When Dominican reggae artist Nasio Fontaine released “Black Tuesday” in 1999 from his album “Revolution” – his powerful tribute to individuals who had been victims of police brutality and state oppression in Dominica – few could have imagined its lyrics would resonate so powerfully in Kenya more than two decades later.

With lyrics such as “Blood aflow from mountains right down to the sea…Lord it’s police brutality, yes, yeah,” the song directly confronts police brutality and violence that reminds listeners of past injustices with the repeated question, “Do you remember black Tuesday?”

The refrain, “thieves and murderers spilling blood”, now evokes haunting memories of the tragic events that unfolded on June 25, 2024, one of the darkest days in Kenya’s democratic journey.

That Tuesday, dozens of young Kenyans were killed as mass protests against the controversial Finance Bill 2024 spiralled into a violent confrontation with State forces.

Among those killed were Rex Kanyike Masai, Abdi Kadir, Evans Kiratu, Eric Shieni, David Chege, Beasley Kamau, Ibrahim Kamau, and Kennedy Onyango.

National firestorm

The spark had been lit five days earlier. On June 20, 2024, the fatal shooting of 19-year-old Rex Masai in Nairobi by a plainclothes police officer set off a national firestorm.

His death became the rallying cry for thousands of young people – mostly Gen Z – who had been organising online for weeks against the finance bill.

In the weeks leading up to the deadly showdown, Kenyan youth had already begun mobilising online.

From early May, social media platforms buzzed with resistance. TikTok, X, WhatsApp, and Zello walkie-talkie channels transformed into digital command centres.

Armed with tech savvy and creativity, youth-led networks developed AI chatbots that explained the bill in local dialects, demystifying government jargon. Hashtags like #RejectFinanceBill2024 and #OccupyParliament trended nationwide.

The protests were leaderless but well-coordinated. A decentralised, youth-led uprising emerged, unlike anything Kenya had witnessed before.

Some activists hacked government websites, while others shared MPs’ contacts, flooding their phones with protest messages in a tactic dubbed “kusalimiwa” – a digital greeting that became symbolic of the youth-led rebellion.

Dr Job Mwaura, a postdoctoral research associate at the University of the Witwatersrand in South Africa, believes “This new form of activism reflects growing political maturity among Kenyans, who are prioritising shared concerns over ethnic divisions. It sets a new precedent for addressing social and political issues in the country.”

“What has also stood out is how digital activism has driven nationwide physical protests. Young people have moved off their screens and onto the streets, forcing leaders to listen and even make amendments to the finance bill before it was passed,” Mwaura wrote in an article published in The Conversation.

March to confrontation

For many years, he says, digital media activism has been labelled as “slacktivism”, a term that refers to minimal-effort activities like liking, sharing, or commenting online that are perceived as having little real-world impact.

On June 18, 2024, protests broke out across Nairobi, Eldoret, Kisumu, Nakuru, Kitengela, and Kisii. Amnesty International Kenya reported that 405 people were arrested that day, including six journalists.

Dozens were injured – some by gunfire, others by beatings or tear gas. At least 39 online activists were reportedly abducted or forcibly disappeared.

In Mombasa, the streets swelled with protesters chanting, “Reject! Not Amend!” Led primarily by university and college students, the marches defied tear gas and heavy rains. Under the banner “Occupy Mombasa: Reject Finance Bill”, demonstrators came out in all six sub-counties – Likoni, Jomvu, Kisauni, Nyali, Changamwe, and Mvita.

Then came June 25, 2024. From dawn, Mombasa’s city centre filled with demonstrators waving national flags, placards, smartphones, and whistles. Some rode in on sports bikes.

For hours, police stood down as the crowd gathered at the Mama Ngina Waterfront before marching towards the State House.

What followed was chaos. As thousands surged forward, the peaceful march turned into a confrontation.

Clashes erupted with heavily armed General Service Unit (GSU) officers. Rocks flew.

Officers responded with live ammunition and volleys of tear gas. The stretch between the Mama Ngina Waterfront and the State House became a war zone. Chants of “We must occupy State House! Our taxes built it!” echoed in defiance.

Parliament stormed

In Nairobi, the unrest reached Parliament. Around 1 pm, demonstrators broke through police barricades and pushed towards the National Assembly.

By 4 pm, they had stormed Parliament – just after 196 MPs voted to pass the 2024 Finance Bill against 106 dissenting voices.

