From xxxxxx <[email protected]>
Subject How Kenya’s Youth, Middle Classes and Working Poor Joined Forces
Date July 10, 2024 12:30 AM
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HOW KENYA’S YOUTH, MIDDLE CLASSES AND WORKING POOR JOINED FORCES  
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Caroline Kimeu
July 9, 2024
New Lines Magazine
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_ Demonstrations against the government coordinated on social media
have led to a renewed focus on long-standing problems _

Protesters gesture at police in Nairobi, Kenya, during a
demonstration against the government in July 2024., Tony Karumba/AFP
via Getty Images

 

I remember Kenya’s June 25 protests like they were yesterday. The
energy on the streets of Nairobi was frenetic, filled with the sound
of whistles, motorcycle honks, vuvuzelas (long horns used to cheer in
soccer games) and loud blasts of teargas.

“We are tired,” chanted the thousands of demonstrators who had
turned out to oppose government plans to introduce wide-ranging tax
hikes, on what would become the bloodiest day of the protests.
Hoisting up Kenyan flags, they marched through one of the city’s
main avenues, which was colored pink from water cannon spray, dodging
rounds of rubber bullets and teargas. As the cloudy haze cleared up, a
protester held a bandana over his mouth with one hand, defiantly
holding up a placard with the other: “It’s not teargas but the
fragrance of change,” it read.

The tax increase plan had attracted the ire of the country’s middle
class and working poor, with its wide-ranging hikes on car ownership,
medical bills, financial transactions, digital content creation and
essentials like sanitary towels, oil and bread.

An analysis by World Bank economists shows that while tax policies and
government expenditure policies in high-income countries cushion their
poor, they make poor households even poorer in low and middle-income
countries. Kenya currently spends more of its national revenue
servicing debt than it does on all other spending combined, including
spending on social security, health and education. This risks
deepening inequality and throwing the country’s poorest even deeper
into poverty.

As I covered news of the day’s events, weaving my way through the
crowd and speaking with protesters, it was clear that while the
now-withdrawn tax hike plan had brought people to the streets, it was
also the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back.”

The nationwide demonstrations grew into wider calls for the
country’s leaders to cut government spending, crack down on
corruption, and invest in development and essential services. The
youth demanded an audit on how the nation saddled itself with soaring
$80bn public debt, a fivefold increase in the last decade, tied to
infrastructure projects dogged by corruption claims and concerns over
financial viability.

I’ve come to view Kenyans as like a friend whose temper is not quick
to boil over, but when it does, it erupts. During the June 25
protests, I knew that things had come to a head when protesters
stormed Parliament after lawmakers approved the contentious bill, and
set part of the building on fire. Several protesters were killed in
ensuing clashes with the police. Like many Kenyans, I wondered if the
uprising would push the country over the edge or reel it back from
decades of poor governance.

Kenyan President William Ruto withdrew the bill on June 26, changing
course amid escalations in violence and growing calls for his
resignation. Online, many called it “too little, too late.” At
least 39 people were killed by police in the last two weeks of
protests, according to the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights.
Up to 32 people suspected of playing a leading role in the protests
say they were abducted by government agents over the course of the
protests. A number were held incommunicado, without access to their
families or legal representation, according to Amnesty International.

The government has shifted dramatically in its reactions to the events
of the last three weeks, going from minor concessions to brutal police
crackdowns on protesters, to withdrawing the bill and calling for
dialogue. Even after Ruto revoked the bill, the wave of protests
continued to sweep over the country. They slowed after turning bloody
on June 25, and as many young people became reluctant to demonstrate
after reports emerged, from activists and local media, that
politicians had hired poor young people to disrupt and delegitimize
the movement by looting local businesses and causing mayhem.

Ruto called the protests an “important inflection point” for the
country, saying in a televised debate on June 30 that “candid
conversations” on the debt crisis were necessary. He defended the
finance bill, saying that the $2.7 billion that it would have raised
in tax could have reduced borrowing and helped improve public
services. “There are only two things you can do: Either you raise
money from taxes or you borrow, period,” said Ruto. “There is no
magic.”

Under growing pressure to address the mounting upheaval, Ruto agreed
to calls from Kenyan youth for a live meeting on X (formerly Twitter).
163,000 live participants attended the July 5 discussions at its peak,
and around 5.6 million users over the session. While some people
viewed the engagement as a historic conversation between a president
and a public openly opposed to his administration, others considered
it a whitewashing exercise and boycotted the talks.

An hour before the event, Ruto announced that he would appoint an
independent task force to audit the public debt. It will report its
findings in three months. He also announced $1.39 billion in budget
cuts, including on government spending. He dissolved 47 unnecessary
state agencies, reduced the number of government advisers by 50% and
suspended costly and controversial new appointments to the executive.
He also scrapped the offices of the first lady, the spouse of the
deputy president, and the prime cabinet secretary, as well as plans to
renovate government offices. He suspended all nonessential state
travel and banned state officers from participating in
“harambees,” fundraising events that are viewed as opportunities
for the political class to gain backing by corrupting the public.

Those changes, he said during the live talks, would address public
anger over wasteful spending and what he termed the “obnoxious
opulence” of state officers, while the government would need to
borrow $1.3 billion to tackle the budgetary crisis after withdrawing
the finance bill.

In just a matter of weeks, Kenya has witnessed a public awakening
that’s prompted deep public scrutiny of the governance crisis
that’s plagued the country for decades.

Kenyans are bearing the consequences of the country’s public debt
through highly taxed goods, and there is a growing disconnect between
the public and the government, which Kenyans accuse of corruption and
wasteful spending, including overstaffing, excessive travel and
corruption. The country’s lawmakers are known to carry wads of cash,
drive fancy cars and live in posh estates.

