By Joy Adhiambo
If there’s one thing 2024 has taught us as Kenyans, it’s the brutal truth enclosed in our favorite phrase: utajua haujui (you’ll quickly understand that you really don’t know anything). Life in this corner of the world has a knack for humbling even the most prepared. Indeed, tulijua hatujui. The endless barrage of challenges we faced this year was so overwhelming, I’m genuinely thankful to be a part of the sensitized statistics rather than the desensitized ones. Too many negative occurrences can alter a person’s brain chemistry into numbness. But for us? We didn’t stay numb. We acted.
The year began with a powerful momentum—the Total Shutdown KE protests against femicide in February. For the first and last time in recent history, citizens demanded better without being met by the government’s notorious cocktail of teargas and violence. It was electrifying—a collective adrenaline rush that many of us are still riding to this day. It set the tone for what would become a historic year of defiance.
When Hunger Begets Anger
I don’t know about you, but when I’m hungry, I tend to get angry. And that, in a nutshell, is what sparked the mammoth protests we witnessed across the 254 this year. The policies rolled out since President William Ruto’s election have been nothing short of disastrous for Kenya’s development. A stranger might look in and remark, “Damn, this guy wants to finish them,” and honestly, they wouldn’t be far off. Nothing was working. Citizens, already salty from the dubious election that put him in power, were sitting on a powder keg—and the finance bill in June, which proposed punitive taxes, was the match that lit it.
Thinking back to the start of the protests, I realized that wishing, ‘If only everyone could just…’ is unrealistic. Why? Because not everyone will. We have two choices: either we shape people to fit the goal, or we adjust the goal to fit the people. Shaping people can work, but it’s often unsatisfying. Adjusting the goal is almost impossible, usually illegal, and rarely lasting. But when real systemic change takes hold, oh it sticks!
History, from the Mau Mau rebellion to today’s movements, has shown this over and over. Whether through solutions that ignore individual resistance or efforts to change the person, the journey is tough. But as the protests this year proved, the fight is always worth it.
Protests, Propaganda, and Presidential Panic
The protests that began in June 2024 peeled back the layers of Kenya’s systemic rot. They exposed just how much intersectionality matters: for one vice to fall, ten more must also be uprooted. From corruption to tribalism, corruption does not exist in isolation; it festers alongside tribalism, classism and institutional neglect. These protests forced us to confront the scale of rot that has been ignored for decades. The government’s response? Ah predictable! A regime that promised to care met us with nothing but bile. The cultural shock of realizing your oppressor is allergic to accountability? Enough to make anyone scream.
It’s not as if any of this came out of the blue. The government’s apathy towards its citizens had been loud for a while, especially during the floods crisis in April. Nothing proved this more than their venomous response to that natural disaster. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t right? The unrest we saw this year was a testament to a chilling reality: your oppressor doesn’t just dislike you vocalizing dissent; they loathe it. If they could, they would spit on you.
The less you know, the better for them. Silence and ignorance are their preferred tools of subjugation. And yet, we’ve been anything but silent. Sometimes, I laugh when I think about how annoyed they must be by us. Protests and strikes every other week, public displays of their failures—imagine the frustration! The daily parade Kenyans do of their shortcomings forced them to confront their mismanagement. Their only counter? Teargas, batons, and propaganda.
I believe teargas sales really soared as manufacturers “ate good” this year. It’s the one industry thriving under this regime, because they so much believe in the art of choking the citizens into submission. Forget policies; their consistency lies in fumigating crowds with industrial-grade ‘accountability repellant’. I even discovered my hidden athletic talent while running from flying canisters and riot police.
As brave as Kenyans are, natural instincts kick in when survival is at stake. Nonetheless, with each passing protest, even the high-stakes Nane Nane demonstrations on August 8th calling for Ruto’s resignation—our courage grew. People still showed up, despite the risks. Those who stood firm in the face of danger? Heroes and heroines in my book.
