The Civility Myth: Unpacking the Truth About Gen Z Protests

The Civility Myth: Unpacking the Truth About Gen Z Protests

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Introduction

I am a Gen Z, 25 years old to be precise. The 2024 Finance Bill protest was the first time I ever joined a protest, the Wednesday Demos was my second, and I am not planning to stop any time soon.

Not because I love the chaos, nor because I had nothing better to do. I showed up because I was angry, because I was tired of feeling powerless, and because silence was no longer an option. Standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers chanting, holding placards, and dodging tear gas, I realized something powerful: protest is not just noise. It is voice.

Yet the moment we hit the streets, the labels came fast: violent, destructive, paid goons. The cameras zoomed in on burning tyres, never on the chants for justice. The headlines today spoke of “clashes” but skipped over the causes. The Daily Nation called it “The Black Wednesday.” The Standard headline read “The Rogue Regime.” And just like that, our right to be heard was twisted into a justification for state force.

For decades, protests in Africa, Kenya included, have been painted with a broad and hostile brush: violent, chaotic, and illegitimate. Whenever crowds flood the streets of Nairobi, Lagos, Kinshasa, or Khartoum, the first images that dominate are not of civic expression but of looting, smoke, and confrontation. Meanwhile, similar movements in the West are more generously described as civil, organized, and even “historic” unless, of course, they explode on global TV.

But here's my take: Kenyans know how to protest peacefully. The narrative that we are inherently violent is false, lazy, and dangerous. It’s a political tool used to silence dissent, criminalize the youth, and justify police brutality. We’ve seen it again and again: peaceful demonstrators met with tear gas, water cannons, rubber bullets, and arbitrary arrests. Article 37 of the Kenyan Constitution affirms every person’s right to assemble, demonstrate, and picket peacefully. This isn’t a privilege handed out by the State—it’s a fundamental right. But in reality, it’s a right that’s routinely trampled the moment citizens try to exercise it.

The Persistent Stereotype

There is a long-standing narrative that Africans, when dissatisfied, resort to rage, looting, and lawlessness. This framing is not only condescending; it's also statistically and historically inaccurate. It erases the nuances of African political activism and overlooks countless peaceful demonstrations across the continent. From South Africa's #FeesMustFall to Ghana's #FixTheCountry and Kenya's #RejectFinanceBill in 2024, peaceful mobilizations have been a defining feature of African civic life. Yet these often fail to attract host country attention, regional attention, or even global attention unless they end in chaos.

Media coverage plays a huge role in perpetuating this image. A peaceful demonstration in Accra or Nairobi with 10,000 disciplined protestors will not make international headlines. But if two shops are looted and a tear gas canister goes off? Cue the flashing red banners. Governments across the continent know the power of this narrative, and they use it. Label a protest "violent" and you immediately get the green light to use excessive force, impose curfews, arrest journalists, and shut down the internet.

In Kenya, for example, there is a documented pattern of government infiltrating protests with provocateurs. These individuals are often linked to security forces or political operatives, instigate violence to justify a brutal crackdown, as was the case during the protest marking the heinous murder of Albert Ojwang. Once property is destroyed, the state calls the protest illegal, and the moral high ground shifts. The same was the case in July 2024; the protests against the Finance Bill began peacefully, with thousands of youth marching acrossmajor cities and towns. But as always, violence soon broke out. Government-aligned media shifted the narrative, focusing on scattered looting incidents while ignoring the legitimate grievances of the demonstrators.

Why Do Protests Turn Violent?

Article 37 of the Constitution guarantees every person the right to assemble, demonstrate, and picket peacefully and unarmed. Yet, in reality, this right is consistently undermined by security agencies. Protesters must notify the police in advance, but this notification is frequently treated as a request for permission permission that is often denied arbitrarily.

Police in Kenya arrive not to facilitate peaceful protest but to shut it down. Permits are denied. Roads are blocked. Protesters are teargassed before they even begin. This breeds a sense of hopelessness and rage. Add in a combustible mix of high unemployment, political exclusion, hunger, and despair, and it becomes clear why some protests boil over.

When institutions fail to provide justice, the streets become the last court of appeal. And when the state responds with bullets and batons, frustration mutates into fury. We must also acknowledge the role of trauma. Many African countries are young democracies; some are barely post-conflict states. Protesters carry historical wounds, and when confronted with force, the past and present collide. Violence becomes both expression and resistance.

Let’s Rethink the Narrative

So the next time someone says African protests are always violent, ask them, Which ones? When? What were people demanding? Who escalated the violence? the protesters or the police? We must not just accept the headlines. Question the images. Challenge the narratives. While it is easy to dismiss protesters as violent, it is much harder, and more honest, to face what they are fighting for.Citizens are not just making noise. They are risking everything to demand better. They are standing up for democracy, justice, and dignity, often in systems that deny them all three.

It is time to stop asking if Gen Z know how to protest peacefully. The real question is, Why do so many governments respond with force instead of listening? African protest culture is not the problem. In fact, it may be one of the continent’s greatest strengths. It deserves respect, not ridicule.