Tribute to Raila Odinga, the man who shaped my generation
Opinion
By
Juliet Omelo
| Oct 20, 2025
Kenya is a different country today—quieter and heavier—as though a familiar voice has suddenly gone silent.
For as long as I can remember, Raila Amolo Odinga was a constant presence in our public life—a man whose courage shaped our politics, whose resilience stirred our conscience, and whose dreams forced us to imagine a better nation.
His passing feels like the end of a long chapter in our history, and as the country mourns, I find myself reflecting on the journey we took with him: the hopes, the heartbreaks, the fights for freedom, and the unshaken belief that Kenya could always be more.
Raila was never just a politician. He was a force. A tide. A stubborn flame that refused to go out, even when the winds of power, betrayal, and brutality tried their hardest to snuff it.
By the time I was old enough to understand the meaning of democracy, Raila was already at its frontlines—challenging a system that demanded silence, urging Kenyans to speak, to question, and to stand.
His life was a long, unbroken argument with injustice.
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The moment that first defined him for my generation came in 2002, when he stood before the nation and uttered the words that changed Kenya’s political destiny: “Kibaki Tosha.”
It would have been easy for him to chase the presidency then. Instead, he surrendered personal ambition for a national breakthrough.
That single gesture ended four decades of one-party dominance and ushered in a new democratic era. From that day, we learned that leadership is not always about ascending—sometimes it is about lifting others.
The 2005 referendum deepened his bond with the people. It was loud and colourful—a political awakening for many.
Raila, at the helm of the Orange movement, taught us to challenge authority with clarity and courage.
ODM was not merely a party; it was a feeling, a shared heartbeat, a space where ordinary citizens believed their voices mattered. Through him, civic participation became something living, something urgent.
But it was the painful events of 2007 and 2008 that revealed the weight Raila was willing to carry for the country.
Kenya burned. Communities bled. Hope shook. In that moment, he accepted the role of Prime Minister—not as a trophy, but as a duty—a commitment to stitching together a nation on the brink of tearing apart.
It was never the power he wanted; it was the justice he believed every Kenyan deserved. He taught us that real leadership sometimes means calming the storm, even when you walk away wounded.
The 2010 Constitution, one of the most transformative moments in our republican history, bore the imprint of his lifelong struggle for equity and accountability.
Devolution, rights, and institutional checks became pillars of the state, and for the first time, many felt that government belonged to the people, not the powerful. It was Raila’s vision of a fairer, freer Kenya—translated into law.
Then came the bitter election cycles of 2013 and 2017. Each time, the nation split. Each time, he returned to the courts, choosing the pen over the panga, the Constitution over chaos.
My generation watched him normalise institutional contest, showing us that justice can be pursued without drenching the streets in fear.
When the Supreme Court annulled the 2017 election, it was not just his victory—it was a victory for every believer in democracy on this continent. And, as he so often did, he surprised us again. The Handshake—unexpected, controversial, but ultimately calming—lowered the political temperature and allowed a restless nation to breathe.
Raila chose reconciliation over revenge. He taught us that peace is not a sign of weakness, but of maturity.
His final attempt at the presidency was a moment of hope and clarity for many. When the results did not fall in his favor, he conceded the moment without surrendering the dream.
It was perhaps his final lesson to us in resilience and grace: that a life of service is not measured by a title, but by impact.
Beyond Kenya, he stood tall as an African statesman—a mediator, a reformer, a continental voice for justice.
His influence stretched from capitals to townships, from parliaments to street corners, from liberation history to the dreams of future generations.
And now, he rests.
Raila’s departure feels like losing a guardian of our democracy, a voice that insisted Kenya must always choose courage over comfort.
Yet in the quiet of his absence, there is a profound peace. He ran his race. He gave his all. He spent his life in service of a nation that did not always reward him, but one he loved without hesitation.
As I reflect on his legacy, I am not left with sorrow alone, but with gratitude. Raila Odinga awakened our political consciousness.
He taught us to care, to question, to participate, and to hope. He taught us that patriotism is not submission, but responsibility.
He dared us to believe that Kenya could grow up—and, in many ways, under his watch, it did.
For me, this tribute is not about politics. It is about memory. It is about the soundtrack of our nationhood.
It is about the rallies on dusty grounds, the chants that echoed through stadiums, the court rulings that stopped the country, the handshakes that healed it, and the dream that still hovers—the dream of a just, united, democratic Kenya.
Raila Amolo Odinga may never wear the presidential sash, but he shaped the presidency. He may never have sat on the throne, but he redefined its power. He may not have won the state, but he won the nation—especially mine: the generation that came of age in the Raila era.
Farewell, Agwambo. Thank you for the sacrifices you made, the burdens you carried, and the freedoms you fought for.
You did not win every battle, but you won something greater: the soul of a generation. May you rest in eternal peace, and may your dream live on in all of us who still believe in the Kenya you imagined.
Rest well, Baba.