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In the end, it was the bottom-up approach that carried the day.
In the early June 2024 demonstrations that led to the successful rejection of a controversial tax legislation, youthful Kenyan protestors gave a master class in the power of moral authority and focused, resonant communication. Describing themselves as leaderless, tribeless, and fearless, the protestors subverted the hierarchical structures and the socio-cultural institution of ethnicity that the ruling elite have used to great advantage since colonial times.
Of peripheral use and focus to the political elite that needs their votes, the protestors used social media platforms as their primary communication arena to mobilize thousands of individuals across the country against the proposed legislation. It is on these platforms that individuals took it upon themselves to mobilize, teach, document, coordinate, mobilize, rebuke, lament, celebrate, encourage, warn, and speak to one another, and to those in power.
They translated sections of the law into local languages, creating short videos that broke down contentious clauses and their implications. They documented their experiences on the streets, from the unstoppable waves of protestors entering the grounds of parliament and chambers to graphic images of comrades gunned down. They recorded songs overnight, articulating their concerns and resolve. They simplified and interpreted legislation, from the constitution to legislation that pertains to protest. Posters circulated breaking down how money spent on luxury items worn by political leaders could have built classrooms or bought drugs for the public hospitals.
They reported friends who were missing or abducted, and used hashtags to create pressure that would lead to the friends being found or released.
Creatives and social media influencers with wide-ranging content – such as animation, comedy, food, or profiles on social issues – incorporated activism, using their platforms to amplify the protests or call out leaders.
Anticipating government reaction, the protestors shared tips on their social media platforms on how to circumvent efforts to shut or slow down the Internet, such as by using virtual private networks (VPNs).
As the days progressed, so did their words and focus begin to incorporate lament as some among them were abducted or fell to bullets, rebuke as individuals begun to point out wrongdoing in the ruling class, and research or crowd-sourced investigation into the businesses owned by politicians.
They raised money to pay for the hospital and funeral costs of those injured or killed during the protests.
Using a wide array of tools, including humour, euphemisms, visual imagery, parody, satire, music and poetry, the protestors gave voice to a righteous rage founded on lack of employment, high cost of living, and excesses in the political ruling class. They were angry, passionate, and articulate.
Where it began
President William Ruto’s campaign to attain the presidency had used the “bottom-up approach” as a slogan to promise that the ordinary citizen would be the focus of his government. The slogan resonated with a populace struggling with economic hardship, unemployment, and poor governance among multiple other problems. Young voters were a big reason Ruto won the presidency, connecting with his adoption of the term “hustler” to refer to people who struggled to make a living and had no special networks or privileges.
But now, nearly two years since he became president, the sense of hope and promise has dissipated. Poor management of public resources, high levels of unemployment, and corruption weighed against obscene, public displays of luxurious living from members of the political elite have aggravated the true hustlers who do not see any transparency in the continual demands for money from the Ruto government.
That is the background against which the protesters hit the streets on June 20 in multiple towns across the country, mobilized through digital platforms around hashtags such as #RejectFinanceBill2024, #OccupyParliament, and #RutoMustGo.
But there were glimpses of discontent and frustration that had begun to emerge well before 20 June 2024.
For instance, in December 2023, five individuals were to face charges related to the alleged embezzlement of KSh1.1 billion that was intended for scholarships of about 125 students in Canadian and Finnish institutions. The individuals were working in Uasin Gishu County, which happens to be Ruto’s home county. One of the individuals charged was the former governor of the county, Jackson Mandago, under whose tenure the scheme had been rolled out. He is now a legislator representing the county in the Senate.
The case had come to the public’s attention in August 2023, when those who were to have benefited from the scholarships spoke up during a meeting called by the leaders. Mercy Tarus, one of the beneficiaries, gained social media fame when a video clip of her telling off the leaders for the anguish the failed scheme had caused the students and their families. The clip went viral and she followed it up with calls for citizen protests. In one dated 9 August 2023, she said on her X.com account:
Leo tunaenda maandamano [today there will be protests]. There will be no rest for the wicked!! All we want is what is RIGHTFULLY OURS!! REFUND IS THE SONG
Mandago, who is still in the Senate, was accused of witness intimidation during a January 2024 court hearing. The case against Mandago and his co-accused remains ongoing.
A key catalyst for the June 2024 protests was the Finance Bill 2024, which the government pitched as essential to provide funding for national debt payment and various development programmes. However, the legislation had multiple contentious clauses that included the imposition of taxes on bread, motor vehicles, financial transactions (such as mobile money), and cooking oil. To become law, the bill needed to undergo three sessions of discussion (readings) in parliament before members of parliament voted on it.
