The fall of Orange Democratic Movement does not feel like the collapse of an ordinary political party; it feels like the slow death of a movement that once ran through the veins of millions of Kenyans like blood itself. For years, ODM stood as the loudest voice of resistance, a symbol of defiance against oppression, state intimidation, and political betrayal. Even when politics became a marketplace of shifting loyalties, ODM still carried the image of a party born from struggle, sacrifice, and the hunger for justice. Under the towering shadow of The RT Raila Amollo Odinga; Baba to many, the party had glue, purpose, and a soul. But with his death came an emptiness that exposed cracks long hidden beneath the orange banners and revolutionary chants.
Today, the party looks divided, exhausted, and ideologically orphaned, drifting toward a political deathbed few ever imagined possible. To many supporters, this is not evolution; it is surrender. And as the echoes of “Baba while you live, Baba while you lead” fade into memory, Kenya may be witnessing the burial of the only political machine that ever truly threatened the dominance and legacy of Kenya African National Union. When Raila died, something deeper died with him, not just a man, but the spirit that held ODM together.
The journey of ODM started in 2005 when RT Raila Odinga was gearing up for the 2007 elections against an ally, Mwai Kibaki to whom they parted ways after a successful 2002 elections where the only objective was to remove Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi from the president seat. Kenya felt restored after Daniel Moi left the seat and at that time it felt right that Mwai Kibaki was the president. Then Raila wanted another was from the Rainbow collation, he wanted more and Kibaki also wanted more and thus ODM was formed. For those who have gotten the chance to walk with Raila Odinga can tell you everything nice about him. However, he felt short to understand that at some point he will be needed to hand over the mantle of responsibility to someone else and sit aside and observe.
Its roots stretched across different regions, ideologies, ambitions, and personalities. The formation of ODM brought together some of the most influential political figures Kenya had seen in decades: William Ruto, Musalia Mudavadi, Najib Balala, and Joseph Nyagah among others. What united them was not tribe, not personal gain, and not even long-term political compatibility. What united them was resistance.
The 2005 constitutional referendum became ODM’s baptism by fire. The Orange symbol became more than just a campaign symbol; it became a language of defiance. A “No” vote against the proposed constitution was interpreted by many Kenyans as a rejection of political betrayal and centralized power. Against the machinery of government, the Orange team mobilized the country with remarkable energy. When the “No” side won, it was not just a referendum victory; it was the birth of a political earthquake.
For Raila, that moment transformed him from opposition figure into a symbol of resistance. For ODM, it created the belief that power was finally within reach.
Then came 2007.
Few elections in Kenya’s history have carried the emotional intensity of the 2007 General Election. ODM entered that election with momentum, public excitement, and a nationwide coalition that seemed unstoppable. Across villages, towns, campuses, and marketplaces, there was a genuine feeling that change was coming. ODM supporters believed they were not merely supporting a candidate; they were participating in a political revolution.
When the results declared victory for Party of National Unity and President Mwai Kibaki, ODM and its supporters strongly disputed the outcome, claiming the election had been rigged. What followed was one of the darkest chapters in Kenya’s modern history; violence, division, displacement, and a country painfully confronting its political fractures.
Yet even after the post-election crisis, ODM remained powerful because it represented something emotional. To many Kenyans, ODM was the voice of the ordinary citizen. It carried the frustrations of unemployment, inequality, corruption, tribal exclusion, and broken promises. It felt alive because it was built around struggle.
But over the years, something changed.
The founding principals slowly drifted away. Political alliances shifted. Ambitions evolved. William Ruto eventually became one of Raila’s fiercest political opponents. Musalia Mudavadi charted his own course. Others exited quietly, while some remained symbolically attached to the movement. ODM survived every split, every handshake, every election loss, and every internal disagreement because one thing remained constant: Raila himself.
And perhaps that became both ODM’s greatest strength and greatest weakness.
ODM increasingly stopped feeling like an institution with independent ideological pillars and began feeling like an extension of Raila Odinga’s political identity. The party’s heartbeat became the man himself. His sacrifices, detentions, resilience, and consistency kept the movement alive. Raila fought for political reforms, constitutional changes, democratic space, and accountability for decades. Even critics often admit that his contribution to Kenya’s democratic growth cannot simply be erased.
But a political party cannot survive forever on the emotional power of one man.
That is where the discomfort begins.
A movement built for the people must always sound like it belongs to the people. And lately, many supporters have begun questioning whether ODM still carries the same openness and revolutionary spirit that once defined it.
When Oburu Odinga said, “Democracy must have discipline. A party is like a club,” the statement may have intended to emphasize order and loyalty. And yes, democracy without structure can become chaos. Political parties require discipline. They require unity.
But tone matters in politics.
For many listeners, the statement sounded less like guidance and more like exclusion. It carried the uncomfortable suggestion that disagreement no longer has room within the movement. That loyalty matters more than conversation. That ODM was becoming a closed circle rather than a people-driven democratic movement.
And that is dangerous for any party that once thrived because of public ownership.
The irony is painful. ODM was built by dissent. It was born because people refused to be silenced. It became powerful because ordinary Kenyans felt included in its struggle. If the party begins to appear intolerant of criticism or internal questioning, then it risks betraying the very spirit that created it.
The bigger question now is not whether Raila Odinga sacrificed for Kenya. History already answers that. The bigger question is whether ODM can outgrow being a personality-driven movement and become a lasting democratic institution with values stronger than individuals.
Because movements built around personalities often struggle after the personality fades.
Kenya’s political future needs parties with ideological clarity, internal democracy, generational transition, and structures that can survive beyond founding figures. ODM still has the opportunity to become that kind of party. But it can only do so if it remembers why Kenyans embraced the Orange movement in the first place.
Not because it belonged to one family.
Not because it demanded obedience.
But because it gave millions of ordinary Kenyans a feeling that they, too, belonged in the conversation.
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