In 1950, British forces killed at least 29 civilians in one of the deadliest, but least chronicled, episodes of colonial violence in Kenya.

Armed soldiers killed at least 29 civilian members of Dini ya Msambwa, a spiritual and anti-colonial movement in Kenya active around what is now West Pokot county in the north-western region. Survivors describe the group’s gathering on 24 April 1950 as a peaceful one. However, British colonial forces, fearing a potential uprising, violently confronted the group at the Kolloa trading centre.

It led to one of the highest number of deaths in a single day in a single place in Kenya’s colonial period.

For the surviving families and followers of Dini ya Msambwa (the “religion of the spirits” in Kiswahili), it was a massacre. However, the British government has never publicly apologised for this atrocity.

The movement’s adherents continue to seek justice and recognition, but they face legal, political and historical roadblocks.

I am part of a team at Newcastle University working on Afterlives of Colonial Incarceration, a project focused on former British colonies. I’ve been working closely with communities affected by colonial violence in Kenya, including Dini ya Msambwa adherents.

In my view, Britain’s recognition of the Kolloa massacre isn’t just a matter of historical record. It is about acknowledging that the group’s pain is real, their loss unjust and their struggle worth remembering.

To acknowledge Kolloa as a massacre would open the door to legal and moral accountability from the British government. This would help Dini Ya Msambwa followers affirm the legitimacy of their historical grievances and their place in Kenya’s national story.

Crucially, it could also lay the groundwork for reparations, which could include financial compensation for surviving families, and the restitution of confiscated land and livestock.

The British government remains silent on the massacre. But this doesn’t erase memory. Dini ya Msambwa followers and representatives and historians are working to ensure that Kolloa – like so many forgotten chapters of colonial violence in Africa and beyond – is not buried with the last of its survivors.

The group’s origins

Dini ya Msambwa was founded in the 1940s by Elijah Masinde among the Bukusu people of western Kenya. The movement rejected colonial authority, resisted Christian missionary dominance and called for a return to African spirituality and traditions.

This combination of cultural pride and political defiance made it a target for suppression by British authorities.

Lukas Pkech, a prominent Pokot leader, brought Masinde’s preachings to West Suk and Baringo in the British-administered north-west region in 1950. His teachings were increasingly influential among Pokot communities and were seen as a direct challenge to colonial order.

British district commissioner Arthur Simpsons, along with a contingent of tribal police and British officers led by Alan Stevens, moved to quell the movement and most likely to kill its leader. What followed was a fatal confrontation in Kolloa: over 300 Dini ya Msambwa followers, armed mainly with spears, faced off with colonial security forces in what came to be called the Kolloa Affray.

Pkech and at least 28 followers were killed, along with Stevens, two other British nationals and an African askari (soldier). Oral testimonies suggest that between 44 and 50 people were killed – 29 during the event itself, and 15 to 20 others later succumbing to wounds sustained in the fighting. At least 176 Dini ya Msambwa members present at the standoff were imprisoned. Seven of them were executed for their direct involvement.

This event led to increased repression of Pokot communities and suspected Dini ya Msambwa leaders and followers.

The colonial administration confiscated over 5,600 cattle and deployed a special police force in the region. Residents were forced into hard labour on district roads as part of communal punishment. Hundreds of adherents were thrown into colonial jails and detention camps near the district administrative centre, Kapenguria.

The exact number of Dini ya Msambwa followers today is hard to assess as many choose to remain discreet for their own safety. However, the growing visibility of branches like Dini ya Roho Mafuta Pole ya Africa (African Religion of the Gently Anointing Spirit) indicates the movement’s enduring significance in Pokot society.

Dini ya Roho attracts approximately 4,000 members weekly for worship and yearly for Kolloa commemorations. In the church’s doctrine, the deaths at Kolloa are reinterpreted as a selfless act of sacrifice in fulfilment of peace for the community. Since its official registration in 2012, the church has gained growing influence.

Silencing through legal reform

In 2013, the UK government issued a formal apology and paid £19.9 million (US$26.5 million) in compensation to 5,228 Mau Mau veterans. The compensation was related to Britain’s brutal suppression of the Mau Mau uprising (1952–1960), also known as the “Kenya Emergency”. This was a large-scale anti-colonial rebellion during which more than 150,000 Kenyans were detained without trial in a vast system of camps and fenced villages. Here, torture, forced labour and systematic abuse were widespread.

The Mau Mau case secured an official apology and compensation for colonial-era torture. It also demonstrated that legal redress for historical injustices was possible.

Yet, it was also a strategic concession by the UK government.

It was limited in scope, restricted to a specific group (those tortured during the Emergency), and designed to avoid setting a broad legal precedent.

Since then, the UK has enacted a new law – the Overseas Operations Act – that imposes strict legal limits on claims related to the actions of British troops abroad, effectively barring historical claims.

Worse still, under the legal doctrine known as divisibility of the Crown, claimants must prove that abuses were ordered by the UK government in London, not just carried out by colonial administrators.

In the case of Kolloa, where documentation is sparse and most evidence comes from oral testimonies, this is an almost impossible task.

Further, unlike the Mau Mau case, which gained global attention, Kolloa has remained largely absent from mainstream narratives. The Kenyan government has lacked political will to put pressure on Britain and has itself seen the movement as dangerous. It remained banned until 2012, after the new constitution strengthened protections for freedom of religion and beliefs.

Without strong advocacy from the Kenyan state, Britain has no diplomatic incentive to revisit or acknowledge Kolloa.

Is there still hope for justice?

One promising path is international litigation. In 2022, the Talai clan from Kenya’s Nandi and Kipsigis communities – themselves victims of colonial brutality – brought a case against the UK at the European Court of Human Rights. Their efforts could set a precedent for groups like Dini ya Msambwa seeking redress beyond British courts.

Back home, Kenya’s devolved county government of West Pokot has also given representatives from the church more freedom to speak openly. While the group remains cautious about challenging the national government directly, there’s a growing movement for memorialisation, truth telling and intergenerational dialogue.

For Dini ya Msambwa, the fight is about more than financial compensation. It is about being seen, heard and remembered. The group’s struggle touches on deeper questions of dignity, memory and the right to practise their faith with pride instead of fear and resentment.

Chloé Josse-Durand, Senior Research Associate in African Politics, Newcastle University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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