Resistance reloaded: Vibrant tech-savvy Gen Z rekindles the Saba Saba hot spirit

As Kenya marks the 35th anniversary of Saba Saba, a peculiar sense of déjà vu hangs over the streets.

In 1990, it was young people who dared to defy a repressive one-party regime, demanding multiparty democracy. Now, in 2025, their children, and in some cases, their grandchildren, are once again taking to the streets.

But this time, they are armed not with leaflets or party slogans, but with data, defiance, and digital tools.

Where Kenneth Matiba, Charles Rubia and Raila Odinga once stood at the helm of Kenya’s democratic awakening, today’s resistance has no single face.

The protests of 2025 are being led by a faceless, leaderless, meme-savvy generation: Kenya’s Gen Z. Mobilised online and emboldened offline, they are loud, decentralised, and creatively fearless. Yet the message they carry echoes that of their predecessors.

Remembering Saba Saba

On the morning of July 7, 1990, Nairobi erupted in protest. Fuelled by economic hardship and years of political repression, demonstrators, many of them students, hawkers and the unemployed, marched through the city chanting, “No reforms, no peace.”

The State responded with force: tear gas, rubber bullets, mass detentions, and a brutal crackdown that would leave scars for decades.

James Ngugi, an academic and County Executive Committee Member for Environment in Kajiado County, says the early 1990s were a defining moment in Kenya’s political history, when the tide began to turn against the monolithic one-party rule of Kanu.

“At the time, Kenya was essentially a dictatorship. You couldn’t hope to be elected unless you were a card-carrying member of the ruling party. The disciplinary committee within Kanu was a powerful tool, its decisions were final. If they didn’t like what you said, or if you even hinted at criticism, you would be branded a dissident,” ” Ngugi recalls.

Such an environment stifled free thought and political expression. Yet amid the fear, a defiant spirit was brewing, especially in universities and churches.

“We had brave clergy like Bishop Alexander Muge, Reverend Henry Okullu, Reverend Timothy Njoya, Cardinal Otunga and Manasseh Kuria, who used their pulpits to call for change. Their sermons were fiery, unflinching, and deeply inspiring,” recalls lawyer Kenneth Essendi.

According to Essendi, protestors and dissidents were charged under laws rooted in colonial counter-insurgency, such as sedition and public disturbance statutes, which criminalized freedom of expression and assembly.

Further, due to lack of judicial independence, courts often sided with the executive or were circumvented entirely.

Essendi says that boomers generally adopted a strategy of compliance and patience, as open activism could result in severe personal and professional consequences.

“Boomers faced more overt repression with fewer legal protections, while Gen Z operates in a more legally protected but still dangerous environment, with greater visibility and legal recourse,” he notes.

Ngugi, then a university student, situates Kenya’s struggle within a broader global context.

“It is important to remember this was happening around the world. The collapse of the Soviet Union had forced many nations to re-examine their own democracies. The US, which had long supported autocratic regimes in the name of fighting communism, began shifting its stance. Suddenly, questioning your government didn’t mean you were a communist, it meant you were demanding your rights,” he explains.

On Kenyan campuses, the intellectual ferment was palpable.

“Lecturers like Anyang’ Nyong’o were very vocal, critical of capitalism, and unapologetically radical. They gave us language, courage, and political education,” he says.

The contrast between the ruling elite, many of whom lacked formal education, and the rising class of politically aware university students was stark.

“We looked at them and thought, ‘How can they have so much power when they know so little?’ That disparity didn’t sit well with us,” notes Ngugi.

The universities became hotbeds of dissent, shaped by what Ngugi calls the Young Turks, a group of radical lecturers and politicians who acted as intellectual mentors and moral compasses for emerging student leaders.

“People like Kabando wa Kabando and others began finding their voice at that time. And they weren’t alone. Many young men, like Titus Adungosi, paid a steep price for speaking out. He was imprisoned for his activism,” says Ngugi.

Ngugi draws parallels between that moment and the present.

“It is not very different from what we see now. Back then, we were calling for a new constitution, for multiparty democracy, and for the freedom to move, speak, and think without fear. Nairobi would come to a standstill during demonstrations. It felt like something big was shifting.”

It was, in many ways, the beginning of Kenya’s long, uneven journey toward democracy, and a reminder that, often, it is the youth, armed with ideas and idealism, who dare to demand more from those in authority.

