When The Law Becomes Lawless: Murkomen’s SHOOT Orders, Shock The Country

In a nation founded upon the blood-stained parchments of constitutionalism, where Lady Justice clutches her scales with trembling hands, the chilling echo of Kipchumba Murkomen’s directive—that police should shoot any citizen who dares approach a police station—rips through the conscience of a republic teetering dangerously on the precipice of state-sponsored lawlessness. It is a declaration not merely of incompetence but of outright war against the Constitution of Kenya (2010), the Bill of Rights, and every shred of democratic civility.

Let us begin by tearing open the cadaver of this madness. Article 26 of the Constitution explicitly guarantees every person the right to life, with deprivation permitted only as permitted by law. Murkomen, in his wisdom—or rather the catastrophic absence thereof—has single-handedly attempted to override this sacred article with what amounts to an unconstitutional fatwa, a shoot-to-kill decree absent of judicial process, proportionality, or rationality.

This is not a slip of the tongue; it is the manifestation of a creeping authoritarianism now garbed in the robes of security rhetoric. The Interior Ministry is not a rogue paramilitary franchise. It is a constitutional office bound by Article 10—national values and principles of governance—which demands the rule of law, human dignity, equity, and social justice. Yet Murkomen seems to believe he was appointed not by the Constitution but by the ghost of Idi Amin.

When a Cabinet Secretary, sworn to uphold the law, becomes its primary assassin, we enter the dark theatre of democratic cannibalism. Murkomen’s directive violates not just one but several cornerstones of our legal architecture. Article 238 on national security states clearly that the security of Kenya shall be pursued in compliance with the law and with the utmost respect for human rights. Evidently, Murkomen missed that memo—or perhaps he wiped his boots with it.

Let’s pause and examine the absurdity of the order. Imagine a citizen rushing to report an emergency—a robbery, a lost child, a domestic violence case—only to be greeted not by an officer, but by a bullet, courtesy of Murkomen’s policy of terminal customer service. The police station, once a sanctuary of refuge, transformed overnight into a licensed abattoir.

If satire had muscles, it would struggle to carry the weight of this tragedy. What next, Mr. Minister? Shall we install guillotines outside police stations for those who look suspiciously curious? Will the Interior Ministry soon publish a loyalty questionnaire to be filled in before seeking police help—Answer incorrectly, and we execute you on the spot?

The Penal Code of Kenya under Section 203 defines murder as the unlawful killing of another person with malice aforethought. It does not add, “unless ordered by an ill-advised Cabinet Secretary on a podium with a microphone.” This decree amounts to a public incitement to commit murder—an offence punishable under Section 96 of the Penal Code.

Further, this command squarely violates the National Police Service Act, Section 61, which outlines the use of force. Firearms are permitted only when less extreme measures are ineffective and the threat is immediate—for example, to save lives, not to shoot civilians approaching a government building out of suspicion, curiosity, or desperation.

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In giving such an order, Murkomen not only breached the Constitution but engaged in what the Rome Statute calls crimes against humanity—murder committed as part of a widespread or systematic attack directed against any civilian population. Kenya, being a signatory, must consider whether its Cabinet is manufacturing impunity at industrial scale.

Let’s not sugarcoat it—this is an order to license extrajudicial executions under the phony pretext of protecting “armories.” Never mind that the Constitution already empowers the police to secure installations using proportionate and legal means. Murkomen’s order ignores the due process prescribed by law and catapults Kenya back to the darkest chapters of its history: the Wagalla Massacre, Nyayo House torture chambers, and the enforced disappearances under the guise of security.

Every lawyer worth their salt would file this under abuse of office, as defined by the Anti-Corruption and Economic Crimes Act, Section 46. Public officers who use their office improperly to confer an improper benefit—or, in this case, enable illegal killings—commit an offence.

One wonders if Murkomen has confused his job title. Is he the Cabinet Secretary for Interior or the Commander of Public Executions? Has the Constitution been replaced with a ‘Murkomen Doctrine,’ where suspicion alone is grounds for execution without trial?