Ian's Blog

 On July 7, the 35th anniversary of Kenya’s landmark Saba Saba pro-democracy protests of 1990, the nation once again shook. This time, however, the violence hit closest to home—quite literally. Reports confirm that 31 civilians were killed , many not on the streets, but in the sanctity of their own residences. As Saba Saba marches should symbolize reclaiming voice and space, this year they brought terror into homes, deepening the breach between state and citizenry. A Day of Remembrance Turned Night of Terror Saba Saba originally ignited Kenya’s path to multiparty democracy in 1990. Symbolic and sacred, July 7 is remembered for courage—and this year, it rekindled resistance. But yesterday’s event devolved as police deployed live ammunition, tear gas, water cannons, and heavy-handed tactics in over 17 counties , including Nairobi, Nakuru, Eldoret, Kisumu, and Mombasa. People recall Kangemi’s main road in Nairobi becoming a battleground between Gen Z protestors and police. At leas...

 In the face of political turmoil, economic hardship, and social unrest, it can feel like national identity is under siege. But amid the smoke of crises and the gloom of bad news, Kenya’s beating heart remains alive—defiant, resilient, and proud. Our culture, community, and innovation are more than distractions from the crisis; they are the fuel that powers recovery, unity, and hope. This is not a passive patriotism—it’s a loud declaration that amid chaos, Kenya endures—and evolves. In Nairobi, the hum of multiple languages—Swahili, Sheng, Kikuyu, Luo, Luhya, Kalenjin, Meru—mingling in matatus and markets—speaks to our unity in diversity. Cultural festivals, from Lamu to Rusinga to Ngemi Homecoming, breathe fresh life into aged traditions with modern rhythms and social commentary. At Ngemi in Limuru, youth reclaimed their heritage with songs, dance, and storytelling—infused with contemporary beats and theatrical flair that brought elders and Gen Z together—and reminded us that ide...

  A democracy depends on checks and balances—but Kenya's Parliament is failing that test. Far too often, lawmakers have abdicated their constitutional role as a check on the Executive, rubber-stamping dangerous bills and enabling brutality. From tax legislation that crushes livelihoods to allowing lethal force against dissent, the nation's representative body has betrayed citizens. As public faith crumbles, Kenyans must demand a Parliament—one that lives up to its oath and defends our rights. Parliament as a Rubber Stamp: A System Under Duress In theory, Kenya’s Parliament was built to be a check and balance on Executive power, but in recent years, its acts tell another story. MPs have often rushed through legislation without proper scrutiny—like improved oversight of Cabinet nominees or citizen petitions. Take July 2024: the President’s nominees sailed through vetting with little examination of their credentials, performance, or integrity—a clear failure of Parliament's...

 Kenya today teeters on the edge of two realities: on one side, rising public frustration and deepening mistrust in institutions; on the other, emerging leaders who insist our only hope lies in reviving true respect for law. The problem is impunity—not only among rogue thugs or petty officials, but at the highest levels of government. When that happens, every Kenyan—from Nairobi matatu drivers to farmers in Turkana—feels the sting. This article explores precisely how widespread disregard for court orders and constitutional mandates has corroded our systems, eroded public faith, distorted justice, and threatens our sovereignty. Then it considers why two figures—former Chief Justice David Maraga and Senator Okiya Omtatah—stand out as rare guardians of the law we should trust and support come 2027. Impunity at the Top and Its Ripple Effects Impunity is most dangerous when those entrusted with upholding the law ignore it themselves. In Kenya today, we've witnessed plain defiance of w...

  We Are More Than Our Struggles To be Kenyan today is to carry contradiction in your pocket. We laugh loudest in the darkest times. We rage at injustice yet welcome strangers with warmth. We groan under taxes but still share chapati with a neighbor who missed a meal. Ours is a story of complexity—but also incredible beauty. This isn’t an article about policy or protest. It’s a love letter—to the soul of our people, the rhythm of our streets, the music in our languages, and the unstoppable spirit that binds us. In a world that often defines us by headlines of hardship, let this be a reminder: we are so much more. A Nation of Many Tongues, One Heartbeat There is something magical about walking through Kenya and hearing Swahili blend effortlessly with Kikuyu, Sheng, Luo, Kalenjin, Luhya, Meru, Kisii, Somali, Taita, and English—all in one bus ride. We don’t just translate words; we carry histories, songs, and idioms in our everyday speech. “Uko aje?” “Unasema?” “Ghai, umeskia h...

  1. The Rise of Moral Clarity Amid State Violence Kenya today finds itself in a moral crisis. With leaders resorting to violence, corruption, and forced disappearances, the country’s ethical foundations are crumbling. Yet amid this erosion stands a beacon of hope: the youth. Unlike the ruling political class, whose motive is power and personal gain, young Kenyans are driven by principles: constitutional respect, public service, and justice. The youth aren’t on the streets to steal, extort, or climb to power—they’re demanding systems that work: honest budgets, accountable leaders, fair taxation, timely justice, and public services that serve the people. Their cause isn’t self-enrichment—it’s collective redemption. 2. Leaders of Violence vs. Youth of Values Today’s leaders have chosen violence over dialogue. Last week’s demonstrations broke out in 23 counties—Nairobi barricaded, protests met with bullets, live rounds, and brutality . Journalists and activists faced arrest. The...

   1. Dissent Is Not a Crime—Unless State Violence Makes It One In Kenya, speaking truth to power should be protected. The Constitution safeguards citizens’ rights to free speech, assembly, and protest. Yet in recent months—and years—the state’s response to dissent has been chillingly consistent: suppression. In 2025, voicing one’s opinion risks more than backlash—it risks detention, assault, disappearance, even death. The death of Albert Ojwang , a 31-year-old teacher and blogger, marks a grim milestone. He was arrested over a social media post criticizing a senior police officer. Less than 48 hours later, he was found unresponsive in a Nairobi cell. Police claimed he died by hitting his head—but an autopsy proved otherwise: head injuries, neck compression, soft-tissue damage consistent with torture article19.org +1 freiheit.org +1 theguardian.com +15 en.wikipedia.org +15 freiheit.org +15 . He is not the first—and unless we act, he will not be the last. 2. From Social Med...