Missing political supremo, the vacuum disturbing ODM

There is a story in the Book of Exodus about Moses, who led his people to the edge of the promised land but was not allowed to enter.

He climbed Mount Nebo, looked across the hills and valleys he would never step upon, and there he died.  His death left not just a grieving nation, but also an urgent question of succession.

Who would lead now? Who would confront Pharaoh? Who would read the mood and calm a restless nation at the edge of transition? In Moses’ absence, the mantle fell to Joshua, son of Nun, described in scripture as one "in whom is the Spirit."

For Kenya’s opposition politics, the death of Raila Odinga last October in India provoked a comparable moment of reckoning. For more than three decades, Raila was not simply a contender for power; he was the organising centre of opposition politics.

He was the architect of coalitions and the voice that could summon crowds from Kibera to Wajir, Mombasa to Kakamega. He remained the focal point of resistance across successive administrations. His presence shaped the structure and tone of opposition in Kenya. His absence has forced a redefinition of it.

What remains today is not merely a leadership vacuum within the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), the party forged in street struggles, and one now wandering in the wilderness of succession. It is a national vacuum in structured opposition politics.

The transformation had begun even before his death at 80. Raila’s decision to enter into a “broad-based government” arrangement with President William Ruto at the height of the June 2024 Gen-Z protests fundamentally altered the architecture of opposition politics. The familiar rhythm of street rallies and sustained extra-parliamentary agitation softened. ODM figures took cabinet slots.

The once-binary contest between government and opposition blurred. For many young Kenyans who had protested high taxation and governance concerns, the arrangement blurred familiar lines. After Raila’s death, that ambiguity hardened into uncertainty.

Ahero and the shifting mood

The uncertainty surfaced publicly in Ahero, Kisumu County. Homa Bay Governor and ODM chairperson Gladys Wanga addressed residents during a “Linda Ground” mobilisation tour. She urged support for the Oburu Oginga–aligned wing of ODM, viewed as sympathetic to President Ruto’s anticipated 2027 re-election bid. Sections of the crowd responded by chanting in support of Nairobi Senator Edwin Sifuna and Embakasi East MP Babu Owino, both vocal party critics of the broad-based arrangement. Wanga’s voice was drowned out. Videos circulated rapidly online, capturing the awkwardness of a senior party leader appealing to a base that appeared restless, even defiant.

The symbolism was significant. Luo Nyanza, historically unified behind ODM leadership, appeared to be expressing divergent views. The episode did not in itself determine the direction of party politics, but it reflected internal tensions that have grown more visible since Raila’s death.

Just days earlier, when Sifuna’s inaugural “Linda Mwananchi” convoy snaked through Ugunja en route to Busia, supporters surged forward, forcing vehicles to slow as they strained for a glimpse of the man a section of ODM honchos now label a rebel. A second rally in Kitengela drew thousands more. The contrast between the reception in Ahero and the enthusiasm at Sifuna’s events fed perceptions of recalibration within ODM’s base.

Online commentator Kevin Kenneth Okoth distilled the moment bluntly on his X space. The debate over the Busia and Kitengela crowds, he argues, reflected a predictable reflex in Kenyan politics: dismiss what you cannot explain. Some leaders claimed the turnout was engineered by rival formations. Others insisted that crowds do not equal votes. Yet, as Okoth notes, organic crowds are the envy of every serious politician in Kenya. Genuine political energy, particularly youth-driven energy, cannot be manufactured indefinitely. It reveals itself through spontaneous connection.

In Kitengela, for example, the chants of “Mimi ndio Sifuna” suggested something deeper than routine mobilisation. No serious politician aspires to address a rally filled only with loyalists. Leadership is measured by the ability to draw beyond one’s base and electrify a broader audience. For Okoth, the crowd’s composition, youthful, diverse and not confined to party diehards, pointed to genuine resonance with a generation increasingly impatient with traditional power blocs, and yawning for bold, relatable, and assertive leadership, away from the Wamunyoro camp to Kalonzo’s brand of establishment politics, both of which have struggled to fully satisfy that appetite for change.

If that momentum consolidates consistently, particularly across ODM’s traditional bastions such as Nairobi, Nyanza, Western Kenya, Mombasa and other major urban centres, Okoth argues it could represent the early tremors of a broader political realignment, reinforcing the perception that Sifuna is emerging as a credible heir to the opposition mantle.

