NAIROBI, Kenya (IP).
For decades, Raila Odinga strode across Kenya’s political terrain like a colossus—part liberator, part lightning rod, part enigma.
The man once known simply as Agwambo, the mysterious one, inspired generations to believe in the promise of resistance. But today, as Kenya convulses under the restless energy of a Gen Z-led revolution, Odinga cuts a diminished figure: a political zombie stumbling through a landscape he no longer understands.
Once the father of opposition politics, Odinga has become detached from the very forces he once championed.
The bitter truth is that he has betrayed the youth who worshipped him, who painted murals of his defiance, who rallied to his call for a Kenya free of impunity and betrayal. In their eyes, the veteran has turned collaborator.
In recent weeks, Odinga has aligned himself with President William Ruto in the so-called “broad-based government,” a concept that has landed with a dull thud among millions of Kenyans.
For a generation that had hoped to tear down a system rigged in favor of the elite, this backroom arrangement reeks of desperation and survival politics.
It is a deal crafted to salvage Odinga’s fading relevance rather than to advance the cause of justice.
This is not the first time Odinga has embraced accommodation over confrontation. But the stakes now are different.
A movement of young, digitally empowered Kenyans has emerged—a force unwilling to play by the old rules of tribal alliances and secret boardroom handshakes.
For them, Odinga’s readiness to sit across the table with Ruto is not pragmatism; it is a surrender.
His supporters, who once filled stadiums chanting his name, have grown disillusioned.
The man who once declared he would never recognize a “computer-generated government” has grown eerily silent as the state unleashes violence and censorship against peaceful demonstrators.
The Gen Z uprising—fueled by discontent over corruption, inequality and a broken social contract—has been met not with solidarity from Odinga but with studied indifference.
Critics say Odinga is gambling with his legacy. He can either protect the memory of his struggle or watch it disintegrate in the haze of opportunism.
In his twilight years, he risks becoming the symbol of everything he once opposed: compromise without principle, relevance without purpose.
If there was ever a moment for Odinga to rise to the occasion—to stand beside the young Kenyans braving tear gas and bullets—it is now.
Instead, he has chosen the quiet comforts of power-sharing negotiations that most Kenyans see as betrayal.
As Kenya’s youth chart a new course—one that no longer hinges on old warhorses or stale ideologies—Raila Odinga faces an existential question.
Does he want to be remembered as the father of opposition politics who fought for democracy? Or as the aging politician who, in his final act, sabotaged a revolution to prolong his own myth?
The clock is ticking, and history is watching.