A History That Can’t and Won’t Stay in the Past
History has an unsettling way of repeating itself. For many Kenyans, the events of this year have felt eerily familiar, evoking memories of the Moi era. From 1978 to 2002, Daniel Arap Moi ruled with an iron fist, driven by an obsession with control and unwavering loyalty, all while silencing critics with brutal efficiency. Fast
forward to 2024, and Kenya finds itself haunted by the shadow of those 24 years. The parallels with President William Ruto’s regime are striking—his thirst for dominance, his hostility toward dissent, and his arsenal of tactics to stifle resistance echo that same repressive playbook.
Yet, Kenya today is not the Kenya of yesteryears. The country has a new constitution, institutional reforms, and the unstoppable force of social media. These shifts have rendered Moi-era strategies increasingly ineffective. The same tricks no longer yield the same results, although Ruto seems determined to try.
His playbook is familiar: propaganda, manipulations, deflecting, abductions, restrictive laws, police brutality, and the icing on the cake; claims of “outside forces” fueling the unrest. Outside forces? Really? We’ve been wondering who these mythical troublemakers are since June 18th. Perhaps the President can finally share their identities. While he’s at it, he might as well explain the mysterious “sharks” that allegedly swallowed undersea internet cables during the Githurai massacre. We’re all ears.
His regime’s attempts to divide and suppress have been relentless. Tribalism, classism, and ageism… name them. But these tactics are failing. Kenya has changed. The constitution safeguards the people’s right to protest, and a freer media environment ensures that injustices are documented and shared. The youth—many unemployed and disillusioned—have channeled their frustrations into mobilizing against a corrupt political elite. With the ability to share
information rapidly, they have exposed the regime’s failures and rallied enraged citizens across the country.
Of course, not everyone has held their ground. Some have sold out, others bent under pressure— a story as old as revolutions themselves. It’s true what they say: a large portion of humanity has a price. And while I’m grateful to end the year without one, it’s sobering to recognize how many have responded to the movement with resistance, hatred, or outright sabotage. Some have also borne the weight of trauma— from the suffocating tear gas, to the haunting images of lifeless bodies on cold ground, to the deafening crack of gunfire— scars that are both visible and invisible. As much as we wish they could “just be there”, they can’t. They are walking testaments to PTSD.
Yet, for those who still persist, their courage fuels the fire of justice and freedom that continues to burn. As we learned from the Mau Mau and even the Egyptian revolution of 2011, meaningful change takes time. Modern-day slavery, with its subtler chains, is harder to break. However, with the solidarity Kenyans have
shown this year, there’s no doubt: the wheels of justice may grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine.
The Power of Unity
This year has proven, beyond doubt, that unity is our strongest weapon. What began as protests dismissed as a “Gen Z tantrum” quickly morphed into a Gen Zote movement—one that encompassed every generation. As older Kenyans realized this fight affected them too, the narrative shifted. The strength of the
movement came from its leaderless nature, much like the Mau Mau’s strategy, which ensured no single person could be compromised. Sellouts, inevitable in any revolution, became social pariahs—shunned by a community that refused to let betrayal derail progress. And oh, the regime ilitufeel (felt us). That first End Femicide KE protest set a tone that echoed across subsequent demonstrations, birthing a movement aimed not just at defeating the finance bill but dismantling an entire pipeline of systemic failures.
Community has been the lifeblood of this movement, binding us in ways that go beyond political unrest. From memes that gave us relief amid despair to cultural events honoring the fallen, art became both a balm and a battle cry. Musicians turned grief into protest anthems, plays like Too Early for Birds rekindled our collective memory of resistance, and poets gave words to our shared frustrations. Even the nicknames, like calling Members of Parliament (MPs) “MPigs,” captured our communal fatigue and humor. Social media amplified these efforts, ensuring our voices resonated far beyond Kenya’s borders. The solidarity was so remarkable even on the darkest days, as Kenyans rallied to support victims of police brutality, share vital information, and sustain the movement’s momentum. Truly, modern problems called for modern solutions, and social media delivered.
