Why Kenya’s GEN Z Has Taken to the Streets

The country’s young people are no longer willing to accept politics without accountability, and the government’s repressive crackdown is only fueling their movement. GEN Z is reshaping the future of Kenyan democracy.

By Judy Mbugua

July 2025

Kenya has long been hailed as a stable democracy in East Africa — a nation with a progressive constitution, functioning institutions, regular elections, and relative stability in a volatile region. For decades, the country wore this crown with pride, sold it on diplomatic podiums, and repeated it in speeches and headlines.

But today, this well-constructed narrative is beginning to crumble. Over the past year, the nation has witnessed a mass youth uprising led by Kenya’s Gen Z — those born in the late 1990s and early 2000s — who have taken to the streets and social media to demand government accountability and reform. Rather than reform, however, the state has responded with force. Peaceful demonstrations have been met with police violence, abductions, and a well-coordinated effort to silence dissent — both online and offline. The uprising is exposing the deep cracks at the heart of the country’s democratic project.

The Broken Promise

The uprising began in June 2024, in response to the proposed Finance Bill that sought to introduce a raft of punitive taxes targeting essential goods such as bread, sanitary products, and digital services. The bill came barely a year after the contentious 2023 Finance Act, which introduced a mandatory housing levy — an additional burden on Kenyan households already grappling with a cost-of-living crisis.

These tax hikes angered Kenyans, particularly Gen Z and millennials, because they were coming from a government that had come to power on a promise to ease the economic burden. President William Ruto styled himself as a “hustler,” committed to transforming the economy from the bottom up. This narrative resonated with the country’s “Hustler Nation” — the working class and unemployed youth who saw in him a break from Kenya’s elitist politics dominated by political dynasties. Ruto was widely viewed as an outsider: a former chicken seller who had risen through the political ranks by sheer determination and hard work. He was a symbol of possibility and a role model for young Kenyans.

To be fair, Ruto inherited a country still reeling from covid-19, a ballooning debt, years of unchecked spending, and global shocks such as Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. But his administration’s attempt to tax the nation out of debt without tackling corruption quickly was perceived as a betrayal of the hustler ideology that propelled him to power. The opulence displayed by senior officials in his government, while ordinary Kenyans tightened their belts and struggled to put food on their tables, deepened public resentment.

From TikTok to the Streets

What followed was a wave of mass, organic, nationwide Gen Z-led online mobilization. Young Kenyans took to social media — especially X and TikTok to educate one another about the contents of the Finance Bill, counter government narratives, and organize coordinated demonstrations across the country.

The government’s initial response was dismissive. Senior officials characterized the dissent as online noise, and Parliament pressed ahead with efforts to pass the bill. But by mid-June 2024, thousands of young Kenyans had taken to the streets, rallying under the hashtags #RejectFinanceBill2024 and #OccupyParliament.

The movement echoed patterns seen in Nigeria’s #EndSARS protests — decentralized, leaderless, and digitally native. It also built on earlier mobilizations like the January 2024 End Femicide March, where young people — especially women — took to the streets to demand justice and action in the face of rising gender-based violence. Both moments reflected a generation using digital tools not only to organize protests but to articulate a broader demand for dignity and justice.

The state doubled down in the face of growing dissent. What followed was one of the most violent crackdowns in Kenya’s recent history. The tipping point came on the afternoon of 25 June 2024 when protesters breached the walls of Parliament and made their way into the chambers — a bold symbolic act of protest against lawmakers who had just voted to pass the controversial Finance Bill despite overwhelming public opposition.

Security forces unleashed their full weight against the protesters. Tear gas, water cannons, and live ammunition were used against unarmed protesters. According to Human Rights Watch, at least 60 young protesters lost their lives in June alone. Soon the atmosphere of hopeful defiance turned into rage and mourning.

What had begun as an uprising against the proposed Finance Bill quickly morphed into a greater call for good governance and respect for human rights, the constitution, and rule of law in the face of state-sanctioned police brutality.

A Violent State Response

While the president eventually reversed his support of the Finance Bill and opted not to sign it into law, he has consistently missed an opportunity to offer leadership and lead the nation toward a path of healing and reconciliation. Instead, he has chosen to consolidate his grip on power and silence dissent.

 As protests moved from the streets, back to digital spaces, the state’s tactics also evolved. In public forums, government officials, perhaps in a bid to delegitimize the Gen Z movement, branded online critics as unruly, ill-mannered children in an attempt to divert attention from the state’s failures to respond to calls for reforms, and instead shift the focus to the supposed moral deficiencies of an entire generation.

Behind the scenes, a chilling wave of state-led abductions began to emerge, targeting young people linked to the protest movement. Activists, bloggers, and digital creators who dared to speak against the government were picked up by hooded or masked plainclothes security agents, often in broad daylight. Many of the detained were held incommunicado for days, without a formal charge or access to legal representation. Upon release, they recounted being tortured and interrogated about their online activities.

According to the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights, more than 83 cases of abductions and enforced disappearances have been reported since June 2024, in what the commission describes as an attempt to instill fear in anyone critical of the government.

The Coopted Opposition

At the same time, Ruto was tightening his grip on the political establishment. His ruling Kenya Kwanza coalition entered into an agreement with the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM) led by longtime opposition figure Raila Odinga. Odinga’s allies loyal to the ODM party were appointed to government positions, including in the cabinet. In a further closing of the political ranks, the government endorsed Odinga’s candidacy for the African Union Commission chairmanship.

