Of Liberty’s Genesis in the Defiant Heart: A Meditation upon Freedom’s Growth from Tyranny’s Opposition
The autocrat may silence tongues and bind hands, yet history herself shall be his harshest judge, condemning him to infamy eternal whilst those he oppressed shall be remembered with honour imperishable.
Hearken, ye who cherishes freedom and abhor the cruel hand of despotism! Let these words bear witness to the grievous afflictions endured by the noble people of Togo, who for nigh three score years have languished beneath the oppressive yoke of a singular dynasty. ‘Tis a tale most lamentable, wherein the sacred rights of man are trampled underfoot, and wherein the cries of the oppressed rise unto the heavens, seeking deliverance from tyranny most foul.
In the year of our Lord two thousand and five and twenty, there doth persist in the land of Togo a ruler most intransigent, one Faure Gnassingbé, who, following in the footsteps of his tyrannical sire, hath maintained an iron grip upon the throat of the body politic. Verily, the chronicles of oppression written in this unhappy realm would move even stones to pity, were they possessed of sensibility and compassion.
I. Of the Father’s Shadow and the Seeds of Despotism
To comprehend the present calamity, one must needs cast one’s gaze backward unto the year sixteen hundred and sixty-seven of the modern epoch, when Gnassingbé Eyadéma, father unto the current despot, did seize the reins of power through means most violent and unlawful. This elder Gnassingbé, a military man of ambition unbounded, did overthrow the rightful government of President Nicolas Grunitzky in a bloodless coup d’état, thereby establishing a precedent of usurpation that would plague the nation for generations yet unborn.
For eight and thirty long years—nay, e’en unto the span of two generations complete—did this elder tyrant maintain his stranglehold upon Togo. He ruled not through the consent of the governed, as befits a just sovereign, but through the cruel instrumentalities of fear, repression, and the systematic dismantling of all opposition. ‘Twas a reign characterized by such manifold wickedness as would make the blood run cold: the arbitrary arrest and detention of those who dared speak against his rule; the torture of political prisoners in dungeons dark and fetid; the manipulation of electoral processes to ensure perpetual dominion; and the establishment of a cult of personality so grotesque as to mock the very notion of human dignity.
Most grievously did this patriarch of tyranny surround himself with kinsmen and members of his ethnic brethren, thereby excluding the majority Ewe population from positions of influence and sowing seeds of discord that would bear bitter fruit in years to come. The army, that instrument which should defend the commonwealth, he did transform into a personal guard, loyal not unto the nation but unto his own person. Thus, fortified against the righteous anger of his subjects, Eyadéma the Elder did reign supreme, and the people of Togo knew naught but subjugation.
When death at last did claim this despot in the year two thousand and five, carried off by apoplexy whilst seeking medical succour abroad, there arose amongst the oppressed a fleeting hope that the long night of tyranny might give way to the dawn of liberty. Alas! Such hopes were but ephemeral phantoms, destined to be cruelly dashed upon the rocks of dynastic succession. For no sooner had the elder Gnassingbé breathed his last than did the military apparatus, still loyal to the house of their fallen master, move with unseemly haste to install his son, Faure, as the new head of state. Let it be known that he who governeth by the sword alone shall perish by the same, for absolute power doth corrupt absolutely, and the dictator’s end is writ in the very instrument of his dominion
II. The Ascension of Faure and the Perpetuation of Despotism
Young Faure Gnassingbé, a man of nine and thirty winters at the time of his illicit elevation, had been carefully groomed for this very succession. Educated in the universities of France and America, where he did study the arts of finance and commerce, he returned to his homeland not to serve the common weal but to manage the vast personal wealth accumulated by his father through decades of corruption and plunder. His appointment to ministerial posts in the years preceding his father’s demise did reveal the design most transparent: that he should inherit power as though ’twere a mere chattel, to be bequeathed from sire to son as in the most primitive of monarchies.
The manner of his initial assumption of power did violate the very constitution of the land, which prescribed that upon the death of the president, the speaker of the National Assembly should assume interim authority. Yet the military, acting in concert with loyalists in parliament, did sweep aside such legal niceties with contemptuous ease. The international community, to its credit, did protest this unconstitutional seizure most vigorously. The African Union and the Economic Community of West African States did denounce the act as a coup d’état, and under their pressure, Faure did temporarily relinquish his ill-gotten office.
