When I first heard the phrase “You are the leaders of tomorrow”, I was 12 years old. I was sitting cross-legged on a dusty classroom floor, listening intently, eyes wide with hope and belief. I truly thought it was a promise.
I believed that tomorrow meant something certain and tangible—that it would come with time, like sunrise, inevitable and ours. But over a decade later, I have realised that tomorrow was a lie. It was never a promise, it was a pacifier. A slogan. A tool to keep us dreaming while those in power locked the doors to leadership and threw away the key.
Now in my twenties, I understand the depth of the betrayal. Kenya continues to be ruled by the same group of leaders, decade after decade. Institutions that should be transforming with the times have instead become echo chambers for the old guard.
For 23 years, one man has sat at the helm of the country’s most powerful workers’ umbrella union. In that time, the job market has changed completely, workers’ rights have been trampled on and youth unemployment has reached crisis levels. Yet Cotu clings to the same leadership without question, as if fresh leadership is a threat, not a necessity.
Atwoli, once seen as a fierce defender of the Kenyan worker, now symbolises something else entirely—the deep unwillingness of powerful institutions to embrace generational change. While young Kenyans are drowning in joblessness, underemployment and workplace exploitation, the very organisation meant to champion their rights has grown more aligned with the political elite than with the people it was meant to serve. Cotu is not the only institution guilty of this, but it is one of the most obvious. It has become a monument to stagnation and one that actively blocks younger voices from participating in shaping their own future.
Politically connected names
This generational stranglehold extends far beyond trade unions. We are seeing it in almost every public institution. Consider the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission reconstitution process. After the controversial fallout of the last election, there was hope that the new commissioners would reflect the country’s diversity, energy and integrity.
Young, qualified, independent-minded Kenyans submitted their applications in good faith. But what did the selection panel do? They produced a shortlist riddled with politically connected names and familiar faces, most of whom are loyalists to the very political forces we need the commission to be independent from.
To make matters worse, six additional names were added to the list without any explanation. This move not only raises suspicion, but actively erodes public trust in the process. It signals that the same dirty tricks and political manoeuvring that tainted previous elections are still very much alive.
These are not isolated issues. They are symptoms of a system that has been rigged for decades to keep power in the hands of the same few.
In his book Kenya at Half Mast , Thuku wa Gichinga captures this frustration perfectly: “Currently, we have an army of well-schooled—and some of them highly skilled—unemployed young people with pent-up entrepreneurial energy but nowhere to vent it.
Previously, they remained disengaged from politics, however, they appear to have realised that poor politics and government sleaze have been fostering disunity and social inequality all along. They are determined to change the status quo but, evidently, they have not yet figured out exactly how to go about it. What is clear is that, sooner rather than later, they will stir things up, and probably instigate some form of revolution to force the big changes and redistribute wealth. There is one term we should be very wary of: o.c.c.u.p.y. That is not a word; it is a bomb.”
And he’s right. The frustration is growing. There is an entire generation of Kenyans who are wide awake now. We are tired of being told to wait. We are tired of being told to “respect our elders” while those elders disrespect our futures. We are tired of watching rigged appointments, recycled leadership and slogans that mean nothing. This isn’t just about political power it’s about jobs, housing, healthcare, dignity. It’s about the right to dream without the weight of systemic betrayal crushing you back to reality.
The anger we feel is not born out of impatience; it is born out of repeated betrayal. We have seen peaceful protesters shot for daring to speak up. We have mourned friends, attended funerals and carried the wounded out of protests because this country punishes those who care. Bad politics is not abstract. It kills people. It erodes public trust. It forces us into survival mode instead of innovation. It makes basic dignity a luxury for the privileged few.
So what do we do? We stop waiting. We organise. We study. We invest in real civic education and not just hashtags and workshops, but practical, painful political literacy. We learn how budgets are made. We understand how policies are passed. We teach each other how to protest smartly, how to resist sustainably, how to build new systems when the old ones refuse to serve us.
We stop romanticising individual heroes and start building collective power. We build media platforms, watchdog organisations, youth-led movements and savings networks that allow us to not just react to power, but to hold it, shape it and wield it responsibly. And as we build, we must protect each other because this system is brutal. It isolates dissenters. It tries to break people with courage. Solidarity is not a feel-good word. It is the only way we survive.
We also need to unlearn the belief that change only happens during elections. Real change happens every single day, in how we vote, how we spend, how we speak, how we organise and how we resist. It happens when we reject the same tired faces being recycled in institutions. It happens when we say no , not just privately, but loudly and collectively.
We are not the leaders of tomorrow. That phrase was a lullaby and a way to keep us docile while the powerful made away with the future. We are the citizens of today. And the time to act like it is now.
