Kenya’s Youth Rebellion and a Generation Demand for Justice

By Oruruo Samuel and Mercie Wamoyi (Kenya)

Young protesters face bullets and tear gas as economic crisis and police brutality expose cracks in one of Africa’s most stable democracies

NAIROBI, Kenya — Collins Ayumba knew the dangers. The 29-year-old from Kakamega County had seen the videos, protesters gasping through clouds of tear gas, police firing live rounds into crowds, young men and women dragged away in handcuffs.

Still, he couldn’t stay home.

“We have skills, but we don’t have capital. We have education, but we don’t have jobs,”

Ayumba says, speaking for millions of young Kenyans who have flooded the streets since June 2024.

“We are hopeless. No one to encourage us. No one to support us. And the government is against us.”

What started as anger over a tax bill has grown into something bigger, a youth rebellion that threatens President William Ruto’s government and tests Kenya’s democratic foundations.

One year has passed, still the protests continue. At least 87 people are dead, according to human rights groups. Hundreds more are injured. The demonstrations have shifted from anti-tax rallies to a broader fight for accountability, economic justice, and an end to police brutality.

“We are demanding the government to stop

the killings. To stop abductions,” Ayumba says. “We are demanding our government to rule its people constitutionally. And end the dictatorship.”

Dan Nzyoki 23, a protester from Nairobi, joined the movement out of fear that silence would make him complicit.

“When we don’t come out to the streets, when we don’t speak out, when we don’t show our agitation, we’re not sure who is next,”

says Nzyoki, who marched through Nairobi’s Central Business District.

“If I don’t speak out, I might be the next victim or my sister might be the next victim.”

A Sinking Nation, and the Youth Left Behind

Kenya’s problems didn’t start with a tax bill and they won’t end there. Every year, more than a million young people enter the job market. Most find nothing waiting. No jobs. No support. No way forward.

For many, the Finance Bill of 2024 was simply the final blow. It proposed taxes on bread, cooking oil, even mobile money, things that ordinary Kenyans rely on to survive.

“They want us to pay more taxes when we can’t even afford basic necessities,”

says James Kamau, a 26-year-old teacher in Nyeri.

“They want us to fund their corruption while our people go hungry.”

The bill was eventually withdrawn, but the pain hasn’t gone away. Kenya’s public debt is now over 70% of GDP. The government is pouring money into debt repayments while schools, hospitals, and job programs fall apart.

“The cost of living is very high,” says Collins Ayumba, his voice heavy. “We are paying taxes and corruption just keeps eating everything. The economy is broken, and it’s the poor who suffer the most.”

For Kenya’s young people, it feels like the country has left them behind and then turned around to blame them for being angry about it.

A Protest Without Permission

What’s happening in Kenya doesn’t look like previous protests. No party banners. No opposition figures calling the shots. This time, it started online, on platforms like X (formerly Twitter), where hashtags like #RejectFinanceBill2024 lit a spark that quickly spread across the country.

There is no central leader. No face to negotiate with. Instead, just young people organising through encrypted chats, Telegram groups, and livestreams. The movement shifts and adapts, making it harder for the government to crush or co-opt.

“This isn’t a protest you can contain through old methods,”

says Dr. Macharia Munene, a political analyst.

“These are young people born into the internet. They don’t wait for anyone’s permission, they just move.”

What’s more, the protests have cut across Kenya’s usual divides. Ethnicity, long a dividing line in Kenyan politics, has taken a back seat. Whether from Kisumu, Eldoret, Nairobi, or Mombasa, the message is the same: enough is enough.

This is a generation not rallying behind a politician, but pushing forward their own demands for jobs, justice, and a future that hasn’t been stolen before they’ve even had a chance to live it.

When the State Turns on Its Own

The government’s answer to protest has been force. Police have fired live bullets, hurled tear gas, and unleashed water cannons on crowds that were, for the most part, unarmed and peaceful.

Salma Hamid, Executive Director of Women & Wellness, has been tracking the toll.

“At least 17 protesters were killed,” she says. “Not in crossfire. Not by mistake. Shot

while demanding their rights.”

But the crackdown hasn’t stopped at the streets. It has crept into homes, into nightfall.

“We’ve counted 35 abductions since January,” Hamid adds. “Some were found. Some never were. Some were found dead.”

In Mombasa, rights activist Francis Auma has seen it up close.

“Three people died here. Over 50 were injured shot, beaten. Hospitals are full. People are scared to even seek treatment.”

Across the country, the pattern is clear. According to the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights, 60 protesters were killed in June 2024. Another 16 died in June 2025, and 11 more on July 7, during the Saba Saba commemorations.

One death hit especially hard: Albert Ojwang, a 31-year-old teacher, died in police custody. His name now appears on placards across the country, a symbol of a state that punishes protest with silence, pain, or worse.

“The police are meant to protect us,”

says Mary Njeri, whose 19-year-old son was shot during a protest in Nakuru.

“But they’re treating us like enemies. We’re just asking to live with dignity.”

Interior Minister Kipchumba Murkomen has stood by the police, insisting their actions were necessary and within the law. He accused protesters of plotting a coup, a claim widely rejected by civil society and foreign observers.

But in the minds of many Kenyans, the damage is already done. The people meant to defend them now feel like a threat. And the question they’re left asking is: If the streets aren’t safe, where is?

The Shadow Over Kenya

The violence that has followed these protests has stirred a deeper fear, that Kenya may be slipping into something darker. A country long viewed as a democratic anchor in East Africa now feels unsteady underfoot.

