Raila has passed, but his legacy is far from sealed. In death, he cannot answer for the final, fatal compromise he made — and neither can Ruto. The youth, the people who once reverently called him “Baba,” cannot be silenced now by mourning. We will demand the truth. We will demand accountability. And we will demand that those eight laws, hastily signed in the shadows of grief, be recalled — immediately and irrevocably.
When the news broke that President Ruto, exploiting the atmosphere of national shock, assented to eight contentious bills on the very day Raila died, many sensed a calculated move to bury the laws under the weight of emotion. Among these is the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes (Amendment) Bill, 2024, which grants the government sweeping power to block or shutter websites, social media accounts, or entire platforms suspected of promoting illegal activity — without prior court orders in many cases.
This bill empowers authorities to pre-emptively order the removal or suspension of online content, declare sites or apps illegal, and mandate that platforms or device users delete material — sometimes in clandestine, summary fashion. It sharply broadens definitions of cybercrime, including impersonation, identity theft (e.g. SIM swapping), harassment, phishing, and more — but in doing so threatens to blank out dissenting voices and the digital activism upon which Kenya’s youth rely.
It is not merely about shutting a page or blocking a tweet. It is about choking civic breathing. It is about handing the state near-instantaneous control over what is “legal” speech, under the guise of public order or security. When critics warned that such a law could be misused to muzzle dissent, they were not paranoid — they foresaw exactly this consolidation of censorship.
What the government calls “amendments for modernization” are, in practice, instruments of control. The timing — at a moment when the public is grieving, distracted, and emotionally vulnerable — suggests these laws were unleashed not to strengthen justice, but to shrink space for scrutiny.
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In this light, the grief over Raila’s death must not extinguish our vigilance. The youth, who once rallied around his resistance, now have reason to stand in open opposition. We will not let his passing become an excuse for tyranny. We will not allow the public outrage that once trailed Raila’s handshake to be diverted into mourning alone. We demand that every one of these eight bills be repealed, suspended, or treated as null and void, especially the cybercrime law that gives the state the power to silence dissent without due process.
Let me name what must be undone — and what must be upheld:
- Recall the Computer Misuse & Cybercrimes (Amendment) Bill, 2024, in its newly expanded form, immediately. Its granting of sweeping, pre-emptive powers to block platforms or content without court orders is too dangerous to stay on the books.
- A moratorium on enforcement of all new provisions of that law — including removal orders, suspensions, or device-level takedowns — until a full public, constitutional review is completed.
- Transparent investigation into who drafted and pushed these laws, with public hearings to expose whether they were rammed through during the emotional vulnerability following Raila’s death.
- Reform of oversight mechanisms, ensuring that any future digital regulation must pass judicial scrutiny, public input, and protections for free speech. No summary takedowns.
- Restoration of trust by opening dialogues, especially with the youth, to shape how Kenya regulates the digital sphere — not via decrees behind closed doors.
- Sunset clauses on all such laws so that they must be reauthorized periodically, not become permanent tools of state control.
- Judicial safeguards to require that any takedown or shutdown order is judicially reviewed and justified, with impartial judges, not unilateral executive action.
- Protections for whistleblowers, journalists, activists whose work depends on digital platforms — affirming that lawful criticism and dissent cannot be criminalized by vague new definitions.
These demands are not reckless. They are nonnegotiable. They are the bare minimum that preserves democracy from collapse.
Yes, Raila betrayed many when he shook hands with Ruto. But his betrayal should not become the pretext for a broader betrayal of the nation. If we allow these eight bills to stand unchallenged, the next generation will inherit a more fearsome form of oppression than any handshake could signal.
We will hold Raila’s memory to account: for his last misstep, for failing to heal the rupture with the youth, for enabling, in his final political act, a moment of authoritarian advance. But we will also hold Ruto and his architects fully accountable — not with sentiment, not with passive mourning, but with civic resistance, judicial challenges, international eyes, and unending demands.
This is not just about Raila’s legacy. It is about Kenya’s future. The youth who once walked the streets chanting his name now stand at a crossroads: to withdraw in despair or to rise in defense of the space he once symbolized. We must choose the latter.
Rest in peace, Jakom — but may your death be the birthplace of our resolve. We will not surrender to fear. We will not let silence be your final legacy. We will fight — and we will win accountability for you, for us, and for the Kenya you once dreamed of.
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