Youth of Kenya face death and violence in Finance Bill protests, emerge victorious
When we arrived at the entrance to the protests, we encountered grave hostility. Officers with big guns commanded us off our bikes and instructed us to take the long way in. Before we could decide which way to go, people began running from the protest area with white and Kenyan flags, screaming. Tear gas left them with bloodshot eyes. Fear gripped me as I realized the danger I got myself into, but the desire to forge a better nation pushed me forward.
- 1 day ago
October 26, 2024
Youth activist and GenZ protestor in Kenya Laurier Somi Amunga | Photo courtesy of Ms. Amunga
NAIROBI, Kenya ꟷ Sitting in the living room with my mother in 2024 listening to the news, we heard about a proposed finance bill in Kenya. For the first time, I saw my mother become very emotional. The sudden change surprised me, and I asked her what happened. “Our lives and that of all Kenyans will soon get worse,” she told me. “This proposed bill will increase our cost of living. Everything like bread, milk, and basic necessities will become very expensive.”
The fear in her eyes and the brokenness of her heart over this singular document that had not even been adopted yet shocked me. A strong and happy woman with a difficult life story, my mother raised my siblings and I single handedly. I wanted more than anything to help her. For my mother, for all Kenyans, and for those who no longer have the strength or youth to protest – for all of Africa – I decided to act. I hit the streets in protest and very quickly, things turned bloody.
Read more protest stories from Orato World Media.
The first shot: peaceful protestor killed publicly
Growing up in Kenya, I heard about various bills that increased taxes and worsened living conditions, despite being touted as a solution. In my younger years, I did not understand economics, but this bill sparked my interest and I began researching the consequences. On social media, I found people my age making live broadcasts and discussing it.
Videos of government officials frivolously spending state money, dancing in their luxury houses and showing off expensive cars and jewelry, surfaced online. In the bill and in their actions, I saw a lack of humanity. I thought of my mother struggling and paying taxes. I contrasted it with their wasteful lifestyle. The youth became angered. On June 25, 2024, I attended my first protest.
That first day we feared the result of our actions and came to the protests terrified. Only a few people showed up, but it served as a sign to others to leave their comfort zones and join in. The Kenyan youth decided this would be the biggest match of our lives. The excitement surged in me, and it felt like being part of history. We took a risk by speaking up and it felt like a revolution with the goal of bringing about desperately needed change.
On the first day of the protests, police shot and killed 29-year-old peaceful protester Rex Masai. Rex’s death only flared our anger and gave us the fire inside to hit the streets. We wanted to stand up for him. The night before I went out, my mother called. She felt terrified about the potential deadly outcomes and warned me to stay home. Rumors were spreading about people being killed. “I don’t want to feel what Rex’s mother felt,” she told me.
Arriving at Nairobi’s Central Business District, the hostility felt palpable
I felt palpable fear before the protests, but I squashed it and assured my mother I would stay safe and return to her alive. Propelled forward by the need to establish a future for us, we moved into the streets to fight for change. To demonstrate our peaceful intent to the government and security agencies, we dressed in all white.
Having watched safety videos for demonstrators, we equipped ourselves with bandanas to stave off teargas inhalation, long protective clothes to shield us from water bombs, and swimming goggles to cover our eyes. We understood that if the police shot water at us, it could contain chemicals that caused itching. We wore good sneakers and carried water and our IDs.
I headed out to meet my friends as planned. We would take a bike to the Central Business District in Nairobi, the main venue of the protest. Public bus drivers, in fear of violence, stopped running routes, and the motorbikes charged extraordinarily high prices in exchange for the risk of transporting people. We stayed in groups because police began randomly arresting civilians without IDs.
When we arrived at the entrance to the protests, we encountered grave hostility. Officers with big guns commanded us off our bikes and instructed us to take the long way in. Before we could decide which way to go, people began running from the protest area with white and Kenyan flags, screaming. Tear gas left them with bloodshot eyes. Fear gripped me as I realized the danger I got myself into, but the desire to forge a better nation pushed me forward.
