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Counting of votes during the Law Society of Kenya elections on February 29, 2024 at the Milimani Law Courts in Nairobi.
In Kenya, we have the bad habit of treating professional elections as though they are insider issues that only matter to the people who attend annual general meetings, argue about Continuous Professional Development points.
This is until the country catches fire. And suddenly, everyone is asking organisations like the Law Society of Kenya (LSK) to speak —asking them to take steps, sue and stand between the citizen and a State that has forgotten what restraint looks like. LSK has had to do that work — publicly, loudly, and often under pressure — especially through the human rights violations that surrounded the Finance Bill 2024 protests, where the Society documents using strategic litigation, habeas corpus applications, and systematic documentation to confront abuses.
So let’s be honest about what the upcoming LSK elections are. They are not a lawyers’ thing.” They are a national governance event.
The Society has already opened the process for the 2026–2028 term, with vacancies announced for President, Vice-President, and multiple Council seats as the current Council’s two-year term runs to March 2026. Whoever takes the helm in that cycle will likely guide the profession — and, by extension, the country — through the runway to the 2027 elections. That is the point advocates must have in mind.
Good intentions
When institutions wobble, Kenya does not lean on “good intentions”— we lean on process, the courts, principled statements by those that refuse to be intimidated and a Bar that remembers its oath is not decorative. And sometimes, when everything else is compromised, we lean on LSK for direction — because it is one of the few bodies with the skill and standing to call illegality by its name and to fight it.
That is why these elections matter more than the posters and the WhatsApp campaigns. And that is why apathy is not a neutral choice. It is a vote cast in invisible ink—for whoever is most organised, most funded, and most interested in capturing the steering wheel.
Let me say the quiet part out loud: the State has incentives here.
A bold, independent LSK is inconvenient to a government that prefers obedience over oversight. A timid, transactional LSK is an asset —especially as we approach a high-stakes electoral cycle where the region has already shown us what “election integrity stress-tests” look like: pressure on institutions, propaganda dressed as patriotism, and legal standards bent until they snap.
I don’t know who “the State candidate” will be. I can’t name names without evidence, and neither should you. But I am almost entirely certain there will be an attempt — direct or indirect — to shape the outcome. Because power behaves like power. It colonises the spaces that can stop it.
Now here is the hopeful part: you, the Kenyan advocate, can stop that. With participation. With scrutiny.
With the boring, unglamorous act of voting, and the even more important act of interrogating the people asking for your vote. Advocates, this is your invitation — no, your summons — to show up. The notice has been issued. The positions are known. The requirements are clear. The process is moving.
So what should you interrogate?
Start with independence — not the kind people declare at a podium but the kind that costs them friendships. Ask: who funds you? Who are your clients? What are your political and commercial entanglements? What happens when your “professional network” and your duty to the public collide?
Civic freedoms
Then ask about courage—measured, not theatrical. What have you done when it was expensive to do the right thing? Where is your record on police accountability, on civic freedoms, on court order compliance, on defending the Judiciary when it is attacked? LSK has marched before to defend judicial independence and condemn intimidation; anyone seeking leadership must show they understand why that matters.
Ask about competence. Litigation. Governance.
Do you understand the election regulations? Do you understand the Society’s disciplinary mandate and how easily it can be weaponised? Do you have a plan for members’ welfare that does not become a tender opportunity? Do you have the temperament to lead when the country is polarised and everyone wants you to “pick a side” that serves them?
And ask about integrity—properly. The eligibility framework itself points you to the questions: good standing, experience thresholds, and recent professional misconduct history matter. Leadership should not be a rehabilitation programme for people who have not cleaned up their own house.
Now, I want to recognise something we don’t say often enough: we are eternally indebted to the Kenyan advocates who gave us Faith Odhiambo.
She was elected President during the February 2024 LSK elections, and her tenure came at a period when the country needed the Society’s spine. That is not small. That is not symbolic. That was institutional leadership meeting a historical moment.
So this opinion article is a request. Do us that same favour again.
Give Kenya a Society that cannot be bought, a Council that cannot be bullied and a President who understands that the job is not to be liked — but is to be useful, lawful, and unafraid.
Because the day may come — sooner than you think — when the country will lean on LSK’s direction again. A time will come when citizens who don’t know the difference between a plaint and a petition will still be waiting for LSK to say, “this is illegal,” and then prove it.
And when that day comes, we will not ask who campaigned the hardest. We will ask who you elected. So vote like Kenya is watching—because, in a way, Kenya is.
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The writer is an active citizen and business owner of a tech startup. lewisngunyi10@ gmail.com