Despite the violence, the courage of those moments became a turning point in Kenya’s political history. The Saba Saba uprising laid the groundwork for the return of multiparty democracy and set a precedent for public dissent in the face of authoritarianism.

Fast forward to 2024 and 2025, and the same spirit is once again coursing through Kenya’s streets, though now in a vastly different form.

The trigger this time was the controversial Finance Bill 2024, which landed like a hammer on an already strained population. The youth responded instantly, not with press conferences, but with trending hashtags, TikToks, and fiery X (formerly Twitter) messages.

From Nairobi’s Central Business District (CBD) to Kisumu and Mombasa, waves of Gen Z demonstrators poured into the streets, unified by shared outrage and a potent sense of digital belonging. They had no political backing, no civil society infrastructure. What they had was anger, grief, creativity and the Internet.

“We are the children of the ones who marched before. Only now, our placards glow. Our resistance trends,” said Ivy Moraa, a 23-year-old law student.

“In 1990, organising protests meant secret meetings, coded messages, and mimeographed flyers. In 2025, it takes an encrypted group chat and a viral graphic. Virtual town halls are held on X Spaces with over 100,000 listeners. A single video of a protester being dragged into an unmarked car sparks national outrage within minutes,” says Pete Ouko, the Executive Director at Youth Safety Awareness Initiative.

Protesters now livestream confrontations. Artists release digital posters faster than they can be printed. The Internet has become both the front line and the shield of the modern protester, a place to strategise, expose, and mobilise.

But just like in the ‘90s, the State has responded with familiar tactics: abductions under the cover of night, Internet throttling, arrests, and attempts at digital censorship.

“You may jam one hashtag, but ten more will rise,” said Nellias Otieno, a 19-year-old designer. This generation, raised on memes and misinformation wars, is hardwired for rapid adaptation. They are tech-native, camera-ready, and far more difficult to silence.

While past protests leaned heavily on church groups and civil society, Gen Z thrives on crowd-sourced organizing, peer-to-peer safety networks, and real-time digital documentation. It is a do-it-yourself protest culture, as agile as it is unpredictable.

“Today’s protests are more than marches; they are movements of artistic and cultural expression. Graffiti now adorns walls along Tom Mboya Street. Protesters turn sidewalks into stages, and banners into fashion statements,” says rapper Monaja, whose album June 25th, is dedicated to the movement. 

Musicians like King Kaka, Octopizzo, and Femi One have added their voices to the cause. Stylists design statement-wear for demonstrators. Even gospel artistes are composing protest hymns. The arts, long at the fringes of resistance, are now essential.

“The arts have returned to the core of our national conscience. Just like in the 90s,” said Kimani Njogu, a cultural analyst.

The parallels between generations are striking. Then and now, youth have risked their freedom and lives to demand a better Kenya. But the differences reveal a profound evolution.

Protest or paradigm shift?

As the country commemorates Saba Saba, many wonder if this Gen Z uprising is merely a passing storm or the start of a new political paradigm. If history is any guide, the answer may lie in their unflinching demand for accountability, not just from elected officials, but from public figures, influencers, and even one another.

Where older generations used petitions, Gen Z wields culture. Where silence was once safety, now it is complicity.

Their protest extends beyond the street into the digital and cultural spheres, a 360-degree movement that demands engagement from all corners of society.

Despite of their different approaches, one constant remains: Kenya’s youth are never still. Whether in 1990 or 2025, the clarion call remains the same: “Tumechoka” (We are tired).

“In their coded posts, their dancing protests, their documented detainments, today’s young Kenyans are writing the next chapter of a decades-long struggle. Only now, they are doing it live on video, in hashtags, with the world watching in real time,” says Ouko.

Though separated by three and a half decades, the spirit of Kenya’s protest movements in 1990 and 2025 reveal striking parallels, and key evolutions.

“Back in 1990, the rallying cry was for multiparty democracy. Today, the demand has shifted to calls for transparency, equity, and economic justice. While the earlier movement leaned on town halls, church gatherings, and leaflets smuggled through campuses, Gen Z’s version plays out on hashtags, viral videos, and encrypted chats,” notes Essendi.

According to Essendi, leadership, too, has transformed. Where Saba Saba was fronted by well-known political figures like Matiba, Rubia, and Odinga, today’s protests are leaderless and decentralised by design; a tactical strength that makes infiltration and co-option harder.

“The State’s response, sadly, has changed little,” he says.

Photos by Kanyiri Wahito, File/Standard