But lo! This retreat proved to be naught but a stratagem. Elections were swiftly arranged, and through means most dubious—intimidation, fraud, and manipulation of the electoral machinery—Faure Gnassingbé did secure what appeared to be a democratic mandate. The opposition claimed victory most righteously, presenting evidence of malfeasance widespread, yet their protests fell upon ears deliberately deafened by corruption. The violence that ensued was terrible to behold: hundreds were slain in the streets, and tens of thousands did flee across the borders into neighboring lands, seeking refuge from the brutal repression unleashed upon those who dared question the legitimacy of the new ruler.
Thus did Faure Gnassingbé establish himself as master of Togo, and thus did the dynasty enter its second generation. Over the years that followed, he would employ every artifice known to tyrants to maintain his grip upon power. Constitutional term limits, which should have constrained his tenure, were amended through parliamentary chicanery. Elections were held with predictable regularity, yet always did they result in victory for the incumbent, despite opposition claims of systematic fraud and international observers’ documentation of irregularities manifold.
III. The Constitutional Coup of Anno Domini Two Thousand and Four and Twenty
In the spring of the year two thousand and four and twenty, Faure Gnassingbé did perpetrate an act of political legerdemain so audacious, so contemptuous of democratic principle, that it doth rank amongst the most egregious abuses of constitutional process witnessed in recent memory. Through a parliament dominated utterly by his party—the Union pour la République, whose seats were secured through gerrymandered constituencies that did over-represent the regime’s northern strongholds whilst diluting the voice of the opposition-leaning southern coastal regions—he did enact a fundamental restructuring of the governmental framework.
This new constitution, adopted without recourse to popular referendum or genuine public consultation, did transform Togo from a presidential to a parliamentary system. Yet this was no genuine democratization, but rather a cunning stratagem to circumvent term limits whilst maintaining absolute control. Under the new dispensation, executive authority was transferred from the presidency—now reduced to a ceremonial office of no substantive power—to a newly created position styled the President of the Council of Ministers. This office, equivalent in all but name to that of prime minister, would be elected not by the people directly, but by members of the National Assembly, and crucially, would face no term limitations whatsoever.
The diabolical cunning of this arrangement doth reveal itself most clearly: Faure Gnassingbé, having ruled as president for nigh two decades, would relinquish that now-powerless title and assume instead the office of President of the Council of Ministers. To occupy the ceremonial presidency, the compliant legislature did select one Jean-Lucien Savi de Tové, a man of six and eighty years whose advanced age and lack of political base did guarantee his complete subservience to the true wielder of power. Thus, in the month of May in the year two thousand and five and twenty, was this transition formally completed, and Gnassingbé did secure for himself the prospect of rule indefinite, limited only by the span of his natural life or the endurance of his parliamentary majority.
The reaction amongst the people was one of outrage most profound and justified outrages. They perceived—rightly—that they had been subjected to what critics did aptly term a “constitutional coup,” wherein the forms of democracy were preserved whilst its substance was gutted. The opposition politicians, civil society organizations, and ordinary citizens alike cried foul, denouncing this maneuver as a betrayal of the democratic aspirations that had been promised but never delivered throughout the long years of Gnassingbé rule.
IV. The Rising of the Youth and the Violent Suppression Thereof
‘Tis a truth universally acknowledged that tyranny, when pressed to its uttermost extremity, doth kindle in the breasts of the oppressed a flame of resistance that can neither be extinguished by threat nor quenched by violence. So it was that in the year two thousand and five and twenty, the youth of Togo—those belonging to the generations styled “Z” and “Alpha” in the parlance of our times—did rise up in unprecedented numbers to challenge the perpetuation of dynastic rule.
Unlike their predecessors, who had witnessed the traditional opposition parties grow weak and compromised through decades of cooptation and repression, these young people did organize themselves through new means. Social media platforms and digital networks became their instruments of mobilization, and influencers from the Togolese diaspora abroad did lend their voices to the cause. Artists and musicians, particularly the rapper known as Aamron, became figureheads of resistance, using their platforms to denounce governmental abuses and rally their compatriots to action.
The movement that coalesced around the date of the sixth of June—subsequently christened the “Mouvement du 6 juin” or “M 6.6″—did articulate grievances both specific and systemic. They protested not merely the constitutional machinations that promised perpetual Gnassingbé rule, but also the crushing cost of living that afflicted ordinary Togolese, the arbitrary arrests of political dissidents, the rising price of electricity, and the general atmosphere of fear and repression that pervaded the nation. The coalition known as “Hands Off My Constitution” did emerge as a prominent voice, demanding the release of political prisoners and the restoration of democratic governance.
