Kenyan police officers arraigned over shooting a civilian during protests
A court in Kenya on Thursday gave detectives 15 days to complete investigations of two police officers suspected of shooting and wounding a hawker during the latest street protests over the death of a blogger in custody.
The officers were arraigned in court two days after the Tuesday shooting on a busy street and under the full glare of cameras. It triggered anger and fury over persistent complaints against police brutality.
Tuesday's protests in the capital followed tensions over the death of the blogger, Albert Ojwang, who was found dead while in custody at the Central Police Station.
Ojwang was arrested on June 6 in western Kenya for what police called publishing 'false information' about a top police official on social media. Police attributed his death to him 'hitting his head against the cell wall,' but activists have questioned the cause of death.
Protesters on Tuesday demanded the arrest of the police deputy inspector general, Eliud Langat, who had filed a defamation complaint against Ojwang.
Langat said Monday he had stepped aside and would cooperate with investigators. The two officers at the Central Police Station were arrested last week.
The officers will remain in custody until July 3. During their court appearance, they concealed their faces with masks, sparking complaints from activists.
Kenya has a history of police brutality, and President William Ruto previously vowed to end it, along with extrajudicial killings.
Last year, several activists and protesters were abducted and killed by Kenyan police during protests against tax hikes. The demonstrations led to calls for Ruto's removal.
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The Independent
4 hours ago
- The Independent
Imprisonment for public protection: Justice experts call for end of ‘cruel experiment'
Leading justice experts, led by Lord John Thomas and convened by the Howard League for Penal Reform, have proposed new measures to finally end the "cruel experiment" of imprisonment for Public protection (IPP) sentences. IPP sentences, abolished in 2012 but not retrospectively, have left 2,614 inmates, some jailed for minor offences, indefinitely incarcerated for up to 20 years longer than their original terms. The expert panel's six recommendations include giving release dates to those still in prison, ending the cycle of recall, enhancing the appeal process, and allowing IPP sentences to become "spent" after an appropriate period. The proposals aim to restore hope to prisoners, prevent further self-inflicted deaths (94 IPP prisoners have died in custody), and could free up prison places while saving taxpayers money. While the government has stated it will "carefully consider" the recommendations, it has previously rejected resentencing, despite the IPP sentence being widely condemned as a "monstrous blot" on the justice system.
The Independent
11 hours ago
- The Independent
Hope for end to ‘cruel experiment' of indefinite jail terms that have seen phone thieves trapped for up to 20 years
Desperate prisoners who have been trapped in jail for up to 20 years for minor offences such as stealing a mobile phone could finally get a release date under landmark new proposals. Britain's leading justice experts have issued a string of recommendations to finally end the 'cruel experiment' of imprisonment for public protection (IPP) jail terms, which have left inmates languishing in prison for up to 22 times longer than their original sentence. A panel led by Lord John Thomas, who was once Britain's most senior judge, convened by the Howard League for Penal Reform, will urge the government on Monday to take 'long overdue' action to restore hope to 2,614 inmates still trapped under the outlawed jail terms, which have been described as a 'monstrous blot' on our justice system. IPP jail terms were abolished in 2012, but not retrospectively, leaving those already jailed incarcerated indefinitely. Victims of the scandal, whose tragic cases have been highlighted by The Independent, include Leroy Douglas, who has served almost 20 years for stealing a mobile phone; Thomas White, 42, who set himself alight in his cell and has served 13 years for stealing a phone; and Abdullahi Suleman, 41, who is still inside 19 years after he was jailed for a laptop robbery. Successive governments have refused justice committee recommendations to resentence them, despite recognising the jail term was a mistake. At least 94 IPP prisoners have taken their lives in custody as they lost hope of being freed, with a further 37 self-inflicted deaths among those released but left living in fear of being hauled back to jail indefinitely for minor breaches of strict licence conditions. On Monday, the expert panel will set out six recommendations to the Ministry of Justice to finally give those languishing in prison a release date and end the cycle of recall. Lord Thomas told The Independent: 'We must not go on perpetuating this injustice.' The proposals would see: Every IPP prisoner given a release date at their next review by the Parole Board within a two-year window, with plans to prepare them to be safely freed Decisions to recall IPP prisoners only made as a last resort, with independent scrutiny by a district judge or senior parole board member Mental health aftercare support for every released IPP prisoner, in recognition of the harms caused by the sentence The government has said ministers will 'carefully consider' the recommendations. In the 25-page report, due to be presented at an event in parliament, Lord Thomas warns: 'It is long overdue for those whose lives continue to be blighted by this sentence to be released from its clutches. 