A year after tax-hike protests brought Kenya to a political boiling point, the streets of Nairobi once again echoed with chants, rubber bullets, and the hiss of tear gas. On June 25, thousands took to the streets across major cities—Nairobi, Mombasa, Kisumu, and Nakuru—marking the anniversary of the 2024 anti-tax demonstrations. What was intended as a symbolic day of civic remembrance rapidly spiraled into another chapter of confrontation, repression, and tragedy.
Two protesters were confirmed dead by midnight, both succumbing to gunshot wounds, while dozens more were injured in clashes with police. Rights groups, including Amnesty Kenya and the Kenya Human Rights Commission, were quick to condemn what they described as “disproportionate use of force.” Meanwhile, journalists reported arbitrary detentions, beatings, and the temporary banning of three television stations that dared to broadcast live scenes from the protests.
At the heart of this unrest lies a growing sense of betrayal. In 2024, newly implemented tax reforms under the Finance Bill had sparked nationwide discontent. Promises of economic recovery and job creation fell flat against a backdrop of increasing fuel prices, dwindling public services, and spiraling inflation. The government’s insistence on hiking taxes to fund development was seen by many as tone-deaf at best—and exploitative at worst. That unrest had prompted the withdrawal of some proposals and a few arrests, but it seems that little has changed in the intervening months.
In fact, many argue things have gotten worse.
The 2025 budget, approved just weeks ago, includes fresh levies on digital content creators, bread, sanitary products, and even motorcycle taxis—popularly known as “boda bodas.” President William Ruto’s administration defends the moves as necessary to widen the tax base, but for millions of struggling Kenyans, these policies cut into daily survival.
“We’re not just protesting taxes,” said 28-year-old activist Linda Atieno, one of the organizers of a peaceful march in Nairobi. “We’re protesting the shrinking of space for public dialogue, the constant harassment of youth voices, and the criminalization of dissent.”
And she’s not alone. Civil society organizations have joined forces with youth-led movements and church groups, calling for both financial transparency and political accountability. Their demands go beyond tax revisions—they want a full audit of government spending, an end to police brutality, and protections for whistleblowers and independent media.
But the government’s response suggests it’s playing a different game. The Ministry of Interior branded the protests “illegal assemblies” and issued a blanket ban on public gatherings in “sensitive zones.” Online, critics accused the administration of using the unrest to justify broader crackdowns on free expression. Several influencers and digital activists reported receiving threatening messages and having their social media accounts suspended—an eerie echo of the cybersecurity laws passed earlier this year, which opponents say are designed to suppress dissent.
Yet, even amid the fear and fog of tear gas, Kenya’s youth remain defiant. Social media platforms like X (formerly Twitter), TikTok, and Instagram have become digital battlegrounds for the soul of the republic. Viral hashtags like #StopTheTaxes, #JusticeForProtesters, and #KenyaIsBleeding trended globally, prompting diaspora-led vigils in cities from London to Toronto.
“We’ve learned to archive our pain online because our leaders don’t listen offline,” said Kennedy Mwangi, a university student who was part of a human chain protest near Parliament. “But we also know digital solidarity isn’t enough. We must reclaim the streets—and the Constitution.”
Meanwhile, President Ruto remained largely silent during the day’s events, releasing a late-night statement urging “calm” and promising to “look into the matter.” His opponents were quick to label it hollow.
Whether this year’s protests will prompt meaningful reform remains to be seen. But what’s clear is that a generation of Kenyans is no longer content to wait patiently for change. Their cries are loud, their grief is public, and their message is increasingly unignorable.
One banner captured the day’s mood perfectly: “We are not afraid. We are just tired.”
