How Gen Zs were betrayed by Kenya's political class

Anita Barasa turned her phone’s selfie camera on to record a video, one of many she has made before. But this clip was different. It wasn’t for her thousands of TikTok followers, but for a man she deeply admired.

“Agwambo, this is a message to you,” began Barasa in her message to former Prime Minister Raila Odinga, recorded just days before the Generation Z revolt erupted. “Usitokee (Don’t come out). Don’t come. Agwambo, please stay at home. We saw your efforts, okay? We saw everything you did for Kenyans.”

Wearing ginger twist braids, Barasa tapped her chest firmly as she continued, “We miss you, but Agwambo, please, don’t even come outside. Tunatoka (We will come out) on your behalf.”

At the time, the 19-year-old proudly referred to herself as “Agwambo’s lastborn” in interviews. She was still discovering her voice as an activist, a journey she often joked about in her videos during last year’s protests.

The seed may have been planted months as early as March, when Barasa mocked the government’s plan to tax milk and bread, proposals in the Finance Bill that would later pit President William Ruto against the youth.

Her words, spoken on June 18, 2024, just two days before the movement’s first casualty, Rex Masai, paid tribute to Raila’s long fight in the trenches but also echoed the fears many Gen Z carried. A growing number of Kenyans wanted Raila, and all politicians, to stay away from the protest, wary that their involvement might hijack the cause. For a movement that gained strength from being leaderless, finding a figurehead could easily shift its direction.

“We’ve seen how these things go: once political figures show up, the focus shifts,” said Barasa. “Suddenly it becomes about history, alliances and power plays— while our real, raw pain fades in the background noise. So when I said that, it wasn’t out of disrespect. It was about protecting the space.”

National dialogue

Her fears were later confirmed when Raila joined forces with President Ruto to form a ‘broad-based’ government, a move Barasa said “stung.” Not just because she long admired the former premier, but because she had believed “in something bigger.”

Her disappointment was plain in one of her most widely shared videos, where she dismissed calls by Ruto and Raila for a national dialogue with a biting retort: “What are you bonging (What are you discussing)?”

The truce earned five of Raila’s closest allies a seat in Cabinet. Others have been made principal secretaries and chairpersons of parliamentary committees and state agencies. Pro-Raila lawmakers, mostly from his native Nyanza backyard, now praise Ruto as the most generous leader the region has seen.

“This was a moment for the people, especially the young voices who’ve long been ignored, to speak without being overshadowed,” said Barasa. We didn’t need another handshake; we needed change. Tangible change.”

Raila, however, insists he is not part of the government, claiming he only seconded “experts” to help stabilise the administration. Yet, while he often critiques state overreach like an outsider, he moves like an insider, frequently accompanying President Ruto to official functions and making pledges. He was present at a Cabinet retreat in Kajiado on Friday. The former premier maintains he betrayed no one by choosing to work with President Ruto, who many now believe could earn Raila’s endorsement in a re-election bid.

“We cannot burn the country down to achieve change. Dialogue is the way forward, and I used the opportunity to push for reforms. Those calling it betrayal misunderstand the bigger picture,” Raila said last August in Elgeyo Marakwet. His allies have repeatedly defended the move, arguing that Raila was never part of the Gen Z-led movement; therefore, his actions cannot be seen as a betrayal.

Political party 

While the former premier may have convinced his allies to follow him into Ruto’s camp, Alans Ademba, a journalism student and prominent protester, rejects his reasoning.

“Raila is a con, a broker, and a self-centred tumbocrat,” said Ademba in a scathing critique. “He does whatever suits him, regardless of the cost. And this time, the cost was the blood of over sixty youths… the blood of Rex Masai, Ericsson Mutisya, Erick Siena, David Chege, Denzel Omondi...”

Barasa, however, might understand why Raila doesn’t see himself as a traitor. As the Gen Z movement evolved, shifting from an anti-finance bill protest to a broader call for President Ruto’s ouster, she was among the budding activists who floated the idea of forming a new political party.

A Gen Z-plus party. And she would be accused of betrayal by those who feared that Barasa and her colleagues wanted to hijack the leaderless movement and establish themselves as its leaders.

“It wasn’t about clout or control—it was about survival and structure,” she said. “We were doing our best to hold space for others, to protect the message, to keep people safe. And to have that called ‘hijacking’ made it feel like we weren’t allowed to lead, even when we were bleeding for the cause.” 

She said she understood where the fear came from and the concern that the idea of leadership would “corrupt the movement.” “That fear is valid. But I think it’s also okay to have organisers within a leaderless space. We all wanted the same thing: a better country. Just with different roles.”

Alternative candidate 

While the leaderless model helped to preserve the spontaneity of their frequent protests, it had glaring weaknesses in mobilising politically. And so, a year later, the idea of a leader does not seem bad.

On social media, influencers are touting different people as better replacements for Ruto. They include former Chief Justice David Maraga, Busia Senator Okiya Omtatah and businessman Jimi Wanjigi.

Former Interior Cabinet Secretary Fred Matiang’i’s name often comes up, but is almost always shot down courtesy of his legacy of overseeing widespread rights abuses in former President Uhuru Kenyatta’s administration.

Not every young person seems inclined to the alternative candidate. Indeed, some of the young activists are aligning themselves with the most dominant political formations. Kasmuel McOure, once considered by many as the de facto leader of the movement, has joined Raila’s ODM.