'There are only two options given the government's rejection of resentencing: (1) do nothing new and let those subject to IPPs continue with the real risk that many will languish in prison until they die; or (2) adopt our proposals. 'Our proposals provide a route to ending this grave injustice while protecting the public.' The member of the House of Lords, who served as lord chief justice from 2013 to 2017, believes the 'practical solutions' could be the last chance to help those on the jail term, which has been condemned as 'psychological torture' by the UN. Despite agreeing that the sentences are a 'terrible stain', Labour's prisons minister James Timpson has repeatedly said the government will not resentence IPP prisoners because it would result in serious offenders being released automatically without licensed supervision. Instead, the government has urged prisoners to work towards release by the Parole Board through the refreshed IPP Action Plan. However, Lord Thomas believes the measure is 'not enough' and it will leave some desperate inmates stuck in prison for the rest of their lives. He said it is 'absolutely clear' that without action, many will resign themselves to lifelong institutionalisation or take their own lives. Urging the state to take responsibility for its own mistakes, he insisted 'enough is enough', noting that if these prisoners had committed their crime a day after the sentence was abolished, they would have long been freed. 'It is time to address this problem in the way we have set out, which produces justice and minimises risk as much as possible,' added the judge, who last year backed The Independent's campaign to review IPP sentences. Andrea Coomber KC, chief executive of the Howard League, described the jail term as a 'cruel experiment' that has been perpetrated upon these prisoners by accident. Even the architect of the flawed 99-year sentence, Labour's former home secretary David Blunkett, has described it as the 'biggest regret' of his career. 'I spend a lot of time visiting people in prisons, I have met people who aren't engaged in IPP forums, who have given up hope,' Ms Coomber told The Independent. 'They have settled into the idea that they are going to die in prison. That is a monstrous blot on our justice system that people would feel that justice has let them down that much.' By ensuring they would get a release date, those prisoners would re-engage with the Parole Board and the steps for their rehabilitation, she added. 'Fundamentally, it will be a way to restore hope to people who have lost all hope, while protecting the public,' she said. It will also have the 'happy side effect' of freeing up a lot of prison places as the government grapples with an overcrowding crisis, she added. In April, The Independent revealed that incarcerating IPP inmates cost taxpayers £145m in 2024, on top of an estimated £1.6bn spent since the sentence was abolished. Any cost to implementing the changes would be 'more than covered' by the savings of releasing them, the report said. Other proposals from the panel, which also comprised a retired High Court judge and vice-chair of the Parole Board, leading forensic psychiatrists, clinical psychologists, legal experts and a former IPP prisoner, would see those handed indeterminate sentences when they were children (known as DPP jail terms) given a release date within one year of their parole review. They have also called for an enhanced process for people to appeal their IPP sentence, the right for annual licence termination reviews in the community and the ability for IPP jail terms to become 'spent' after an appropriate period. Currently, those who serve an IPP sentence must disclose information about their conviction for life, which can be 'hugely stigmatising' as they try to rebuild their lives and find work, Ms Coomber said. Campaigner Shirley DeBono, whose son Shaun Lloyd has spent 14 years behind bars after multiple recalls for stealing a mobile phone in 2005, welcomed the proposed measures. 'I think it's a great idea. I urge Shabana Mahmood [justice secretary] and James Timpson to take the proposals on,' said the mother, who co-founded the IPP Committee in Action. A spokesperson for the United Group for Reform of IPP (Ungripp) said that while it will always push for a full resentencing process, it supports the measures. 'We hope that the government will seriously consider these alternatives and give back some hope to those who are in prison either on recall or who have never been released,' they added. A Ministry of Justice spokesperson said: 'It is right that IPP sentences were abolished, and we will carefully consider the recommendations in this report. 'We are determined to make progress towards safe and sustainable releases for those in prison, but not in any way that undermines public protection.'
