Kenya woke to the silence of a nation in mourning, and a democracy in reflection. The death of Raila Amolo Odinga, the country’s former Prime Minister and most enduring face of opposition politics, marks the end of an era that began at the dawn of Kenya’s independence. For over six decades, the Odinga name stood as a symbol of resistance, from his father, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, who defied founding President Jomo Kenyatta in 1966, to Raila himself, who waged a lifetime battle against political authoritarianism, corruption, and electoral injustice. With Raila’s passing, Kenya has not only lost a towering statesman but also the last living bridge between the liberation generation and the fragile promise of a democratic future.
Raila’s death marks the end of an era that began at the dawn of Kenya’s independence.
Born on January 7, 1945, in Maseno, Raila Odinga inherited more than just his father’s name, he inherited a cause. Educated in East Germany and forged in the crucible of ideological struggle, Raila emerged in the late 1970s as a radical reformist voice when dissent in Kenya was a dangerous act. His political journey was not written in comfort but in prison cells, exile, and the torture chambers of the Moi regime, where he spent nearly a decade for his alleged role in the 1982 coup attempt. Yet, when he emerged, Raila’s resilience had not dimmed, it had hardened into conviction.
When Kenya reintroduced multi-party democracy in 1991, it was Raila who personified the struggle for freedom of association and electoral justice. His political career spanned more than four decades, from leading the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM) to serving as Prime Minister (2008–2013) in a power-sharing deal that ended one of the country’s darkest post-election crises. Raila’s brand of politics was often confrontational, yet deeply principled; he was the conscience of a nation that constantly flirted with democratic relapse.
Raila’s brand of politics was often confrontational, yet deeply principled;
Raila’s handshake with President Uhuru Kenyatta in 2018 remains one of the most defining — and polarizing, moments of his later years. To some, it was an act of statesmanship that stabilized the nation; to others, a betrayal that blurred the moral clarity of opposition politics. But few could deny that it demonstrated Raila’s enduring capacity to rise above personal ambition for what he perceived as the national good.
Yet the question that now haunts Kenya’s political landscape is not merely how Raila will be remembered, but what comes after him. For nearly sixty years, the Odinga family has been the moral and political compass of Kenya’s opposition. Jaramogi stood as the first great dissenter, refusing to serve under what he saw as creeping despotism. Raila carried that torch through successive regimes, transforming personal persecution into collective purpose. Now, with both father and son gone, Kenya faces an uncertain political realignment, a vacuum of moral authority that no clear figure appears ready to fill.
The Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), once a vibrant vehicle for reformist energy, risks fragmentation without its founding patriarch. Younger leaders within the Azimio la Umoja coalition , from Martha Karua to Kalonzo Musyoka, face the monumental task of redefining opposition politics in a post-Raila era. But as history has shown, movements built around towering personalities rarely survive their founders intact. Raila was not just a politician; he was an institution, a walking archive of Kenya’s unfinished democracy.
The challenge, therefore, extends beyond succession. It touches the very soul of Kenya’s political culture: can the opposition transform from a personality-driven struggle to an institutionalized democratic force? Can it cultivate a new generation of leaders who embody not just charisma but courage, the courage to confront power, demand accountability, and, when necessary, sacrifice ambition for principle?
Can ODM and Kenya now cultivate a new generation of leaders who embody not just charisma but courage,
Raila’s absence will also echo beyond Kenya’s borders. In the East African region, he was regarded as both a statesman and a stabilizer, a bridge between liberation-era politics and contemporary democratic aspirations. His voice, often unflinching and pan-Africanist, lent moral weight to regional debates on governance and justice. Without him, that moral canopy may thin, leaving younger leaders to navigate an increasingly transactional political landscape.
Yet perhaps the greatest testament to Raila Odinga’s legacy lies in the paradox he leaves behind: a democracy still unfinished, but freer because he dared to fight. He did not always win elections indeed, he was the perennial contender, but his greatest victories were ideological, not electoral. He normalized dissent, legitimized opposition, and reminded a continent too accustomed to silence that political resistance could be noble.
As Kenya buries Raila Odinga, it must confront a sobering truth: the struggle for a just and accountable government cannot be inherited by name; it must be rekindled by conviction. The opposition he leaves behind must evolve, from the politics of memory to the politics of renewal.
Raila Odinga’s life was a testament to defiance, a story of endurance, loss, and unrelenting belief in the promise of Kenya. In death, as in life, he compels the nation to ask difficult questions: not merely who will lead, but who will dare.
