Kenya’s Unrest: A Deeper Glimpse into Protest and Power

On a seemingly ordinary Nairobi morning, the city transformed into a battleground. Demonstrators, wielding stones and setting bonfires alight, clashed with police on Monday during fierce anti-government protests. The scene was one of chaos and resistance, with law enforcement responding with tear gas, leaving trails of discontent and one injured protester in their wake.

What ignites such fervor? For Kenyans, the protest on July 7 was no mere expression of dissatisfaction. Saba Saba—a date etched in history—symbolizes a pivotal shift. Thirty-five years ago, it heralded a collective call for democracy against a one-party state, culminating in the multiparty system we see today. Yet, the echoes of those first protests seem to reverberate amidst current grievances of corruption, economic hardship, and police brutality, reminiscent of a relentless cycle many hoped had ended.

As police secured Nairobi’s arteries, impeding both private and public transport, business hesitated, choosing to shutter their doors rather than risk involvement. Even those on foot found their paths blocked, unless deemed ‘essential.’ It evoked the kind of struggle not unfamiliar to Kenyans who strive daily under heavy burdens. One might ask, what kind of democracy quashes dissent with such vigor?

Macharia Munene, a historian at United States International University Africa, captures this sentiment: “The attempt to criminalize protests reflects a fraught grasp for power. It paints the government as archaic, desperate even, unable to face the music of its own people’s demands.”

Yet, not all voices urged restraint. Public Service Minister Geoffrey Ruku directed government employees to report as usual, confident the demonstrations wouldn’t stall operations. In contrast, Interior Minister Kipchumba Murkomen vowed zero tolerance for violence, deploying police forces extensively to “safeguard” the public.

As one approached the critical nerve centers of power—the parliament and the president’s office—barbed barriers of wire stood fierce, silent sentinels barring all passage. Meanwhile, outskirts like Kitengela didn’t escape unrest. Tear gas hung in the air, mingling with the cries of protesters frustrated with impeded livelihoods.

One roadside vendor, Caleb Okoth, voiced a palpable frustration: “They block our roads, take away our means. What should we eat? Beaten for standing up—how does this honor our rights?” In such turmoil, the protest’s catalyst becomes evident—a tragic death in custody, echoing louder with each flashpoint.

The anger simmered long before. The protests of June 17 saw a civilian shot at point-blank range by police—catalyzing a tumultuous string of demonstrations. Just days later, on June 25, the country reeled with the loss of at least 16 lives and injuries to over 400 amid fresh battles against police brutality. Where do steps toward justice lead when the path is so bloodied?

Kenya grapples with these questions out of necessity, perhaps inching closer to introspection and change. For in every corner of history lies a turning point awaiting those brave enough to seize it—this being no exception.