When we talk about politics, leadership and governance in Africa, two voices often rise above the rest. One is that of the seasoned political veteran who remembers the long nights of liberation and the fragile dawn of independence. The other is that of the youth who questions systems that seem designed to protect power instead of people.
This article is not a dialogue between real individuals but a reflection of the conversations that have shaped African democracy for decades. These are voices drawn from experience and observation, echoing the generational tension between those who built the state and those now trying to redefine it.
I often wonder how democracy in Africa became both our greatest promise and our deepest paradox. Many countries won independence in the 1960s yet six decades later much of Sub-Saharan Africa still operates within frameworks inherited from colonial administrations. The Mo Ibrahim Index of African Governance (2024) shows that while overall governance improved between 2014 and 2023, nearly half of Africa’s population still lives in countries where governance has declined. We replaced flags but the systems beneath them have been slow to evolve.
So let us listen to these two voices, not as opposing forces but as parts of the same story, one still being written. Imagine this as a conversation not between generations but between intentions.
The Politician:
When we fought for independence, democracy was not our first dream. Freedom was. We wanted land, dignity and the right to stand tall without asking permission. Democracy, we believed, would come once the dust of liberation had settled. We built nations from ruins and held them together with unity and faith. You must understand that for us, opposition felt like division. We had seen how colonial powers thrived on separation so one party, one people, one leader felt like the only way to stay alive.
The Youth:
And maybe it made sense then. But unity soon turned into silence. In Kenya, for example, the same movement that united the country after independence grew into a tool for control. Across the continent, liberation parties became governments that struggled to adapt to democracy. By the mid-1970s, most African nations were governed under single-party systems or military regimes. Freedom had been achieved but participation had been paused.
The Politician:
We were not blind to that. But our time was one of storms. The world was split in two and every African state was a pawn in someone’s Cold War game. We saw what happened to Lumumba in Congo and to Nkrumah in Ghana. We governed to protect, not to oppress. Democracy had to grow carefully. We were building nations while the ground beneath us kept shifting. Stability became our shield.
The Youth:
Yet that same stability became a cage for progress. We inherited constitutions that protected leaders more than citizens. Elections became performances, not promises. Nigeria alone experienced several military coups between 1966 and 1999, each one justified as a rescue mission but ending in the same cycle of control. People began to vote more out of fear of chaos than faith in change. So we ask, if independence gave us power, why do so many still feel powerless?
The Politician:
You think we did not see that restlessness? We did. But leadership after independence was survival, not luxury. We carried the burden of borders we did not draw and economies that were never built for us. Every protest threatened to break a nation barely held together by hope. Power had to stay close to protect the dream.
The Youth:
But the dream needs air to breathe. We cannot keep defending systems designed to preserve control. Look at countries like Botswana that built stable democracies through strong institutions or Rwanda that emphasized national unity after tragedy. They evolved not by rejecting their past but by learning from it. The new generation does not seek chaos, it seeks participation. Democracy for us means accountability, not convenience.
The Politician:
Perhaps you are right. We wanted to Africanize democracy but instead ended up personalizing it. We spoke of people’s power but feared what that power might demand. Nyerere dreamed of African socialism, Nkrumah envisioned continental unity, Kenyatta preached self-reliance. Each of us built an ideology but few of us built the institutions to sustain it.
The Youth:
And still, we are grateful for what you built. You gave us nations, identity and a foundation. But our work is to complete yours, to move from liberation to participation. Today’s youth are not just spectators. More than 60% of Africa’s population is under 25 and they are using digital spaces to demand accountability. From Nigeria’s EndSARS movement to Sudan’s Resistance Committees and South Africa’s Fees Must Fall protests, democracy is no longer confined to parliaments. It lives in hashtags, rallies and community action.
The Politician:
Then do it better than we did. Lead with vision, not vengeance. Protect freedom, not comfort. Build institutions that outlive names. Democracy will always test you but it must also teach you.
The Youth:
And maybe that is where Africa stands today, between design and default. We are learning that democracy cannot be inherited, it must be practiced. It belongs not to the powerful but to those who still believe they can make this continent better than they found it.
Both Voices:
Democracy was never meant to be a monument. It was meant to be a movement. Its heartbeat belongs not to history but to every citizen who keeps its rhythm alive.
Reflection
Maybe the real question is not how far we have come but how deeply we are willing to change. Every generation inherits a version of freedom yet few stop to ask what theirs will look like. If our leaders fought to be seen, then we must fight to be heard. If they built nations from ashes, we must build integrity within them. The future of African democracy will not be written in constitutions alone but in the courage of citizens who still dare to demand better. Because democracy in Africa has never been about perfection but persistence, like a drum that keeps beating even when no one is watching.