The Guardian
15 hours ago
- The Guardian
As Ice infiltrates LA, neighborhoods fall quiet: ‘We can't even go out for a walk'
It has been eerily easy to find street parking in Los Angeles's fashion district this week. In the nearby flower district, longtime vendors have locked up stalls. And in East LA, popular taquerías have temporarily closed. Neighborhoods across LA and southern California have gone quiet since the Trump administration ramped up immigration raids in the region two weeks ago. The aggressive arrests by federal agents have ignited roaring protests which the administration tried to quell by mobilizing thousands of national guard troops. Last weekend, Americans protested the raids and other administration policies in one of the biggest ever single-day demonstrations in US history. But immigration enforcement in LA has only intensified. In downtown Los Angeles, Lindsay Toczylowski, the executive director of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center (ImmDef) was alerted on Wednesday morning that federal agents in masks and bulletproof vests had ambushed a man who was biking down the street, not far from her office, and had arrested him. She and a colleague rushed outside, to see if the agents were targeting anyone else. Later, they puzzled over how and why agents had decided to target this man. Did they have a warrant? Did they even know who he was? Or was it just that he looked like he could be an immigrant. 'It feels so invasive. They're everywhere,' she said. It was the type of arrest that has immigrants across the region weighing if, and when, it will be safe to go outside. In LA's Koreatown, a dense, immigrant neighborhood just west of downtown, children were playing at Seoul international park, but not as many as usual. Outside Jon's grocery, there were only a few street vendors who had set up shop – where normally there would be a dozen or more. Guillermo, 61, had come out, with his wife, to set up their small stall selling medications, vitamins and toiletries. 'To be honest, we're scared,' he said, nervously raking his fingers through his tightly coiled hair. They'd stayed home, stayed away, for days – but this week, they found out that their landlord would be increasing their rent by $400 starting next month. 'We need to make money.' Then again, he wondered if it was worth the risk to come out. There was hardly any foot traffic. No customers. 'They're all Latino,' he said, shaking his head. 'They're all scared to come out.' In normal times, Lorena would be selling tamales nearby – at least until about 5pm. Fifty years old, with with slick black hair, she could pass for quite a bit younger. She'd spend the afternoon chatting with the other vendors – the frutero down the block, and the woman who sells candies and nuts. Sometimes, she'd chat with the young unhoused men who camp out on the street and offer them some tamales. 'They've had some bad luck, some [have] taken some bad steps,' she said. She's known some of them since they were children – she used to sell tamales outside Hobart Elementary a few blocks away. She's been selling tamales in K-town for decades. The neighborhood has changed a lot since she first came here from Oaxaca, aged 20, she said. Still, most faces are familiar; she's been selling tamales to generations of people out here. In the evenings, she'd head home, get changed and head to the park for a walk. On summer days like these when her grandchildren are off school, she'd bring them to the playground, or maybe take them out to the movies, as a treat. 'Not this week,' she said. She has barely stepped outside her home in days. Neither has her husband, who normally works as a day laborer – soliciting short-term construction jobs outside of the nearby Home Depot. On the day agents flooded the megastore's parking lot, indiscriminately cuffing laborers and vendors, a friend of her son had warned them not to come out, she said. This week has felt a bit like the first few weeks of the pandemic, like the lockdown. 'Well, now this is worse than the pandemic,' she shrugged. 'Because we can't even go out for a walk.' She can't even put on a face mask and head to the grocery store – her kids, who have legal immigration status, have been going to the market and running errands for her and her husband. 'We're not really doing anything right now,' she said. It has meant that she hasn't been able to send as much money to her mother in Mexico, and to her brother, whose health has been deteriorating rapidly because of liver cancer. 'I know he's suffering. He's suffering a lot,' she said. She cried as she tried to explain to him and her mother why she cannot send home any money this month. 'It's so hard, it's so hard,' she said. She thinks about returning to work, but it's too risky. 'If they catch me, if they deport me, that's not going to help them, is it?' For now, Lorena and her husband are staying afloat thanks to a grant from Ktown for All, a non-profit that has been raising funds to help street vendors who fear arrest and deportation. 'At least the rent is covered,' she said. 'I am so thankful. There is nothing more to do than be grateful. And hope all this will pass soon.' ' The flower district – the largest wholesale flower market in the US – has emptied out as well. On Wednesday, vendors and customers alike locked up their stalls, and headed home, following rumors that raids were coming. In downtown LA's garment district, where the surge immigration enforcement began almost two weeks ago, tailor shops, which normally would be bustling with clients adjusting the fits on their graduation and quinceañera outfits, were generally quiet. At Fernando Tailorshop, which has been operating in the neighborhood for 54 years, owner Renato Cifuentes said he had never seen anything like the recent raids. 