By OMBOKI MONAYO
As families mourn the tragic loss of young lives caught in the crossfire during the protests on July 25th, there’s a prevailing temptation to dismiss this event as just another unfortunate chapter in our nation’s tumultuous saga.
As a newsroom veteran of sorts, I must confess—it’s all too easy to shrug, label it as fate for the unfortunate youth caught in the melee, and simply move on.
However, this path of indifference only serves to perpetuate the cycles of despair and discontent that have long plagued our society.
Conversations with colleagues in the media, PR, and communications sectors—many of them from the so-called middle class—only underscore the divergent realities we live in.
Many appear oblivious to the depths of anger felt by the youth towards a president they otherwise admire for his political achievements.
To some, the protests in 23 counties are merely regional grievances from the Murima area.
This narrow mindset reflects an uncritical acceptance of the ethnocentric narratives pushed by mainstream media—narratives that often gloss over systemic issues.
Tragically, the echoes of the kakistocratic Moi era still linger, embedding toxic beliefs that demand fear and unquestioning obedience toward those in power.
“Serikali”—the government—and those in high office are viewed as infallible, even when they violate the very laws they are meant to uphold.
Such misguided reverence breeds fatalism and apathy, especially in media and communications circles, where many are more preoccupied with receiving tokens or favors than confronting the rampant corruption eating away at our governance and public resources.
Joblessness
Currently, Kenya’s youth unemployment rate (ages 18–35) stands at a staggering 21.5%. That’s one in five young Kenyans with no reliable income.
It’s not just joblessness they’re battling—but the mental health toll that comes with chronic uncertainty and hopelessness.
On my way home from my communications job on June 25th, 2024, I encountered a feisty group of demonstrators along Moi Avenue.
Between chants and marches, I spoke with a few of them—curious about what drove them to risk everything in the streets.
A young woman said something I’ll never forget: “Gen Zs have nothing to lose. We’ve already seen death in its many forms—from joblessness to suicidal thoughts caused by mental health struggles. We’re no longer scared.”
Frustration, despair, and a dearth of opportunities push many into a joyless daze—sleepwalking through a world that offers them no love, no empathy, no concern.
Caught between their families’ expectations and the cold sting of rejection letters and unpaid bills, how do we expect them to respond? With flowers and platitudes?
Some of us brand them lazy—unwilling to “hustle” like we did. But we forget: the job market has changed drastically.
We weren’t vying for restaurant or security gigs that now attract thousands of desperate applicants.
Maybe they deserve a bit more grace as they try to emulate our so-called winning ways. But most of us no longer have the time—or the patience—for that.
In desperation, some turn to alcohol and substance abuse to numb the pain. But that escapism only deepens the spiral of despair.
Worse still is the smug indifference of the privileged class—those thriving off nepotism, graft, and ill-gotten wealth from skewed public tenders.
Entitlement
Their comfort shields them from the brutal realities others face, blinding them to the urgent need for systemic reform.
Though middle class in income, their refusal to engage in national discourse places their intellectual value squarely in what Karl Marx termed the “lumpenproletariat.”
I don’t endorse all of Karl’s prescriptions—but I fully support dismantling this entitled, isolationist mindset that masquerades as political neutrality.
There’s a problem with prioritizing false security over civic engagement. This “operational wisdom” preaches silence and inaction as survival tools—but all it really does is protect a corrupt status quo.
Every ignored protest, every glossed-over scandal, every defense of misgovernance reinforces a system that will eventually consume even its quietest beneficiaries.
They fool themselves into thinking they’re part of the system—unaware of how quickly they’ll be discarded once they outlive their usefulness.
History has shown this time and again.
Think of the former civil servants—ardent regime supporters—who had their homes demolished in Eastlands and Woodley to make way for murky development deals.
This is the price of complacency in a system where loyalty isn’t rewarded, only exploited.
As a nation, we must rally around the youth—acknowledging their grievances and supporting their calls for change.
Bad governance touches us all, whether we choose to see it or not.
It’s time for Kenya’s older, more professionally successful citizens to engage, mentor, and walk beside these young people—not sneer at their disillusionment from a distance.
As one brilliant young woman put it: “The mistake apathists make is infantilizing people younger than them. Old doesn’t mean wise. Read the room. Observe or yield quietly.”
Huge cost
This is a clarion call to the apolitical elite: your day of reckoning isn’t as distant as you think.
The cost of complacency is steep. The consequences of apathy may be fatal.
It’s time we faced the uncomfortable truths and challenged the narratives that have bred division and disillusionment for far too long.
Demanding accountability from the government and justice for fallen comrades shouldn’t be a death sentence for young people destined to one day carry this nation forward.
Silencing them with bullets and fear tactics is not just cowardly—it’s unconstitutional.
Neglecting these young patriots in their greatest hour of need erodes the hard-won freedoms enshrined in Kenya’s 2010 Constitution—a document that remains among Africa’s most progressive.
The right to peaceful protest. The right to picket. Freedom of expression.
These are not treasonous acts—they are democratic pillars.
Firing live bullets at protesters armed only with flags and placards is not only excessive, it is criminal.
Extrajudicial executions have no place in our laws.
Their voices matter. And it is our moral responsibility to amplify those voices, call out misgovernance, and stand for justice.
If we continue to sit back as an entire generation is battered by injustice, the silence will one day be deafening—and unbearable.
-Omboki Monayo is an independent journalist, communication consultant, and mental health advocate. The views expressed in this article are his own and are not attributed to the Kisii Press Club editorial board.