By Derrick Odhiambo Gender-Based Violence in Kenya and the Question of State Responsibility
By Derrick Odhiambo
The names change. The faces change. The headlines come and go. Yet the story remains painfully familiar.
A young woman disappears. Days later, her body is discovered. Another woman is assaulted by a partner she had reportedly feared for months. Another family buries a daughter whose life ended in circumstances that could perhaps have been prevented. Social media erupts with outrage. Activists demand action. Political leaders issue statements of condemnation. Investigations are promised.
Then, gradually, the public attention fades.
Until the next case.
In recent years, Kenya has found itself confronting a difficult and uncomfortable reality: Gender-Based Violence (GBV), particularly violence against women and girls, remains one of the country’s most persistent social crises. The growing number of reported femicide cases has sparked nationwide protests, international attention, government taskforces, and renewed debates about whether authorities are doing enough to protect vulnerable citizens.
The question that continues to echo across public forums, courtrooms, social media spaces, and protest grounds is simple but profound:
Does the authority really bother?
The answer is neither straightforward nor absolute.
On one hand, the government has established laws, policies, courts, taskforces, and awareness campaigns aimed at combating GBV. On the other hand, victims continue to die, families continue to mourn, and activists continue to accuse institutions of reacting only after tragedy strikes.
The tension between official commitments and lived reality lies at the heart of Kenya’s GBV conversation.
A Crisis That Refuses to Disappear
Gender-Based Violence is not new in Kenya.
For decades, women and girls have faced domestic violence, sexual assault, intimate partner violence, harmful cultural practices, and economic abuse. However, the past few years have witnessed heightened public awareness due to a series of highly publicized killings that shocked the nation.
The deaths of young women such as Starlet Wahu and university student Rita Waeni in early 2024 became national talking points, drawing attention to what activists described as a growing femicide crisis. Their cases sparked nationwide outrage and triggered demands for stronger state intervention.
Human rights organizations and advocacy groups argue that these cases are not isolated incidents but symptoms of a broader societal problem. Reports from women’s rights groups indicate that many victims experience prolonged abuse before violence escalates to murder, suggesting multiple missed opportunities for intervention.
The challenge is compounded by underreporting.
Many survivors never report abuse due to fear of retaliation, financial dependence on perpetrators, stigma, distrust of authorities, or pressure from family members to remain silent.
As a result, experts believe official figures may only represent a fraction of the true scale of the problem.
The Streets Become a Courtroom
Perhaps no event demonstrated public frustration more vividly than the anti-femicide protests that swept across Kenya in January 2024.
Thousands of Kenyans marched through Nairobi, Mombasa, Kisumu, Nakuru, Nyeri and other towns demanding action against the increasing number of women being killed. Protesters carried placards bearing the names of victims and chanted slogans such as “Stop Killing Us” and “End Femicide in Kenya.”
For many participants, the demonstrations were not merely protests against individual crimes but against what they perceived as institutional failure.
The message was clear: enough statements, enough condolences, enough promises.
What was needed, they argued, was prevention.
One recurring concern among activists was that government responses often appeared reactive rather than proactive. Public officials frequently condemned killings after they occurred, but many campaigners questioned whether adequate systems existed to identify and protect women at risk before violence escalated.
The protests also exposed deep societal divisions.
While many Kenyans expressed solidarity with victims, online debates revealed disagreements about the causes of violence, the use of the term femicide, and the extent of government responsibility. Social media became a battleground of competing narratives, reflecting how complex and emotionally charged the issue had become.
What Has Government Actually Done?
To ask whether authorities care requires examining what actions have been taken.
The reality is that successive governments have not ignored Gender-Based Violence entirely.
Kenya possesses a substantial legal framework addressing violence against women and children. The country has enacted laws against domestic violence, sexual offences, child abuse, and other forms of gender-based violence.
In 2024, the Judiciary announced the expansion of Trauma-Informed Sexual and Gender-Based Violence Courts and Children’s Courts aimed at improving access to justice for survivors and handling cases more efficiently.
Government officials, including presidential advisors and cabinet-level leaders, publicly condemned rising femicide cases and pledged stronger interventions.
In late 2024, authorities launched the “Safe Homes Safe Spaces” initiative, a programme intended to provide safer environments for survivors and strengthen awareness, advocacy, legal reforms, and institutional support mechanisms.
