How Kenya’s Gen Z protest crackdowns echo past ‘jihadist’ curbs

The so-called Gen Z protests have swelled across Kenya, ignited by the country’s economic mismanagement and democratic backsliding. It started in June 2024, when youth mobilised online under the hashtag #RejectFinanceBill, and offline, against tax hikes on essential goods. Although President William Ruto later refused to sign that bill into law, the unrest continued into July of the same year. It was met with a violent crackdown from security forces, leading to disappearances, injury and death

But even as the protests faded, public outcry about extrajudicial killings and the conduct of the police continued. The torture and death of blogger Albert Ojwang in police custody last month sparked new outrage, pushing youth to the streets. This overlapped with the commemoration of the June 2024, protests marked by countrywide protests and calls for police accountability and economic mitigation for relief. Protesters accused the police of using live ammunition, abductions, forced disappearances, autopsy cover-ups, and sexual assaults during protests. They also called out hired goons armed with crude weapons, who they said were deployed to disrupt the protest.

These contentions are not new – and even if protests are sometimes criticised, they are a component of political processes in honour of the social contract between those in power and those who put them in those positions. Protests of the 1990s are credited with bringing about democratic gains, including the current constitution. It is no wonder they have been likened to the ongoing protests, yet the behaviour of security forces has almost consistently been repressive and violent.

Between the crackdowns of the 1990s, and the ongoing one against the youth were al-Shabaab attacks that prompted contention between the Muslim community and some human rights activists on one side and security forces on the other. In the auspices of the ‘Global War on Terror’, we witnessed entire communities being subjected to blanket raids, arbitrary detention, and extrajudicial killings in Nairobi, Mombasa and the North-eastern parts of the country. These communities have long been subjected to collective punishment and surveillance, all legitimised through an uncritical security narrative. Operations like Usalama Watch in 2014 branded entire neighbourhoods as security threats, leading to mass arrests—many without charges – yet many remained silent while some even praised the security forces for “dealing squarely” with Kenya’s enemy. The public and even elements within civil society bought into the state’s narrative that the reaction was for public good, and when Muslim organisations raised the alarm, they were dismissed or labelled sympathisers. For example, amidst increased al-Shabaab attacks in 2012, demands for a law against ‘terrorism’ were loudest from sections of the clergy (mostly Christian lobbies) that culminated in the passing of the repressive Prevention of Terrorism Act (2012). This law is highlighted for its emphasis on detention of ‘terrorism’ suspects without trial.

Back to current protests, public narratives show that they enjoy public support just as the 1990s struggle for constitutional rights, despite the infiltration by goons. Protests of the 1990s against the marginalisation of Muslims by subsequent post-independence regimes were also infiltrated by goons and violent elements. They were, however, homogeneously framed as perpetrated by ‘waislamu wenye siasa kali’ (Muslims with extremist views).

So why is it easy to stereotype the actions of certain groups while others get free passes? 

The label attached to an action determines the response it receives. That is why Muslim communities have been on the receiving end of state-driven violence and public condemnation for being sympathisers of ‘terrorism.” Ironically, the very tools of repression—mass surveillance, militarised policing, and narrative manipulation are now being used against the youth in Nairobi and other urban centres. Just as in the anti-terror campaigns, the state is crafting a narrative of fear, framing the protests as foreign-funded, anarchic, and a threat to public order. This time though, civil society organisations are rallying en masse around Gen Z, mobilising legal aid, documenting abuses, and demanding restraint. To say this is contradictory and disturbing is an understatement.

The varying reaction certain movements are accorded compared to others for the same struggle calls for a re-evaluation of how ethnic and religious identities continue to shape relationships vis-à-vis the state. This is not to appease affiliates of groups like al-Shabaab but to call for a rethink. I have, in the past, interviewed both victims and perpetrators of violence, and I can authoritatively say that they are all against the behaviours of one entity: the state! It is all about a call for justice and the state to deliver on its promises. A unified voice is more likely to achieve that goal and faster than fragmentation. There is a need to forge solidarity among civil rights movements in Kenya if they have to win against a repressive regime.

Dr Hawa Noor is Associate Fellow, Institute for Intercultural and International Studies (InIIS), University of Bremen and Youth Engagement Programme Head, Bremen Development Policy Network (BeN). She is the author of, Mobilization for Violent Politicized Islam, Motivations of former participants in al-Shabaab (2024).