By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
When the Soldiers No Longer Salute the People
Mr. President,
Today, I want to speak not just as a concerned citizen but as a patriot who sees smoke where others pretend there is no fire, and in this case, the smoke is coming from the military barracks. The scent is unmistakable: quiet mobilizations, unexplainable deployments, budget increases that don’t match national priorities, and whispers among officers that something is coming, something beyond their oath to defend the Constitution.
Let’s speak clearly and openly, Mr. President: Is the military being prepared to defend you or defend Sierra Leone?
Because the people are starting to believe it’s the former. And when the line between a president and the nation blurs, when loyalty to one man supersedes loyalty to a country, that is when a republic begins to die.
Mr. President, you once proudly called yourself a military man, a brigadier who returned to civilian life for the love of the country. But it seems now that you are tempted to reverse that journey, not by title, but by behavior. Increasingly, you’re surrounding yourself with uniforms, replacing dialogue with intimidation, and turning the State House into a fortress, as if the enemy is the people themselves.
Let me remind you: Sierra Leone’s greatest pain, our decade-long war, began when power silenced democracy and the military became a political tool. We buried too many sons and daughters to return to that madness. We learned, painfully, that when soldiers stop being neutral guardians and become political enforcers, blood is never far behind.
Mr. President, we have watched strange military maneuvers in recent months. Soldiers in places they shouldn’t be. Promotions that seem more political than professional. Intelligence officers probing dissidents instead of criminals. These are not signs of a healthy democracy; they are the hallmarks of a power structure preparing for confrontation, not transition.
What are you preparing them for? An “unforeseen emergency”? A “foreign provocation”? Or worse, the day when the people say enough, and you expect the army to say, Not yet?
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room, your rumoured plan to invoke Section 49(2) of the 1991 Constitution, which permits extended presidential authority in times of war or emergency. But here’s the truth: Sierra Leone is not at war. Not with Guinea. Not with terrorists. Not with anything but poverty, corruption, and the arrogance of power. And we do not need a battlefield to solve those.
If you proclaim war where there is none, if you manufacture chaos to hold onto power, then every soldier who enforces that lie becomes part of a coup against the people.
Don’t forget, Mr. President, our military is not immune to conscience. They too have families. They too have watched the rise in prices, the decline in salaries, and the public anger that grows with every failed promise. You may think they are your last line of defense, but they may be the first to remind you that power is borrowed, not owned.
Have you forgotten what happened in Guinea when Alpha Condé tried to force his way into a third term? The very soldiers who once escorted him into power turned around and escorted him out. Why? Because even power fatigues those asked to defend it blindly.
Our military is not the SLPP militia. They are sons and daughters of Sierra Leone. And if you think that uniforms will shield you from the wrath of a betrayed nation, then you have not been listening.
This is not a threat; it is a warning rooted in history. You can either strengthen civilian rule and allow a peaceful democratic transition in 2028, or you can drag this country into another unnecessary chapter of instability. The decision is yours, but the consequences will be everyone’s.
Let me be blunt, Mr. President: your obsession with holding onto power is corrupting everything it touches. The judiciary has grown quiet. The civil service has grown cowardly. Parliament has been reduced to applause machines. And now, you are eyeing the army, the final tool in every dictator’s playbook.
Do not go there, Mr. President. Do not force our military into political sins that future generations will struggle to cleanse.
Your term ends in 2028. Let it end with dignity. Let the people decide your successor, not through fear, not through decrees, not under the shadow of boots and bayonets, but at the ballot box. That is what democracy demands. That is what patriotism requires.
And if you truly still believe in the New Direction you once preached, then let this be your final act of leadership: walk away when the Constitution says so. Not before, not after. Just when.
The people are watching. The world is watching. And most importantly, the soldiers you are counting on, they too are watching. The question is, what will they see in you? A statesman? Or just another strongman in uniform’s disguise?
Can we still talk, Mr. President? Or are the boots already marching?
