By Sidiki Fofana
On the streets of Monrovia, and in the towns and villages beyond, the exhilaration for the 2029 elections is everywhere. It echoes in the conversations of young people who crave a better future, it is whispered in the prayers of the elderly who hope to see a redeemed Liberia in their lifetime, and it forms the backbone of political party strategies, whether to cling to power, reclaim it, or seize it for the first time.
The anticipation, the yearning, and the evolving hope surrounding 2029 are not merely about what the election will be, but more importantly, what it will produce. A leader? A liberator? A redeemer? Or just a disappointment cloaked in a democratic outcome?
Recent Afrobarometer data paints a sobering picture of the current leadership of Liberia; over half of Liberians do not trust the presidency to deliver on its promises. A similar number hold little to no confidence in the Legislature’s ability to exercise meaningful oversight, and even fewer trust the Judiciary to dispense justice with integrity.
This crisis of confidence is not new.
When George Weah won the presidency in 2017, claiming victory in 14 of the 15 electoral subdivisions, it was seen as a generational mandate for change. But by the end of his six-year term, close to a million voters, many of whom had once cheered his rise, walked away, disappointed by what they saw as squandered hope.
Before Weah, there was Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Liberia’s historic first female president. Lauded internationally as the “Iron Lady,” she raised expectations of post-war reconstruction and reform.
Yet her legacy, too, remains contested. Critics remember not only the resilience she embodied but also the corruption scandals and the passage of nearly 60 dubious concession agreements that enriched foreign interests more than Liberians.
Now, as Liberia looks to 2029, the question looms large: Will this election produce our own Ibrahim Traoré? Not just a name, but a symbol. A reformer unbought, a leader unbent, and a patriot unwilling to trade his people’s dignity for political longevity.
Some argued that may be a wishful thinking. But for a country that has cycled through elites, outsiders, and technocrats, all of whom promised salvation and delivered shadows, the yearning for a different kind of leadership is no longer just idealism. It is a survival instinct.
Ibrahim Traoré, a 34-year-old military captain, rose to power in Burkina Faso in 2022 after deposing interim leader Paul-Henri Damiba. In a continent long plagued by coups that turn into extended kleptocracies, Traoré’s swift actions drew attention for a different reason: he redirected foreign mining interests, re-nationalized key gold resources, cut bureaucratic waste, and intensified efforts to fight extremist insurgencies in neglected regions.
Traoré publicly declared:
“Africa must stop being a playground for foreign powers. We must reclaim our sovereignty, our dignity, and our future.”, Captain Ibrahim Traoré, 2023 Pan-African Conference, Ouagadougou
In January 2024, he expelled French military forces from Burkina Faso, accusing them of operating under neocolonial designs. He strengthened military ties with other African states and Russia, refocused national revenue on agriculture and local development, and called for an African currency independent of the CFA franc, which he described as “a colonial relic.”
Traoré’s popularity—especially among marginalized African your has skyrocketed. His supporters, often referring to him as “Africa’s Thomas Sankara reborn”, see him as a corrective force rather than a mere figure of power.
His rise, and the celebration surrounding his leadership, sends a clear message: oppressed people, especially those living in resource-rich yet poverty-stricken nations, such as Liberia, care less about how a leader arrives and more about whether that leader delivers. Whether elected or by force, legitimacy today in many African countries is earned not at the ballot box alone, but at the frontlines of reform.
Liberia is no exception. It is a nation whose voters are not simply craving democracy, they are craving results. Perhaps some have indicated a Toure might just arrived before the 2029 election.
When Elections Did Bring Change
Liberia isn’t without precedent. History offers examples when democratic elections did in fact produce transformational leadership:
- Nelson Mandela (South Africa, 1994): After decades of apartheid, Mandela’s election was not just political—it was redemptive. It symbolized national reconciliation and institutional overhaul. As Mandela said in his inaugural speech: “We enter into a covenant that we shall build the society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will be able to walk tall, without any fear in their hearts.
- Jerry Rawlings (Ghana, 1981–2000): Though he seized power through a coup, Rawlings eventually transitioned to democracy and won elections in 1992 and 1996. Under his leadership, Ghana laid the foundations for economic reform, political stability, and democratic transfer of power.
- Thomas Sankara (Burkina Faso, 1983–1987): Though not elected, Sankara remains a historic figure who transformed Burkina Faso in just four years. He nationalized land, vaccinated millions of children, promoted women’s rights, and lived modestly. Traoré now stands as the modern echo of Sankara’s ideals.
Back to Liberia’s Question
Can Liberia produce a leader, elected or otherwise, who breaks from the cycle of corruption, underperformance, and elite capture?
That is the challenge before and of 2029. Because Liberians are no longer starved of elections, they are starved of transformation. They no longer measure leadership by campaign speeches, but by delivery.
If the next leader can embody even half the conviction of a Mandela or the reformist zeal of a Traoré, Liberia may finally begin to unshackle itself from the ghosts of squandered opportunities.
And if that leader doesn’t emerge from the ballots, then history suggests something more organic—and perhaps more radical may arise from the margins.
