GenZ aspirants turn to fundraising apps in quest for money, power

To understand why a fundraising app matters politically in Kenya today, you have to begin on June 25, 2024.

As Members of Parliament passed the Finance Bill 2024, protests erupted across Nairobi in one of the capital’s most intense demonstrations in decades. Thousands of mainly young Kenyans gathered around Parliament, breaching police barricades and briefly occupying the chamber. By nightfall, at least nineteen people had been killed after security forces opened fire with live rounds.

But the movement did not disappear after the streets cleared. It reorganised.

What emerged in the aftermath was a youth-led political culture that was digitally coordinated, decentralised, and deeply distrustful of traditional political structures. Young Kenyans who had organised protests on X, TikTok, WhatsApp, Telegram, and Zello began shifting from resistance to political participation.

Now, as debate over the Finance Bill 2026 intensifies and the 2027 General Election approaches, some of those same young people are preparing to run for office, and they are relying on crowdfunding apps and digital fundraising to do it.

One figure embodying this shift is Billy Mwangi, the 26-year-old criminology student from Embu who rose to national prominence after allegedly being abducted by security agents during the protest period and held incommunicado for weeks. Mwangi has since declared his intention to contest the Embu senatorial seat in 2027, saying he wants to champion integrity, accountability, and youth economic empowerment.

Mwangi is part of a broader wave of young aspirants, bloggers, student leaders, online organisers, and content creators, who were politically radicalised during the Finance Bill protests and are now seeking elective office. Parallel to this is the rise of movements like “Niko Kadi,” which aims to register millions of young voters ahead of the next election cycle.

But entering politics in Kenya requires money.

“Campaigns demand transport, printing, rallies, polling agents, logistics, and the ability to sustain volunteers over long periods. Traditionally, that machinery has been funded through wealthy patrons, business networks, or entrenched political interests. Many Gen Z aspirants have neither the capital nor the elite networks that conventional politicians rely on. What we do have is the culture of pooling resources,” Mwangi who is leveraging the goodwill of Kenyans says, adding that he will explore crowdfunding apps such as OneKitty.

Kenya has long relied on communal fundraising traditions, from harambees and church collections to chama contributions and emergency WhatsApp appeals. Mobile money and social platforms have digitised that culture, making fundraising instant, transparent, and borderless.

That shift has created an opening for platforms like OneKitty, a Nairobi-built fundraising app increasingly being adopted for political mobilisation alongside weddings, funerals, and social contributions.

“OneKitty is seeing a rise in political crowdfunding,” says co-founder Danche Nganga. “Unlike traditional WhatsApp collections, contributors can track funds in real time without relying on screenshots or manual updates as the platform integrates fundraising tools directly into WhatsApp groups.”

His co-founder, Shem Maina, says the app was designed around a familiar Kenyan experience: chaotic fundraising drives where screenshots flood WhatsApp groups while exhausted administrators manually track contributions late into the night.

Now that same infrastructure is quietly becoming political.

The implications are already visible in the fundraising model adopted by former Chief Justice David Maraga, who has positioned himself as a digital-first outsider candidate ahead of the 2027 presidential race. Maraga launched an online donation platform allowing supporters to contribute as little as Ksh50 through M-Pesa and his campaign website.

Within days, the campaign reported raising hundreds of thousands of shillings from ordinary Kenyans and diaspora supporters. Later figures placed contributions at over Ksh.7.7 million from more than 1,800 donors.

“If my campaign is funded by donations from ordinary Kenyans, then it becomes our campaign, and I will be accountable to you,” the campaign message read.

Digital fundraising itself is not entirely new in Kenya. Politicians like the late Prime Minister Raila Odinga have previously used M-Pesa paybills to mobilise support during campaigns and political causes. What has changed is the scale, credibility, and cultural resonance of crowdfunding among younger voters who already use digital contribution systems in everyday life.

For many Gen Z organisers, public fundraising also represents a different political philosophy: accountability through many small donors rather than dependence on a single wealthy financier.

That conversation is now colliding once again with the Finance Bill 2026, reviving national debate around taxation, economic pressure, and digital access nearly two years after the 2024 protests. Among the more contentious proposals are taxes targeting imported second-hand clothes and a proposed 25 percent excise duty on mobile phones.

Critics argue the proposals could worsen the cost of living and slow digital inclusion at a time when smartphones have become central to work, communication, organising, and commerce.

For Gen Z, the smartphone is no longer just a consumer device. It is the tool through which they protest, organise fundraisers, coordinate campaigns, consume news, and participate politically.

That is partly why the Finance Bill 2026 is likely to attract far greater scrutiny from young voters, digital activists, and small business owners than finance legislation once did. Online mobilisation has already begun, and the language of public participation is increasingly being shaped not only in Parliament or political rallies, but inside WhatsApp groups, livestreams, crowdfunding links, and digital communities.

A generation that once pooled money to protest is now pooling money to pursue power.