The Hero Who Became a Stranger
He once walked with the people. Mud on his shoes. Sweat on his back. Teargas in his lungs. He raised his fist not for cameras, but for crowds that believed in him. Crowds that protected him. Crowds that endured beatings, bullets, and humiliation for him. Raila Odinga was more than a politician. He was a movement.
That movement is now gone.
The Shocking Handshake That Shattered Millions
No one expected it. Not his loyal followers. Not the grieving mothers who buried sons in his name. Not the students who were beaten in his protests. Not the boda boda riders who lost limbs. Not the hawkers who starved on days Raila called for action.
And yet, there he was. Sitting next to President William Ruto.
The same man whose government unleashed bullets on Gen Z in the streets.
The betrayal wasn’t slow. It wasn’t disguised. It landed like a slap—a press conference, a smile, and a handshake. No resistance. No explanation. Just quiet surrender.
Raila’s Legacy: From People’s Fighter to Statehouse Guest
For years, Raila was the man who stood where the powerful feared. He survived jail, rigged elections, beatings, and tear gas. He stood with the oppressed. But today, he sits with those who crush protests and silence youth.
He didn’t lose to the system. He joined it.
And Kenyans are asking: How do you explain this to the 19-year-old protester on the frontlines? How do you tell the children of fallen activists that the man they trusted now breaks bread with their oppressors?
The Generation That Moved On
Raila’s fall from grace wasn’t gradual. It was instant. Gen Z noticed. They deleted his photos. They stopped chanting his name. His rallies fell silent. His words no longer trend on social media. He became what he always fought—a politician looking for one more seat, one more handshake, one more deal.
Kenyans didn’t ask for a perfect leader. They asked for loyalty. They asked for someone who wouldn’t trade their struggle for position. Raila didn’t just walk away. He walked into the arms of the same people who shoot, gas, and lie to the youth.
And the streets noticed.
The Betrayal Is Bigger Than Raila
The betrayal isn’t just political. It’s personal.
When Raila lost elections, Kenyans sacrificed more than he did. They skipped work. They skipped meals. They put their lives on the line. They protected his name like it was their own. And now, that name means nothing.
The Raila of 1997 would have rejected this handshake. The Raila of 2007 would have called this betrayal. But today’s Raila chose comfort over courage.
He forgot where he was made.
He wasn’t made in boardrooms. He was made in the streets of Kisumu, Mathare, and Kibra. He was built by crowds, not committees. His power came from pain, not perks. And when he traded that for a seat next to Ruto, the bond broke.
Why Kenyans Won’t Forget
The betrayal is louder than any excuse. It’s sharper than any press statement. Raila folded. Quietly. No fight. No last stand. Just a handshake. Just a man tired of the struggle, ready to sit with the very leaders he once warned us about.
His loyal defenders say it’s strategy. Some say it’s about legacy. Others say it’s about unity. But there’s no strategy in surrender. There’s no legacy in bowing to thieves. There’s no unity with those who kill children in protests.
This isn’t bitterness. It’s clarity.
Raila made his choice. Now Kenyans will make theirs.
Raila Is No Longer the Voice of the Streets
The streets have moved on. Gen Z has moved on. They are choosing new voices. They are not waiting for Raila to find his way back. His chapter is closed.
He now sits in boardrooms while the youth bury their own—not just from bullets, but from silence. From betrayal. From the deafening absence of the man who once said, “No retreat, no surrender.”
He retreated.
He surrendered.
And he thinks we didn’t notice.
But Kenyans noticed.
And Kenyans will not forget.
Kenya’s Future Doesn’t Belong to Raila
Raila’s political debt is paid. Kenya owes him nothing. His time is up. The revolution will continue without him. The youth don’t need another messiah. They need accountability. They need dignity. They need leaders who won’t trade their lives for handshakes.
He had the chance to seal his place as a national hero.
Instead, he sealed his place in the hall of betrayal.
Let him sit with the thieves.
The streets have already chosen a new voice.
And this voice doesn’t need permission to rise.
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