If Kenyans must die, let it not be like hogs

The killing of a city lawyer, his client and a taxi driver this week called to mind the late Jamaican poet and policeman, Claude McKay. And more specifically, his poem, ‘If We Must Die’. Listen to him: If we must die/let it not be like hogs/Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot/While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs/ Making their mock at our accursed lot...

Of course I do not advocate violence, as McKay did, when he toured America at the dawn of the 20th century and saw the dog’s life that blacks had to endure there. I however share the Harlem Rennaisance poet’s obvious message that human life, irrespective of one’s station in life, must surely count for something. In a normal week, we see many stories that should make us sad. Every day, people die as a result of accidents. There are also cases of violence over pasture, love triangles, baseless ethnicity, illicit brews, cattle rustling, wrong medication and all sorts of things. From the time you clock in on Sunday to the time you call it a week on Thursday night, you have seen and heard so much you fear for your sanity and sense of empathy.