All hell broke loose in Kenya
I vividly remember when protestors attempted to enter the Parliament building. Standing behind the crowd, I saw people at the front breaking in. A gunshot rang out, though we couldn’t identify its source. People began running and screaming, “We are peaceful!” In the chaos and confusion, I saw people drop to the ground.
As the shooting intensified, we stopped running and laid down. In fear, I thought of my mother’s warnings. “I should have listened to her,” my mind whispered. I lost all contact with my friends and feared for their safety. Thoughts of them being hit by a bullet traumatized my mind.
Nearby, a man lay with a bullet lodged in his chest, though still alive. We ran over, carried him away, and rushed to find an ambulance. Suddenly, a teargas canister flew in our direction, and we had to abandon the injured man to catch our breath. The canister landed directly on his body and exploded, killing him. The images shared online of that moment haunt me to this day.
Seeing an injured protestor murdered in such a horrendous way left me in shock. In that moment, I just wanted to go home. Those who remained became enraged to see the carnage and stormed further toward Parliament. They refused to stop. That was when all hell broke loose. I never heard a gunshot in my life before that day. Now I felt immersed in a scene from a horror movie.
Some of the protestors helped us locate an exit route underground because the police occupied every major exit. We made it out of the area and began the several-mile walk home. The sounds of ambulances passing echoed through the air. Others limped to the hospital bearing bullet wounds. Many lost personal items in the chaos.
Kenyan President tries to lie about the numbers
Back home, my mother saw stories on the news about young people being killed. She grew increasingly worried I might be among them. As I approached the house, she swung open the door and grabbed me in a tight hug, breaking down in tears. While she felt happy that I survived, her heart ached over the situation.
I began to cry, and she asked me over and over if I had any pain or injuries. Inside, she gave me water to wash my eyes and made me take a shower. As the water washed over my body, I broke down completely, crying like a baby. “You are never to join another protest,” my mother instructed, sternly. “The risk is worthless.”
In the subsequent hours as we watched the news and followed stories on social media, my mother’s emotions remained high. The full extent of the damage, death, and injuries overwhelmed us. Even more shocking, the President announced on national television that only six people lost their lives.
He denied some of the events even took place, and rejected the figure of 39 put forth by the health authorities, one of which was a child. The President spoke calmly, seemingly unbothered, and failed to offer a moment of silence for those who perished. His actions only led to more anger and protests – on and offline. Kenyans demanded real change and for the President to resign.
Kenyan government strikes down Finance Bill, protestors win a victory
Some of those who heard the President speak went to destroy the shops and luxury items belonging to Parliamentarians. One of the Parliamentarians bragged about how expensive his life is, and that GenZ couldn’t take that away from him. The people attacked their extravagant lifestyle, funded by taxpayer money.
Protestors made their way to the U.S. Embassy at Hague. They carried photos of those killed and abused by the Kenyan government. We got so much support worldwide as we stood up against the financial and foreign bodies behind the bill.
We hoped our fight would inspire young people in Uganda and the rest of Africa to demand better. The first change happened when the President decided not to sign the Finance Bill. That day, at around 4:00 p.m., I heard the speech announcing he rejected the bill. That meant so much to me. Our protests worked.
Yet, we asked for more. We soon realized he had no power to reject a bill, but simply wanted to fool us. We began to study more about the constitution in Kenya. Some GenZ lawyers came online to explain how it works and we become smarter, heading back into the streets.
The President then forced Parliament to return from recess to discuss and withdraw the bill in its entirety. He fired some members of his cabinet. We further demanded the release of youth leaders and all those arrested. It felt like a big win for us. In a post on social media, I wrote that the win was for Rex and all those who died protesting. A few days later, I went out again, this time to join a memorial for Rex and those we lost. Their names will be remembered.
