By Chernor M. Jalloh
Lecturer of Governance & Development Studies, IPAM – University of Sierra Leone
There are moments in a nation’s life when a simple statement becomes a mirror—reflecting not only what we say about others, but what we have become. The recent intervention by Umaru Fofana is one such moment. Measured in tone yet rich in lived experience, it is not merely a defense of a people; it is a quiet interrogation of our civic conscience.
At a time when social media has become an unregulated theatre of resentment—where ethnic suspicion is manufactured and amplified for fleeting political gain—Fofana does something profoundly disarming: he remembers. He recalls friendships forged in childhood, solidarity built in university spaces, and professional bonds shaped in service to the nation. In doing so, he replaces abstraction with humanity. He reminds us that the “Fula” in our discourse is not a category to be contested, but a neighbor once trusted, a classmate once admired, a colleague once relied upon.
This is precisely why his message unsettles the current tide of hate speech. Hate thrives on distance—on the erasure of shared memory. It requires that we forget that the “other” has always been among us, contributing, sacrificing, and belonging.
The Political Economy of Hate
The surge of anti-Fula rhetoric is neither accidental nor benign. It reflects deeper structural anxieties. In periods of economic strain—rising costs, shrinking opportunities, widening inequality—societies often search for visible, organized communities to blame. The Fula, historically associated with trade networks, mobility, and economic resilience, become convenient targets. Their transnational identity is then misread as evidence of “outsiderness,” as though fluid borders were not the historical norm of West Africa.
More troubling is the political instrumentalization of identity. In fragile democracies, ethnicity becomes currency—mobilized, manipulated, and monetized. It is easier to rally support through fear than through policy; easier to construct an enemy than to confront governance deficits. What we witness, therefore, is not mere prejudice, but a manufactured discourse sustained by historical amnesia and civic irresponsibility.
Reclaiming Historical Clarity without Ethnic Absolutism
The response to such narratives must be intellectually grounded, not emotionally reactive. The Fula (Fulɓe) are among West Africa’s oldest and most widespread communities, with deep ties to the Futa Jallon highlands and longstanding roles in trade, Islamic scholarship, and regional exchange. Their presence in Sierra Leone predates the modern state and is embedded within the region’s historical mobility.
Yet Sierra Leone has never been the exclusive domain of any single group. The histories of the Temne, Mende, Limba, and Krio—among others—are equally deep and foundational. To counter exclusion with counter-exclusion is to replicate the very logic we seek to dismantle.
The more compelling and unassailable claim is this: The Fula are not guests in Sierra Leone. They are co-authors of its history.
Citizenship Beyond Sentiment
Fofana’s most powerful contribution lies not in abstract argument, but in empirical observation. He points to hospitals staffed by Fula doctors, courtrooms animated by Fula lawyers, and security forces defended by Fula soldiers. This is not rhetorical flourish—it is evidence of lived citizenship.
Yet the story extends further—into the intellectual and educational foundations of the nation.
Across Sierra Leone’s academic landscape, Fula presence is both visible and consequential. At the University of Sierra Leone, lecturers—myself included, alongside many distinguished colleagues—stand daily before students, cultivating critical thought and civic responsibility. At Njala University, Fula scholars advance agricultural innovation, environmental research, and development studies. Within University of Management and Technology and Milton Margai Technical University, Fula intellectuals contribute to technical education, business leadership, and applied sciences—fields central to national transformation.
Beyond formal academia, countless Fula teachers across primary and secondary schools operate in often under-resourced classrooms, yet remain the quiet architects of literacy, discipline, and aspiration. They shape the very citizens who will later occupy positions of governance, enterprise, and innovation. Citizenship, in its truest sense, is not defined by origin myths but by active participation, as reflected in the following questions:
• Who builds the economy?
• Who educates the next generation?
• Who defends the nation in times of crisis?
By these measures—economic, intellectual, and civic—the Fula are not peripheral actors. They are integral to the Sierra Leonean project. Their contributions are not episodic, but structural; not symbolic, but substantive. To deny this is not merely ignorance—it is a refusal to recognize the forces that sustain the nation.
A Call for Reflective Patriotism
To my Fula brothers and sisters, this moment—however uncomfortable—is also instructive. It exposes the limits of quiet contribution in a noisy political environment. Silence, though dignified, can be mistaken for absence.
Yet the response must be measured.
Not anger, for anger narrows vision.
Not retaliation, for retaliation legitimizes division.
Rather, this is a moment for assertive dignity:
• to tell our stories,
• to document our contributions,
• to engage public discourse with clarity and confidence.
Rise not as victims, but as stakeholders—not to demand belonging, but to demonstrate it beyond contestation.
A National Reckoning
For Sierra Leone as a whole, this is a moral test. A nation that turns against one of its productive communities does not strengthen itself—it fractures its own foundation. Ethnic scapegoating may yield short-term political gains, but it carries long-term costs: distrust, fragmentation, and the erosion of national cohesion. We must ask, with honesty: Are we building a nation of shared destiny, or a collection of competing anxieties?
Towards a Higher Civic Consciousness
The deeper lesson in Fofana’s message is not about the Fula alone; it is about the kind of Sierra Leone we aspire to be. A mature nation does not debate who belongs—it assumes belonging and debates how to deepen it. Diversity is not a threat to unity; it is its very condition. The real question, therefore, is not who came first, but: Who is committed to building Sierra Leone now—and into the future?
Conclusion: Let Them Breathe, Let the Nation Heal
“Let Fullahs breathe,” Fofana writes. It is both a plea and a principle. To allow a people to breathe is to affirm their dignity, acknowledge their contributions, and protect their place in the national narrative.
In doing so, we do not diminish others—we elevate the nation itself. Let us reject the politics of resentment. Let us resist the seduction of division. Let us cultivate a patriotism that is expansive, reflective, and just. For in the final analysis, Sierra Leone does not belong to those who shout the loudest about identity— it belongs to those who build it, sustain it, and believe in it—together.