The country has faced economic shocks caused by the lasting impacts of
the COVID-19 pandemic, currency depreciation, inflation, unemployment
and recurring climate disasters like droughts and flooding. The
difficult economy has also focused public attention on leaders’
performances as they attempt to address the economic challenges facing
the country. In Kenya’s last elections, I found Kenyans more
interested in debates over the cost of living, debt and youth
unemployment than in the ethnic and personality-driven contests that
have dominated many previous cycles.

Ruto rode in on promises to make life easier for the working poor, but
the public is now disenchanted with the president, whom they have
nicknamed “Zakayo” after the biblical tax collector Zaccheus. Some
view the jet-setting president as more invested in the country’s
international image than the situation at home, and accuse him of
prioritizing the policies of lenders like the International Monetary
Fund (IMF) over domestic needs.

The IMF had urged Kenya to increase domestic revenue collection to
access more funding, at a time when many are grappling with the cost
of living crisis and beset with questions over how the country’s
debt was accumulated. While many are struggling to get by, some view
Ruto as prioritizing debt repayments over their interests.

Many Kenyans I met on the streets felt that tax increases in recent
years had made life more difficult yet hadn’t noticeably improved
public services. I’ve watched the country’s poor turn to
community-run groups for social support in emergency situations
because state options are poor or unavailable, and the middle class
resort to costly private services.

The country’s working-age youth, who make up just over a third of
the country’s population, are grappling with the high cost of living
while unemployed. One protester I spoke with during last week’s
protests had a bachelor’s degree, yet could not find work and ended
up taking a job as a security guard in the city center. It reminded me
of warnings from grassroots leaders that the lack of opportunity and
deepening wealth inequalities are “a time bomb” that could trigger
an uprising by frustrated youth. Even as protests have waned, I’ve
wondered if there are signs of this now.

I found it striking that public-driven social media protests, with no
political or apparent leader, could trigger a mass street turnout. The
protests were led by an unlikely group of Kenyans: under 27s (“Gen
Z”), who were perceived until recently as apathetic to mainstream
politics, and millennials, who were widely viewed as more inclined to
digital activism over street marches. While Gen Z’s involvement
carried important symbolism, I’ve also wondered if the media
obsession with their leading role has led to narrow views about whose
interests the movement represents. The youth are championing issues
that affect the vast majority of Kenyans, and which have been the
subject of decades-long struggles. We still have a long way to go, but
many of the political and social freedoms we enjoy today were
hard-won, and paved the way for the public awakening we are witnessing
today.

When the protests first began, high-ranking officials downplayed the
discontent that was mounting online. “Digital wankers,” Ruto’s
economic adviser David Ndii called those protesting on social media.
But online opposition represented deep-seated public anger over how
the country is run, as became clear when the social media protests
spilled onto the streets and tens of thousands marched across the
country. Everyone, from influencers to informal workers rallied behind
the calls for lawmakers to rule out the tax proposals.

The working poor showed up with fervor. Motorcycle riders ferried
protesters in and out of a packed capital. Residents of Nairobi’s
informal settlements, who make up more than half of the city’s
population, filled the streets. A new generation of young, educated
and upwardly mobile protesters also took to the streets, like the
suited, bow tie-wearing Gen Z protester Kasmuel McOure. Influential
figures like rugby player-turned-celebrity chef Dennis Ombachi became
vocal, and established grassroots organizers like the hijabi activist
Honey Farsafi ran public crowdfunding.

The heavy middle-class presence was a new development, mocked by one
member of Parliament who called the youth protesters “iPhone-using,
Uber-riding, KFC-eating and bottled water-drinking Kenyans” who were
out of touch with real problems. Yet this demographic became
instrumental in coordinating the protests. At the height of the
protests, up to 60,000 X users at a time listened to a six-hour space
debating the bill. Techies developed artificial intelligence to help
Kenyans understand it better, lawyers helped facilitate the release of
those detained or abducted during the protests, the public translated
concerns over the bill into common vernacular, and millions of
shillings were raised for those killed or injured. Kenyans in the
diaspora launched solidarity protests from major cities across the
world and medics ran volunteer emergency response centers across the
capital that saved many lives. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen,
as a Kenyan and as a journalist, in a country where class differences
have been known to divide, rather than unify, the public politically.
The demonstrations attracted interest across the continent, becoming a
subject of discussion in countries like Uganda, Nigeria and Ghana,
where some people saw their struggles with government corruption and
debt mirrored in the Kenyan uprising.

While protesters were largely united by calls for change, there were
some tensions in the movement too. In its early days, moves by one
activist to solicit funding from politicians were shot down over fears
that the movement would be co-opted by the political class. Protesters
were also divided on whether to attempt to occupy the State House —
the president’s residence — after many were killed during the
occupation of Parliament on June 25. Feminist organizers opposed the
release and distribution of revenge porn of a female lawmaker who
supported the tax measures. The public hunt for a police officer who
killed a protester prompted different views on X over how he would be
dealt with, and whether or not his family would be kept from harm.

The country’s political class has also found itself under deep
public scrutiny. A specialized ChatGPT that lists politicians’
corruption scandals on demand circulated, along with spreadsheets of
the current administration’s track record in achieving campaign
pledges. The country’s first lady Rachel Ruto and other members of
the political class had to cancel church appearances because of the
growing pushback against what the public perceives as an “unholy
alliance” between the church and the country’s leaders. Many
believe the close links breed corruption and a lack of public
accountability in both institutions.

While the measures Ruto announced on July 5 may have tamed the street
protests and cooled the spiraling calls for his resignation, the
public scrutiny of his government has risen to heights not seen in
recent years, and that’s unlikely to die down any time soon.

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* Kenya; June 25th Kenyan Protests; President William Ruto;
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