What began as spontaneous online outrage over corruption, unemployment and punitive taxes erupted into a nationwide uprising, catching the powers that be by surprise.
This was a Gen Z-led movement without party colours, tribal boundaries or political sponsors. It was a revolution of hashtags, heartbreak and hope.
And right at its centre stood a man who had once defined resistance itself; Raila Odinga.
“Agwambo, stay home.”
In June 2024, a young woman named Anita Barasa, popularly known online as Anini, sent shockwaves through Kenya’s social media with a TikTok video directed at Raila himself.
“Agwambo, this is a message to you. Usitokee, don’t come. We saw your efforts; we saw everything you did for Kenya. Now let us. We miss you but Agwambo, please don’t even come outside — tunatoka on your behalf, okay?”
Her words struck a national nerve. The protests were in full swing against the controversial Finance Bill 2024, and while Odinga praised the young demonstrators, they did not want his presence.
“I am a proud father today! Hongera sana to the young lady and all those who bravely stood up for their rights,” Raila tweeted in response.
But beneath the civility was a deeper wound, the beginning of what many saw as a generational uncoupling.
For decades, Raila Odinga was the symbol of Kenya’s struggle for democracy. The man who faced detention, exile and betrayal in pursuit of freedom. Yet in 2024, the Gen Z protest movement turned that legacy on its head.
“The late Raila Odinga, a figure who for decades embodied resistance and reform, found himself on the wrong side of this generational wave,” explains lawyer Essendi Kenneth. “For many young Kenyans, Raila represented the very establishment they were rebelling against. His call for dialogue — once a mark of statesmanship — was seen as a betrayal.”
When Odinga and President William Ruto later signed a memorandum of understanding at the Kenyatta International Convention Centre; birthing what was branded a broad-based government, it sealed the perception that Baba had crossed over to the other side. Many saw it as a betrayal.
“The youth saw it as an attempt to hijack their movement,” Kenneth adds. “Their anger was both symbolic and generational — a rejection of liberation politics that had become the new establishment.”
The heartbreak of a generation
That anger found expression online and on the streets, as young Kenyans publicly distanced themselves from their once-beloved hero.
“He was my hero before he became my heartbreak,” says Nyandia Gachago, a certified marketer and AI enthusiast.
“Raila taught us to fight systems, from unfair head teachers to corrupt bosses. He made protest a language. But somewhere along the way, the fire dimmed. The fighter stood too close to the system he once defied.”
For others, the feeling was more complex, a blend of disappointment and reluctant gratitude.
“What we witnessed was anger,” reflects Joshua Masya, a teacher and blogger. “We were mad that he tried to hijack our protests. But at his death, many hearts melted. We still value his contribution to the Kenya we have today.”
Odinga’s call for a national dialogue a forum he said would include “50 per cent youth and 50 per cent middle-aged” participants, was meant to bridge Kenya’s divisions.
“Old men should be few,” he insisted. “We must not go into the 2027 elections full of anger.”
But for many Gen Zs, it was too little, too late, despite drawing nigh one of the prominent faces of the protests, with Kasmuel McOure officially joining the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), led by Raila Odinga.
For some young politicians, the move by Baba to join the government would see some climb the political ladder, a few steps up, with the current Principal Secretary for Youth and Creative Economy Jacob Fikirini among them.
“To me, Baba’s death is not just a national tragedy, it is deeply personal. He was my mentor, my political guide, and a father figure who believed in nurturing others to rise beyond themselves. Baba saw promise even in the uncertain, and gave direction to those still defining their path — I was proudly one of them; the last born,” he shared on social media..
“Baba understood us in ways many didn’t,” says aspiring politician and youth leader, Jennifer Waruingi.
“Raila Odinga didn’t just speak to the old guard of politics — he had a way of connecting with the frustrations and dreams of Gen Z and Millennials. Even when we disagreed with his methods, we knew he stood for justice and fairness, values that resonate deeply with young Kenyans.
“During the 2024 and 2025 protests, many of us saw in him a figure who had fought the same battles we were now taking to the streets for — only in his time, he used the courts and Parliament instead of hashtags and placards.”
“For us young people, we grew up revering Raila as the father of democracy,” says Levy Lerion, a student leader at JKUAT.
“We watched him expose scandals and challenge presidents. But when he joined the government in the name of unity, it broke something. He lost the moral authority to lead the resistance.”
For artistes, one of the memories remains not just the electric campaign songs, but he also wowed many when he actually settled his dues when it came to matters royalties.
In May 2022, The Azimio-One Kenya leader Raila Odinga paid the Music Copyright Society of Kenya (MCSK) Sh526,000 to acquire license to play music during his presidential campaigns.
This was in accordance with Section 38(c) of the Kenya Copyright Act 2021, which states that any person who causes a literary or musical work, an audio-visual work, or a sound recording to be performed in public while copyright exists in such a work is guilty of an infringement of that copyright.
“He is one of the few politicians who granted artistes access to him, allowing them to shoot videos with him, use his voice in their songs and who will forget the Baba dance challenge?” says Music Copyright Society of Kenya Chairperson, Ephantus Safari.
The end of an era
In hindsight, the 2024 protests were never just about taxes or governance, they were a referendum on Kenya’s political culture itself.
Gen Z declared that the age of political gatekeeping was over. That the future would not be negotiated behind closed doors.
And in that declaration, Raila Odinga’s story found its bittersweet conclusion; a liberation icon overtaken by the very freedom he inspired.
His fall from grace among the youth was not a rejection of his legacy, but a demand for something new: a politics without saviours, slogans, or gatekeepers. In many ways, it was the ultimate tribute to him. The generation he helped awaken had finally learned to fight without him.