Those who hated and betrayed Raila now mourning the loudest

Raila Amolo Odinga has rested, and Kenya stands at the edge of both history and hypocrisy. The air is thick with praise, the cameras are rolling, and the same hands that once threw stones now carry wreaths of flowers. The same tongues that spat venom now whisper sanctified tributes. And yet, beneath the soft speeches and the polished tears, a question burns in the hearts of millions: Who will tell the truth? Who will speak for Baba now?

I remember Julius Malema’s thunderous eulogy at the funeral of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela in 2018. Standing before a trembling nation, Malema refused to sanitise history. He refused to let the oppressors of yesterday rewrite their crimes in the language of mourning. He looked up and asked for a signal from the departed mother of the revolution so he would know how to deal with those who had betrayed her in life and now pretended to honour her in death.

Today, Kenya needs its own Malema moment. Because Baba’s funeral, like Winnie’s, was not only a burial. It was a battlefield for truth. It was a confrontation between memory and manipulation, between genuine loyalty and calculated political theatre.

Those crying the loudest today are not necessarily the ones who loved Raila. Many are the same who rigged him out, insulted him, teargassed him, and sought to destroy him politically and physically. They jailed his allies, branded him unelectable, and turned his name into a political insult. They weaponised the State against him and laughed when he wept for justice. Now they stand at the podiums of power, not to seek apology but to pretend to mourn the man they spent a lifetime crucifying.

But we, the people, remember. We remember the long nights of tear gas and broken bones, when Baba stood for truth alone. We remember the years when the State called him chaos, while knowing he carried the dream of democracy on his back. We remember the stolen elections, the betrayals, and the sacrifices. We remember that it was Raila who stood up when others hid, it was he who spoke when silence was safer, who forgave when vengeance would have been easier.

And yet, today, those who once plotted his political death are using his real death for political mileage. Their bloggers churn out lies wrapped in condolences. Their speeches drip with artificial grief. Their social media pages shine with carefully staged sorrow. It is a performance, slick, cynical, and soulless.

Let us be clear: Raila does not belong to the political elite who mocked his pain. He belongs to the people who walked with him in the trenches, the market women who sang his name in defiance, the jobless youth who painted his face on walls of hope, the old men who prayed for him in small churches, the mothers who wept when he was detained. These are the ones not allowed to speak at his funeral. Those were the true mourners at his funeral. They did not have microphones or media crews, but their grief is real, sacred, and unbought.

And to them, we must say: Do not let the story of Baba be rewritten by those who betrayed him. Do not allow history to be edited by those who spent decades demonising him. Raila’s struggle was not for applause. It was for justice. His life was not about personal ambition. It was about national redemption. He carried our contradictions, our divisions, and our hopes. He believed in a Kenya that was fair, inclusive, and free, even when that dream cost him everything.

So yes, one among us must rise and speak truth, as Malema did for Winnie. One must remind this nation that betrayal does not become virtue simply because time has passed. One must remind the pretenders that forgiveness is not the same as forgetfulness. Baba’s death should not become a photo opportunity for those who made his life a living crucifixion.

Raila deserves honesty, not hypocrisy. He deserves remembrance, not revision. His struggle deserves continuation, not exploitation.

If he could send us a signal today, perhaps he would tell us what he always did: To remain steadfast, to resist lies, to stay on the side of truth no matter the cost. He would remind us that freedom is not a slogan, that justice must be defended, and that leadership means sacrifice, not self-interest.

We must not let his funeral end in empty eulogies. Let it be a call to conscience. Let it shame the liars, inspire the young, and awaken the sleeping soul of this nation. Because Raila is not just being buried today, Kenya’s truth is being tested.

And if there is any justice left under heaven, then may history never allow those who persecuted Baba to wear the garments of saints. May their fake tears dry quickly. And may those who truly loved him worked with him to complete the work he began.

For in the spirit of Malema, we too ask Baba for a signal, how to deal with those who hated him in life and now pretend to love him in death. Until that signal comes, we hold our truth close and our resolve firm: That Kenya will not forget.