From 2007 to 2025: Women's bodies still battlegrounds for political rage
Protesters picketing on Kenyatta Avenue in Nairobi during the commemoration of the Gen-Z protests on June 25, 2025. Some of the women who participated in the protests were sexually abused.
What you need to know:
- Tens of women were gang-raped during anniversary protests, dragged from motorbikes and assaulted for exercising their constitutional right to demonstrate.
- These weren't random attacks—they were calculated assaults designed to send a chilling message to women who dared participate in political life.
Picture this: a young woman boards a boda boda after a peaceful protest, her mind probably still buzzing with thoughts of the change she hopes to see in Kenya. She's exercising her constitutional right, participating in democracy, believing in a better future. Minutes later, she's dragged off that motorbike by armed men, gang-raped, robbed, and left traumatised. Her phone is gone, so she borrows one to call for help, her voice shaking as she tries to explain what just happened.
This isn't fiction. This is what happened to at least 14 women during protests on June 25, 2025. As I processed these reports - that familiar dread settled in my chest; the same feeling I get every time I'm reminded that some people still view women's political participation as an invitation for violence. These weren't random attacks. They were calculated assaults designed to send a chilling message: stay home, stay silent, stay invisible.
The irony is suffocating. These protests marked one year since Kenya witnessed something historically unprecedented—young women leading the charge in the 2024 Gen Z uprising. For the first time in our nation's history, women weren't just participants in political demonstrations; they were the driving force. They commanded the narrative, organised the resistance, and fearlessly occupied spaces traditionally reserved for men. The sight of young women storming Parliament, challenging an entire political system, was revolutionary.
That revolution clearly terrified some people.
Article 37 of our Constitution couldn't be clearer: "Every person has the right, peaceably and unarmed, to assemble, to demonstrate, to picket, and to present petitions to public authorities." It doesn't say "every man." It doesn't exclude women. Yet 14 women discovered that their constitutional right to protest came with an unwritten asterisk— ‘terms and conditions apply if you're female.’
Human empathy
What strikes me most is the disconnect between the attackers' actions and basic human empathy. Every woman violated was someone's daughter, mother, sister, wife, or girlfriend. How would these men feel if their own daughters faced the same brutality after attending a peaceful protest? Would they still find it justified? Would they still think women "deserve it" for daring to have political opinions?
The Sexual Offences Act is unambiguous about the consequences of your actions. Rape carries a minimum sentence of ten years' imprisonment, which can be enhanced to life imprisonment. Gang rape—and most of these attacks involved multiple perpetrators—carries a minimum of 15 years, potentially life imprisonment. These aren't abstract legal provisions; they are promises that society makes to survivors that their suffering matters.
Yet survivors refuse to report these crimes, knowing full well that the same system that failed to protect them during the protest will likely fail them again in courtrooms. They've witnessed the disgusting reality of pseudo-accounts on social media turning their trauma into crude jokes. Anonymous keyboard warriors, too cowardly to show their faces, transform women's pain into entertainment.
The culture that treats rape as a punchline must be called out for what it is—a breeding ground for more violence. Sexual assault isn't comedy material; it's a life sentence for survivors who must navigate sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, and a fundamentally altered relationship with their own bodies. Every joke shared, every meme posted, every casual dismissal of these women's experiences emboldens the next rapist.
The women targeted in these attacks weren't even protesting against their attackers personally. They were demanding better governance, fighting corruption, calling for accountability—causes that should benefit all. Yet some men decided to punish them for caring about our shared future.
Violence has always been the weapon of choice for those threatened by women's voices. Kenyan women didn't retreat from independence struggles despite colonial violence. And Gen Z women won't disappear from political spaces because 14 of their sisters were assaulted.
Every survivor who reached out for help, who continues to exist despite unimaginable trauma, demonstrates extraordinary courage. Their strength reminds us that healing is possible, even when justice feels distant. Women's safety during public participation isn't a favour—it's a constitutional guarantee that law enforcement must uphold. When citizens witness such attacks, intervention becomes a moral imperative.
The women assaulted today might become tomorrow's leaders. But that shouldn't matter. They deserve safety simply because they're human beings exercising their constitutional rights.
Let's continue this conversation—because silence enables the violence to continue.