As Senegalese President Bassirou Diomaye Faye marks fifteen months in office, mounting pressure from his party’s base is casting a long shadow over his promise of national unity.
While the president continues to champion a message of peace, stability, and reconstruction, many within his own PASTEF movement are voicing growing frustration over what they see as a failure to deliver justice for the victims of political repression between 2021 and 2024.
During a press conference on July 14, Diomaye sought to reassert his commitment to national reconciliation. “I do not want to be distracted by any personal or vengeful agenda,” he said, in an appeal to move the country forward. Yet, for a growing number of activists, that forward motion feels like a betrayal.
The president’s calls for calm and unity have been met with disillusionment by former detainees, families of victims, and grassroots supporters.
Many are demanding recognition, not revenge—justice, not just economic reform.
Their voices, amplified through social media and public letters, are coalescing into a clear message: reconciliation cannot come before accountability.
One of the most poignant calls came from Maty Sarr Niang, a former political prisoner, who addressed Diomaye directly in an open letter.
“More than ten young people lost their lives, and over 300 were arbitrarily arrested in Pikine alone,” she wrote. “This silence weighs heavy.
We are not asking for honors or compensation, but for the truth.”
Niang’s letter has struck a chord with many who feel sidelined in the president’s push for national recovery.
They argue that no emergency program or economic overhaul can succeed without addressing the trauma and injustices endured during years of political unrest.
President Diomaye’s pledge to “liberate justice” is increasingly viewed as insufficient. Critics see signs of backpedalling—warnings of “soft compromises” and echoes of past administrations’ rhetoric have only deepened public skepticism.
Diomaye, who himself was once imprisoned and hailed as a symbol of resistance, now finds himself walking a precarious tightrope.
His legitimacy rests on the hope of meaningful change.
Yet, governing has exposed the complexities of balancing moral responsibility with political pragmatism.
This internal rift within the presidential camp raises difficult questions: Can a nation heal without facing its wounds? Can a government committed to transformation ignore the pleas for truth and accountability?
For many, the answer is clear.
Without justice, reconciliation risks becoming a hollow slogan. And without naming the wrongs of the past, peace may prove elusive.
In the eyes of those who bore the brunt of state violence, this moment is more than a political challenge—it is a moral reckoning.
As one activist wrote, “This is no longer a speech. This is a date with history. And for an entire generation, this date cannot be missed without consequence.”
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