Smart protests: How the digital generation revolutised dissent

Running battles, chants of defiance, and a cascade of hashtags marked the beginning of what would become Kenya’s most significant youth-led political movement last year.

But its origins weren’t due to the political factors or the chambers of Parliament it began in the digital trenches, in tweets, memes, livestreams, and impassioned hashtags from a generation no longer willing to remain silent.

Even more symbolically, the hashtag #OccupyParliament, which first emerged in 2011 during a previous protest era, resurfaced this time with the full force of an online-native generation determined to shake the foundations of authority. Like a dormant volcano, it erupted anew, and from memes to marches, livestreams to candlelight vigils, the resistance was as present on the timeline as it was in the streets.

According to Nendo, a leading research marketing firm, more than 25 million posts were generated between June 12 and July 1 across just three hashtags. #RejectFinanceBill2024, #OccupyParliament, and #RutoMustGo. While artificial intelligence tools initially tracked the birth of the #RejectFinanceBill movement to June 12, a deeper dive into Kenya’s digital space reveals that its true ignition point was June 13.

It all began with a tweet, a simple expression of disbelief at the Finance Bill 2024’s tax proposals, which were to make the life of Kenyans harder than the condition in which they were in. That tweet became a spark, and by the end of May, a digital wildfire had taken over Kenya’s social media platforms.

Young Kenyans, many of whom had never engaged in public discourse on taxation or governance, began dissecting the Bill clause by clause, turning legislative jargon into plain language that could be understood by the boda rider in Kisumu, the student in Nakuru, and the mama mboga in Nairobi.

Platforms like X, TikTok, and Instagram became classrooms, strategy rooms, and war rooms. What was once a space for gossip and entertainment transformed overnight into a terrain of civic education and mass mobilization.

Hashtags such as #RejectFinanceBill2024 and #GenZRevolution quickly gained traction, as youth-led creators began crafting short, digestible content explaining how the Bill would affect the average Kenyan.

They highlighted taxes on fuel, diapers, menstrual products, digital content, and even introduced a 2.5% motor vehicle levy that angered working-class car owners. Each clause became a digital bullet point in a growing manifesto of outrage.

 One of the movement’s most vocal participants, Anita Barasa, a Gen Z activist who spoke to The Standard, explained that the shift to serious online engagement was neither accidental nor spontaneous.

 She is convinced it was strategic and well-coordinated. Online creators encouraged each other to speak up, amplifying each other's messages and igniting a wave of awareness.

 “Honestly, it worked because we were really intentional about showing up for each other,” she said.

 Adding that; “The creators who had a strong voice online made sure to speak up and encouraged their fellow creators to do the same. It was like a ripple effect. Once the message started circulating, their audiences picked it up and kept it going. That’s the beauty of social media: everyone’s already there, so information moves fast.”

 Anita also acknowledged the role of traditional media, noting that it extended the reach of the movement beyond the digital bubble. She pointed out that interviews and television appearances ensured the message reached older generations and rural audiences who may not be active on social media. 

“Not everyone’s on Instagram or Twitter, so having those conversations on TV and radio meant we were including people who might have otherwise been left out at the end of the day, mobilization in 2024 looked like meeting people where they are online, offline, everywhere. That’s what made it powerful. We were loud and intentional.”, she explained.

 James Mulamba, another Gen Z activist, recalled how leading figures in the movement used X Spaces and other digital forums to educate the public on fiscal matters, state accountability, and the historical mismanagement of public funds. These sessions empowered previously passive followers, turning them into informed and vocal protesters.

 “Leading figures in the movement used X spaces and other digital platforms to educate the public on matters the budget and how there was mismanagement of public funds, which led to the movement gaining mass following and being vocal, “said Mulamba.

Beneath the tactics, though, was something deeper. Anita described the emotional core of the movement as a rejection of generational fear and enforced silence.

 “Fear was inherited mobilization was the rebellion,” she said, adding, “It was not fear of the system, but fear of losing ourselves, of staying quiet when we knew we shouldn’t. Of inheriting the silence our ancestors were forced into.”

 The energy was unmistakable; thousands of young people who had never before attended a political protest were suddenly organizing rallies, sharing infographics, and attending community teach-ins.

 Their methods were both serious and satirical the content was humorous and sharp memes, skits, AI-generated bots like “Finance Bill GPT” and “Corrupt Leaders GPT” but underneath the humor lay under a layer of  deep and righteous anger.

 These bots were not jokes; they were tools. Finance Bill GPT calculated how much more Kenyans would pay under the new tax regime. Corrupt Leaders GPT connected Members of Parliament to past scandals. Every tool was another blow against a system that had for too long relied on ignorance and apathy.

 As the online resistance gained momentum, digital organisation spilled into the real world. Protest checklists spread on telegram, Instagram and titkok: wear comfortable shoes, carry water, carry your national ID, save a lawyer’s number.

 Flyers with safety tips were circulated, plastered with Kenyan flags, clenched fists, and slogans. X Spaces became round-the-clock town halls where protestors strategized, vented, and supported one another in real time.

