The Civic Scribe: Articles & Poems

By any measure, The Gambia’s transition in 2017 was a moment of relief. After two decades of authoritarian rule, the peaceful exit of Yahya Jammeh and the inauguration of Adama Barrow signaled hope for democracy, reform, and the restoration of sovereignty. Nearly a decade later, however, a different concern has taken root – one less visible than tanks in the streets, but no less consequential: the steady erosion of Gambian sovereignty through security dependence on Senegal.

This is not colonization in the classic sense. There is no foreign flag flying over the State House, nor is there any formal annexation. Instead, it is a modern, subtler form of control – security colonization – where the core functions of state power are outsourced, normalized, and ultimately surrendered.

The most glaring symbol is this: Senegalese forces guard the Gambian president.

In most sovereign states, the protection of the head of state is among the most sacrosanct duties of national security. It reflects not only trust in one’s armed forces, but also the state’s monopoly over the legitimate use of force within its borders. In The Gambia today, that monopoly is blurred. Senegalese troops, deployed under the umbrella of a regional mission that was meant to be temporary, have become a permanent fixture of political life.

What began as a stabilization effort following Jammeh’s departure has hardened into a long-term arrangement with little public debate, parliamentary scrutiny, or clear endpoint. Gambians are told this presence guarantees peace. But peace that depends indefinitely on another country’s guns is not peace – it is managed dependency.

Even more troubling are reports that Senegalese armed forces can enter Gambian territory and apprehend Senegalese citizens without seeking Gambian authorization. If true, this represents a fundamental breach of sovereignty. Borders cease to matter when one state’s security forces operate freely inside another. Legal jurisdiction becomes negotiable. The host nation’s courts, police, and immigration authorities are sidelined.

This is not cooperation between equals; it is hierarchy.

Defenders of the status quo argue that The Gambia is small, vulnerable, and surrounded on three sides by Senegal. They point to regional instability, past coup attempts, and the lingering loyalties of Jammeh-era security elements. All of this is real. But necessity does not justify permanence, nor does vulnerability excuse the quiet surrender of state authority.

History offers sobering lessons. When external security guarantees replace internal capacity-building, local institutions atrophy. Officers defer rather than lead. Intelligence services become reliant rather than competent. Political leaders grow insulated from their own people, protected not by national legitimacy but by foreign firepower. Over time, the very idea of independent national defense becomes unthinkable.

There is also a democratic cost. A president guarded by foreign troops sends an unmistakable message: ultimate coercive power lies elsewhere. That perception weakens accountability at home and complicates diplomacy abroad. It raises uncomfortable questions about who truly decides matters of life, death, and order within the country.

This is not an indictment of Senegal as a nation. Senegal has long been viewed as a stabilizing force in West Africa, and its role in averting bloodshed in 2017 deserves recognition. But even benevolent power, unchecked and indefinite, becomes domination. Friendship does not nullify imbalance. Regional leadership does not override national consent.

The tragedy is that this transformation has happened quietly. There has been no national referendum, no sustained parliamentary debate, and no clear roadmap for transitioning security responsibilities back to Gambian forces. Instead, normalization has done the work that force did not. What once felt extraordinary now feels inevitable.

Sovereignty, however, is not something a nation loses overnight. It erodes – agreement by agreement, exception by exception, silence by silence.

If The Gambia is to fulfill the promise of its democratic rebirth, it must confront this reality honestly. That means demanding transparency about security arrangements, setting firm timelines for the withdrawal or restructuring of foreign forces, and investing seriously in national security institutions that answer to civilian authority. It means redefining cooperation with Senegal as a partnership, not guardianship.

West Africa does not need protectorates disguised as peacekeeping missions. It needs strong, accountable states that cooperate without subsuming one another.

The world should pay attention. Not because The Gambia is large or powerful, but because its experience reflects a broader danger facing fragile democracies everywhere: that the loss of sovereignty today no longer comes with conquest – but with consent, fear, and quiet convenience.

And once surrendered, it is far harder to reclaim.