upepo
Elder Lister
In 1992, as Kenya was reeling from the return of multi-party politics, President Daniel arap Moi faced a challenge he had not seen in years, a united opposition, angry citizens, and a growing hunger for change. To fight back, Moi’s inner circle engineered one of the most controversial political creations in Kenyan history: Youth for KANU ’92, better known as YK’92.
On paper, it was a youth movement meant to energize KANU’s campaign. In reality, it became a powerful network of money, intimidation, and manipulation that distorted democracy and left scars still visible today.
YK’92 was launched with youthful charisma at its core. A then 31-year-old Cyrus Jirongo was appointed Chairman, confident, eloquent, and with direct access to the President. His right-hand man was a young William Ruto, then an ambitious University of Nairobi graduate serving as the secretary. Together, they mobilized young men and women across Kenya, promising empowerment, but secretly building one of the most feared political machines of the Moi era.
Money began to flow,and not small amounts. Reports suggest YK’92 was bankrolled directly from State House and shadowy government-linked sources, including funds later tied to the infamous Goldenberg scandal. Cash was everywhere, stacks of new notes, campaign cars, endless T-shirts and posters. It was said that “money rained like confetti” at YK’92 rallies. Those who joined got paid,those who resisted were coerced.
It was during this period that the KSh 500 note was introduced, and rumour had it, it was printed in bulk just for YK’92 operations. The note quickly became nicknamed “Jirongo”,a sarcastic reminder of how deeply YK’92’s money politics had infiltrated daily life.
YK’92 members operated like mini-warlords. They had access to government cars, security escorts, and enormous campaign budgets. They strutted through towns in designer suits and dark glasses, distributing cash to buy loyalty and silence dissent. The message was clear: you were either with YK’92, or against power itself.
Cyrus Jirongo, flush with sudden wealth and influence, became one of the most talked-about young men in Kenya. He rubbed shoulders with tycoons and ministers, lived lavishly, and spoke with authority far beyond his age. William Ruto, his close ally, proved himself a sharp organiser, mobilising thousands of youths, controlling networks, and building the foundation of the political style that would define his career.
But as their power grew, so did their arrogance. YK’92 members often clashed with older KANU stalwarts. They dismissed long-serving party officials as outdated and corrupt,ironically, while engaging in corruption on a scale the old guard could only imagine.
Under the surface, YK’92’s campaign was not just about votes,it was about fear. Opposition supporters were harassed, rallies were violently disrupted, and communities in politically volatile regions, especially the Rift Valley, were targeted with threats and ethnic propaganda.
Many Kenyans still remember the atmosphere of tension and division. YK’92 agents would arrive in villages in convoys of Land Cruisers, hand out cash, demand loyalty to KANU, and warn residents against “betraying the President.” People were bought, silenced, or intimidated. Democracy was drowned in money and manipulation.
What Moi’s government could not achieve through persuasion, YK’92 achieved through pressure. The group turned youth into tools of coercion, spreading propaganda, ethnic fear, and loyalty to the ruling party in exchange for handouts.
After KANU narrowly retained power in the December 1992 elections, YK’92’s influence became a problem even for Moi himself. The group’s leaders had grown too powerful, too visible, and too wealthy. Rumours began circulating that Jirongo and his young lieutenants were eyeing political futures beyond KANU, possibly even challenging Moi’s inner circle.
In June 1993, the crackdown began. Several YK’92 members, including William Ruto, were arrested. The group’s offices were shut down, and their access to state resources cut off overnight. Moi, ever the political tactician, had used YK’92 to win and now discarded it to restore control.
Cyrus Jirongo found himself facing massive tax claims and financial investigations. His companies were accused of shady government dealings, including an inflated NSSF property sale worth over KSh 1.2 billion. The once-invincible YK’92 chairman suddenly became a political liability. The lavish convoys disappeared. The cash dried up. And the same system that made them powerful now crushed them without mercy.
YK’92’s shadow never really left Kenya. It normalised the worst kind of politics,where money replaced ideology, ethnicity replaced unity, and intimidation replaced persuasion. It showed how easily the youth could be weaponised by power, corrupted by sudden wealth, and abandoned when their usefulness ended.
Some of its key players, like William Ruto, went on to build formidable political careers, carrying lessons, good and bad from that era. The legacy of YK’92 still lives in Kenya’s political DNA, cash-driven campaigns, patronage networks, ethnic mobilisation, and the use of youth wings as power tools.
YK’92 wasn’t a movement. It was a mirror, reflecting how power corrupts, how easily ambition turns into greed, and how youthful potential can be twisted into political machinery. It taught Kenya that a generation’s energy can either build a nation or be used to buy it.
YK’92 wasn’t just a chapter in Kenya’s political history, it was a warning.
A warning about how far leaders will go to cling to power, how dangerous unchecked youth politics can become, and how money can poison democracy.