Yet the political class was quick to sneer. National Assembly Majority Leader Kimani Ichung’wah dismissed the protesters as “Cerelac-eating, smartphone generation” who didn’t understand economic realities. 

"The Gen Z have iphones and use Ubers to protest. Wanatoka maandamano wanaingia KFC kukula kuku na minofu, maji ni ile ya chup[a...si mliwaona? Hawajui shida stima ni kitu gani...wako na umeme 24/7," he said.

 Speaking from Elgeyo Marakwet, he mocked their use of Ubers, iPhones, and post-protest KFC. Kapseret MP Oscar Sudi suggested that even his own child might be among them but still didn’t know what the Finance Bill contained.

 The remarks triggered a tsunami of sarcastic memes. Cerelac tins, smartphones, and Kenyan flags became emblems of rebellion. Online, it was dubbed “The Cerelac Revolution” and instead of deterring the movement, the mockery supercharged it.

 No amount of ridicule could undermine the resolve of the movement explicitly rejected tribalism, partisanship, and violence they insisted this was not about Raila or Ruto, Kikuyu or Luo it was about economic justice, dignity, and the right to exist without being taxed into poverty.

 The first major protest was staged in Nairobi’s Central Business District. It was leaderless, organic, and disciplined. Protesters carried placards, flags, and phones. They sang, danced, and marched peacefully through the streets. Some wore shirts emblazoned with messages like “Hatutaki Bill,” “Stop Killing Us,” and “We Are the New Opposition.”

 But what began as peaceful resistance soon turned tragic that evening along Moi Avenue, 29-year-old Rex Masai was shot and killed by police while fleeing, his final moments, captured on video, showed him bleeding in the street.

 That footage quickly went viral. In death, Rex became a martyr. His face was splashed across posters, his name chanted at vigils, and his story invoked in every protest that followed. 'Justice for Rex' became the heartbeat of the movement. The Kenya Red Cross reported 39 injuries that day, eight of them critical.

 What followed was an escalation, not a retreat. Protests spread across the country, Kisumu, Mombasa, Nakuru, Eldoret, Kakamega, Nyeri towns and cities where Gen Z had never marched before. They came in even larger numbers, with roses instead of rocks, candlelight instead of chaos. The digital revolution had become a physical reckoning.

Yet the state responded with repression. The recent arrest of Rose Njeri, an IT expert and civic tech organiser, for building a website where citizens could input opinions on the Finance Bill 2025 sent waves of fear through the ranks. Some organisers deleted their accounts. Others disappeared from public view, no longer willing to speak, even to friends. But in true Gen Z fashion, the movement adapted.

 They moved to encrypted platforms. WhatsApp and Telegram replaced open tweets. Crowdfunding financed transportation and placards. A website listing MPs who voted for the Bill dubbed the “Wall of Shame” went live. Legal forums and virtual classes taught citizens their constitutional rights. Artists flooded timelines with protest art. Doctors shared infographics on how to treat injuries from tear gas. Even AI tools were repurposed to spread civic education.

There was no central figure, and that was the strength. The movement was fluid, collective, and transcended tribe, party, and class. It was defined by courage, fueled by grief, and sustained by solidarity.

 And as the political landscape continues to shift, many Gen Z members are setting their eyes on the ballot box. Some have already declared intentions to run for office in the 2027 elections.

“We are not our parents. We will not be silenced by fear. We are the new opposition,” one young Kenyan boldly declared on a live X Space. That defiance that fire may have started in the glow of a screen, but now it lives in the streets, in the halls of Parliament, and in the hearts of a generation unwilling to wait for change.

 Ernest Cornel a senior communications officer at the Kenya Human Rights Commission, said that the movement was not a new one as it had happened during the Kanu Regime where the likes of Willy Mutunga, Gitobu Imanyara led a revolutionary movement that made Multi-party democracy be achieved.

“It is not a new movement, during the Moi era the likes of Willy Mutunga and Gitobu Imanyara led such movements, the difference was just that the Gen Z revolt of last year had the aspect of digital activism in it which made the revolt a success, and this kind of revolutions are not to end shortly.” Ernest said.

 According to Otsieno Namwaya, an Assistant Director at the Human Rights watch,"This betrayal didn’t start with the bill. It was a saga of stagnated hope. From Kibaki’s economic bloom to Uhuru and Ruto’s rule, the dream dimmed with each passing government. A generation watched, waited and finally decided that enough and decided to go to the streets.” 

He further described the Finance Bill 2024  as the matchstick that lit the revolution by proposing taxes on essential goods such as fuel, bread, and digital services.

 “The finance bill 2024 became the matchstick by proposing taxes on essentials fuel, bread, and digital services which were essential services it was seen as a cruel slap during a time of rising unemployment and economic strain and to the citizens this was a final insult and found a generation that was tech-savvy and tired and so they took to the trenches of Twitter, TikTok, and Telegram with rallying cries that the bill was to be rejected,” Namwaya said.