The protests that erupted in June of two thousand and five and twenty were met with a response most savage and disproportionate. On the fifth and sixth days of that month, when demonstrators first took to the streets of Lomé, the capital, security forces descended upon them with a ferocity that bespoke not the maintenance of order but the terrorization of the populace. The rapper Aamron and four and thirty others were arrested, and accounts did emerge of brutal treatment meted out to detainees. Aamron himself was beaten with ropes and subjected to continual slapping whilst his captors did falsely accuse him of inciting anti-government demonstrations.
The casualty toll from these initial protests was grievous: at least seven souls were sent untimely to their graves, including children of but thirteen and fifteen years of age—innocents whose only crime was to dream of a freer future. Four score persons were cast into detention, and though Aamron was eventually released after enduring torture for a full day, the damage had been done. The message from the regime was unmistakable: dissent, even peaceful expression thereof, would be crushed without mercy.
Undeterred by this brutal repression, civil society groups did call for larger demonstrations from the twenty-sixth to the twenty-eighth of June. Hundreds and then thousands did heed the call, erecting barricades of concrete blocks in neighborhoods throughout Lomé, setting tyres ablaze, and confronting the armed forces who sought to disperse them. The district of Bé, long an opposition stronghold, became a particular focus of resistance. Yet the security forces, reinforced by military vehicles and supplemented by civilian militia loyal to the government, did respond with tear gas, batons, and live ammunition.
Video footage that emerged from these confrontations did reveal scenes most distressing: uniformed officers beating civilians with whips and clubs; plainclothes agents entering private homes to assault residents; bodies recovered from lagoons, suggesting that some protesters had been killed and their corpses disposed of to hide the evidence of state violence. Human rights organizations, including Amnesty International and the International Federation for Human Rights, did condemn these abuses most strenuously, documenting hundreds of injuries and over one hundred arrests during the June protests alone.
V. The Ongoing Struggle and the Uncertain Future
As the summer of two thousand and five and twenty did progress, the pattern of protest and repression continued unabated. In July, the M 6.6 movement did call for demonstrations on the sixteenth and seventeenth days of that month, timed deliberately to disrupt local elections—elections that opposition groups did view as mere theatre, designed to provide a veneer of legitimacy to an inherently illegitimate system. The government, recognizing the threat posed by organized resistance, did arrest numerous prominent members of the movement in advance, seeking to decapitate the leadership and prevent mobilization.
Yet still the people came forth, and the turnout for the local elections proved remarkably low—a silent rebuke to the regime’s claims of popular support. Further protests in August did result in one hundred souls injured and one hundred and twenty-five arrested, according to the Let’s Save Togo coalition, though the government’s Ministry of Security did contest these figures, claiming the number was but one hundred and nineteen. Such quibbling over precise statistics did naught to obscure the fundamental reality: that the Gnassingbé regime was maintaining its grip on power solely through force, having long since forfeited any legitimate claim to govern by consent.
The government’s attempts to control the narrative did extend beyond physical repression to the digital realm. Internet access was throttled and social media platforms restricted, for the regime did rightly fear the power of networked communication to organize resistance and broadcast evidence of state crimes to the wider world. Government spokesmen did justify these restrictions by claiming that “misinformation” and foreign
“troublemakers” were responsible for the unrest—a time-honored pretext employed by tyrants throughout the ages to deflect blame for their own failings and misdeeds.
Gilbert Bawara, Minister of Public Service and a senior figure in the ruling UNIR party, did argue before international media that the constitutional changes had followed a legitimate process, and that those who disagreed possessed recourse through petitions and elections. Yet this claim rang hollow to those who had witnessed decades of electoral fraud and the systematic neutralization of opposition parties through intimidation, imprisonment of leaders, and manipulation of the electoral machinery. The traditional opposition, weakened by years of exile, cooptation, and repression, had indeed proven ineffective—which was precisely why the younger generation had taken matters into their own hands.
The regional and international response to these events proved disappointingly tepid. The Economic Community of West African States, whilst calling for restraint on all sides, did ultimately express support for the Togolese government, claiming they “remained available to contribute to efforts to preserve social peace.” This mealy-mouthed statement did effectively grant Gnassingbé license to continue his repression, secure in the knowledge that regional powers would not intervene meaningfully on behalf of the oppressed. France, the former colonial power that had long maintained close ties with the Gnassingbé dynasty, remained similarly silent, its historical complicity in enabling the elder Eyadéma’s crimes apparently extending to tacit acceptance of the son’s authoritarian rule.
