As Kenya’s political elite trades barbs and backroom deals in a familiar game of power musical chairs, a restless Generation Z is watching with growing disdain. The latest revelation—reported by Daily Nation on July 28, 2025—that opposition leaders have drafted at least five power-sharing proposals to dethrone President William Ruto, speaks volumes. It signals a worrying disconnect between Kenya’s aging political class and a generation crying out not for positions, but for performance.
At the heart of this misguided strategy is former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, whose increasingly tribal and retaliatory rhetoric appears to be setting the tone. Gachagua’s infamous “one-term president” campaign against Ruto is less about ideology or reform, and more about vengeance—rooted in his fallout with the President after their 2022 political marriage soured. His newly adopted slogan may resonate with a few disillusioned elites, but for Gen Z, it reeks of recycled grievance politics with no vision for the future.
This miscalculation was laid bare during Gachagua’s recent U.S. tour. In cities like Seattle, Boston, and Dallas, diaspora youth pushed back, rejecting his so-called “Cousin Movement”—a tribal-based platform veiled as equity politics. His claim that Mt. Kenya people are “major shareholders” entitled to state control was met not with applause, but apathy. Young Kenyans abroad told him plainly: “We want solutions, not slogans.”
Back home, the message is no different. Kenya’s youth, especially those who led the 2024 digital protests and dominated the streets demanding accountability, are not interested in shadow cabinets or tribal coalitions. They want functioning hospitals, jobs that pay, and an education system that prepares them for the future—not the past. According to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics, youth unemployment soared to 67% in 2024, while the Ministry of Health admitted that only 3 in 10 public health facilities meet basic standards. These are the crises the opposition should be addressing—not how to divide cabinet slots.
Instead, leaders such as Martha Karua, Eugene Wamalwa, and Fred Matiang’i are spending political capital on backdoor deals, reportedly entertaining a rehashed National Accord model. It’s déjà vu from 2008, without the urgency or legitimacy that a post-election crisis once justified. Their focus on who gets what—should they succeed in ousting Ruto—ignores the deeper question: what happens after?
Gachagua’s failure to articulate any post-Ruto vision only deepens this void. His only consistent pitch seems to be that Mt. Kenya deserves more. But more of what? More ministers? More appointments? More tribal entitlement? Nowhere in his speeches—whether in Karatina or Kennesaw—does he articulate a bold policy on healthcare, climate, education, or digital innovation. He is banking on identity politics in a country where the youth increasingly identify more with joblessness, not their tribe.
This vacuum has not gone unnoticed. On social media, hashtags like #GenZForRealChange and accounts like @KenyaGenZ2027 openly mock the current opposition. “Old guards clinging to old games,” one viral post read, garnering over 500,000 impressions within 24 hours. The youth, once thought apathetic, have now emerged as kingmakers. But they are not looking for kings—they are demanding technocrats, doers, and visionaries.
Kenya’s political class, Gachagua included, must wake up to this reality. Power-sharing as a strategy for regime change, without a compelling alternative plan, will not galvanize the youth vote. If anything, it risks alienating the very demographic that could decide the 2027 elections.
For Gen Z, the demand is not just for new faces in State House. It is for a new kind of politics—one rooted in service, not survival. And unless leaders like Rigathi Gachagua pivot from revenge to reform, their obsession with power-sharing will be remembered not as a roadmap to change, but as the last gasp of a generation that refused to evolve.