The bill passed the second reading on June 20, as the protestors were on the streets.
The protestors vowed to maintain the pressure, and on June 25, they were back. It was the day the bill moved to third reading and was passed, albeit with rollback of some of the proposed taxes.
But the protestors’ numbers had swelled and their intensity had increased, their focus being the rejection of the entire bill. In Nairobi, they successfully moved to occupy parliament even as their counterparts in other towns also gathered and marched. In parliament, protestors entered the national assembly chambers and the mace – symbol of parliamentary power and authority – was reportedly removed. The police were deployed and on this day several youths were shot and killed. That evening, the president made a brief televised address, saying the protest had been taken over by criminal elements and promised a quick response to the “treasonous events” that had occurred. He took no questions.
But the next day at 4 p.m. he held a media briefing where he said he would decline to assent to the Finance Bill 2024 and send it back to parliament. It was a triumph of sorts, but by the time it came, the protesters – further aggrieved by the deaths of fellow protesters – had moved on to calling for Ruto’s resignation and the recall of parliamentarians, and decrying the church’s acceptance of money from members of the political class. The scope of the protesters’ attention widened as the hashtags increased beyond #OccupyStateHouse (seat of the presidency) and #OccupyChurch to #OccupyEverywhere.
Moral authority and communicative power
The success of the early protests in achieving the #RejectFinanceBill 2024 – rather than settling for the amendments that the parliamentarians had made before passage of the bill – was heavily grounded in the moral authority and the communicative power of the protesters and of the citizenry as a whole.
By harnessing their experience in using and communicating on social media platforms such as TikTok, WhatsApp, and X.com, the protesters reminded themselves of who they (citizens) are through phrases such as “I am the force of change” and “We are fearless, tribeless and partyless.”
They spoke to the continual failure of the ruling class to provide accountable and truthful leadership, to prudently use public resources, and to conduct themselves as individuals serving the public rather than the other way around. In using the slogan “They won’t believe”, the protesters made the point that they were choosing to hold political leaders to account.
The reported capture of the mace and the plan to march on State House after the successful rejection of the Finance Bill were among the indicators that the protests were as much a condemnation of institutional authorities – such as the presidency and parliament – as they were about oppressive legislation. Among the protesters were individuals who had an already established credible social media presence, such as Hanifa, who collected funds that went towards the hospital and funeral bills of those injured or killed during the protests.
Institutional authorities have had the opportunity to address the country’s extensive history of corruption but have failed to do so. The country’s auditor general reveals with depressing regularity how public national and county government monies are unaccounted for or misused. There is a continual cling to power of individuals who have been accused of crimes ranging from corruption to murder, with no one held to account even for the most egregious offences.
Videos of members of the political elite have circulated with particular resonance during the protests, as they reveal lavish, luxurious lifestyles or generous monetary contributions to churches that are not explained by the salaries the politicians earn. Some of the videos were posted by the very MPs themselves well before the protests began. By contrast, many of the protesters are simply dressed, and walk to the towns in which they are protesting or use public means of transport.
The Kenyan citizenry has tended to be a marginal player in the democratic processes of this nation. The institutions of democracy – such as parliament, the presidency, and the holding of elections – receive the big budgets and the national attention. It is a top-down approach that has served the ruling elite where the citizens have only been given voice or value when the institutions have chosen to do so, such as during election campaigns or in insincere public participation processes. These protests changed the equation.
What next?
But the underbelly of digital communication was eventually revealed when social media platforms were used to spread disinformation, divide, bully, and cause confusion among their ranks. The early protests had caught the power-that-be flat-footed.
The tables turned on the protesters on June 26 after the president conceded to the demand for the rejection of the Finance Bill. The plans to march to State House were weakened, partly by the president’s concession, but also by an online campaign that sought to divide the protesters.
Leading social media lights experienced cyberbullying and were accused of being sponsored by the state to dilute the potency of the protest. Individuals who claimed to be leaders representing the protesters emerged on videos, saying they were ready to have dialogue with the government. Some of the individuals were later identified on the same social media platforms as political allies of Ruto’s political party. The combined efforts seemed to be forms of disinformation aimed at fragmenting what had up to then been a unified, focused protest.
Yet the demonstrations have continued, although incidences of violence and looting have marred what started out as a peaceful, focused protest. While that plays out, the protesters have undeniably achieved a greater victory, by dragging a chair to the table of political power, and insisting they too belong there. The top-down approach has been upended.
Power, bloodily and noisily reacquired, now emanates from the bottom.