How Raila midwifed new republic of Kenya

To speak of Kenya’s Second Republic the one born of the 2010 Constitution is to invoke his name in every breath.

The document that reset Kenya’s governance, devolution, and human rights architecture did not fall from the sky; it was midwifed through struggle, tears, and the unbending spirit of a man who believed that the people, not the princes, should own the state.

Raila Odinga’s political life was a long conversation between pain and purpose.

His journey toward constitutional reform was neither linear nor convenient. It was full of detentions, betrayals, and moments when power seemed an eternal mirage.

Yet, amid all those tempests, he kept alive one unwavering dream: a Kenya where justice was not negotiated, where equality was not theoretical, and where the ordinary citizen was not a footnote to the story of the powerful.

The 2010 Constitution became the closest materialization of that dream and Raila was, indisputably, its chief midwife.

The first vivid example of his role came in 1997, when, despite being the leader of a splinter opposition party, Raila joined the Inter-Parties Parliamentary Group (IPPG) that pushed for constitutional amendments to open the democratic space.

Those negotiations, which ended some of the harshest clauses of the KANU one-party legacy, were a political baptism that laid the first stones toward comprehensive reform.

Many younger politicians were content with the crumbs of liberalization, but Raila was already speaking of a new constitutional order. “We must go to the roots,” he said then, “not just prune the branches.”

That insistence meant to address structural injustice, not just its symptoms defined his approach thereafter.

The second moment came in 2002, during the National Alliance Rainbow Coalition (NARC) victory that ended Daniel arap Moi’s 24-year rule.

Raila’s famous “Kibaki Tosha” declaration was more than a political endorsement; it was an act of faith in a coalition built on the promise of constitutional transformation.

The Memorandum of Understanding between Raila’s Liberal Democratic Party and Kibaki’s National Alliance of Kenya included an explicit commitment to deliver a new constitution within 100 days. Though that promise was betrayed, Raila’s courage in sacrificing personal ambition for a reform agenda was unmistakable.

In the euphoria of Kibaki’s inauguration, many thought the struggle was over; Raila knew it had just begun.

The third example unfolded during the Bomas Constitutional Conference (2003–2005). Raila became the unofficial leader of the “people’s chapter” — a bloc of delegates who resisted attempts by entrenched elites to dilute the draft prepared after wide public consultations.

He fought for the inclusion of devolution, a strengthened Bill of Rights, gender equity, and checks on presidential power. When the infamous “Wako Draft” sought to reverse those gains, Raila led the “Orange” campaign against it in the 2005 referendum.

His “No” victory not only defeated a state-backed proposal but also reaffirmed that Kenyans were now the ultimate authors of their Constitution.

That campaign was the first referendum victory against a sitting government in Kenya’s history, and it marked Raila as the face of popular constitutionalism.

The fourth and perhaps most painful phase was the 2007–2008 post-election crisis, in which the disputed presidential results plunged Kenya into chaos. Amid grief and burning cities, Raila chose negotiation over vengeance.

The National Accord, mediated by Kofi Annan, created the Grand Coalition Government and, crucially, the Agenda Four reforms the foundation for the new constitutional process.

Raila, as Prime Minister, oversaw the establishment of the Committee of Experts that redrafted the Constitution. Many forget that without his insistence on consensus and his tolerance of a delicate power-sharing arrangement, the process might have collapsed. Raila used the levers of his office not to entrench himself but to midwife the birth of a new order.

The fifth example is the final push came during the 2010 referendum campaign.

Raila toured the country relentlessly, from the humid coast of Mombasa to the dry plains of Turkana, urging Kenyans to embrace the proposed constitution.

He called it “the people’s charter for justice,” and even when church leaders and political rivals spread fear about its provisions on land, abortion, and Kadhi courts, Raila stood firm on principle.

His rallying cry — “Yes, for a new Kenya” unified a fractured nation around hope. On August 4, 2010, when 67 percent of Kenyans voted “Yes,” it was not just a victory for reformers; it was the coronation of a dream Raila had carried for three decades.

To appreciate his role, one must also understand the kind of leadership it took to navigate those transitions. Raila was not a perfect man,he was often accused of political pragmatism, of striking deals with strange bedfellows, and of tolerating the imperfections of coalition politics.

Yet, those who observed him closely saw a consistent ideological spine beneath the tactical flexibility. He was a man who could shake hands with a former jailer if it meant peace for the nation. His life was a parable in forgiveness and endurance.

The Constitution of Kenya 2010 fundamentally altered the architecture of governance. It created devolved county governments, enhanced judicial independence, redefined citizenship, and instituted robust human rights protections.

Every one of these features had Raila’s intellectual and political fingerprints. He was the first to argue for devolution as a shield against the tyranny of central power, an idea he borrowed from both his father Jaramogi’s federalist dreams and his own study of global constitutionalism. He saw devolution not as a gift to regions but as a guarantee of equity.

Even after 2010, Raila’s role did not wane. He became the conscience of the Constitution, reminding successive governments that the ink of reform was not yet dry.

He challenged electoral malpractices in the courts, defended judicial independence when it came under assault, and used his political capital to sustain the culture of constitutionalism.

The famous “handshake” with President Uhuru Kenyatta in 2018 was another act of statesmanship,a move that stabilized a polarized nation, though at great personal political cost. Whether one admired or opposed him, one could not deny that he was guided by the conviction that peace and reform were two sides of the same coin.

When Raila Odinga passed away, Kenya did not just lose a politician; it lost an architect of its modern democracy. His critics saw him as power-hungry; his admirers saw him as power’s reformer.

History will likely judge him by the latter, as a man who turned personal suffering into national awakening. The 2010 Constitution stands today not as a monument of government generosity but as a monument of citizen resilience, and Raila was the bridge between the two.

Kenya’s current stability and institutional maturity owe much to the foundations he laid. For the young generation of reformers, his story is a manual in patience, strategy, and the long arc of justice. He taught that revolutions need not come with rifles; they can come with referenda.

That liberation is not an event but a culture. That democracy, if nurtured well, can be African in rhythm and global in aspiration.

The late Raila Odinga midwifed not just a Constitution — he midwifed a republic. In the corridors of justice, the halls of parliament, and the dusty public squares of Kibera and Kisumu, his name will echo whenever the preamble of the 2010 Constitution is recited: “We, the people of Kenya…” For he, more than any other, ensured that those words truly belonged to the people.

Alloyce Komba is Senior Learned Counsel at Haki Kwanza Advocates in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania