The Civic Scribe: Articles & Poems

Banjul — When The Gambia celebrated its first truly competitive presidential election in 2016, the world witnessed a rare democratic breakthrough: a peaceful transfer of power after more than two decades of rule by Yahya Jammeh. His regime had come to symbolize repression, fear, and the systematic weakening of independent institutions. For many Gambians, his departure marked not just a political transition, but a moral reset.

Nearly a decade later, the country’s democratic journey under Adama Barrow raises more nuanced — yet increasingly urgent — questions.

Barrow came to power as the face of democratic renewal, propelled by a coalition of opposition forces and a population eager to turn the page. In his early years, he represented a clear departure from Jammeh’s authoritarian style. Political space widened, civil society reemerged, and hope took root.

But democracies are not defined by how they begin. They are measured by how they endure.

In recent years, concerns have grown over the tone and substance of Barrow’s public addresses, particularly in how he responds to opposition criticism. His speeches often project confidence in the government’s progress and direction. Yet critics argue that this rhetoric increasingly diverges from the lived realities of many citizens, creating a perception gap that risks eroding public trust.

More troubling is the way dissent is sometimes framed. Opposition parties have pushed back against what they see as dismissive or defensive responses from the executive, warning that such rhetoric can subtly delegitimize alternative political voices. In a healthy democracy, disagreement is not a threat to stability; it is evidence of it.

The handling — and public framing — of judicial proceedings adds another layer of concern. Courts are meant to function as neutral arbiters, insulated from political pressure. But when political leaders speak about legal challenges in ways that suggest they are obstacles to governance, rather than essential checks within it, the line between critique and undermining begins to blur.

This is where the comparison to Jammeh, however uncomfortable, becomes relevant — not in terms of scale or severity, but in trajectory.

Jammeh did not rely solely on overt repression to consolidate power. He also cultivated a narrative that portrayed dissenting voices and independent institutions as impediments to national progress. Over time, that narrative weakened public confidence in the very structures meant to safeguard democracy.

Barrow has not replicated those extremes. His administration has preserved far more openness than his predecessor’s ever did. But democratic backsliding rarely begins with a dramatic rupture. It often starts with tone, with language, with the gradual normalization of dismissing criticism and reframing institutional checks as inconveniences.

The risk is not that The Gambia is returning to the past, but that it may begin to echo elements of it in quieter, less visible ways.

For a country that fought hard to reclaim its democratic identity, this moment demands vigilance — not alarmism, but clarity. Leaders must recognize that their words carry institutional weight. How a president speaks about opponents, courts, and criticism shapes how citizens understand their own rights and the legitimacy of the system around them.

If Barrow is to secure his place as the steward of The Gambia’s democratic rebirth, he must go beyond distinguishing himself from Jammeh. He must actively reinforce the norms that prevent any future slide toward authoritarianism — including his own.

That means embracing dissent as legitimate, respecting judicial independence not just in practice but in rhetoric, and ensuring that political communication strengthens rather than strains public trust.

Democracy, after all, is not sustained by contrast with dictatorship. It is sustained by a consistent commitment to principles that outlast any one leader.