Remarks made lately by Burkina Faso's irrepressible young military ruler, Ibrahim Traore, denouncing democracy as a system of government in Africa may be provocative, but they invite deep reflection on the future of democracy on the continent. Traore once again stirred continental debate with his blunt admonition that African countries should "forget about democracy." In his telling, democracy is not merely flawed; it is bloody, imposed, and a modern instrument of subjugation. "Democracy kills," he declares, urging Africans to run from it rather than embrace it.
In Traore's own words: "People must forget about democracy. If an African wants to tell you about democracy, you should run away. Democracy kills. Democracy as a Western ideal amounts to slavery, and it is killing. Wherever they want to install it in the world, it's in the blood. There is no democracy in this world. They impose it when they want, and they also kill it. Imperialism is the individual who wants to dominate the other, keep him in slavery and oppress him."
These remarks, provocative as they are, cannot be dismissed outright. They speak to a growing frustration across Africa—one born not of theory, but of lived experience. In too many countries, democracy has failed to deliver its most basic promises. Elections are held, yet poverty persists. Governments are chosen, yet corruption thrives. Institutions exist, yet justice remains elusive. For millions of Africans, democracy has too often been reduced to a ritual devoid of tangible benefit.
It is within this context that Traore's message resonates, particularly in Burkina Faso, where years of insecurity and governance failures have eroded public confidence in civilian rule. Yet there is a glaring contradiction at the heart of his position. Having seized power in a September 2022 coup—ousting Lieutenant Paul-Henri Sandaogo Damiba, who himself had overthrown President Roch Marc Christian Kabore—Traore promised a swift return to democratic governance. That promise has since been deferred. The transition timeline has been extended to 2029, political parties have been curtailed, and citizens have been told, in unmistakable terms, to "forget" democracy.
This is no minor shift; it is a fundamental recalibration of Burkina Faso's political trajectory. And it sends a troubling signal across the continent: that democratic failure may justify indefinite military rule. Yet to accept that conclusion would be to embrace a dangerous illusion.
The central question is not whether democracy has disappointed—clearly, in many instances, it has. The real question is whether the failures attributed to democracy are failures of its practice rather than of its principles. Democracy, properly understood, is not merely the conduct of elections. It is a system grounded in accountability, participation, and the rule of law. Where these elements are weak or manipulated, the result is not true democracy, but its hollow imitation. Africa's challenge, therefore, is not to abandon democracy, but to make it work.
On paper, democracy is compelling; in practice, it can be distorted into an engine of fraud. It promises participation, accountability, and freedom. Yet, as the French political thinker Alexis de Tocqueville observed in Democracy in America, even the system's most celebrated model fell short of its ideals—susceptible to the tyranny of the majority, social inequality, and fragile institutions. Democracy, in other words, has never been a finished product. It is an aspiration that demands constant tending.
Africa's experience has been even more complex. Democratic systems, often inherited wholesale from colonial powers, were grafted onto societies without the institutional foundations that make them work: independent courts, professional civil services, credible electoral bodies, and a civic culture that prizes accountability. The result, in too many places, has been democracy in form but not in substance—ballots cast without power dispersed; leaders elected without being held to account.
It is here that Traore's critique finds its audience. If the purpose of government is the welfare and security of the people, then outcomes matter. A system that cannot protect lives, create jobs, or deliver justice risks forfeiting its legitimacy, even if procedurally correct. But this is only half the truth—and a dangerous half if taken to its conclusion.
The alternative on offer—military rule—has a long and sobering record. Across Africa, military regimes have often begun with promises of order and renewal, only to end in repression and decline. From Uganda under Idi Amin, to Nigeria under Sani Abacha, to the Central African Republic under Jean-Bedel Bokassa, the pattern has been grimly consistent: initial applause, followed by curtailed freedoms, weakened institutions, economic mismanagement, and eventual disillusionment. Without checks and balances, power concentrates; without scrutiny, it corrodes.
This is why the fixation must not be on democracy as a label, but on governance as a lived reality. The ultimate purpose of government is the welfare and security of the people. On this, Traore is not wrong. But the means of achieving that purpose matter just as much as the end. Good governance cannot be sustained when citizens lack the power to question, participate, and ultimately change their leaders.
The problem, then, is not democracy per se, but the failure to build the conditions that allow it to work. As Plato warned, political systems are only as good as the character and capacity of those who operate them. Democracy assumes civic virtue and institutional integrity that cannot be taken for granted. Where these are absent, outcomes will disappoint.
Yet the remedy is not abandonment but repair. To dismiss democracy because it has been poorly practised is akin to abandoning medicine because of a misdiagnosis. The task is to correctly diagnose and treat the underlying ailments: weak institutions, elite capture, impunity, and a deficit of public trust. Elections alone do not constitute democracy. A government that emerges from the ballot but governs without regard for the rule of law, economic justice, or public welfare cannot claim democratic legitimacy. Good governance—effective service delivery, respect for rights, opportunity, and security—is the true test of any system.
Here, Africa's own experience offers grounds for cautious optimism. Countries such as Ghana and Botswana demonstrate that democratic governance, though imperfect, can yield stability, legitimacy, and incremental development when institutions are respected and leaders are held accountable. Senegal has sustained civilian rule with credible transitions, while Namibia has combined regular elections with constitutional fidelity. These are not utopias, but they show that democracy—adapted and strengthened—can work.
Nor should the deeper moral dimension be ignored. Tocqueville argued that political institutions cannot endure without corresponding moral ties—that governance reflects the character of society itself. If democratic practice is to improve, it will require more than legal reform. It will demand a renewal of civic norms: integrity in public office, intolerance for corruption, and a citizenry willing to hold leaders accountable between elections, not merely during them. This is the harder path. It is also the only sustainable one.
Traore is right to insist that citizens care about results. However, he is wrong to suggest that those results can be secured by setting aside the very principles that make governments answerable. The choice between democracy and good governance is a false one. Properly understood, each requires the other.
Africa should not be fixated on democracy as a label, but on governance that works—effective, accountable, and just. But history suggests that such governance is most likely to endure where power is limited by law, leaders are chosen and changed by the people, and institutions outlast individuals.
The continent stands at a crossroads. It can retreat into the false comfort of authoritarianism, or it can undertake the harder—but more necessary—task of building democratic systems that deliver. Africa may not need to forget democracy. It needs to finally make it work.
