Atwoli: A political wheeler-dealer disguised as the workers' defender

For a man who built his name on the back of Kenya’s working class, Francis Atwoli appears more comfortable seated next to power than protesting outside its gates to defend workers’ rights.

At 75, the long-serving Secretary-General of the Central Organization of Trade Unions (COTU) is less the firebrand labor crusader he once claimed to be and more a seasoned political operator—adept at aligning with presidents, building alliances, and religiously defending policies that hurt the very people he is paid to protect.

At a press briefing on Tuesday at the union’s headquarters in Nairobi, the executive board members strongly rejected claims that 74-year-old Atwoli was about to retire, firmly standing by their leader and dismissing the rumors as baseless. 

“There are regulations in the Ministry of Labour to guide towards an election, but as of now, we say there is no vacant position in Cotu until the time when we will receive a notice from the ministry,” declared Isaac Andabwa, Secretary General of the Kenya National Private Security Workers Union (KNPSWU).

But his words were not just tone-deaf for many Kenyan workers—they were insulting. “He speaks like someone who has never had to live on a minimum wage,” said Grace Njeri, a waitress in Kiambu. “He doesn’t speak for us. He speaks for himself and those in power.”

Director General Private Security Regulatory Authority, Fazul Mohamed wondered who speaks for the ordinary worker when their payslips are shredded by endless deductions, salaries are delayed for months, and minimum wages are ignored like a bad joke.

“Who raises their voice when the ordinary Kenyan worker's salary is tapped as a primary source of revenue by Politicians, employers and those in power? Who roots for the ordinary Kenyan workers' destiny when political groups repeatedly play games and gamble with their shared destiny, futures, well-being, and their very own existence?” he said.

Atwoli has held the COTU post since 2001 and has simultaneously served as General Secretary of the Kenya Plantation and Agricultural Workers Union since 1994. He is also President of the Organization of African Trade Union Unity, Vice President of the International Trade Union Confederation, sits on the board of the International Labour Organization, and until recently, was a director at the National Bank of Kenya.

“There is this thing called social media, it is not in China, it is controlled,” Atwoli declared during this week’s outburst. “The Church must speak about social media, the Church must speak about TikTok. We can’t have such a society.” In his view, criticism from online youth—many of them unemployed—is nothing but incitement.

It’s a glittering résumé for someone who portrays himself as a defender of the common worker. Yet his real-world impact tells a different story. In an era where Kenya’s unemployment crisis deepens, workers’ rights are increasingly trampled, paychecks are shredded by taxes, and the cost of living is skyrocketing, Atwoli has consistently stood by government policies—or worse, rationalized them.

"People are assuming that he is not going to defend his seat come 2026, but the board members clarify and say he is the SG and he is going to contest and defend his position," reiterated Andabwa. 

During Labour Day celebrations in Nairobi last year, Atwoli transformed what should have been a rallying cry for workers’ rights into a political spectacle. And it is a ritual he has been doing every year baptizing the day as Labour. Dancing, mocking political opponents, and lauding his own efforts, he barely addressed the core issues: wage stagnation, dangerous working conditions, and mass layoffs.

“There was a time when trade unionists like Joseph Mugalla and Tom Mboya struck fear in governments. They walked with power and purpose,” said a former union member who declined to be named. “Now all we get is drama.”

During the 2022 campaigns for the General Elections, Atwoli famously declared that William Ruto—then Deputy President—would “never” be elected president. He accused Ruto of trying to plunder the National Social Security Fund and publicly labeled his proposed NHIF reforms a scam. In retaliation, Ruto called him “stupid.” Atwoli’s comeback: “Better to be stupid than a thief.”

And when individuals vandalising a road sign named after him in Kileleshwa ahead of the 2022 elections, Atwoli said, “Bringing down an honorary road signage under my name doesn’t hurt me. On the flip side, it will haunt, for life, those who are behind it. For how does it benefit them? How do you sleep at night knowing you are a vandal?” He posed, adding, “My name is all over the world and one doesn’t require a street signage for them to know who Francis Atwoli is. The name will live in posterity taking into account my years of selfless service to the workers in Kenya and the world.”

Instead, after Ruto's unexpected win in 2022 Atwoli crawled back. He embraced the same man he once vowed to defeat, defending Ruto’s travel expenses abroad and attacking critics like Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, opposition leader Raila Odinga, and Generation Z for undermining the president.

Atwoli insisted this was not betrayal but pragmatism. “Dialogue with the government is not desperation,” he said. “It’s necessary engagement.”

But few are convinced.

"He's always been a weathervane," said a union official familiar with Atwoli’s career. "He turns with the wind, aligning with whoever is in power. Not for the workers, but for himself."

In some ways, Atwoli’s transformation is not surprising. With three wives and 18 children, he lives a life of opulence far removed from the workers he represents. He boasts of his connections, rubs shoulders with heads of state, and uses his union pulpit as a political megaphone.

Atwoli’s style embodies bold luxury. His gold accessories—rings, bracelets, cufflinks, and necklaces—serve as the focal point of his perfectly tailored suits, creating a striking contrast against neutral tones like navy and charcoal. His love for high-end imports suggests his watches are equally luxurious, enhancing his polished image. Custom-made with sharp tailoring and fabrics from Geneva, Nigeria, and Egypt, his suits reflect global flair. Whether oversized coats or modern fits, Atwoli’s style fuses cultural richness with commanding elegance.

