In the aftermath of what appeared to be a major coup attempt against Captain Ibrahim Traoré of Burkina Faso, social media have been abuzz with heated debates. Many are quick to rally in defence of this symbol of a new breed of African freedom fighters—military men who refuse to tiptoe around former colonial powers or bow to any manifestation of imperialism on the continent.
Yet, lost in the passionate clamour are more cautious voices urging a “closer look”. They argue that the sweeping praise and exuberance surrounding Captain Traoré and his fellow military leaders—what the West often dismissively term “junta regimes”—may not tell the whole story. But is there any substance to such scepticism?
Unfortunately, much of the criticism, both from Western and African quarters, seems to be hamstrung by ideological rigidity. Western liberalism continues to shape our political imagination; it is through these liberal lenses that we assess the legitimacy of governments. Critics point out, for instance, that Traoré is guilty of suppressing dissent and curbing press freedoms. This, they claim, is proof of a darker underbelly of a regime championed by many young Africans. Rarely, however, do these critiques pause to reflect on whether such dissent is subversive or constructive, whether it seeks to incite insurrection or to prompt meaningful reflection. And it is often taken for granted that journalists are above reproach, that their actions, by virtue of their profession, are inherently lawful and could not possibly amount to betrayal. This is, at best, a blinkered view of reality.
Still, I couldn’t easily dismiss the persistent arguments of those who say that no man is flawless, that one can be both liberator and oppressor, depending on the vantage point from which one is passing judgement. Another question has been gnawing at me: are all these attempted coups mere foreign meddling, or should we at least entertain the possibility that there is genuine discontent within?
In my search for answers, I turned to some Burkinabè friends, people I trust to provide as close to an objective perspective as possible. I asked them whether they believed there was more to the story of Captain Traoré than his portrayal as a hero or villain. One point stood out clearly: there is no doubt about his patriotic intentions, his love for the country, or his determination to make Burkina Faso a strong, sovereign state within the Sahel alliance. And yet, something does not sit right.
First is the question of security, the highest priority for most Burkinabè. Concerns have been raised over the arming of civilian volunteers who lack the training given to regular soldiers and the discipline instilled in them. This, some fear, could result in rising incidents of war crimes. Such abuses risk pushing local populations into the arms of the insurgent groups, thereby exacerbating the very insecurity they are meant to quell. My Burkinabè friends argued that a slower, more methodical approach, entailing the training of recruits to rigorous standards, may delay responses in some areas experiencing insecurity, but could yield more lasting results over time.
Secondly, there is a deeper unease regarding the ideological direction the country is taking. Are Burkinabè primarily fighting against something, or for something? Fighting imperialism is unquestionably necessary. But should it be the end goal, or rather a means to a more meaningful end, which is building an Africa that genuinely serves the interests of Africa and Africans? Framed this way, the objective becomes broader and more generative. Our interests evolve; every generation must renew the social contract by confronting the unique challenges of its time. A singular focus on imperialism, by contrast, is inherently limiting. Once the common external enemy is defeated, what remains to hold us together in the absence of another adversary to unite against? That, in itself, can be dangerous. A society consumed by worry about external threats may grow blind to its internal rot.
There’s also concern that the fight against imperialism lacks strategic finesse and the calculated pragmatism needed to succeed. Take, for example, Vladimir Putin’s manoeuvres. Despite the United States arming Ukraine, he continues to seek tactical openings for rapprochement with Washington. This is not a sign of weakness; it is the real definition of realpolitik. Putin is committed to pursuing Russia’s aims, yet shrewd enough to exploit divisions among his adversaries. Why can’t African leaders do the same: engage selectively with powers like the US to counterbalance French influence, especially given allegations that French-backed actions have led to jihadists acquiring advanced weaponry? There’s a lingering sense that Sahelian coup leaders are not fully leveraging the geopolitical rifts between the US and Europe.
But perhaps the most critical question is this: what is Burkina Faso’s long-term vision? The country may be engulfed in a gruelling insurgency, but that should not prevent it from dreaming. People in relatively stable regions of the country still expect more than just security; they want to know where their country is headed. They want a roadmap and a timeframe to judge progress. Without a sense of direction, a nation trapped in a spiral of aimlessness risks devouring itself.
A coherent vision has several implications. First, it fosters strategic policymaking. When a government knows where it is going, it can prioritise resources and interventions more effectively. Second, such a vision must be shared with the people through political movements, labour unions, and grassroots organisations. This is how countries like Cuba and Venezuela have mobilised broad-based support in the face of external threats. Moreover, a shared vision fosters national unity and builds resilience. When the security forces, civil service, religious institutions, and political groups all rally around a common cause, the likelihood of successful coups or foreign meddling diminishes.
As it stands, some worry that if there is such a vision in Burkina Faso, it is confined to Traoré’s inner circle. That is risky. If something were to happen to him, there would be no continuity. And without a mobilised and cohesive political elite and independently organised citizenry to carry on his legacy, he might share the fate of Thomas Sankara whose ideals died with him.
After a long and thoughtful exchange, we reached a consensus: protecting leaders like Captain Traoré begins at home. And the challenges he faces are not his alone; they are shared by the entire Sahel alliance. The silver lining, perhaps, is that unlike Sankara, Traoré is not working alone this time. That said, the concerns raised by my Burkinabè friends demand for serious internal reflection.