Billy Mwangi, another mobiliser, abducted for ridiculing the Head of State, has joined former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua’s camp. He plans to contest the Embu senatorial seat in the next election.

Doubtless, the Gen Z movement is losing its members. This was bound to happen. It has successfully retained most, who hardly pass up the chance to remind the world they still exist through Ruto-Must-Go chants at entertainment joints and showing up for demonstrations, as they have in the last few days to protest the brutal killing of Albert Ojwang’, a 31-year-old teacher, in a police cell.

Ademba views his former comrades as traitors for abandoning a cause that had seen more than 60 young Kenyans killed, some of them in front of his eyes.

“We were fighting a bad regime, but they ended up joining the regime,” said Ademba, who witnessed flag-waving young Kenyans, energetic at one moment, falling on the tarmac in the next, and staying down. Bloodied. Lifeless.

Barasa does not see this alignment as betrayal, although she hopes those who have moved on do not forget the struggle and the desire for better governance and accountability that drove it.

There is not as much debate as to whether Members of Parliament can be considered traitors. On a cold June morning, they ignored the loud cries outside Parliament and passed the hated Finance Bill of 2025. Unmoved by bloodshed, Ruto’s allies had not considered this an act of betrayal. A number of them did, but only after Ruto acknowledged the betrayal and withdrew the controversial tax bill.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” the message on Nakuru Town East MP David Gikaria’s white t-shirt read. His wife, with whom he had remorsefully posed in a picture, wore a matching t-shirt, which read, “He’s sorry. Please forgive him.”

Many more had sent in apologies to Kenyans for voting for the bill, finally admitting they had fallen short of their constituents’ expectations. Young Kenyans expected that they would reject the bill, expressed loud and clear on social media and in street protests.

They did not appear remorseful when, just a day after what many saw as a profound betrayal, lawmakers lashed out at a journalist who questioned how the government would implement development projects without new taxes.

Their outburst came even after President Ruto had already withdrawn the bill. “Mmekataa (You have rejected)!” they shouted, turning defiant rather than reflective

Just hours earlier, these same leaders had endorsed the President’s move to unleash the military on civilians, indefinitely. And only a day before, on June 25, 2024, they had ignored desperate cries of “Reject!” from the streets, cries that rang out amid bursts of tear gas and bullets that silenced many young voices demanding justice and accountability.

The controversial Finance Bill was sold as a strategy to rescue Kenya from a crippling Sh12 trillion debt. Ruto’s allies in Parliament ensured it passed, despite resistance from Raila Odinga’s Azimio la Umoja-One Kenya coalition.

The bill’s passage, amid violent suppression of protestors, became a flashpoint. Furious demonstrators stormed Parliament and the Supreme Court, prompting Ruto to condemn the breaches as “desecration” of state institutions. Yet to the protesters, the real desecration lay in lawmakers betraying their oath to serve the people.

“Kenyans said No, but their representatives said Yes. That is betrayal of the highest degree,” said protester Ademba. “MPs are elected to voice the concerns of the people, not parrot the President.”

Ruto’s mastery of control, honed during his time under President Uhuru Kenyatta, has reshaped Parliament into what critics call an extension of the Executive. “Trust in Parliament is severely undermined,” said Nerima Wako of Siasa Place. She pointed out that at least 19 protesters were killed during the June demonstrations, with no political or police leaders held accountable.

Days before the vote, Ruto had summoned MPs to State House, proposing cosmetic changes—like dropping taxes on bread- before the bill passed. His gesture and their compliance only reinforced the perception that lawmakers were mere puppets. Even as public outcry grew, they waited for Ruto’s signal to act.

Gen Z claimed a rare victory when Ruto eventually withdrew the bill. But the celebration was marred by his declaration that he would target “organised criminals” allegedly behind the chaos. Then came praise for the police, despite their role in the killing and maiming of peaceful demonstrators. “To call someone you killed for protesting a criminal is unpresidential,” said Ademba. “Instead of justice, we got more trauma.”

This wasn’t the first time. During 2023 protests led by Raila, police were similarly lauded by the President despite reportedly killing over 70 demonstrators. The same script played out again, with young protesters waving flags and chanting “We are peaceful”, only to be met with tear gas, water cannons, and bullets.

More than 60 lives were lost, most of them young Kenyans. The government, which once promised opportunity, turned its back. Unemployment among the youth stands at a staggering 67 per cent—five times the national rate. Many small businesses have collapsed under rising taxes, and hope for a better life has faded.

“Ruto promised jobs but hasn’t delivered,” said Prof Gitile Naituli. “Instead, we see growing debt and an elite untouched by the crisis.”

Wako noted that the political truce between Ruto and Raila had diffused protests but squandered a chance for reform. “Gen Z wants systemic change, not recycled leadership. They are educated, digital, and reject tokenism,” she said.

Prof Naituli agreed: “The President forgot Gen Z’s demands the moment Raila walked into State House.” Still, hope flickers. Barasa, one of the faces of the movement, believes transformation is possible through both grassroots resistance and new political formations.

“If you’re joining politics to be part of the solution, more power to you,” Barasa said. “Just don’t lose your fire. Don’t silence yourself to stay comfortable. And don’t forget the people who got you there.”

Additional reporting by Omondi Powel