AWINO: Sexual violence in protests: What Universal Periodic Review says about Kenya

I watched the Universal Periodic Review (UPR) process unfold this year with the kind of attention that comes from knowing what is at stake.

As I read through the recommendations made to Kenya by member states and listened to the language of concern about enforced disappearances, police brutality, and sexual violence, I could not help but wonder how long we will continue showing up in these spaces with the same unresolved wounds dressed in new language.

The United Nations Human Rights Council has once again raised concerns about Kenya’s record on protecting basic rights during periods of civil unrest.

While our representatives gave assurances of reform, the situation on the ground paints a different picture, one I have encountered repeatedly through the eyes and voices of survivors who know these issues are not merely abstract entries in Geneva reports but lived realities that often go unaddressed.

I followed the UPR submissions closely because beneath the diplomatic phrasing were clear signals pointing to challenges with state responses to civil demonstrations, including concerns over the use of excessive force during the recent Gen Z protests, where some demonstrators alleged instances of violence and abuse, including sexual violence.

During these protests, I sat with women who had suffered violations and asked whether they still believed the state could protect them.

I remember the pause before each answer, a hesitation that spoke not of uncertainty, but of a painful recognition that what had happened was foreseeable, yet insufficiently prevented.

When the UN system raises concerns in a formal process like the UPR, where member states are expected to report on their human rights records, it is not just a bureaucratic exercise. It is a mirror.

This year, it reflected a country that has not done enough to break patterns of repression in response to dissent.

One might have thought that the history of the 2007–2008 post-election violence and the findings from commissions such as the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission and the Waki Commission would have reshaped the state’s approach to managing political unrest.

Yet, many still observe a system where accountability for the use of force remains elusive and where justice for victims of violence is often delayed. The Gen Z protests were not only about economic grievances.

They became a litmus test of how the state handles youth-led dissent. Allegations of sexual violence emerged again, a reminder that more must be done to prevent and respond to such violations and to support survivors who endure long after the headlines fade.

Concerns have been raised that the state has not sufficiently fulfilled its duty to prevent sexual violence, protect civilians, investigate and prosecute perpetrators, and offer reparations to survivors.

These are not just legal obligations, but moral ones. Within the UPR reports were recommendations urging Kenya to conduct independent investigations into all allegations of police brutality and sexual violence, and to ensure accountability for those responsible, regardless of rank or position.

However, domestically, there remains a noticeable gap in investigations and prosecutions tied to incidents during the protests. I highlight these issues not because I expect the UPR alone to resolve them, but because the growing disconnect between international commitments and local realities is troubling.

Unless these recommendations are viewed not just as formalities but as responsibilities owed to affected citizens, progress will remain stalled. The survivors I have spoken to are not seeking pity; they are seeking recognition, truth, and justice that is timely and not negotiated into silence.

Every time I hear public assurances about Kenya’s commitment to human rights, I wonder whether those words are ever meant to reach the women who were harmed during protests, or the families who lost loved ones to protest-related violence.

The UPR process has given Kenya yet another opportunity to reflect, reform, and build systems that protect the right to protest without fear of violence or reprisal. We know the consequences of ignoring credible warnings.

We know what happens when survivors are left without support.

We know the risks of shielding security forces from scrutiny. And if we acknowledge all that, yet still fall short in action, then the recurrence of sexual violence during protests risks becoming not an aberration, but a systemic failure to protect those who speak out.

Joyce Awino Ochieng - Programs Associate at Utu Wetu Trust