Why Ruto's apology to young people was not good enough

A protester flees from teargas lobbed at  along  Moi Avenue, Nairobi during the anti-government protests on July 16,2024. [Collins Kweyu, Standard]

On a calm afternoon, President William Ruto stood before the nation and issued a half-hearted apology to Kenya’s youth. “If the Gen Zs were wronged, then sorry,” he said, brushing past a moment that should have been marked by solemn national reflection. It was not the apology Kenya needed. It was a pseudo-lawyerly deflection masquerading as empathy. And that “if”—small as it is—did too much heavy lifting.

It suspended truth in midair, as though there is still ambiguity over whether state power has been misused against a generation that is now the face of civic awakening in Kenya. Less than a week after that statement, Rose Njeri was arrested—not for rioting, not for destruction of property, not for inciting violence. She was arrested for doing what the Constitution not only permits but requires: Facilitating public participation on the Finance Bill 2025.

In a country governed by the Constitution—an instrument forged in the furnace of reform struggles and people’s resistance—public participation is not a favour granted by the state. It is a right. It is a duty. It is, in fact, a cornerstone of Kenya’s constitutional democracy.

Yet Rose was picked up by police for asking fellow citizens to submit their views on one of the most consequential legislative proposals of the year. This is not just overreach. This is State-sanctioned repression.

Let us be clear: When the youth begin organising forums to understand the implications of the Finance Bill—on digital taxation, bread prices, student loans, fuel, or housing levies—they are not undermining the state.

They are strengthening the republic. But when the state responds to that civic engagement with criminal arrests, intimidation, and silence, the line between governance and authoritarianism begins to blur.

The question now is not whether the state has wronged Gen Z. It is how long it will continue to do so.

Kenya is not a dictatorship—yet. But the signs of democratic decline are unmistakable. When a state begins to treat civic consciousness as subversion, and public participation as provocation, then the institutions of democracy are not just weakening—they are being hollowed out.

We must ask ourselves: When is a country considered to be degenerating into a failed state? Is it when its citizens loot and burn in the streets? Or is it when the state abandons the rule of law, detains its critics arbitrarily, and criminalises constitutionally protected activities?

History teaches us that anarchy does not always come in the form of riots. Sometimes, it arrives dressed in uniforms, carrying handcuffs, and backed by official silence. Sometimes, it is slow, administrative, and procedural—but no less lethal to freedom.

The arrest of Rose Njeri is not an isolated case. It fits a pattern. In the last two years, we have seen a worrying increase in arrests of online activists, student leaders, journalists, and whistleblowers. Police powers are being used not to protect citizens, but to punish those who speak up. And this is happening while the same government speaks of the digital economy, youth innovation, and a "listening presidency."

You cannot praise youth civic engagement in public, then prosecute it in private. You will be practising democracy in reverse. Public participation is enshrined in Article 10 of our Constitution. The courts have repeatedly emphasised its centrality in governance. It is not a procedural checkbox. It is substantive. It is about involving citizens in decisions that affect them. It is, in the words of the Supreme Court, a safeguard against impunity and excess.

The Finance Bill 2025 touches every Kenyan’s life. It determines what prices will go up, what services will be cut, and what freedoms will shrink under the weight of economic strain. That young people are leading public discourse on this bill should be a cause for celebration, not suppression.

When the state begins to fear its youth, it is not because the youth are dangerous—it is because the state has something to hide.

Ruto has often spoken of his own rise from humble beginnings. That story inspired many. But it now rings hollow if those who come after him—young, ambitious, and civic-minded—are punished for trying to shape the nation he once aspired to lead.

The "if" in his apology to Gen Z was an attempt at plausible deniability. It was also a betrayal of truth. There is no "if" in the tear gas that choked peaceful protesters. No "if" in the police truncheons that battered students. No "if" in the arrests of those facilitating democracy.

What we are witnessing is not a failure of policy but a failure of political will. A state that fears its citizens' voices is already halfway to autocracy. Kenya must step back from this precipice.

To criminalise civic education and participation is not only unconstitutional—it is dangerous. It sends a message that power is to be protected, not questioned; that youth are to be ruled, not represented.

But Gen Z is watching. And organising. And rising. Their crime? Daring to care. And if that is a crime, then this country is no longer governed by law, but by fear. Let the “if” no longer stand. Let truth speak plainly.