In contrast, a poor worker’s attire tells of resilience and survival. Clothes are worn and patched, with fraying edges from long hours of hard work. Shoes, scuffed and battered, endure despite their age, while accessories are few—perhaps a cheap watch or hand-me-down hat. Yet, despite the wear, the worker walks with quiet dignity, their clothes a testament to sacrifices made and strength that keeps them going. 

“Most people do not know me. Sometimes they over-value me and sometimes they under-value me. Somebody was saying that this watch is worth $20,000. That is about Sh2 million shillings. My watch is not worth that. This is Frank and Muller. My watch is pure gold and it cost me more than Sh5 million. I paid the money in instalments," said Atwoli in 2018. 

In August 2016, the COTU boss loaned Sh100 million to former MP Cyrus Jirongo, with a Sh10 million interest to be repaid in 50 days. Jirongo accepted personal liability but failed to pay, prompting Atwoli to sue in January 2017 for the full Sh110 million.

Added fazul, “Finally, who even speaks for the millions of Kenyan workers when Mzee wa Nyororo colludes with employers, goes to bed with Government, dances on top of the graves of the Kenyan worker, gets intoxicated with power, drinks adulterated alcohol with politicians - to advance parochial, selfish & short term interests - neglecting the very welfare of the ordinary suffering Kenyan worker and the ever ailing payslip?”

When former President Uhuru Kenyatta backed Raila Odinga in the 2022 elections, Atwoli went all in. He launched scathing attacks on Ruto, even telling residents in Sugoi, Ruto’s hometown, to “cut trees” because “your man will hang himself after the election.”

Ruto, of course, did not hang himself. He won.

“Naomba watu was Sugoi wakate miti! Kata miti! Ameiba pesa mingi akikosa kushinda kura atajinyonga,” Atwoli shouted in the wet and hot calm villages of Khwisero, Kakamega county

And in a sudden about-turn, Atwoli found a new gospel: cooperation. He began praising Ruto’s leadership, dismissing earlier attacks as “politics.” He lashed out at media houses for “twisting” his position.

Still, when it comes to economic policy, he has offered little more than soundbites from COTU headquarters in Gikomba Nairobi

As taxes surged in 2023 and 2024, with many workers seeing up to 45 percent of their payslips eaten by deductions, Atwoli was nowhere to be seen—except when defending the government. He claimed Kenya’s contribution rates were still lower than other East African nations and dismissed criticisms as “narratives” being pushed by opposition politicians.

When ex DP-Rigathi Gachagua, once his political nemesis, argued that salaried workers would be a decisive force in 2027, Atwoli scoffed. “Payslip holders are just three million,” he said. “And politics in Kenya is not issue-based. It’s ethnic.”

“Sometimes it feels like he’s mocking us,” said an aggrieved teacher in Nairobi. “We can’t pay rent, fuel is expensive, everything has VAT, and he tells us to look at Uganda and Tanzania?”

Atwoli has also leaned heavily on his ethnic base, the Luhya community, to justify political alliances. Whenever he's cornered for abandoning labor causes, he falls back on Luhya solidarity, painting himself as a regional kingpin, not just a union leader.

But this ethnic fallback is wearing thin, especially as Luhya workers feel no better off. In fact, many institutions, where Atwoli once flexed his muscle as an employee or boss, have been retrenching workers in droves—often with no resistance from COTU.

The disconnect is glaring. For a man with access to power corridors and international labor bodies, Atwoli has delivered little in concrete labor wins. He has not reversed mass job losses. He has not stemmed the tide of casual labor exploitation. And he has not held the government accountable for its fiscal squeeze on formal workers.

“It is time to restore the dignity of the Kenyan worker and rescue the ailing payslip,” Fazul said.

Instead, Atwoli has become a mainstay on prime-time TV and social media—more of a character than a cause.

“He has become the story, rather than fighting for our story,” said a factory worker from Thika. “He’s there for the camera, not for the worker.”

Born in 1949, Atwoli has served under every president from Jomo Kenyatta to William Ruto. But unlike predecessors who challenged the state, he has mastered the art of coexisting with it. Critics say he’s helped domesticate trade unions, making them toothless in the face of executive power.

Known for never finding fault with the government, he raised eyebrows when he claimed that some Kenyans faked their own abductions to secure funding from international organizations at the height of disappearances.

"On abductions, I work with many organizations across the world, some people are abducting themselves so that they can get money from some organizations," he said.

Even as talk of the 2027 elections gains momentum, Atwoli seems more focused on maintaining his political relevance than rallying for workers’ demands. He has downplayed suggestions that salaried workers can unseat the regime, insisting that tribal dynamics—not economic policy—will determine the election outcome.

“Kenyans are struggling more than ever, yet even large worker groups have joined the government’s ‘praise and worship’ teams. People are being choked by NSSF deductions, and all they do now is sing praises,” Gachagua claimed.

Atwoli doesn’t just hide behind trade unions—when the spotlight shifts, he slips into the armor of his Luhya heritage, always ready with a new guise.

And maybe that’s Atwoli’s greatest betrayal. Not his pivot to Ruto. Not his opulent lifestyle. But his abandonment of belief that policy and protest can shape Kenya’s future.

“He should have been our fighter,” said a Gen Z during the nationwide protests on the costs of living mid last year where tens of people died while others went missing. “Instead, he became their friend.”

And so on this Labour day, workers once again gather under the Nairobi sun, hoping for change. Atwoli will likely take the stage—booming voice, flamboyant attire, bold declarations.

But few will be listening.

They’ve heard it all before.