By Arch Dr D.K. Gitau-The Diaspora Times

“This is the total collapse of the Kenyan judicial system, and it is time to name it for what it is, a marketplace of corruption where justice has no meaning.“

The Judiciary’s statement by Kenya’s Supreme Court judge Martha Koome on the Muiri Coffee Estate and KCB loan dispute stands as a perfect symbol of institutional rot, a system that cloaks itself in the language of law while serving the machinery of corruption. On the surface, the courts proudly highlight that the matter was conclusively settled through a 1992 consent order, reaffirmed in 1998 by the Court of Appeal, and later deemed res judicata in 2018. Yet in reality, the case lingered in litigation for decades, revived time and again through fresh filings, endless reviews, and procedural theatrics. This contradiction reveals not a commitment to justice, but a judiciary that thrives on confusion, delay, and manipulation, because every drawn-out process offers fertile ground for exploitation.

More than a technical legal record, the statement symbolizes how Kenya’s Judiciary pretends to deliver certainty while presiding over chaos. Behind the lofty pronouncements of finality lies the painful truth of the Muigai family, heirs to the original land, who have been dragged through decades of anguish, slowly pushed into surrendering their father’s legacy. Instead of protecting citizens from predatory interests, the courts became the instrument of dispossession, proving once more that justice in Kenya is not determined by the law but by influence, money, and the willingness of judges to sell what should never be sold.

The Court of Appeal in 1998 confirmed the consent was binding, and in 2018, it declared the matter res judicata. Still, the case kept crawling back into court. This was not law at work. It was corruption prolonging what was already settled. This is how justice collapses: when final orders mean nothing, judgments are recycled and ignored, and every file becomes an opportunity for another bribe.

The human cost of this corruption is borne by real families. The Muigai family, whose father built his life’s legacy on the land now at stake, has been dragged through decades of pain, confusion, and manipulation. They are being pushed to accept the unacceptable, to watch their father’s land slip away, not because justice has been done, but because a rotten system has decreed it so. The courts, instead of protecting them, have become the very machinery used to dispossess them. Their suffering is a reminder that corruption is not an abstract vice; it devastates families, erodes dignity, and steals the inheritance of future generations.

The Judiciary explains technicalities, but the truth is simpler. Kenyan courts are marketplaces. Justice is not delivered; it is sold to the highest bidder. It has been like this for decades. When I was in Africa, I personally bribed a judge with KSh 5,000. It was normal. It was expected. It was how the system worked. Only after living in the United States did I understand how utterly wrong it was. My confession is not pride. It is evidence. It shows that corruption is not an exception but the rule. It is baked into the fabric of the Kenyan Judiciary.

There are no honorable judges. Not one. Every robe is stained. Every courtroom is a bazaar where decisions are negotiated not on the strength of the law, but on the size of the envelope. The Judiciary is not blind; it is for sale. And Kenyans know it. This is why citizens no longer trust the courts. They know that without money even the clearest case will be lost. They know that the powerful and the connected can drag matters on for decades. They know that poor people cannot win. This is not perception; it is lived experience.

What follows is predictable. When courts are corrupt, the rule of law collapses. Disputes are settled by force, violence, or political connections. Investors hesitate. Citizens despair. Democracy itself dies. The Judiciary issues statements defending its rulings, but words cannot cover rot. The Muiri case is just one file, but it mirrors hundreds of others. Decades of endless litigation mask the fact that justice is extinct. What survives is ritual, paperwork, black robes, wooden gavels, but no truth, no fairness, no justice.

The only path forward is total overhaul. Half measures will not work. The Judiciary must be torn down and rebuilt. Every corrupt judge must be exposed and removed. Every file must be audited. Every bribe must be investigated. Every asset must be declared and verified. There must be independent oversight with power to punish. There must be radical transparency so that no record can vanish and no judgment can be secretly altered. Whistleblowers must be protected because they are the only lifeline of truth left. Without such drastic action, nothing will change. The courts will remain the graveyard of justice.

The lesson is harsh but necessary. Kenya cannot reform a judiciary that is completely corrupt by pretending some judges are exceptions. There are no exceptions. The system is dead. It must be rebuilt from the ground up, or Kenya will never know justice. Until that day comes, the courts will remain a place where the poor are crushed, families like the Muigai’s are dispossessed, the rich prevail, and every judgment has a price tag. This is the total collapse of the Kenyan judicial system, and it is time to name it for what it is: a marketplace of corruption where justice has no meaning.

Disclaimer: This editorial reflects the opinion of The Diaspora Times and the lived experience of its contributors. It is based on public records, independent observation, and personal testimony. It does not constitute a legal finding of guilt but an urgent call for accountability and reform within Kenya’s Judiciary, an institution that has lost public trust.