Outside, police opened fire. Inside, protesters helped evacuate nominated MP Jackson Kosgei, who represents people with disabilities, and fellow lawmaker Rose Museu, who uses crutches.

“They told me, ‘We know who you are. We want to help you. What may happen here won’t be good,’” Kosgei recalled. Far from anarchists, he described the protesters as deeply aggrieved citizens.

“Their anger is real. They are our children. They must be heard,” he said in a speech days later.

As the protests gained national traction, violent gangs infiltrated. In Mombasa, thugs masquerading as protesters looted businesses, torched vehicles, and assaulted civilians. One of the vehicles burned belonged to Senator Mohamed Faki.

Outside Qaffee Point, on Moi Avenue, chaos turned deadly. A licensed firearm holder – believed to be the café’s proprietor – was seen firing at protesters and reportedly shot one while trying to repel looters.

Mombasa’s city centre quickly emptied as fear swept through the city. Businesses shuttered. Streets fell silent.

Clerics’ warning

Religious leaders sounded the alarm. Sheikh Abdallah Ateka, chair of the Council of Imams and Preachers of Kenya, warned that Kenya risked sliding into chaos akin to that seen in Sudan, Libya, and Somalia if the violence persisted.

So, what triggered this nationwide rage?

The 2014 Finance Bill proposed taxes that would hit everyday Kenyans hard: an eco-levy on imported sanitary products, VAT on bread and sugar transportation, motor vehicle tax, and expanded KRA access to M-Pesa transactions.

The government argued the bill was necessary to plug a ballooning deficit and service national debt, which stood at 68 per cent of GDP – far above the 55 per cent threshold recommended by the IMF and World Bank.

To shore up support, President William Ruto summoned Kenya Kwanza MPs to the State House and demanded party loyalty.

Dissenters, including Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, were reportedly sidelined – fuelling speculation of a widening rift within the ruling coalition.

Ruto’s critics branded him a modern-day Zacchaeus – the biblical tax collector. The comparison stuck.

Then came a dramatic pivot. In the wake of the storming of Parliament, Ruto fired his entire Cabinet – except for Prime Cabinet Secretary Musalia Mudavadi, who is also the Foreign Affairs CS.

Though hailed by some as a concession to public pressure, several ministers were later quietly reinstated.

In a bid to defuse tensions, Ruto reached across the aisle. Key opposition figures – including Hassan Joho, Wycliffe Oparanya, and Opiyo Wandayi – were offered Cabinet positions, pacifying ODM strongholds in the Coast, Nyanza, and Western regions.

Protests fizzle

As political co-option took root, protest momentum fizzled. WhatsApp groups fell silent.

Zello walkie-talkie channels went dead. The movement’s digital heartbeat faded.

But the State was not done. In the days that followed, a wave of abductions targeted government critics.

Cartoonist Gideon Kibet Bull and 24-year-old Billy Mwangi were among those snatched after posting AI-generated images portraying President Ruto in a coffin.

According to the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights, there have been 82 abductions and enforced disappearances since the protests began. Twenty-nine people remain unaccounted for.

The bodies of Justus Mutumwa and Martin Mwau were later discovered at Nairobi Funeral Home (formerly City Mortuary). But no official explanation has been given to their families.

On May 28, 2025, President Ruto addressed the National Prayer Breakfast in Nairobi. He publicly apologised to Kenya’s youth for the deadly crackdown.

“I extend this apology with a heavy heart to the Gen Zs of our nation. What happened should not have happened. As a government, we must do better,” he said.

Ruto apology rejected

The apology was swiftly dismissed as hollow.

“To us, it’s sheer hypocrisy,” said Brian Mutuku in Mombasa. “The same man who called us crooks and criminals now wants to talk about unity. We’re not buying it.”

Mutuku and others viewed the event as little more than political theatre.

“That breakfast was for cameras, not the people. Kenyans are more divided than ever,” he added.

Many compared Ruto’s gesture to his 2022 campaign strategy – one heavy on religious imagery and church rallies.

“It worked then. Not anymore,” said Meshack Nyongesa, another Gen Z activist. “We’ve seen what he’s done in power. We don’t need prayers. We need systems that work.”

To date, no officer has been prosecuted. No families have been compensated. For many young Kenyans, justice remains a distant dream.