The kids are right: This generation will shame us and then save us

There is something in the Kenyan air. Over the last week, clouds of dissent pooled around the capital, wispy and slight at first, but they rapidly bunched and thickened. When the storm finally descended, it was with a quiet rage, but the din had only been rising. Somehow, while we were sleeping, the gong of revolution was sounded, and its echoing clangs were impossible to ignore.

It has been clear to anyone paying attention exactly who sounded the war drums; everyone, that is, except the powers-that-be, for whom the idea that a bunch of kids could light such fires underneath them is laughable. And yet, when the fog clears and this story is told, it will be said that the revolution was sparked by a young person wearing gender-fluid pants and platform boots. The prospect of talking about Generation Z is a slightly terrifying one. Not only have they repeatedly warned elder millennials like myself to keep their name out of our mouths, but they also move with a scorched earth mentality I have personally not experienced since the glory days of mchongoano.

I just know I will not be able to recover from the “We mzee” they fling in my direction should I cross them. But I come in peace, and I come bearing flowers. As they say, those kids have been moving mad, in the best possible way. Like most of my peers, I am in awe.

Much has already been said about Generation Z. More will be said in the coming weeks as they channel their energies and impressive resources into fixing this country. Indeed, not a day passes without us witnessing a feat of incredible bravery, a story of heartbreaking relatability, and a government reaction often staggering in its out-of-touch inadequacy. As our neighbours have been noting, watching the goings-on in Kenya has begun to feel like watching an action blockbuster.

To me, however, the most notable stories are the silent ones. The subtle undercurrents, bubbling just beneath the surface. I have watched millennials grapple with their sense of patriotic duty, perpetually at war with a cynicism that ten years of unsatisfactory politics have instilled in them.

These are the people who veered clear of the 2022 election, primarily out of a sense of frustration with the candidates on the ballot, but also in service to that niggling feeling that their voice did not matter. However they voted, the election would only go one way. These are the people who have had their hope toyed with, on multiple occasions, while they cheered and then despaired at the Supreme Court’s handling of opposition leader Raila Odinga’s petitions challenging the veracity of the electoral process.

Many of those people are parents. Most have businesses, jobs, and personal projects they have invested heavily in. We are all activists until a bill has to be paid. For some, the stakes are simply too high. Understandably, then, the prevailing sentiment has been that of pride at the passion of the current generation, but also skepticism and a lingering restraint.

When invited to join the protests, Azimio steward and former VP candidate Martha Karua encapsulated this position fairly well:

“Supporting from the sidelines and cheering you on. My generation needs to let our children and grandchildren own and lead this coz you guys are doing it better than we have ever done it.”

Africa Uncensored journalist John Allan Namu similarly invites us to consider the historical and political context when discussing and engaging with the Finance Bill protests:

“We think 2007 was the most consequential time in Kenya’s history because we lived through it,” he shared on X. “But think about the person who is in the streets today. They likely do not have much context for 2007. But they do have context for two subsequent elections that went very badly. They have context on ten years of theft that has denied them countless opportunities, such that we are now living in debt. So, what to do next? If you’re in my generation, if you’re not a young person as described by the current demographic, just listen. Listen to what is being said on the streets and make sure that the young people who go there go back home safely. Our responsibility as the older generation is to make sure that nobody dies. Ours is to ensure the political discourse continues. It is not our role to lead it. This is not our moment. We need to get that out of our heads.”

The most remarkable thing about the Gen Z protests has been the genuine sense of community it has managed to evoke. Everyone is pitching in however they can. Everyone is lending their skills to the cause. The protests themselves are singular and coordinated, the kids march with the focus and will of a Roman army, and it is a sight to behold.

Yet the thing that I have found most instructive has been the hardline stance the kids have adopted. The language purist in me has scoffed at Gen Z parlance in the past, but having witnessed a startling display of people ‘standing on business’, my hands are raised.

The ethos is simple: If you’re not with us, then we have no time for you. Gen Z has been brisk, curt, and no-nonsense with anyone even remotely sympathetic to the government. It has been cold and efficient, a refusal to engage, a casual dismissal because they have better things to worry about.

Take Elsa Majimbo, who was swiftly disinvited to the conversation when she attempted to dip a toe. Or Dagoretti South MP John Kiarie, who declared himself a photoshop guru and has since been receiving digital lashes, culminating in a polite request to surrender the microphone before he even got to his speech at a funeral.

There was CS Alfred Mutua, who indicated that his sympathies lay with the police officer who had lost his limbs to a teargas canister and not the people that officer was lobbing teargas at. Kenyans, being too busy trying to rescue the nation, reminded the CS that certain rappers/musicians were better placed to deal with him.

And so it has been. The ire of the kids has been swift. Politicians like Gloria Orwoba and Ronald Karauri have felt its sting, as have comedians Eddie Butita and Abel Mutua.

Nobody is above reproach. Not the celebrities they refuse to worship, and certainly not the politicians who have made their lives a living hell. The kids are standing on business, and we are all invited to the right side of history.