President Samia Suluhu Hassan’s decision to turn to abduction, atrocity, and massacre now threatens the political pre-eminence of Chama Cha Mapinduzi and could rewrite the rules about how the African Union supervises elections on the continent.
When they established the African Union (AU) at the turn of the millennium in 2000, African countries together committed themselves to “[promoting] democratic principles and institutions, popular participation and good governance”. In pursuit of these goals, they also set their face against “unconstitutional changes of government” and agreed that legitimate power could only be acquired through “regular conduct of free and transparent elections (…) through universal suffrage”. Over the quarter-century since then, and despite the adoption of a continental treaty to regulate democracy, elections, and governance, the AU turned elections on the continent into hollow rituals and perfunctory formalities, certifying a succession of dispiriting charades across the continent.
Three elections in quick succession last October, in three of the continent’s five regions, may have altered this pattern. In Côte d’Ivoire, West Africa, incumbent president Alassane Ouattara – around whose ambitions the country came close to the brink of fragmentation at the beginning of the millennium – contrived at 83 years to award himself nearly 90 per cent of the vote and a fourth term in office in an election from which he barred every credible competition. That was a generous four percentage points lower than the 94 per cent of the votes that he awarded himself in 2020. In power since 2010, Ouattara was supposed to be term-limited in 2020, after two terms of ten years in office. At 83, he expects to rule until at least the age of 88 years.
That would still be four years younger than the 92 years of Paul Biya, whom the Constitutional Council in the central Africa country, Cameroon, announced as the winner with 53.66 per cent of the votes in a disputed election in which he was unable to campaign. Independent analysts who have examined the official tallies insist Biya “couldn’t have won”. In the wake of the announcement, United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres pointedly declined to extend congratulations to President Biya, focusing his attention instead on the need for a “thorough and impartial investigation” of the “post-electoral violence and (…) reports of excessive use of force”.
More than these two, it is the election in Tanzania that promises to rewrite Africa’s recent story of burglarized ballots. To be sure, Tanzania is an unlikely candidate for people power in Africa. Since its emergence in April 1964 as the union of the Tanganyika mainland and the island of Zanzibar, the United Republic of Tanzania has been ruled by the Party of the Revolution. Better known under its Swahili name, Tanzania’s ruling Chama Cha Mapinduzi (CCM) is the most durable party of power in Africa, having produced all of Tanzania’s six presidents over six and a half decades of independence. The decision of incumbent president Samia Suluhu Hassan to turn abduction, atrocity, and massacre into her principal instrument of electoral persuasion now threatens to unmake the routine predictability of the CCM’s political pre-eminence and could be about to rewrite the rules about how the African Union supervises elections on the continent.
Unopposed, unchecked, and pre-determined
Few would have predicted this turn of events when Tanzania’s electoral commission announced at the end of October 2020 that populist strongman John Magufuli had won a second term in office. Under cover of the COVID-19 pandemic, which was raging at the time, the CCM-led government contrived to terrorize the opposition from the contest, clearing the way for President Magufuli to be announced the winner in a declaration that credited him with over 84 per cent of the vote. With national remedies prohibited by law, Tanzania’s opposition filed a case at the African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights, whose headquarters is ironically located in Arusha, Tanzania, alleging egregious irregularities in the conduct of that election. Over five years later, the case is stalled by a combination of the tactics of the Government of Tanzania and inexplicable uncertainties on the part of the court itself. In March 2021, a mere four months into his new presidential term, President Magufuli died, a suspected victim of the virus whose existence he denied.
When the party selected Magufuli in 2015 at the top of its ticket to succeed the popular soldier, Jakaya Kikwete, they handed to him as his running mate a largely anonymous minister in the presidency – Samia Suluhu Hassan. A deceptively callow appearance masked a character of considerable single-mindedness. Four months into the new presidential term, Suluhu inherited the presidency of Tanzania upon the death of her principal and had before her over four and a half years on the job before presenting herself to the people for re-election in October 2025.
Ahead of the ballot, however, it became evident that President Suluhu would not tolerate a contest. Under her leadership, the government unleashed what Amnesty International described as a “wave of terror” designed to make her candidacy unopposed and the CCM unchecked in its march to a predetermined seventh decade in power.
In preparation for the election, Suluhu’s government normalized the imprisonment, abduction and disappearance of its leading opponents, charging the main opposition candidate, Tundu Lissu, with treason. It also enacted new legislation on political parties, cybercrimes, and media services that criminalized opposing points of view, heavily censored traditional media, and also introduced extensive surveillance and persecution of digital expression. Journalists, content creators, and performing artists who were not willing to join the ruling party’s bandwagon faced bans or risked disappearance.
To compound these measures, Tanzania’s constitution prohibits anyone from challenging before any domestic court the presidential election results once they have been declared. Essentially, the decision of Tanzania’s government-appointed Electoral Commission is final.
