Why Raila Odinga never lost faith in courts despite painful legal defeats

There are men whose victories are not measured in titles won and offices held, but in the ideas they leave indelibly etched upon the conscience of a nation. Raila Odinga is one such man. His story, spanning over half a century of Kenya’s political evolution, is one of struggle, loss, endurance, and faith. This is not in himself, but in the promise of institutions, justice, and posterity. His journey has often resembled that of the tragic hero in literature, wounded yet unyielding, battered yet believing.

To call him “broken but unbowed” is not to diminish his strength but to acknowledge the cost of conviction. His political life reads like a long trial. One in which the verdict often went against him. Every loss in court, every alleged stolen election, every betrayal, became another page in Kenya. He may not have won for himself but he has time and again won for the future.

First, very few Kenyan politicians have approached the courts with the constancy Raila has. After every electoral defeat; in 1997, 2007, 2013, 2017 and 2022, he turned not to violence, but to the Constitution. His belief that institutions could be reformed through engagement was itself a lesson in civility. In 2013, when the Supreme Court upheld Uhuru Kenyatta’s victory, Raila famously said, “The court has spoken, we must move on.”

It was not the language of defeat but the language of a democrat who understood that even flawed institutions must be strengthened through faith, not fury. In 2017, he returned to the same court renewed. And history was made. For the first time in Africa, a presidential election was nullified by a court of law. That decision, Raila Odinga versus Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission, did not hand him the presidency. It handed Kenya something greater—proof that law could tame power. Raila may have lost politically, but constitutionally, the nation won.

Secondly, to understand Raila’s resilience, one must return to the Moi years. Detained without trial, tortured and silenced. Raila refused to recant his beliefs. His body bore the scars of state power, but his spirit did not bend. When Kenya trembled under the weight of a one-party state, Raila stood with the few like Gitobu Imanyara, among others, who dared to imagine multiparty democracy. He fought for space, for the idea that dissent is not treason.

Raila exemplified that the ballot is mightier than the bullet. Yes that citizenship means the right to question. The repealing of Section 2A of the Constitution in 1991, which restored multiparty politics, stands as one of the triumphs of that struggle. The freedom of speech we now take for granted was born in the silence of cells like the one he occupied at Nyayo House. In every era, he has carried the cross of misunderstanding. Like Prometheus who stole fire for humanity and was chained for it, Raila’s suffering was for the public good.

Thirdly, it is often forgotten that Raila, the most vilified of Kenya’s politicians, has never sued the media, not once. Raila understood that a free press, however harsh, is better than a censored one. In a country where public figures reach for lawyers at the first sign of criticism, his tolerance is a quiet lesson in liberalism. He never sought to silence his critics. His life illustrates that democracy must include the right to offend and to be offended. It is this tolerance that sustains open societies.

His narrative is a mosaic of near victories and moral triumphs. His 2002 “Kibaki Tosha” moment cemented national unity over personal ambition. His 2007 loss exposed the fragility of electoral justice and birthed the 2010 Constitution. His 2017 petition fortified judicial independence. Each defeat was paradoxically a national advancement. Philosophically, he belongs to the school of those who see history as a long arc bending toward justice. He fights not for immediacy, but for inevitability. His politics is not of expediency, but of endurance. In law and in literature, such faith is rare. It is akin to the moral courage of Antigone, that of standing for what is right even when the state declares it wrong.

Lastly, to the impatient generation of Kenyan politics, Raila offers a hard lesson, that struggle is not a sprint but a relay. Each generation must carry the baton further, even if it cannot finish the race. His own life demonstrates that victory delayed is not victory denied and that sometimes, history rewards those who plant trees under whose shade they may never sit. In every courtroom he walked into, in every rally he addressed, in every loss he accepted with grace, Raila was teaching us something.

The legitimacy of power must always rest on the consent of the governed, and that when institutions falter, they must be fixed and not scattered. Today, as the tides of politics shift and younger faces take the stage, Raila’s relevance remains. His vision of justice through law, of reform through resistance and of freedom through patience continues to shape Kenya’s democratic DNA. He may not have worn the crown, but he changed the kingdom. In the twilight of his career, Raila stood as a paradox, a man who had lost much yet given more. A man who had suffered defeat but bequeathed dignity. One who has been broken by the weight of politics yet unbowed in spirit.