Sierra Leone at a Crossroads
By Alpha Amadu Jalloh—Author, Monopoly of Happiness and Unveiling Sierra Leone’s Social Imbalance; Recipient, Africa Renaissance Leadership Award 2025
It is time we speak again, not with the casual tone of political commentary, but with a sense of national urgency. This is not just another critique, nor is it a partisan jab. It is a plea. A call to conscience. Because what is unfolding in Sierra Leone today is nothing less than a democratic unraveling.
The very institutions that should be shielding our democracy—the police, the Parliament, and the judiciary—are no longer serving the people. Instead, they have slowly become symbols of suppression and betrayal. Where once there was hope for democratic deepening, we now see institutions weaponized against the very citizens they were meant to protect.
Let us begin with the Sierra Leone Police, an institution that was once designed to uphold law, protect life, and maintain civil order. Today, that same institution stands accused of acting as a political militia, more feared than trusted. The stories are now far too common: peaceful demonstrators brutalized in the streets, community activists detained without charge, and political opponents dragged from their homes in the dead of night. Sierra Leoneans are not imagining this; they are living it.
This culture of fear did not emerge overnight. It has been nurtured through silence, indifference, and a slow erosion of accountability. No democratic society can thrive when its law enforcement behaves like an army of occupation. The police should never serve as a battering ram for those in power. Yet, what we are seeing is the normalization of brutality, where public protest is treated as rebellion, and expression is met with suppression.
Even more disturbing is the psychological toll. Citizens now think twice before speaking freely. Journalists weigh every word with dread. Parents warn their children to “stay out of politics,” not because civic engagement is bad, but because the risks have become too high. This is not democracy; this is state-sanctioned intimidation.
And what of Parliament? Once revered as the people’s house, it now resembles a private club where loyalty is rewarded and dissent is punished. The chamber that should vibrate with robust debate and divergent views has become an echo chamber of executive power. Important legislation, some affecting millions of lives, is pushed through with little scrutiny. Bills are debated behind closed doors, rushed through committee without public input, and passed with a whip, not a consensus.
The very idea of Parliament as a check on executive overreach is being eroded. When Members of Parliament are harassed, opposition voices are drowned out, and the will of the electorate is subverted, then democracy itself becomes a hollow shell. The danger here is not just procedural. It is existential. Because a rubber-stamp parliament cannot stand between tyranny and the people. It becomes a collaborator in the suppression of public will.
Equally alarming is the state of the judiciary. For a nation that once turned to the courts for solace and fairness, the erosion of judicial independence feels like a betrayal of the highest order. Sierra Leone’s courts were once the final refuge for the powerless, the last hope for the disenfranchised.
But today, they are too often seen as forums of favoritism, where outcomes depend more on connections than on constitutionality.
Cases involving the politically connected mysteriously disappear. Legal decisions that once set precedents now serve partisan interests. Political detainees languish in prison for years without trial, while well-connected criminals walk free under the guise of procedural technicalities. The perception, and in many cases, the reality, is that justice in Sierra Leone is a privilege bought by the elite, not a right accessible to the common man.
Such cynicism corrodes a nation from within. It disillusions the youth. It fosters resentment. It feeds the belief that the system is irreparably rigged, leading many to disengage from civic life entirely, or worse, to flirt with more dangerous forms of resistance.
We must not forget our own history. Sierra Leone is a country that has tasted the bitterness of collapse. We have known what it means for institutions to fail. We have watched democracy replaced by dictatorship and hope drowned in blood. We have seen how quickly things fall apart when the rule of law becomes the rule of man. And still, it seems we are forgetting.
The erosion of institutions is rarely abrupt. It is a slow, corrosive process. A protest silenced here. A journalist was jailed there. A court ruling bought a law passed in haste. Before long, repression feels routine. Fear becomes the new order. And then, democracy is lost not with a bang, but with the soft silence of a muzzled population.
This moment demands courage, not only from leaders but from every citizen who believes in justice, accountability, and freedom. Reform is not a favour, it is an obligation. It is time for a full audit of police actions in recent years. Officers who have abused their power must face consequences. Parliament must recommit to transparency, reopen space for genuine debate, and reject attempts to centralize authority. The judiciary must be insulated from political influence and reinvigorated with public trust.
None of these changes are optional if Sierra Leone is to avoid repeating its darkest chapters.
This is not about winning elections or maintaining power. It is about the soul of a nation. It is about whether the next generation of Sierra Leoneans will grow up believing in democracy or fearing it. It is about whether institutions will serve the public good or serve only those in charge.
The world is watching. But more importantly, the people are watching. Every act of suppression, every failure to act, and every misuse of power is etched into the memory of a nation that knows what collapse looks like. History is already taking notes, and it will judge harshly.
There is still time. Time to right the ship. Time to prove that leadership is not measured by control, but by character. That justice is not defined by privilege, but by principle. That peace is not maintained by fear but by fairness.
Democracy is not self-sustaining. It requires guardians, true guardians, who are willing to challenge corruption, defend the rule of law, and stand firm against creeping authoritarianism. It requires courage not only in words but also in action. Because without action, words are just decoration for decay.
To the youth of Sierra Leone, to the journalists who refuse to be silenced, to the judges still committed to the law, and to every citizen who dreams of a freer, fairer nation: your voice matters. Keep speaking. Keep standing. This is your country too.
Sierra Leone does not belong to the powerful alone. It belongs to every child who dreams, every worker who toils, and every elder who remembers the cost of silence. Let us not repeat the mistakes of the past. Let us instead rise before we are forced to rise from ruin.