The campaign was sold as a Pan African project, but Kenyans saw it for what it was: an attempt to silence opposition by coopting it into the folds of government. The government defended the new alliance, insisting that it was not a power-sharing agreement, but the public understood that the president was consolidating his power, particularly in Parliament, which has increasingly become a rubber stamp for the executive.

Perhaps the government failed to recognize that it is not traditional political forces that are driving the Gen Z uprising. The generation of young people leading this movement has long been excluded from decisionmaking, yet bears the brunt of the economic uncertainty, poverty, and unemployment plaguing the country. This generation sees through the failure of those who came before it to secure a sustainable future for young Kenyans, and it is now demanding not just greater accountability but an overhaul of the entire system.

Generational Betrayal

The government’s failures lie not only in its misunderstanding of the protest movement but also in its willful denial. It has seemingly refused to acknowledge that Kenya’s youth, who make up more than 75 percent of the population and who were once touted as a demographic dividend, are now ready to engage in meaningful civic discourse. Confronted by legitimate demands for reform, the government rejects accountability, reverting instead to a repressive playbook — tactics reminiscent of the country’s struggle for the second liberation that would restore multiparty democracy in the early 1990s.

The weight of that history was especially significant this month, when the nation commemorated Saba Saba Day (July 7) in remembrance of the student-led 1990 prodemocracy protests against the authoritarian rule of President Daniel Arap Moi. Thirty-five years later however, the tragic disconnect between the state and its youth resurfaced. June and July 2025 were meant to be a period of reflection — marking a year since the breach of Parliament and the lives lost during the protests — while offering a moment to reflect on the nation’s path to democracy. Instead, the country was thrust back into turmoil when police again disrupted peaceful demonstrations. This latest wave was ignited by the death of Albert Ojwang, a 31-year-old teacher who died in police custody. Ojwang had been arrested over social-media posts critical of the deputy inspector general of police, Eliud Lagat. Protesters called for Lagat’s resignation and prosecution and an end to police brutality.

Once again, the government ignored the call for accountability. Instead, it shifted the narrative to focus on police safety, citing attacks on several police stations and officers, conveniently diverting attention from the deeper questions of justice and impunity within the police service and the state’s duty to protect its citizens.

Interior Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen issued a shoot-to-kill order, directing police to use live ammunition on those attacking police stations or officers. Although he later reframed the directive as a targeted response to acts of violence, the directive bypasses legal norms and due process, raising serious concerns in a country governed by the rule of law. Such an order is also prone to misuse, particularly within a police service with a longstanding culture of impunity and a history of indiscriminate violence against unarmed civilians. Ruto later walked back the order, saying police officers should not kill the protesters but instead aim for their legs.

Meanwhile, Deputy President Kithure Kindiki labeled the protesters a threat to national security, suggesting their actions amounted to terrorism. This rhetoric is representative of the government’s growing intolerance of dissent. Further media reports have pointed to the use of state-sanctioned goons to infiltrate protests, loot, and destroy property, perhaps to undermine the legitimacy of the demonstrations and give the state cover to escalate its crackdown.

According to the government, 42 people have lost their lives in this latest wave of violence, with more than 500 civilians and police officers injured, and more than 1,500 people arrested. Some are facing serious charges, including terrorism-related offenses.

Meanwhile, in Parliament, new legislative efforts have raised alarm over attempts to shrink civic space. A bill introduced by Nairobi Woman Representative MP Esther Passaris, which she has since put on hold, proposed to restrict protests within 100 meters of key government institutions including the Parliament, State House, and courts, while granting the Interior Ministry and police the power to designate protest zones. There have also been murmurs in policy circles about revisiting additional regulations that would require demonstration organizers to notify authorities in advance and provide personal information, including their phone numbers and physical addresses, which could be used to intimidate and spy on protest leaders. Together these actions represent an assault on Article 37 of the Kenyan constitution, which guarantees the right to assemble, demonstrate, picket, and present petitions to public authorities peacefully and unarmed.

What’s Next?

Kenya now stands at a crossroads. Its youth are redefining civil discourse, challenging traditional levers of power while the state is resorting to repressive tactics aimed at silencing dissent. For a country that has long prided itself as a beacon of democracy and stability in a region characterized by state authoritarianism, militarism, and election malpractice, this trend is worrisome.

The 2010 Constitution marked a significant turning point: a bold promise of a nation guided by the rule of law, human rights, good governance, and accountability. Hailed as one of the most progressive constitutions in Africa, it symbolized hope for a new Kenya. But today, that promise feels increasingly hollow.

The current government appears more invested in its own survival than in the well-being of its citizens. It is waging a simultaneous assault on the people, the Constitution, and the institutions meant to hold power to account. This is not a crisis of democracy in the abstract; it is a crisis of leadership.

But all is not lost. The Gen Z protests have awakened a political consciousness that cannot be unlearned. Kenya’s future will not be shaped by the complacency of those in power, but by the courage of its youth. As the country edges closer to the 2027 general elections, the question is no longer whether young people will engage, but how much their collective voice will reshape Kenya’s democracy.

Judy Mbugua is a Young Diplomat fellow with the International Relations Society of Kenya and Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (Kenya Office) and an advocate for youth inclusion in Peace and Security. 

Copyright © 2025 National Endowment for Democracy

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