An Open Letter To President William Ruto From The Kenyan Youth

Mr. President,

We did not support you. We didn’t campaign for you. But when you won, we accepted the outcome. We chose peace over protest. We told ourselves—maybe, just maybe—you had a better plan than those who came before you. We hoped that perhaps, for once, Kenya would get it right.

But now, two years later, we are heartbroken. We are angry. And most of all, we feel betrayed.

Mr. President, your leadership has become a masterclass in deception. You have used religion not as a compass, but as a mask. You climb pulpits on Sundays and quote scripture, only to return to State House and supervise looting, repression, and lies. You have turned churches into stages for propaganda, while schools crumble, hospitals rot, and factories remain silent.

You said you came from humble beginnings. You said you understood the pain of the common mwananchi. But every action you’ve taken has made life harder for ordinary Kenyans, especially the youth. What exactly is bottom-up, when food is unaffordable, jobs are mythical, taxes are crushing, and abductions are back like it’s 1992?

You have institutionalized pain.

Let’s talk about the church at State House —billions poured into building a monument to your ego, while public hospitals can’t afford gloves. A private chapel built as the people die waiting for oxygen in county hospitals. That is not godly. That is grotesque.

You have let your friends run loose with public funds, stealing from children, from mothers, from farmers, from students, from hustlers. Billions lost in the fertilizer scandal, the medical tenders, the digital ID rollout, the KRA-linked rackets, and still, no one is held accountable. How many PSs, CSs, and senior parastatal heads have openly lied to the public without consequence? Too many.

Meanwhile, you have made sure that Parliament no longer speaks for us. It is now a bazaar—where loyalty is bought, votes are auctioned, and MPs fall over each other to praise you instead of standing with their people. You have captured the National Assembly. You have muzzled the Senate. You have tamed the opposition—not by merit, but by bribery, coercion, and fear.

You are governing alone, Mr. President. And a man governing alone is one step away from tyranny.

You’ve allowed a climate of fear to flourish. Young people are being abducted in unmarked cars, beaten, tortured, and dumped for merely exercising their constitutional rights. Protesters are being shot dead by police officers who know there will be no consequences. Where is your outrage? Where is your accountability?

The blood of young Kenyans is on the hands of those you protect.

Your silence on police killings is violence. Your government has become a well-oiled machine of impunity. And we’re tired of the lies—tired of being told “it’s the deep state,” “it’s a few bad apples,” “we will investigate.” No one is ever punished. No one is ever jailed. It’s all a performance, staged for the cameras.

Even your so-called economic revival has become a tool for oppression. The Finance Bill 2024 was not pro-youth. It was anti-hope. You taxed our dreams. You took away the little we had and handed it over to cartels who hide behind policy. You are borrowing without shame, mortgaging our future while pretending to be building it.

You have become everything you once said you were fighting against.

You told us you would empower the youth, but you’ve only overburdened us. Startups are dying under the weight of taxes and red tape. Local innovations are ignored while foreign consultants walk in and get billion-shilling tenders. Talented content creators can’t monetize their work because digital platforms are overtaxed or unsupported. Farmers are being crushed by middlemen. Teachers are underpaid. Interns are being used and discarded.

And where is the youth agenda in all this? Your government has turned the word “youth” into a prop—something to throw around in speeches but not to serve in policy.

You’ve sidelined integrity. You’ve mocked the rule of law. Court orders mean nothing under your watch. When the Judiciary acts independently, you insult them. When civil society speaks, you intimidate them. When citizens resist injustice, you crush them.

We are watching a dangerous pattern unfold.

Mr. President, you are centralizing power in a way this country has not seen since the dark days of the single-party era. The opposition is dead because you killed it with appointments and payoffs. The press is being neutered with threats and sponsored disinformation. Even the church—our last moral refuge—has been captured, reduced to a campaign tool.

Is this the Kenya you promised?

You have made politics a playground for billionaires and bloodsuckers. There is no room for ordinary people. No access. No dignity. No accountability. The only way to survive now is to be loyal to power, no matter how dirty, how cruel, or how unjust.

But we are not stupid, Mr. President.

We see the games. We see the contradictions. We see how you speak of patriotism while destroying the very pillars that make a nation. You speak of unity while dividing us by tribe, class, and faith. You speak of justice while shielding killers and looters.

You had the greatest chance to change Kenya. You inherited a broken nation, yes—but you had all the tools to fix it. You had the mandate. You had the momentum. You had the platform to usher in a true second republic. But you chose self-preservation over transformation.

And now, your legacy hangs in the balance.

You can still change course. It is not too late. But that will take humility. Not hubris. It will take courage—not coercion. You must allow for dissent. You must respect the law. You must punish the killers in police uniform. You must stop protecting thieves in suits. And most of all, you must serve—not rule.

We are not your enemies. We are the young people who want to build this country. But we cannot build under fear. We cannot innovate in poverty. We cannot grow under oppression.

We want a Kenya that works for all—not just for the elite. We want a government that listens—not one that lectures. We want a country where public servants actually serve—not steal. We want justice for every protester who died. We want dignity in the workplace. We want investments in factories, not palatial churches.

We want the country you promised—but never delivered.

Mr. President, stop ruling. Start leading.

Signed,

The Youth of Kenya

Disappointed. Disillusioned. But still determined.

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