One year after Raila Odinga’s death, the political movement he led for decades is struggling to define its future. Within the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), a bitter dispute over cooperation with President William Ruto has exposed divisions over the party’s identity and independence. The struggle raises a question that extends beyond ODM’s leadership: Can Kenya’s opposition remain a credible force without the man who helped shape it? Raila’s death prompted tributes and commemorations celebrating a political career defined by the struggle for multiparty democracy, constitutional reform, freedom of expression and social justice.

Yet the divisions now confronting his party reveal the difficulty of sustaining a political movement built around one dominant figure. His legacy remains a source of inspiration, but also a point of contention over what ODM should stand for and how it should exercise power.

At the centre of the dispute is ODM’s relationship with Ruto’s administration. The removal of Secretary-General Edwin Sifuna, who opposed closer cooperation with the president, has become a flashpoint in a wider struggle over the party’s direction. The disagreement is about more than personalities: It raises questions about whether ODM can work with the government while retaining the independence to challenge it.

A vacuum at the heart of the opposition For decades, Raila occupied a central place in Kenya’s reform movements, challenging successive governments and campaigning for political change. To his supporters, he represented resistance and the promise of a more accountable political system. His influence, however, also meant that the opposition’s ability to unite often depended on his personal authority, political networks and capacity to negotiate competing interests. Political analyst Professor Herman Manyora argues that Raila’s absence has left a vacuum that the opposition has struggled to fill.

“One year after Raila’s death, he is larger than life. I think there’s a way in which people thought Raila was not going to die. We had immortalised Raila,” Manyora says.

He argues that the opposition has yet to find a figure capable of bringing its competing interests together.

“The opposition is in disarray. There isn’t a figure that people can rally around,” he says.

The assessment points to a challenge that predates Raila’s death but has become more visible since it: A movement can inherit a leader’s political legacy without necessarily inheriting the authority that held it together. Whether that vacuum becomes a lasting weakness will depend on the ability of other leaders to build trust, establish a common agenda and organise beyond individual loyalties.

The alliance that divided his legacy Raila’s decision to work with Ruto in 2024, amid nationwide protests against the Finance Bill, remains one of the most contested chapters of his political career.

The protests, driven in large part by young Kenyans, developed into a wider expression of anger about taxation, governance and political accountability. As pressure mounted on the government, Raila’s move towards cooperation with Ruto raised questions about whether dialogue could deliver meaningful change or whether it risked drawing the opposition closer to the establishment it had long challenged. Manyora views the intervention as a decisive moment for Ruto’s administration.

“What happened then was that Raila came to the rescue of President William Ruto because, had he not come to rescue Ruto, I think the government would have collapsed,” he says.

Although Manyora’s assessment of the political consequences of the alliance is debatable, his interpretation captures the significance of Raila’s decision: A politician long associated with opposition politics had become a partner in an arrangement with the president against whom many Kenyans were protesting.

For some young Kenyans, the alliance was a betrayal of the political struggle that had made Raila a symbol of resistance. The Gen Z-led protests emerged largely outside traditional political structures, driven by demands for accountability and frustration with established political elites. Many protesters rejected the idea that their movement should be absorbed into negotiations among familiar political figures.

Joshua Okayo, a lawyer and human rights activist who identifies with the Gen Z generation, says Raila’s decision left him feeling betrayed.

“As a Gen Z, I recognise the kind of politics he fought for. I recognise the years he put into fighting for social justice, democracy, rule of law, constitutionalism, and many good things. But I also have a spot in my heart where I feel he betrayed the generation,” Okayo says.

That criticism captures the tension at the heart of the debate about Raila’s legacy: whether political compromise was a pragmatic attempt to stabilise the country and pursue reform, or a retreat from the principles that had defined his career.

Supporters of cooperation argued that dialogue offered a route towards addressing national challenges without prolonged confrontation, while critics saw the partnership as evidence that opposition politics risked being absorbed into the very political establishment it was meant to hold accountable. The question is not simply whether Raila compromised, but whether the arrangement delivered enough to justify the political cost.

ODM’s struggle to define its future That debate now confronts ODM as it tries to establish its direction without Raila’s authority. His ability to negotiate alliances and manage competing interests helped hold the party together. In his absence, disagreements over cooperation with Ruto have become harder to contain, exposing divisions over the party’s identity and its role in national politics.

Sifuna’s removal has brought those divisions into sharper focus. His opposition to closer ties with the president has raised questions about how ODM makes decisions, whose interests its leadership represents and whether the party can maintain its independence while working with a government it once opposed.

Catherine Omanyo, identified as ODM’s new secretary-general and a member of Parliament, argues that the party’s cooperation with Ruto should be judged by its commitments rather than by the symbolism of the alliance.

“ODM’s identity was never just a seat on one side of Parliament. It is democracy, devolution, social justice and the rights of ordinary Kenyans. Raila signed a 10-point agreement with President Ruto. That agreement, not personal loyalty, is the basis of our cooperation with the president,” Omanyo tells Al Jazeera. Her argument places the emphasis on whether the agreement delivers meaningful results for Kenyans.

But the existence of an agreement does not, by itself, establish that the partnership is advancing ODM’s stated principles. Its commitments, implementation and measurable outcomes must be examined alongside the party’s willingness to challenge the government when those commitments are not met.

For a movement whose identity was forged in opposition, the challenge is to demonstrate that cooperation does not come at the expense of accountability. If ODM cannot show tangible progress or explain when and how it will oppose the government, it risks deepening concerns among supporters who fear that the party is drifting away from its founding ideals.

The dispute also presents an opportunity for ODM to define what it stands for beyond its relationship with the president. A credible political movement needs more than a history of resistance or the legacy of a revered leader. It needs clear policies, accountable leadership and the willingness to defend its principles even when doing so carries a political cost.

A legacy still being tested The stakes extend beyond ODM. Raila’s death has exposed the difficulty of separating a political movement’s principles from the authority of the leader who embodied them. But divisions within one party do not, on their own, establish that Kenya’s wider opposition has lost its ability to hold the government to account. That judgement depends on whether alternative political forces can organise, articulate credible policies and respond to citizens’ demands.

One year on, the question is not simply who can fill Raila’s shoes. No successor can reproduce his political journey or command precisely the same loyalties. The more consequential question is whether the movement he built can sustain its principles without relying on one man to define them.

For ODM, its relationship with Ruto will ultimately be judged not by the language of cooperation, but by what that cooperation delivers. If the party can demonstrate progress on its commitments while retaining the independence to challenge the government, it may defend its decision as a continuation of Raila’s pragmatic politics. If it cannot, the alliance will strengthen the argument that the opposition he helped build is losing its purpose.

The test of Raila’s legacy, therefore, lies not in how often his name is invoked, but in whether the political principles associated with him continue to shape decisions after his death.

“Cooperation that cannot speak up would betray Raila’s legacy. Cooperation that delivers for Kenyans honours it,” Omanyo says.