As demonstrations became increasingly dangerous, with security forces showing no hesitation to employ lethal force against unarmed citizens, the locus of resistance did shift from the streets to online forums and diaspora communities. Togolese living abroad did use their relative safety to continue agitating for change, coordinating with those who remained in the country to plan future actions and publicize ongoing abuses. The movement, whilst forced partially underground by governmental repression, did not dissipate but rather adapted to new circumstances, demonstrating the resilience that hath ever characterized those who struggle for freedom against overwhelming odds.
Thus standeth the situation at present: a nation of some eight million souls, held captive by a dynasty that hath ruled for nigh three score years; a constitution twisted and contorted to serve the interests of perpetual authoritarian rule; a youth generation willing to risk life and limb in pursuit of democratic governance; and a regime prepared to employ any level of violence necessary to maintain its grip on power. The Gnassingbé family, father and son, have governed Togo for longer than many of its citizens have lived, creating a system wherein power is inherited rather than earned, wherein opposition is criminalized rather than tolerated, and wherein the very notion of democratic accountability is treated as a threat to be neutralized rather than a right to be protected.
The path forward remaineth uncertain and fraught with peril. Can a movement led primarily by artists, activists, and ordinary citizens, lacking the institutional resources and international support that might level the playing field, successfully challenge a regime that controleth all levers of state power—the military, the police, the electoral apparatus, and the compliant judiciary? History doth provide examples both encouraging and sobering: of popular movements that have toppled seemingly invincible dictators, and of others that have been crushed beneath the boot of tyranny, their leaders imprisoned or killed, their dreams deferred for generations.
What remaineth beyond dispute is the moral clarity of the Togolese people’s cause. They seek not revolution for its own sake, nor the mere substitution of one ruler for another, but rather the establishment of genuine democratic governance wherein leaders are chosen by the people, accountable to the people, and removable by the people when they fail in their duties. They seek an end to dynastic succession, wherein high office is treated as family property to be passed from father to son like a manor house or a treasury of gold. They seek freedom of expression, assembly, and political participation—rights deemed fundamental and inalienable in every civilized society, yet denied to the citizens of Togo through decades of systematic repression.
Moreover, they seek justice for the martyrs who have fallen in the struggle: the children of thirteen and fifteen who will never reach adulthood; the protesters beaten in the streets or dragged from their homes; the political prisoners languishing in detention; the thousands who have fled into exile; and the countless others whose dreams of a free Togo have been crushed by the machinery of authoritarian rule. Their blood cried out from the ground, demanding accountability and recompense.
In conclusion, let it be understood that the struggle of the Togolese people against the tyranny of Faure Gnassingbé is not merely a local or regional concern, but rather a test of the international community’s commitment to the principles it doth profess to hold dear. When a government turneth weapons upon its own people for the crime of demanding their rights; when constitutional processes are perverted to entrench rather than constrain power; when an entire nation is held hostage to the dynastic ambitions of a single family—then all who cherish liberty and justice must stand in solidarity with the oppressed. The youth of Togo have shown courage most extraordinary in confronting a ruthless regime. Whether their sacrifice will bear fruit in the establishment of genuine democracy, or whether they will join the long roll of martyrs who died before seeing their dreams realized, doth depend in no small measure upon whether the wider world attendeth to their struggle and lendeth support to their righteous cause. May Providence grant them success, and may future generations look back upon this dark chapter as but a prelude to the dawning of a new era of freedom and dignity for the noble people of Togo. So, mote it be. He that doth clutch the sceptre with bloodied hand shall find his throne becometh but a scaffold, and his crown a noose upon his own head, for tyranny beareth within itself the seeds of its destruction. The chain that binds the flesh cannot imprison souls; what tyrants forge in iron, courage doth make whole. Stand fast, ye worthy sons of Togo’s blessed earth, for liberty is won by those who prove their worth.
My word to you today: As mighty oaks from acorns small do rise, so freedom springs from hearts that tyranny defies. Let not the heavy yoke thy spirit break, but strive thou on for dignity’s dear sake.
By: Ben Djagba
Salt Lake City, Utah – USA January 30, 2026