'I see this as a persecution of the Latino more than anything else,' he said. 'If you look like a Latino, the agents go after you – that's not right.' Most of his workers are afraid to come into the shop. His customers – citizens and immigrants alike – have been staying away as well. Business is down by more than 50%, he said. 'Most of my customers are Latin, and they are afraid. Some of my customers are Iranian – and they are worried about war,' he said, 'It hurts me a lot. Everything, everything is affected.' Meanwhile, families of those arrested in the first rush of raids earlier this month, including at clothing warehouses and wholesalers in the district, have been grappling with the aftermath. 'We had to change how we eat, how we sleep, how we live, everything,' said Yurien, whose father Mario Romero was arrested in a raid at Ambiance Apparel. 'We've had to change everything.' Two weeks ago, Romero had texted her, his eldest daughter, that agents had arrived at his workplace, and that he loved her. Yurien had rushed over, and watched as agents shackled her father, and shoved him into a van. Several other family members worked at Ambiance – and were arrested as well. Normally, on weekends,Romero would bring home a huge haul of Mexican candy, brew up a big batch of agua de jamaica, and pick a classic movie for the whole family to watch. But last weekend, Yurien spent hours refreshing her search in the Ice online detainee locator system, hoping it would tell her where her father had been taken. 'We went days without knowing, without any idea what had happened to him,' she said. Later, she learned that agents had kept them in a van for more than eight hours, without food or water, or access to a restroom. Then Ice transferred them to the Adelanto detention center, in California's high desert. Local Zapotec community organizers were able to help her find him – and more than a week after his arrest, Yurien was able to put funds into his commissary, so he could call her from the detention center. 'He sounded so sad, he was crying,' she said. Yurien hasn't really felt hungry since then. She had planned to matriculate at Los Angeles Trade-Technical college, but she deferred her plans so she could take over her father's responsibilities – including the care of her four-year-old brother, who has a disability that requires close monitoring and regular doctors visits. 'It's been so hard. I've always been a daddy's girl,' she said. 'But I can't really show my emotions, because I have to stay strong for my mom, for my siblings.' Lucero Garcia, 35, said she could relate. 'I'm so overwhelmed, I'm so stressed,' she said. 'I still wake up every day and act like nothing ever happened, because I feel like I'm the main person in our family that kind of keeps it together.' Nothing has been the same for her family since her 61-year-old uncle, Candido, was arrested while working at his job at Magnolia Car Wash in Orange county, just south of LA. It was one of more than two dozen car washes in the region that have been visited by immigration agents, according to the Clean Carwash Worker Center. Before her evening shift at work on Tuesday, Garcia put on her professional black trousers and white knit top, and drove more than 90 minutes north to the Adelanto detention center, and met with congress members who were seeking to meet with constituents who had been transferred there, to investigate reports of unsanitary and unsafe conditions inside. After local representatives confirmed that detainees had been denied clean clothes and underwear for days, she stood outside in the searing desert heat and shared some words about her uncle – who had lived with her family for years and has been like another father to her. 'This is just crazy,' she said. 'I've never talked to the press before, to give speeches like this.' She had to rush back home right after to wrap up errands, and head to work. Garcia has her green card, and her sister has citizenship – so the two of them have taken shifts running errands for their entire family – picking up groceries and prescriptions, getting kids to and from playdates and activities – so that those without documentation don't have to risk stepping outside. At home, the conversations have been heavy. Some of her family members are meeting with notaries to arrange paperwork, so that she can take custody of their children, should they get arrested or deported. 'I'm so glad it's summer vacation, that none of our kids are in school right now,' she said. 'At least we don't have to worry something will happen while they're at school.' Out in her neighborhood, restaurants sit half empty, and there's no more lines at the gas station. Inside her house, it's been oddly quiet, too. Most all of Garcia's family lives in Orange county – within 5 or 10 minutes from her – and most days a cousin or an uncle would swing by, unannounced, bringing a dish or even just ingredients to cook up. Garcia is famous for her beef birria and pozole. These days everyone is staying confined to their own homes. Last weekend, they nearly forgot it was father's day. 'The vibe is not there to be celebrating,' she said. 'And even with the smallest gathering, there's a risk to leaving the house.' And there's guilt. 'Like, how can you be having dinner when others are in detention without enough food? The guilt doesn't let you move forward.' The Guardian is not using the full names of some people in this article to protect them and their families.
