Defending Constitutional Rights and the Spirit of Linda Mwananchi

Kenya’s journey toward democracy has been long, painful, and hard-won. It is a story written with sacrifice, resistance, and an unbreakable desire for freedom. When Section 2A of the former Constitution was repealed and a robust Bill of Rights entrenched in the 2010 Constitution, the country made a solemn promise to itself and to future generations: never again would Kenyans be punished for thinking differently; never again would the state criminalize dissent; never again would peaceful citizens be treated as enemies for exercising their rights. That promise was not symbolic. It was meant to be lived, practiced, and defended every single day.

The Linda Mwananchi rally in Kakamega brings this promise into sharp focus. It is more than a political gathering; it is a constitutional moment. It forces us to confront a simple but profound question: do we truly believe in the rights we celebrate, or do we only tolerate them when they are convenient to those in power? Democracy is not tested in moments of comfort. It is tested when citizens speak boldly, assemble peacefully, and demand accountability from those who govern them.

A peaceful rally is not a threat to the state. On the contrary, it is the heartbeat of democracy. It is one of the clearest expressions of popular sovereignty — the idea that power ultimately belongs to the people and that leaders merely exercise it in trust. When citizens gather peacefully to voice their concerns, they are not undermining the nation; they are strengthening it. They are participating in governance in the most direct and honest way possible.

Attempts to frustrate, intimidate, or suppress such assemblies raise serious concerns about our collective commitment to constitutionalism. When barriers are placed in the way of peaceful rallies, when citizens are threatened or discouraged from gathering, the message sent is deeply troubling. It suggests that rights exist only on paper, not in practice. It implies that freedom of assembly is conditional — dependent on who is organizing the rally, where it is held, or what message is being conveyed. That is not democracy. That is selective freedom, and selective freedom is no freedom at all.

Kakamega, like every other town and village in Kenya, belongs to the people. It is not the private property of any political faction, party, or leader. Public spaces are meant to serve the public, and the Constitution guarantees that citizens may use those spaces to assemble peacefully and express themselves. The right to gather, speak, and demand accountability cannot be monopolized or rationed. It is not a privilege granted by the state; it is a right inherent to citizenship.

History teaches us why this matters. The dark days of intolerance that characterized the one-party era were marked by fear, silence, and repression. Alternative opinions were treated as acts of rebellion. Peaceful assemblies were banned, disrupted, or violently dispersed. Citizens learned to whisper instead of speak, to comply instead of question. Repealing Section 2A was meant to bury that chapter forever. It was a collective declaration that Kenya had chosen a different path — one rooted in pluralism, openness, and respect for human dignity.

Yet history also warns us that rights can erode quietly if they are not vigilantly defended. Democratic backsliding rarely begins with dramatic constitutional changes. It often starts with small, seemingly justifiable actions: a rally delayed here, a permit denied there, intimidation framed as “maintaining order.” Over time, these actions normalize repression and shrink the civic space. That is why moments like the Linda Mwananchi rally matter. They are not isolated events; they are indicators of the health of our democracy.

The Constitution is unequivocal: power belongs to the people. Leaders do not own it; they borrow it. They hold it in trust and must exercise it transparently, accountably, and in accordance with the law. Citizens, therefore, have not only the right but also the responsibility to remind leaders of this trust. Peaceful assembly is one of the most effective ways to do so. It signals engagement, vigilance, and refusal to be passive spectators in matters that affect livelihoods, dignity, and the future of the nation.

Standing in solidarity with Linda Mwananchi is, at its core, a stand for constitutionalism. It is a declaration that Kenyans will not be intimidated into silence. It affirms that lawful, peaceful action remains the strongest foundation for meaningful change. Violence destroys legitimacy; peaceful participation builds it. When citizens choose peaceful assembly despite intimidation, they demonstrate moral authority and reaffirm their faith in democratic processes.

This is not about any single rally, leader, or political formation. It is about the principle that rights are universal and indivisible. Today it may be one group whose assembly is frustrated; tomorrow it could be another. Defending the rights of those we agree with is easy. Defending the rights of those we disagree with is the true test of democratic maturity. Constitutional rights must protect everyone, or they protect no one.

We must therefore be clear and unwavering: we will not surrender our constitutional rights. We will not accept a return to fear and silence. We will stand firm — peacefully, lawfully, and resolutely — because democracy thrives when citizens participate, question, and organize. A nation grows stronger when its people are heard, not when they are suppressed.

We are the people. Our voices matter. Our presence matters. Our participation matters. And there is nothing more powerful than a people-driven movement grounded in constitutionalism, justice, and the unwavering belief that freedom is not granted by authority — it is claimed and protected by citizens themselves.