As I write, a clip that captures the police shooting – in the head, at close range – a street vendor named Boniface Kariuki is going viral. The shooting occurred during the second day of protests against the killing of 31-year-old teacher and blogger Albert Ojwang, who died in police custody ten days earlier. Investigations into the shooting of Kariuki, who is alive but in critical condition, and the death of Ojwang, are ongoing. Taking place exactly one year after the eruption of nationwide, youth-led protests – widely known as the Gen-Z demonstrations or the Gen-Z revolution – these events have sparked renewed outrage, in a country where the majority are reeling from rising living costs and escalating police brutality, especially against youth-led dissent.
President William Ruto’s efforts to reassure the public about the government’s plans to tackle ballooning public debt, boost employment, and drive development have largely been met with ridicule, scepticism, and resistance. An analysis of Kenya’s public discourse – especially on social media – since mid-2024 shows that young people are refusing to buy into his government’s rhetoric. Words alone, will not change how young people think and feel.
Partly as a result, there has been a steady escalation in the intimidation of individuals who use digital platforms to engage publicly. As Baraza Media Lab, a Kenyan-based media NGO, recently observed, whether through storytelling, technology, or citizen mobilisation, a red line has now emerged. Crossing it entails serious personal and professional risks, particularly for young activists, most of whom employ digital media for their public engagement activities.
In what may have been a pre-emptive effort to prevent a recurrence of the 2024 protests, four filmmakers – Nicholas Gichuki, Brian Adagala, Mark Karubiu, and Chris Wamae – were arrested on May 2, 2025, and charged for providing footage to a BBC documentary investigating police violence during the June 2024 protests. Though the case has stalled in court, its chilling effect was immediate.
Then, on May 30, Rose Njeri Tunguru was arrested for creating a website that allowed citizens to email MPs about proposed tax changes in the 2025 Finance Bill. She was held overnight without formal charges, and like the filmmakers, had her devices confiscated. On June 2, Webster Ochora Elijah was also arrested after allegedly publishing a book about Charlene Ruto, the president’s daughter. He was released the same day as Ms. Njeri, on a cash bail of KES 50,000 (approximately USD $390).
These arrests followed public denunciations of critical voices from the President, cabinet ministers, security officials and regime loyalists, targeting a growing wave of youth-led activism that is organised largely through social media. This activism has remained decentralised and leaderless, making it hard to demobilise and co-opt. Within this context, the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act, No. 5 of 2018 has become the regime’s preferred legal tool. The law’s lack of clear safeguards has cast a shadow over content created in public interest—especially when it challenges authority or mobilises citizens. In effect, the law enables the state to carry out subtle but effective repression through arrests, intimidation, and legally ambiguous enforcement.
On the night of June 7, just days after Ms. Njeri and Mr. Elijah were released, officers from the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI), a branch of the Kenya Police Service (KPS), arrested Albert Ojwang in the village of Kakoth, near Homa Bay town in Western Kenya. Hours later, he was reportedly found dead at Nairobi’s Central Police Station. Ojwang had been accused of spreading false and malicious information about one of Kenya’s Deputy Inspectors General (DIG), Eliud Kipkoech Lagat.
Investigations by the Independent Policing and Oversight Authority (IPOA) have established that Ojwang died after being severely beaten by four fellow inmates – acting on instructions from Police Constable James Mukhwana, who has since been taken into custody. In a statement to IPOA, Mukhwana claimed he had been ordered to “discipline” Ojwang by his superior, Samson Talaam, the officer commanding the Central Police Station. Talaam’s orders reportedly originated from DIG Lagat himself. According to Mukhwana, the four assailants demanded alcohol before their attack on Ojwang, which he then bought at the police station’s canteen at the cost of KES 2,000 (roughly USD $16). Mukhwana insisted that Ojwang was never meant to die, but only roughed up.
In a statement to Kenya’s Senate, the Inspector-General of Police, Douglas Kanja Kirocho, reported that DIG Lagat had submitted a complaint to the DCI on June 4, three days before Ojwang’s arrest, regarding posts on X (formerly Twitter), accusing him of running a police bribery and corruption syndicate. One post alleged that Lagat was under investigation by the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC), accompanied by a photo and the label “Mafia Cop”. Another post linked him and Nairobi Traffic Commandant Joseph Chirchir to a multimillion-dollar Dubai real estate deal. The posts were fake, made to appear like they had been published by Kenya’s The Standard newspaper and National Television (NTV). On June 5, the EACC confirmed that no such investigation was underway. Immediately, the DCI treated the matter as a serious violation under the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act.
Mr. Kanja stated that the Communications Authority of Kenya (CAK) was contacted regarding two accounts behind the posts. CAK responded that it doesn’t possess real-time location data of mobile subscribers. It was investigations by DCI’s Cyber-Crime Unit that led to the arrest of Kelvin Muinde, who allegedly disclosed that three other people, including Ojwang, had also published the content on their X accounts. It is believed that DIG Lagat suspected that the former Deputy President, Rigathi Gachagua – who was impeached by Parliament following the June 2024 protests – had funded the social media campaign.
While other media reports have refuted Mukhwana’s testimony, maintaining Ojwang was tortured by police officers inside Nairobi’s Karura forest, the orders to “discipline” Ojwang may have been part of an attempt to extract information regarding the suspected role of Gachagua. In May, Gachagua, who has been embroiled in a bitter falling out with the President since his impeachment, had claimed that the state was plotting to assassinate him. Albert, previously largely unknown, may have become collateral damage in this political power struggle.
At the same time, Ojwang’s death in police custody must be seen as part of a wider trend, where, following the aftermath of the ‘Gen-Z demonstrations’ of June, 2024, reports of arbitrary arrests, forced disappearances, and unexplained killings have come to define citizen-state relations in Kenya. As well as terrorising the country’s civil society leaders, this has further undermined the national and international legitimacy of President Ruto’s regime.
Although President Ruto currently faces limited opposition from established political figures due to the deals he has done with supposedly opposition leaders, the prospects for a peaceful general election in Kenya in 2027 are no longer assured. Elections in Kenya are often not just contests of ballots—they are also contests of belief. If police violence continues to shape the political environment through to 2027, the legitimacy of any election result – especially if Ruto is declared the winner – may not be accepted by a disillusioned public.
And if recent history is any guide, such post-election protests will likely be met with even greater, state-sanctioned violence.
The question this leave us with is therefore: how far will Kenya’s war on youth activism go?
Dr. Ngala Chome is a Research Fellow at the History Department, Ghent University, Belgium, and a regular commentator on Kenyan politics. He can be reached for comment here.