In January 2025, President William Ruto established a 42-member Technical Working Group on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide to examine existing gaps and recommend solutions. According to government notices, the committee was tasked with addressing weaknesses in prevention, investigations, prosecution, survivor support systems, and data management.
More recently, police announced specialized units focusing on gender-based violence investigations, bringing together forensic experts, homicide investigators, and intelligence officers.
Viewed purely on paper, these measures suggest a state attempting to respond.
Yet critics argue that legislation and taskforces alone do not automatically translate into safety.
The Gap Between Policy and Reality
The strongest criticism directed at authorities is not necessarily the absence of policies.
It is the gap between policy and implementation.
Across Kenya, survivors and advocacy organizations frequently report challenges when attempting to access justice.
Cases may take months or years to conclude.
Evidence collection can be inadequate.
Victims sometimes withdraw complaints because of intimidation, economic pressures, or lack of support.
Rural communities often face additional barriers due to distance from police stations, healthcare facilities, and courts.
Many activists argue that if the state truly prioritized GBV as a national emergency, resource allocation would reflect that urgency.
Questions continue to be raised about the number of shelters available to survivors, the accessibility of psychosocial support, the capacity of police gender desks, and the level of funding dedicated to prevention programmes.
The criticism is not that nothing exists.
Rather, critics argue that what exists is often insufficient relative to the scale of the problem.
The Contradiction of Protest and Police Response
One of the most symbolic moments in the debate over state commitment occurred during anti-femicide demonstrations in December 2024.
As activists marched to demand stronger action against violence against women, police dispersed sections of the protest using tear gas and arrested some participants. The incident attracted national and international criticism, with human rights organizations questioning why citizens protesting violence were themselves met with force.
The backlash was significant enough that senior police officers were later transferred over the handling of the protests.
For critics, the episode highlighted a troubling contradiction.
If authorities genuinely viewed GBV as a crisis, why were peaceful demonstrators demanding solutions treated as a public order problem?
Government supporters countered that police decisions during crowd management should not overshadow broader efforts being made to combat GBV.
Yet the optics remained powerful.
A movement calling for protection from violence found itself confronting law enforcement while seeking to be heard.
Prevention: The Missing Piece?
The central issue may ultimately be prevention.
Most discussions around GBV occur after violence has already happened.
A woman has already been assaulted.
A girl has already been abused.
A victim has already died.
The question is whether Kenya’s institutions are adequately identifying warning signs before tragedies occur.
Globally, research shows that many femicides are preceded by escalating patterns of abuse, threats, stalking, coercive control, or repeated domestic violence reports. Intervention during these stages can save lives.
In Kenya, activists continue to push for stronger early-warning systems, risk assessment tools, better coordination among police and social services, and more resources dedicated to community-based prevention.
The argument is simple:
Every successful prosecution matters.
But every prevented death matters even more.
Beyond Government Alone
It would be simplistic to place the entire burden on government.
GBV is also rooted in social attitudes, cultural norms, economic inequalities, family structures, and harmful beliefs about gender and power.
Many perpetrators are not strangers.
They are spouses, partners, relatives, neighbours, or acquaintances.
This means solutions must extend beyond police stations and courtrooms.
Schools, religious institutions, community organizations, media houses, families, and workplaces all play a role in shaping attitudes and challenging harmful behaviours.
The fight against GBV cannot be won solely through arrests.
It also requires education, prevention, social change, and accountability at every level of society.
So, Does the Authority Really Bother?
The evidence presents a complicated picture.
Authorities have established laws.
They have created courts.
They have formed committees.
They have launched initiatives.
They have publicly condemned violence.
These actions indicate that the issue is not being completely ignored.
Yet public frustration persists because the violence continues.
Women continue to disappear.
Families continue to bury daughters.
Activists continue to march.
The existence of policies alone has not convinced many Kenyans that enough is being done.
Perhaps the real question is not whether authorities bother.
Perhaps it is whether they bother enough.
Enough to prioritize prevention over reaction.
Enough to fund support systems adequately.
Enough to ensure every reported threat is treated with urgency.
Enough to guarantee that justice is not delayed beyond meaning.
Enough to make women feel safe in their homes, workplaces, campuses, streets, and online spaces.
Until that confidence exists, the debate will continue.
And every new case will revive the same haunting question:
If the warning signs were visible, if the laws were already there, and if the institutions existed—why was another life still lost?