In Kenya’s toxic political climate, where headlines often echo more outrage than facts, one institution has consistently taken the blows: the National Cohesion and Integration Commission (NCIC). Branded dismissively by critics as the “Hate Speech Commission” and the executive’s lapdog, NCIC has been unfairly reduced to a watchdog for words—when in reality, it is the lifeline for national unity, the silent architect of peace, and the custodian of cohesion in a nation grappling with identity-based politics. 

Let us be clear. NCIC was not created to carry out headline arrests. It was forged in the aftermath of bloodshed—the 2007/08 post-election violence—with a clear mandate: to promote peaceful coexistence between Kenyans of diverse backgrounds. It was created to unite a divided country by ending discrimination on the basis of tribe, race, and religion. Since then, its efforts have stretched far beyond courtrooms and media soundbites. 

The truth is, NCIC’s most important work doesn’t trend on Twitter. It doesn’t take place in front of flashing cameras or command front-page spreads. Instead, it happens in far-flung, forgotten and insecure corners of Tana River, Kerio Valley, Baringo, Turkana, Pokot, Marsabit and Mandera, Kericho-Kisumu borders—where communities once torn by hatred are slowly being stitched back together through difficult and painstaking dialogue and peace processes.

It’s in these communities that the Commission has brokered peace accords, trained and built the capacity of elders, women, youth and interfaith leaders in peacebuilding, mediation and early warning and early response mechanisms. These grassroots peace champions are working tirelessly to prevent, mitigate and resolve intra- and inter-ethnic conflict. They are the frontline peace and cohesion actors.

During tense electoral periods, like the 2022 General Election, NCIC and its partners delivered a free, fair and peaceful election through its flagship project “Election Bila Noma” and Amani Kwa Ground. This is a fact that cannot be dismissed off-hand.

Still, critics ask: Why hasn’t NCIC jailed the big names who spew incitement and ethnic hate? The answer is sobering. It is not for lack of trying—it is because the system is designed to shield power, not confront it. NCIC has no prosecutorial powers. It can only investigate, build cases, and recommend prosecution, but the final decision lies with the Director of Public Prosecutions and the courts. 

Coded language

Meanwhile, legal loopholes, political interference, and a high burden of proof make convictions almost impossible. Senior politicians hide behind coded language and tribal loyalties, knowing too well that the wheel of justice in Kenya turns slowly. Cases take several years before they are finally dismissed. It is quite disheartening. 

In truth, NCIC is battling a culture—not just individuals. A culture where inciters become heroes in their ethnic enclaves. A culture where the public cheers inflammatory rhetoric when it serves “our side.” A culture where justice is weaponised by those in power. That is not a fight one commission can win alone. 

Fragile bridges

The media has a duty to hold public institutions accountable—but it must do so with fairness and justice. NCIC is not impeccable, but it deserves better than scathing attacks. Reducing it to a “hate speech Commission” is not just lazy—it’s harmful. It erases the Commission’s successful major work in healing communities, strengthening civic dialogue, and building the fragile bridges that keep Kenya from slipping into chaos.

By the way they report, the media can prevent or exacerbate conflict. Make no mistake, the media can serve as a stabilising force in tense moments or become an accelerant that turns tension into full-blown conflict. Nowhere is this power more consequential than in the realm of hate speech and intercommunal conflict. By Guyo Liban Dadacha, The Standard