The death penalty has been a defining feature of justice systems since antiquity, a tool wielded by rulers to enforce order, punish transgressors, and send a chilling warning to potential offenders. From the Code of Hammurabi in Babylon to the gruesome executions of medieval Europe, societies have long justified the ultimate punishment as necessary for stability. Yet, in the modern world—where justice systems are imperfect, where bias and error exist, and where human rights are enshrined in law—capital punishment remains one of the most polarizing issues.

The recent sentencing of Margaret Nduta Macharia, a Kenyan woman condemned to die in Vietnam for drug trafficking, has reignited this debate, stirring outrage, fear, and an uncomfortable reckoning with the fate of those caught in rigid legal systems far from her home. Her case is not unique.

Many foreign nationals face execution across Asia, where laws against drug offenses are harsh and non-negotiable. But her story is particularly haunting. A woman in her late thirties, a mother, and possibly—like countless others before her—a casualty of the global drug trade, either unaware of its full repercussions until it was too late or having managed to escape them until fate finally caught up with her, as captured in the East African proverb, “Siku za mwizi ni arobaini” (A thief’s days are forty). Now, she sits on death row, awaiting the finality of a punishment from which there is no appeal, no second chance, no redemption.

False witness

The death penalty dates back to the earliest civilizations, where laws sought to establish order in deeply hierarchical societies. The Code of Hammurabi (circa 1754 BCE), one of the first recorded legal codes, prescribed death for crimes such as theft, adultery, and bearing false witness. In ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome, execution was a common tool of justice, meted out by rulers to preserve their authority. The Romans executed criminals through crucifixion, beheading, or being thrown to wild beasts, punishments designed to instill terror.

Medieval Europe (Cir. 476–1492 CE) saw executions reach a peak, with methods such as hanging, burning at the stake, and the guillotine becoming standard. Public executions were spectacles, meant to reinforce the power of the state and the divine right of kings.

In England, the Bloody Code of the 18th century listed over 200 crimes punishable by death, including stealing a loaf of bread. It was only in the 19th and 20th centuries that the tide began to turn against capital punishment, as concerns about human rights, wrongful convictions, and the morality of state-sanctioned killing gained prominence.

History is littered with executions that shaped nations and sealed destinies. Joan of Arc, a French peasant girl was burned at the stake in 1431 for heresy and witchcraft, only to be canonized centuries later—a testament to how easily justice can be distorted by the politics of the day.

Louis XVI, the French king, walked to the guillotine in 1793 as thousands jeered, marking the end of monarchy and the rise of republicanism. Nicolae Ceaușescu, Romania’s iron-fisted leader, was executed by firing squad on Christmas Day in 1989, his final moments broadcast to the world as a symbol of the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe.

And then there was Saddam Hussein, the former Iraqi president labelled dictator by foes and statesman by admirers, met his fate on the gallows in 2006, hanged after a controversial trial that many saw as victors’ justice rather than due process.

These executions were more than just punishments; they were defining moments in history, illustrating how justice can be wielded as a weapon by those in power. Even in cases where the guilty were executed, the nature of their trials often raised concerns about due process, political motivations, and the fairness of capital punishment.

Capital punishment

Despite its long history, the death penalty is no longer universally accepted. Over 140 countries have abolished it, either in law or practice. In contrast, nations like China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and North Korea continue to carry out executions at staggering rates.

The United States remains divided, with some states enforcing capital punishment while others have outlawed it. Asia, in particular, enforces capital punishment with unyielding severity, especially for drug-related offenses. Singapore, Indonesia, Malaysia, and Vietnam impose mandatory death sentences for trafficking narcotics, with no consideration for mitigating circumstances.

This rigidity has drawn condemnation from human rights defenders and international organizations.

The United Nations has, for years, pushed for a moratorium on executions, arguing that the practice violates the fundamental right to life as enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (United Nations, 1948).

The UN Human Rights Committee has explicitly stated that executing individuals for non-violent crimes, such as drug trafficking, contravenes international law. Organizations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch continue to campaign against the death penalty, pointing to wrongful convictions, racial and economic disparities in sentencing, and the lack of evidence that executions deter crime more effectively than life imprisonment.

Even in Africa, where some nations still retain capital punishment, the tide is turning. Countries like Rwanda, Burundi, and Sierra Leone have abolished it, while others, including Kenya, maintain it in law but have refrained from carrying out executions.

The last time Kenya put a prisoner to death was in 1987, yet courts continue to issue death sentences, leaving hundreds in legal limbo.

Successive presidents, from Mwai Kibaki to Uhuru Kenyatta, have commuted these sentences to life imprisonment, signaling an unofficial shift away from the practice.

Kenya Citizen

And yet, when a Kenyan citizen like Margaret Nduta is sentenced to death abroad, the contradiction is stark. The government finds itself in the uncomfortable position of advocating for its citizens overseas while upholding the very law that, under different circumstances, could condemn them at home.

This is the paradox of capital punishment—it is fiercely defended until it is applied to those we know, to those whose humanity cannot be ignored.

The death penalty does not exist in isolation from the realities of human error, injustice, and bias. Since 1973, over 190 death row inmates in the United States have been exonerated, proving that wrongful convictions are not rare anomalies but disturbingly common.

The finality of execution means that an innocent person’s life can be extinguished without the possibility of redress. The flaws in justice systems worldwide—whether corruption, racial bias, or political interference—make the death penalty a dangerous instrument, one that can be wielded against the marginalized and powerless.

Beyond wrongful convictions, studies show that the death penalty is not an effective deterrent. Countries with capital punishment do not have significantly lower crime rates than those without it.

For instance, despite Vietnam’s stringent narcotics laws, the country continues to grapple with drug-related crimes. The United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) has reported that the certainty of punishment, rather than its severity, is the most effective deterrent. Life imprisonment, it turns out, may achieve the same goal without the irreversible consequence of taking a human life.

Foreign government

At its core, the debate over capital punishment is about more than just crime and punishment—it is about what kind of society we choose to be. Do we believe in retribution or rehabilitation? Do we accept the risk of executing the innocent for the sake of deterrence, even when studies suggest that capital punishment does not effectively reduce crime? Do we cling to a system that offers no room for error, no chance for redemption?

Look here, for Margaret Nduta Macharia, these questions are not theoretical—they are life and death. Her fate may rest in diplomatic negotiations, international pressure, or the unlikely mercy of a foreign government.

But beyond her individual case lies a broader truth: the death penalty, as history has shown, is not just about justice. It is about power, politics, and, all too often, the fallibility of human judgment.

It is worth to have in mind that when justice is fallible, when it is irreversible, when it is wielded with no room for doubt—it ceases to be justice at all.

Dr. Chebii Kiprono, PhD, History Lecturer & UASU Chapter Trustee, Alupe University-Kenya Email: chebiizk@gmail.com