There was a period when Burkina Faso garnered more attention for its stability than for its misfortunes. This era, however, was not without its detractors. Blaise Compaoré faced accusations of centralizing power, stifling political discourse, and impeding democratic alternation. For twenty-seven years, his rule was contentious, frequently criticized by elements of the opposition and the international community.

Yet, in retrospect, a fundamental question emerges: what is the purpose of political debate when citizens can no longer live safely? This query now resonates through the conversations of many Burkinabè, who draw parallels between the stability under Blaise Compaoré and the current circumstances under Captain Ibrahim Traoré.

During Blaise Compaoré’s tenure, Burkina Faso was not a country where populations lived in perpetual fear of armed assault. Citizens moved freely between regions, farmers cultivated their lands, traders supplied markets, and families traveled without the dread that each journey might culminate in tragedy. Terrorism, which would later destabilize the Sahel, had not yet plunged the nation into a security crisis of such magnitude.

This reality does not erase the criticisms leveled against his administration. However, it underscores a foundational truth: the primary duty of a state is to safeguard its populace. Without security, freedoms, reforms, and political pledges largely lose their significance.

Following Captain Ibrahim Traoré’s ascent to power through a military coup, Burkinabè citizens harbored hopes for a drastic improvement in the security landscape. The new leadership had vowed to reclaim national territory, bolster national sovereignty, and mount a more effective response against armed groups. Nearly several years on, it is evident that these aspirations continue to clash with a particularly harsh reality on the ground.

Under Ibrahim Traoré’s governance, official communiqués frequently highlight military operations and the successes of the defense forces. Nevertheless, in numerous regions, assaults persist, localities remain cut off, and roadways continue to pose significant dangers. For a segment of the public, these declared victories struggle to translate into a sustained enhancement of daily life for the populace.

The most telling tragedy might not solely be the persistence of violence. It lies in the fact that thousands of Burkinabè now believe their safety is better assured away from their homes. Each week, families abandon their villages, forsake their lands, businesses, and residences to seek refuge in safer areas or cross borders into neighboring nations. No people willingly choose exile when their own country offers the conditions for peaceful living.

This silent exodus of populations arguably represents the most severe judgment on the efficacy of security policies. When a citizen opts to become internally displaced or a refugee rather than remaining in their village, it signals a profound erosion of trust in the state’s capacity to provide protection.

Meanwhile, Ibrahim Traoré continues to champion a discourse heavily focused on sovereignty, a break from former partner powers, and patriotic mobilization. These themes resonate with a portion of the population. Yet, sovereignty cannot be merely a political slogan; it is also measured by a government’s ability to exert its authority across the entire territory and guarantee the security of those residing within it.

Another aspect warrants attention: the silence of many former critics of Blaise Compaoré. Those who vehemently denounced his mode of governance now appear far more reserved when evaluating the outcomes achieved under Ibrahim Traoré. This stark contrast fuels a perception of selective judgment, where some leaders are scrutinized with considerably greater severity than others.

Comparing the Compaoré and Traoré eras is not an attempt to romanticize the past or disregard the limitations of the former regime. It is about posing a straightforward question: what constitutes the absolute priority of a state? For many Burkinabè, the answer is unequivocal. Before rhetoric, before symbols, and before grand declarations of sovereignty, a government is expected to deliver on its capacity to protect its citizens.

The prosperity of a nation is defined neither by slogans nor by the popularity of a leader. It is measured by the tranquility of its villages, the security of its roads, the operation of its schools, the functioning of its markets, and the confidence families place in their future.

As long as Burkinabè continue to leave their country or regions in search of security elsewhere, the debate surrounding the results of Ibrahim Traoré’s administration will remain open. For history will remember deeds more than words, and actual capacity more than promises, in a state’s ability to offer its people what they desire above all else: to live freely, with dignity, and in safety.