes complete justice. Criminal law, across history, has centred itself on punishment, even though it ought to be a source of so much more. Whilst on paper it is said that the prison system should be a place of rehabilitation and present means for restitution, the reality is that in the present day, the prison is used as a place where we can throw away our most despised members of society and forget about them for a little while, hoping that they will suffer while behind bars. And often, especially for those who lack status, they do suffer.

This is not to say that wrongdoing should not result in one facing the consequences of their action. The criminal justice framework satisfies an important public purpose by condemning conduct that violates society's most fundamental values. Murder warrants severe punishment because it extinguishes human life in its entirety. But punishment alone rarely repairs the damage left behind. Imagine, for instance, a justice system that recognised continuing obligations beyond, or instead of, incarceration. Where a perpetrator's actions deprive children or dependants of care, financial support, or opportunity, justice could include enforceable responsibilities directed towards those left behind. In Sharon's case, noting that at the time of her death she was a mother of one, one might argue that if a child had survived while losing a mother through criminal violence, justice could have included legally enforceable financial responsibility for that child's upbringing. Such an obligation would acknowledge that those harmed deserve more than symbolic vindication and should be granted material support where it is possible to provide it. Justice should ask not only, "How do we punish wrongdoing?" but also, "How do we respond to the needs created by wrongdoing?"

When MP Babu Owino shot DJ Evolve in 2020, the incident left the young man with catastrophic, life-altering injuries. The perceived failure of the criminal justice process attracted enormous public attention, but another aspect of the story also emerged. Owino reportedly assumed responsibility for DJ Evolve's medical treatment and ongoing care while legal proceedings continued, and has continued to do so to this day. The unfortunate result of Owino’s reckless action was that DJ Evolve completely lost his ability to work and fend for himself. If Owino had been found guilty of the crime and sentenced to time in prison, this would not have restored DJ Evolve’s health and revived his source of income. One party would be idling away in prison, whilst another would be languishing in a hospital bed. Instead, while the legal system failed, Owino saw the need to correct his actions by bearing responsibility for his victim’s life and livelihood.

Many Kenyans criticised this arrangement. Some viewed it as an attempt to purchase forgiveness or influence the legal outcome. Others worried that financial support undermined accountability or reflected unequal bargaining power between a wealthy politician and an injured victim. These concerns deserve serious consideration. In the face of the power imbalance, many were worried that compensation by way of financial dependence was being utilised to pressure the victim into abandoning legitimate legal claims. At the same time, we should not dismiss the principle that caused the arrangement to emerge. If someone's reckless or criminal conduct permanently transforms another person's life, continuing responsibility should follow. In this way, we move from the legal to the moral, as the wrongdoer takes moral rather than legal responsibility for their actions.

Too often, our criminal justice conversations end at sentencing. Once prison doors close, public attention shifts elsewhere, even though victims' families continue living with the consequences every day. Sharon Otieno's family will continue to mourn her sudden demise. At the moment, a prison sentence does seem cathartic because it acknowledges that wrong was done, but it cannot substitute the life that was stolen. This case, and that of DJ Evolve, invite us to examine what justice really looks like. A mature justice system should not be measured solely by how many people it imprisons. It should also be measured by how seriously it takes the lives that have been shattered. It should ask not only whether offenders have paid their debt to society, but whether society has done everything reasonably possible to address the lasting needs of victims and their families.

Kenya has taken an important step in affirming that power does not place anyone above the law. The next challenge is to imagine a justice system that combines accountability with meaningful repair.