The chronicle of authoritarian regimes is marked by an age-old paradox: the very tools of repression meant to silence dissent often end up consuming those who wielded them. Burkina Faso, under the leadership of Captain Ibrahim Traoré, now exemplifies this unsettling dynamic. What began as a clampdown on traditional critics has steadily expanded to ensnare former allies—religious leaders, civil society activists, commentators, influencers, and opinion-makers who once championed the transition. Arbitrary arrests, forced disappearances reported by multiple organizations, smear campaigns, intimidating summons, media restrictions, and mass citizen requisitions under the banner of national mobilization no longer spare those who once stood firmly behind the regime.
The erosion of loyalty as a safeguard
This shift is not a series of isolated incidents but a deliberate transformation in how power operates. As the regime centralizes decision-making, narrows spaces for dissent, and equates criticism with threats to the state, the line between ally and adversary blurs. Loyalty is no longer a shield—only unconditional obedience suffices. Those who once justified every government action now find themselves vulnerable, their past fidelity rendered meaningless in an environment where power demands perpetual proof of allegiance.
The illusion of safety through conformity
Since seizing power, Captain Ibrahim Traoré has built his legitimacy on a narrative of sovereignty, patriotism, and security. This rhetoric, amplified across social media by a loyal chorus, frames dissent as a foreign-backed plot or treason against the nation. Critics are dismissed as destabilizers. Media closures are celebrated as assertions of independence. Requisitions of journalists, lawyers, judges, and politicians are applauded as patriotic acts in the fight against terrorism.
Yet this normalization of exception has stripped public discourse of nuance. The binary is stark: uncritical support for Traoré or immediate labeling as an enemy of the state. Dissent is no longer a democratic right but a political crime. The danger lies in the regime’s inability to tolerate even the slightest reservation—former allies quickly become tomorrow’s suspects.
The cult of the leader and the spread of suspicion
The Burkina Faso transition is increasingly defined by the cult surrounding Captain Ibrahim Traoré. Policy debates fade into deference to the leader’s authority. Questioning a decision is often interpreted as a personal affront to his rule. This personalization fuels a climate of perpetual suspicion. As security failures, terrorist attacks, economic strain, and social unrest mount, the regime searches for internal traitors rather than addressing systemic flaws. The result? A widening circle of suspects: first political opponents, then independent journalists, human rights defenders, judges, academics, religious leaders—and finally, former allies whose influence or independence is deemed threatening.
In a system where loyalty must be constantly proven, no one can be certain of remaining permanently in favor.
Fear as the new governance
The regime’s reliance on publicized arrests, televised summons, social media smear campaigns, administrative sanctions, and coercive requisitions sends a chilling message. Each arrest serves as a warning. Each unexplained disappearance deepens unease. Each summons reminds citizens that no one is untouchable. Each spectacle of enforcement reinforces the idea that the state can target anyone deemed inconvenient.
This strategy breeds self-censorship. Intellectuals hesitate to publish. Journalists scale back investigations. Religious leaders soften their sermons. Citizens avoid public debate. A society governed by fear loses its capacity for innovation, self-correction, and collective problem-solving.
The hollowing out of checks and balances
This trend is especially alarming given the weakening of institutional safeguards. Judicial independence is questioned when rulings appear politically motivated. Independent media face suspensions or closures, shrinking pluralism. Civil society operates under growing restrictions. Political parties function in a climate of constrained activity. When no institution can truly oversee the executive, citizen protections erode. The state is no longer bound by law but by the whims of those in power.
A lesson repeated across history
Burkina Faso is not unique. Authoritarian systems often follow a predictable arc: revolutionaries purge their former comrades, military juntas turn on their own ranks, political movements expel founders, and ideologues face accusations of betrayal. The logic is simple: when loyalty to a leader becomes the sole criterion for survival, no level of fidelity is ever enough. The pursuit of political purity leads inevitably to purges, exclusions, and baseless accusations.
Fundamental freedoms are not privileges granted to the faithful. The right to a fair trial, freedom of expression, press freedom, presumption of innocence, and protection from arbitrary detention are universal guarantees—not rewards for loyalty. Celebrating the repression of one’s enemies legitimizes the same arbitrariness that can later be turned inward. Injustice does not change its nature based on the identity of its victim.
Security cannot justify perpetual exception
Burkina Faso faces a real terrorist threat demanding a robust state response. Yet the effectiveness of counterterrorism is not measured solely by the number of coercive measures imposed. It depends on trust between citizens and institutions. When people fear state arbitrariness more than they trust state protection, that trust erodes. History shows that insurgencies cannot be defeated sustainably if institutions lose credibility. Security and the rule of law are not opposing goals—they are complementary. A state that fights terrorism while upholding justice strengthens its legitimacy. One that makes exceptions permanent risks transforming the fight against terror into a justification for total control.
The system turns on its own supporters
The current predicament of figures once allied with the regime illustrates a broader truth: in a system where institutions are hollowed out and power relies on fear, no one enjoys lasting protection. Today’s allies may become tomorrow’s suspects. The most ardent defenders may be accused of insufficient loyalty. Communication channels can be shut down or their operators sidelined. Religious leaders may be reprimanded for deviating from official narratives. The arsonist ends up burning their own house.
But beyond individual fates, it is society that bears the cost. When a regime extends suspicion even to its own supporters, it reveals a deeper flaw: the problem is not the individuals, but the system itself. The true safeguard of a nation rests not on proximity to the leader or ideological alignment, but on strong institutions, an independent judiciary, a free press, and laws applied equally to all. Only in such a framework can the fight against insecurity preserve both state authority and citizen freedoms.