On the day of the contest on 29 October, protests unexpectedly erupted in key cities such as Dar es Salaam, Arusha, Mbeya, and Mwanza. There was also low voter turnout countrywide as depicted in videos on social media and corroborated by both the African Union (AU) and the Southern African Development Community (SADC) observer missions. Under cover of a media blackout complemented by an internet shutdown imposed on the day of the ballot, Suluhu’s government unleashed a campaign of targeted mass murder in population centres suspected to be opposition strongholds.
Information about what transpired was initially sparse, although during and after the internet shutdown, clips of ballot stuffing surfaced and were also corroborated by the AU’s preliminary observation report. President Suluhu’s electoral commission declared her winner with 87 percent voter turnout and nearly 98 percent of the vote. As Tanzanians in different parts of the country woke up to find bodies in their courtyards bearing fatal injuries inflicted by unknown persons and morgues overflowing with fresh cadavers being disappeared by the government, soldiers whisked Suluhu to the capital, Dodoma, where on the fourth night following the vote, she was stealthily inaugurated for a new term at a military parade ground.
No mandate to rule
Initial estimates putting the casualty count in the hundreds were quickly eclipsed by a more informed tally confirming over 3,000 killed in under 72 hours. Fresh reporting by the New Humanitarian puts the number at over 5,000 and suggests that the casualty count may be well over 10,000. Around the country, initial trepidation gave way to alarm at the scale of the massacre. This sense of alarm has now been ousted by civic outrage.
With the restoration of the internet, this outrage has found a platform on social media, especially on Instagram, TikTok, and X (formerly Twitter), a pattern of digital protests that is becoming increasingly common with youth-led protests in Africa. Through technology, Tanzanians have been able to regionalize and globalize their political struggle and frustration. Although immediately after the internet was restored the Tanzanian Police broadcast a text message warning Tanzanians against sharing “distressing or humanly degrading media”, many recounted their experiences and anger online. Others used humour, melodising part of President Suluhu’s pre-election speech and posting TikTok dance challenges about it. The state responded by charging over 300 Tanzanians with treason, including participants of the protests, children, and TikTok personality Jennifer Jovin, popularly known as Niffer, who participated in the TikTok dance challenge.
Both within and outside Tanzania, there is increasingly consensus that President Suluhu lacks any legitimacy or mandate to rule. Three factors are driving this.
First, the atrocity violence associated with the election is very redolent of some of the darkest memories in the histories of both the mainland and the island of Zanzibar. Born Zanzibari, President Suluhu is of Omani descent. Omani rule in Zanzibar ended in a bloody revolution in January 1964 that overthrew the racialized Sultanate of Jamshid bin Abdullah and the Zanzibar National Party (ZNP). Over 70 per cent of Tanzanians are under the age of 35 and may not necessarily have clear recall of this history. Before the elections, many had rallied behind the slogan “No Reforms, No Elections”. Now, many seem keen to reignite the historical tension about a perceived imbalance in the union between mainland Tanganyika and Zanzibar. President Suluhu may have damaged the Union irreparably.
Second, there is growing evidence of foreign involvement in the election massacre. In particular, the United Arab Emirates (UAE) has been identified as a major externality in the atrocities, with a motive to protect diverse investments in critical minerals, trade, ports, healthcare and tourism in Tanzania that could be in jeopardy without the friendly presence of President Suluhu. Under Suluhu in 2023, Emiratis acquired the port of Dar es Salaam in a deal that caused considerable consternation in the country. Before that, in 2022, the Maasai of Ngorongoro faced eviction from their ancestral lands to give way to the expansion of UAE-owned trophy hunting company Otterlo Business Corporation which is closely linked to Prime Minister Sheikh Mohamed bin Rashid Al Maktoum. Many Tanzanians now bristle at the thought that they are considered expendable for the sake of preserving these acquisitions.
Third, for the first time in the history of both organizations, official election observer missions deployed by the African Union and the Southern African Development Community (SADC) concluded separately that the election in Tanzania “did not comply with AU principles, normative frameworks, and other international obligations and standards for democratic elections”. The East African Community (EAC), whose headquarters is in Arusha, Tanzania, produced a conveniently under-publicized report, omitting electoral malpractices and downplaying the scale of the protests and the ensuing atrocities.
Twenty-five years ago, the AU and SADC probably did not foresee a situation in which they would be unable to certify a vote conducted for an African president. So, they failed to provide for what would happen in such an eventuality. Confronted now with that reality, they have to invent consequences. An urgent summit of the SADC and the EAC is needed to define what follows.
Consensus is also growing around the urgent need for an independent international investigation and accountability. Meanwhile, Tanzania’s young people prepare for nationwide protests on 9 December 2025. The symbolisms are unique: it is the day Tanganyika became independent; it is also the World Anti-Corruption Day and Genocide Remembrance Day. The next day, 10 December, is International Human Rights Day.
By Chidi Anselm Odinkalu and Chepkorir Sambu