This unity extended far and wide, inspiring protests across Africa—from Nigeria to Uganda, to Mozambique—where citizens, emboldened by Kenya’s defiance, began challenging their own regimes. It’s a stark reminder to oppressive leaders that they operate on borrowed time and walk on thin ice. As patience runs out, history offers a grim prophecy: when people have nothing left to eat, they turn to the rulers. And yet, our unity is not just about survival—it’s about reclaiming dignity.
Journalists like Larry Madowo and John Allan Namu documented our struggles with unflinching accuracy, while organizations like Amnesty amplified our voices. Even Kenyans in the diaspora stood firm, organizing their own protests. Every meme, every protest anthem, every act of defiance was a testament to our collective resilience.
My favorite people this year? The activists. The likes of Njeri Wa Migwi, Hanifa Adan and Hussein Khalid, just to name a few. I call them ‘human energy drinks’— they’re the ones who’ve constantly uplifted others, even when they were running on empty themselves. As this chaotic year comes to an end, one truth stands clear: our oppressors despise our unity because it’s the one thing they can’t break.
When Will They Learn?
Oppressors despise an informed, unified populace. Seriously, this regime’s attempts to silence us have ranged from laughable to horrifying—teargas, police shootings, mass arrests, abductions and even laughable internet shutdown excuses like “sharks” swallowing cables. Yet, their allergic reaction to the constitution has been their most glaring failure. That document, flawed as it may be, guarantees our right to protest. The Kenyan government, however, seems
determined to prove their disdain for it at every turn. How bad must their eyesight be to miss the very laws they swore to uphold? I wouldn’t be surprised if their idea of reading the constitution is holding it upside down and pretending the words rearrange themselves to fit their imaginations as we’ve seen this year.
President William Ruto has attempted to make “important concessions” to address the backlash— shelving the wildly unpopular finance bill and reshuffling his cabinet. But both moves have been reintroduced in sinister ways, revealing a government more committed to illusions of reform than real change. Since June 2024, the protests have caused loss of lives, destruction of property, and worsened the government’s already shaky reputation. Instead of engaging with the demands of citizens, Ruto has relied religiously on threats and violence. His strategy is clear: tire us out, slow us down, and distract us from the movement’s goals. But this playbook has failed time and again. Wakenya wameamka (Kenyans are awake).
Kenya is changing, even if the regime refuses to acknowledge it. In the words of the late Wangari Maathai, “You cannot enslave a mind that knows itself. That values itself. That understands itself.” Our minds are decolonizing, our fire for
justice burns brighter, and we’ve proven that the power lies with the people. For all their efforts to divide and suppress, the government has felt our impact this year. And we’re not done. They may continue to implement unconstitutional laws, but we’ll continue to resist, mobilize, and inform. Because if there’s one thing 2024 has shown us, it’s this: we are the new opposition.
What You Should Think About Now
Talk of stats of the deaths that took place during the protests. The unidentified bodies. The fact that we may never know the real number of victims of the oppressive state. We may never fully know the ins and outs of what happened in the Endarasha fire tragedy, the Githurai Massacre, and the Kware dam deaths. But what we know for sure is that as a collective, we shall live to see the day the murderous cops are held accountable. We shall live to see the day the corrupt are finally reprimanded and actually spend years in jail, not some five-star hotel somewhere where they lie on the news headlines claiming they’re behind bars. We shall live to see the fall of a thick-headed dictator who has believed that the
people’s voices are nothing more than the wind. The silence that once kept us shackled is no more.
We cannot be in big 2025 still auditioning for the role of ‘silent sufferers’ in the regime’s dystopian play. Oppression is out of fashion, and if they haven’t gotten the memo yet, trust us— we shall deliver it. Nothing will go unchecked. They better expect us to put our noses in every single one of their businesses. Even that bill that talks of confidential funds that cannot be discussed? Oh, believe me, we shall discuss it. These people have lost all our trust—and rightfully so. But even amidst the darkness of it all, we know one thing: we’ve seen this script before. We all know how it ends. And this time, we’re rewriting it. The journey is just beginning, and the sound of justice is about to echo louder than ever before.