Sifuna’s reception beyond ODM’s conventional base, coupled with the controversy surrounding his February 11 ouster as Secretary General, has further amplified that perception. Rather than diminishing his profile, the episode appeared to elevate it, drawing expressions of support from figures outside his immediate camp and reinforcing the notion that his relevance extends beyond internal party contestation.

Among those voices was Martha Karua, who reacted to his removal by stating, “Edwin Sifuna is an asset to any party he joins. We should let him choose his own path; he might come back bigger and better.” The People’s Liberation Party leader, and a prominent figure within the United Opposition, framed his exit not as a setback, but as a moment that could redefine his political trajectory.

Her statement highlighted a broader sentiment that Sifuna’s trajectory may carry implications not just for ODM’s internal dynamics, but for the architecture of the opposition at large. While crowd size alone does not determine electoral outcomes, visible shifts in public engagement can influence broader narratives.

The weight of history

The scale of the current transition is best understood against the backdrop of Raila’s political history. His opposition credentials were shaped in the 1980s and 1990s furnace, when dissent invited detention without trial and multiparty democracy was branded subversion. Following the 1988 “mlolongo” queue-voting system, which replaced secret ballots with public line-ups behind candidate photographs, reformists mobilised through formations such as the National Convention Executive Council (NCEC) and the Citizens Coalition for Constitutional Change (4Cs).

Protests in the 1990s exacted a heavy price. Activists, students and politicians faced repression. Raila, alongside figures including James Orengo, one of Sifuna’s foremost current defenders, Paul Muite, and Dr. Willy Mutunga, pressed for the repeal of Section 2A of the Constitution. When President Daniel Arap Moi conceded in December 1991, multiparty pluralism was restored.

For the next three decades, until his demise four months ago, Raila embodied structured opposition. He lost five presidential contests but retained relevance as the fulcrum of opposition politics after every defeat. His rallies blended grievance and hope. Even adversaries conceded that he embodied resistance. His presence provided a national counterweight to successive administrations. With his death, that centre of gravity dissolved.

President Ruto, who cut his political teeth as a fiery oppositionist in the early 2000s, now sits in State House, presiding over the same system he once railed against. His former deputy, Rigathi Gachagua, whose impeachment in 2024 might have positioned him as an anti-establishment voice, commands a different political image. Gachagua’s influence is anchored primarily in the Mt. Kenya region.

From his Wamunyoro home, where he has established a parallel seat of power, he hosts a steady stream of largely his Mt Kenya leaders advancing what allies describe as a solidarity-based “Kamwene” philosophy. The strategy has mobilised grievances over perceived marginalisation and the abrupt end of his tenure, but it does not translate to Kisumu, Kakamega, Mombasa, or Garissa. Critics characterise it as carrying a distinctly village aura potent within its base yet limited in national reach.

The search for a figure capable of articulating a cross-regional opposition narrative, therefore, continues.

Sifuna’s profile differs in composition. A 44-year-old lawyer from Kakamega representing Nairobi City County in the Senate, he embodies a cosmopolitan constituency. Nairobi’s electorate is multi-ethnic, urban and demographically young. Sifuna’s parliamentary interventions and legal background have given him national visibility beyond party structures. His refusal to endorse the broad-based arrangement and, by extension, President Ruto’s re-election has further distinguished him within and beyond ODM.

The June 2024 Gen-Z protests altered the political conversation. Fueled by X spaces, TikTok videos and online mobilisation rather than traditional rallies, the uprising was decentralised and leaderless. Yet leaderless movements often seek institutional expression. In that search for political vessels, Sifuna’s stance has attracted attention. His sustained criticism of government policies and his positioning outside the executive framework have placed him among the most visible figures in that generational space, distinct from the traditional political class.

He is not alone in opposition calculations, however. Wiper leader Kalonzo Musyoka, in December, announced plans for a “United Opposition” coalition to name a joint presidential candidate by March 2026. With potential backing from figures such as Martha Karua, Eugene Wamalwa and even Gachagua, Kalonzo presents himself as a consensus builder. His appeal, however, remains strongest within the Kamba bloc and among older voters who prize decorum. His two previous stints as Raila’s running mate have shaped perceptions of him as a perennial bridesmaid rather than a disruptive force.

