Why we must never forget August 7 bomb blast

Every year on 7th August, Kenya pauses to remember victims of the 1998 bombing of the United States Embassy in Nairobi. Wreaths are laid, prayers offered, names recalled, and speeches made. Then, almost inevitably, the nation moves on.

For many survivors and bereaved families, however, time has never moved on. The blast claimed more than two hundred lives, the majority of them Kenyans. Thousands more suffered injuries many permanent. Behind every statistic lay a human story: a parent who never returned home, a child deprived of a mother or father, a young professional whose future was altered in an instant, and ordinary citizens whose only misfortune was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I remember that day with unusual clarity. It was my fiftieth birthday. I was approximately a mile away from the embassy, seated in my office in Mageso chambers with then my partner former Chief Justice, David Maraga. Suddenly came the deafening explosion. Like countless Nairobi residents, we were trying to comprehend what had happened. None of us could have imagined the scale of the devastation that would soon unfold.

Nearly three decades later, one uncomfortable question remains. Have the victims received justice? The answer depends on what one means by justice. There is no doubt that emergency assistance was provided in the immediate aftermath.

Medical teams worked heroically, governments responded, and relief was mobilised. Yet emergency relief is not the same as long-term justice. Many victims have spent years navigating legal processes, seeking compensation and recognition. Some have received payments through legal settlements. Others have received little or nothing. Many continue to believe the compensation available has been uneven and inadequate.

The Kenyan government has also faced criticism. While sympathy has never been lacking, comprehensive compensation has remained elusive. Court proceedings have not produced the sweeping remedies many survivors had hoped for. As years passed, public attention inevitably shifted to newer crises.

This raises a larger question. What duty does a nation owe to innocent citizens whose lives are permanently damaged by acts of terrorism? Surely, a civilised society should not leave victims to depend upon the uncertainties of litigation, charity or political goodwill.

Compensation should not be a lottery determined by legal technicalities or the passage of time. It should reflect a nation's enduring commitment to those who have borne extraordinary suffering. The 1998 bombing also reminds us that terrorism does not distinguish between nationality, race, religion or occupation. Majority of those who died were ordinary Kenyans going about their daily work. They were not participants in international politics. Yet they paid the highest price.

Memorials preserve memory, but justice restores dignity. If there is one lesson that should endure from 7th August 1998, it is that the measure of a nation is found not only in how it responds to tragedy in the moment, but also in how faithfully it stands beside the victims long after the TV cameras have departed.

History records the explosion. Conscience should record what we did or failed to do for those who survived it.

-The writer is a Senior Counsel