Kenya, 22 January 2026 - Interior Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen’s latest remarks in Kisumu mark a rare moment of political candour in Kenya’s long and troubled conversation on police brutality—one that shifts the debate from outright denial to institutional accountability, even as it exposes the depth of the crisis within the security sector.
Speaking during an inspection tour of Kisumu Port and Coast Guard facilities, Murkomen acknowledged that some of the most disturbing cases of police excess have been traced to untreated mental health challenges among officers, with alcohol addiction emerging as a key aggravating factor.
Flanked by Kisumu Governor Prof Anyang’ Nyong’o, Director General of the National Police Service Gilbert Masengeli, and senior Coast Guard officials, the CS delivered a message that was as political as it was reformist: the State can no longer ignore the human cost of neglecting the psychological welfare of its own enforcers.
“We do not condone human rights violations,” Murkomen said, conceding that rogue officers had pushed the country into a “sorry state” through unlawful conduct.
His framing was deliberate—seeking to reassure an increasingly sceptical public while insulating the broader security apparatus from collective blame.
In doing so, Murkomen walked a delicate political tightrope: admitting failure without surrendering control of the reform narrative.
At the heart of his message was a promise of structural correction. The government, he said, would aggressively weed out mental health vulnerabilities during police recruitment, introduce periodic psychological evaluations, and retrain serving officers to ensure their actions conform to the law. It is a shift that positions mental fitness as a national security issue rather than a private affliction—an acknowledgment long demanded by civil society but rarely embraced at the policy level.
Politically, the admission carries weight. Police reform has historically been treated as a public relations exercise, resurfacing only after high-profile killings or international pressure.
Murkomen’s remarks suggest an attempt to seize initiative before the issue spirals into a legitimacy crisis for the Kenya Kwanza administration, already navigating economic headwinds and rising public dissent.
Yet critics argue that recruitment reforms alone may amount to symbolic politics if not matched with sustained investment in officer welfare. Policing remains one of the most stressful public service professions, marked by long hours, exposure to violence, inadequate counselling support, and easy access to weapons. Without addressing these systemic pressures, mental health screening risks becoming a convenient scapegoat rather than a cure.
The choice of Kisumu as the venue was also politically instructive. Long perceived as an opposition stronghold, the city provided Murkomen with a platform to signal inclusivity and bipartisan cooperation, reinforced by his joint appearance with Governor Nyong’o, a senior ODM figure. The optics suggested a calculated effort to depoliticise security reforms and frame them as a national, rather than partisan, imperative.
At a broader level, the remarks reflect a subtle recalibration of the State’s human rights posture. By admitting internal weaknesses while reaffirming zero tolerance for abuse, the government appears keen to balance reformist rhetoric with firm control of the security narrative—especially at a time when international scrutiny and domestic activism remain intense.
Whether Murkomen’s words translate into meaningful change will depend on execution, transparency, and political will. Kenyans have heard reform pledges before. What remains to be seen is whether this moment of honesty signals a turning point—or merely another chapter in the country’s cyclical reckoning with police violence.
Governor Nyong’o has thrown his weight behind technology-driven maritime safety, urging fishermen and all Lake Victoria water users to install the Usalama Baharini mobile application, describing it as the fastest and most reliable lifeline in moments of distress on the lake.
Speaking during an official inspection and performance assessment tour of the Kenya Coast Guard Service (KCGS) led by Interior Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen, Nyong’o framed the app not merely as a safety tool but as a symbol of a broader shift toward modern, intelligence-led management of Kenya’s blue economy.
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The governor said closer collaboration between lake users and the Coast Guard—anchored on real-time digital reporting—would significantly reduce fatalities, enhance rapid rescue operations, and curb cross-border maritime crimes that have long plagued Lake Victoria.
“In moments of danger, time is everything. The Usalama Baharini app provides the fastest link between those in distress and rescue teams,” Nyong’o said, urging fishermen to embrace technology as a first line of defence rather than a luxury.
Politically, the remarks placed Kisumu at the centre of a growing national conversation on maritime security, regional trade, and economic revival through the blue economy. With Lake Victoria supporting millions of livelihoods across Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania, insecurity on the waters has remained a costly obstacle to sustainable growth.
Nyong’o said the high-level visit reaffirmed a collective commitment by both national and county governments to strengthen maritime security infrastructure, optimise the blue economy, and intensify the fight against drug and substance abuse—an increasingly visible threat within lake and port communities.
“The Kenya Coast Guard Service plays a pivotal role in safeguarding our hardworking fisher folk and ensuring compliance with maritime laws. This is a critical pillar in advancing our Blue Economy agenda,” the governor said.
His comments echoed the national government’s renewed focus on securing strategic economic corridors, with Lake Victoria emerging as both a commercial lifeline and a security frontier. The presence of CS Murkomen signalled Nairobi’s intention to integrate inland waters more firmly into the national security architecture, long dominated by terrestrial and coastal priorities.
Beyond safety, Nyong’o’s message carried an economic undertone. Secure waters, he argued, are foundational to attracting investment in fisheries, transport, tourism, and value addition—sectors with the potential to reposition Kisumu as a regional logistics and trade hub.
“There is a need to secure our waters, empower our communities, and propel Kisumu and Kenya towards safe and sustainable prosperity,” he said, linking maritime order directly to jobs, incomes, and long-term economic resilience.
Analysts view the push for digital tools such as Usalama Baharini as part of a broader attempt to professionalise lake governance, reduce response times during emergencies, and eliminate the culture of informal, high-risk fishing that has claimed hundreds of lives over the years.
At a political level, the joint appearance of Nyong’o—an ODM stalwart—and Murkomen—a key figure in the Kenya Kwanza administration—projected rare bipartisan convergence around security and economic pragmatism.
In a region historically defined by opposition politics, the optics suggested an emerging consensus that safety, livelihoods, and development transcend party lines.
Whether the app-driven safety strategy succeeds will depend on uptake among fishermen, network reliability on the lake, and sustained investment in Coast Guard capacity.
But for Kisumu, the message was clear: the future of the blue economy will be anchored not just on nets and boats, but on technology, coordination, and trust between the State and lake communities.

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