Former Interior Cabinet Secretary Fred Matiang’i has also signaled interest in the high-voltage politics. Analysts, however, describe him as a technocrat without an opposition edge: disciplined and experienced in government, yet lacking the spine and rebellious spirit and the stamina that can galvanise street-level appeal that rallies crowds. Another potential opposition animal is the Trans Nzoia Governor George Natembeya, who commands loyalty in parts of Western Kenya and has been seen as an emerging Luhya kingpin, though his influence has yet to crystallise into a compelling national aura.

Against this backdrop, Sifuna’s trajectory remains attractive, promising, and hard to ignore at least for now. Professor Peter Kagwanja of the Africa Policy Institute characterises the senator’s posture as strategic positioning rather than spontaneous defiance. In Kenya’s high-stakes succession politics, Kagwanja suggests, Sifuna could emerge not only as a principal contender but as a decisive broker – a potential “Third Force” capable of dislodging or influencing who ultimately faces President Ruto in 2027.

Internal fault lines

ODM’s internal tensions complicate the equation. ODM’s internal configuration complicates succession. A section of its leadership participates in government, including Cabinet Secretaries John Mbadi, Hassan Joho, Opiyo Wandayi and Wycliffe Oparanya. Another wing argues the party must retain a clear oppositional identity. The tension reflects a structural question: can a party born in protest sustain its core identity while embedded within executive structures? Its orange symbol emerged from the 2005 constitutional referendum campaign, itself rooted in reform agitation.

Scholar Macharia Munene has previously cautioned that personality-driven parties risk fragmentation without strong ideological anchors. ODM’s support base spans Luo-dominated Nyanza and Luhya-majority Western Kenya. Leadership recalibration carries both risks and opportunities for cross-regional consolidation.  If mishandled, Sifuna’s rise or exit could not only inflame ethnic polarization but also take the youth and the urban poor with him, potentially leaving ODM a hollow shell of its former self. And if managed well, it could deepen cross-regional alliances.

Suba South MP Caroli Omondi has warned that supporters outside Luo Nyanza feel increasingly peripheral in internal calculations. He argues that ODM must guard against contraction into a narrow regional formation. His remarks highlight the dual challenge confronting Sifuna: to preserve ODM’s national reach or to craft a broader opposition platform beyond it.

The Odinga family’s posture has also shaped perceptions. Kisumu Woman Representative Ruth Odinga publicly criticised Sifuna’s removal as Secretary General, describing the National Executive Committee meeting as flawed. Other family members have remained measured. The interplay between legacy and succession continues to influence party dynamics.

Crowds and conversion

The central question remains whether crowd momentum can translate into durable political architecture. Kenyan politics has witnessed charismatic surges before. Rallies ignite enthusiasm. Social media amplifies symbolism. Yet elections are won through coalitions, resources and organisational depth.

Sifuna’s legal challenge over his removal may affect his institutional leverage within ODM. Beyond internal matters, analysts argue that any figure seeking national opposition leadership must articulate a clear economic framework addressing taxation, unemployment and cost-of-living pressures that animated the Gen-Z protests.

Social rights scholar Morris Odhiambo notes that durable movements require policy coherence. Mobilisation without structured alternatives tends to dissipate over time. Sifuna’s Luhya heritage, combined with his Nairobi constituency, gives him cross-regional visibility, but sustained influence will require structured platforms.

Beyond the shadow

The former Prime Minister Raila Odinga’s influence defined an era.  Few figures in Kenyan politics have embodied opposition so completely. Replacing such a presence requires narrative coherence, organisational depth and national reach.

Whether Senator Sifuna ultimately becomes the modern Joshua to lead Kenya into a new political promised land remains to be seen and will depend on factors beyond his control.  What is clear is that Kenya’s opposition vacuum will not remain vacant indefinitely. Political space abhors a void; energy gravitates toward articulation.

In the biblical allegory, Joshua did not replicate Moses. He charted a different course, shaped by a new generation and different circumstances.

For now, much of that adaptive energy converges around the Senator from Nairobi City County. The coming months will test whether the momentum observed in Busia, Kitengela and Kakamega can be institutionalised, whether ODM’s internal fissures can be managed, and whether generational enthusiasm can be converted into a durable national architecture. Kenya’s opposition politics stand at a transitional moment. The contours of its next chapter are still forming.