Human rights defenders have tracked a rising tide of arrests, abductions, and brutal treatment of those brave enough to raise their voices.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re in Mombasa or Nairobi,” says Salma Hamid. “If you’re caught protesting, they grab you. And when lawyers try to reach you, they’re told: ‘orders from above.’ No access. No rights. Just silence.”

This kind of silence spreads. Parents go to sleep wondering if their children will make it home. Families check their phones every hour for news or worse, for no news at all.

Francis Auma, who has himself been arrested, describes what’s happening in blunt terms.

“People are being taken. Some disappear. Some come back injured. Some don’t come back. We’ve seen homes raided, families broken, and still, no one is held

responsible.”

Auma believes the fear is no accident.

“This isn’t chaos. This is strategy to scare people into silence.”

According to Amnesty International Kenya, over 500 people have been arrested since the protests began. Many are held without charge, denied access to legal help. Some are protest leaders, others are just young people who happened to be on the street at the wrong moment.

Some reappear days later, bruised and shaken, with stories of beatings and threats. Others remain missing.

“Kenya is at a crossroads,” says Irungu Houghton, head of Amnesty Kenya.

“This isn’t just about today’s protests. It’s about whether the country still believes in the freedoms it once promised.”

And perhaps most alarming: the institutions meant to protect those freedoms — the courts, the police oversight bodies, Parliament itself have offered little comfort.

Despite a constitution that enshrines the right to peaceful protest, the state’s response has been force, not dialogue. Orders, not listening. Rubber bullets, not reform.

And in that silence, trust is disappearing too.

A Generation Refuses to Be Silent

For many young Kenyans, these protests aren’t just about a bill or a president, they mark a deeper shift. After years of watching promises go unfulfilled, a generation has decided it won’t wait any longer. They’re tired of being told to be quiet while corruption thrives and the cost of living rises. They’re stepping out, not for a political party, but for their future.

Dan Nzyoki knew what he was walking into.

“People are being taken, tortured, even killed,” he said. “But I wasn’t afraid. Fear is how they win.”

His words echo the quiet resolve heard across the country; from Nairobi’s streets to small towns like Lugari and Kisii.

These young people grew up believing in democracy. They believed voting mattered. They believed their voices would count. But those hopes are wearing thin.

“Even if I’m killed today, the killer will also die when his time comes,” Nzyoki says. “And if they kill me, others will rise and carry on the fight.”

This fight has not only brought young men into the spotlight, it has opened space for young women to take the lead. They’re organising protests, holding banners, and facing down riot police alongside their brothers.

They’re not asking for permission. They’re demanding to be seen.

“This isn’t just about tax or bread,” one marcher said in Mombasa. “It’s about dignity for all of us.”

In every chant, in every tear-gassed crowd, a new kind of politics is taking shape. One that doesn’t wait for elections. One that doesn’t ask who you voted for. One that simply says: enough.

The World Is Watching, So Is Africa

The protests rocking Kenya haven’t gone unnoticed. From Geneva to Washington, concern is growing. Rights groups, foreign missions, and international partners have all raised alarms about how the government is handling its own citizens. Both the European Union and the United States have urged restraint, calling on authorities to listen rather than lash out.

But the weight of these protests stretches beyond Kenya’s borders. In Tanzania, Uganda, South Sudan, and Ethiopia, millions of young people face the same frustrations: no jobs, rising prices, and leaders who seem far removed from daily struggles.

Kenya, once seen as a model of stability, now stands as a mirror  and possibly a warning.

“What happens in Kenya doesn’t stay in Kenya,” says Dr. Godwin Murunga, head of the Kenya Institute for Public Policy Research and Analysis.

“This isn’t just a Kenyan story. It’s playing out in different forms across East Africa. And how Kenya responds will set a tone for the region.”

For many watching from beyond its borders, Kenya is no longer just a country in crisis, it’s become a symbol of what happens when young people are pushed to the wall, and what might follow when they decide they’ve had enough.

Where Does Kenya Go From Here?

Kenya is standing on uneasy ground. What began as protest about finance bill has grown into a national reckoning, yet the way forward remains uncertain. Instead of opening channels for real dialogue, the government has tightened its grip, meeting anger with force, and frustration with silence.

“I honestly doubt whether they hear us at all,” says Dan Nzyoki, shaking his head. “We marched against the finance bill last year. We bled for it. Yet months later, they turned around and said it’s already been implemented, almost in full. What does that say to us?”

For rights defenders like Salma Hamid, the signs are troubling.

“It’s painful,” she says. “People are crying out, and the state responds with bullets, arrests, and denial. Is this how a government listens?”

And yet, young Kenyans keep showing up. Even at the cost of their lives, they refuse to step back. The grief is deep, but so is the resolve.

“We know what we’re fighting for,” says Collins Ayumba. “This country belongs to all of us. The constitution gives us the right to speak, to march, to demand better and that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

The protests have redrawn the political map. Power is no longer only claimed in party halls or campaign rallies, it’s being shaped on the streets, by voices that had long been ignored.

Whether this momentum can bring lasting change is still an open question. But one thing is becoming clear: this generation isn’t waiting to be invited in. They’re carving out space for themselves, fuelled by anger, courage, and a shared refusal to be forgotten.

As Hamid puts it, the warning signs are loud:

“How many more have to die before this government understands it can’t crush its own people into silence? Because these young people, they’re not backing down.”

For now, the streets remain restless. The air heavy. The future uncertain. But across Kenya, a generation has found its voice, and it’s not going quiet.