By Adonis Byemelwa
When African governance champion Dr. Mo Ibrahim speaks, his words often cut through the fog of diplomacy that surrounds politics on the continent.
This morning, November 4, 2025, in an unfiltered Facebook Live interview that quickly set social media ablaze, the Sudanese-British billionaire and founder of the Mo Ibrahim Foundation delivered one of his most pointed critiques yet, this time aimed squarely at Tanzania.
“I can’t understand how a leader can win 98 percent of the vote and still call it democracy,” Ibrahim said, leaning forward, visibly frustrated. “Either the people have stopped choosing, or the system has stopped listening. Both are dangerous.”
His remarks were a direct response to the recent Tanzanian election, which handed President Samia Suluhu Hassan an overwhelming victory amid widespread allegations of fraud and voter intimidation.
The October 29 polls, touted by the ruling party as proof of stability and national unity, have instead opened deep fissures in the East African nation’s image, both at home and abroad.
Ibrahim went further, questioning the role of the African Union, which congratulated Samia despite reports of violence and restrictions during the vote. “It’s become routine, the AU claps even when democracy is bleeding,” he said.
“We can’t build credibility by applauding repression.” He added that he intends to speak candidly with President Samia in person: “When I meet her, I’ll tell her the blunt truth, leadership isn’t about silencing opposition; it’s about giving it room to exist.”
Those comments, coming from one of Africa’s most respected voices on governance, have resonated across the continent. Tanzania, long considered a bedrock of regional stability, now finds itself under a harsh international spotlight.
For a nation that prided itself on peace and progress, the scenes of chaos following the vote, burning stations, mass arrests, and the eerie silence of a six-day internet blackout have been deeply unsettling.
The Southern African Development Community (SADC) observer mission added weight to the criticism. In its preliminary report, SADC noted that Tanzanian voters faced intimidation, restricted access to information, and, in some regions, the near absence of credible opposition activity.
Richard Msowoya, who led the observer team, was diplomatic but firm: “We cannot say the people were free to choose without fear.”
That fear was visible in the streets of Dar es Salaam, Arusha, Mbeya, and Songwe, where protests erupted soon after results were announced. Security forces responded with force, leaving casualties and hundreds detained. The government maintains that its actions were necessary to preserve peace, describing the demonstrators as “troublemakers manipulated by foreign actors.”
But as calm tentatively returns, the aftershocks of that unrest are rippling far beyond politics, especially into the country’s economic heart: tourism.
For years, Tanzania’s tourism industry has been one of Africa’s most celebrated success stories. Its pristine beaches, the Serengeti’s endless plains, and Mount Kilimanjaro’s majestic summit all drew millions of visitors annually.
In 2022, President Samia herself launched an ambitious global marketing campaign, “The Royal Tour,” positioning Tanzania as a jewel of stability and hospitality. She personally appeared in glossy travel documentaries, smiling beside wildlife and welcoming the world to “discover our home.”
But that image now lies in disrepair. Since the election, international travel advisories have quietly shifted tone, urging “caution due to political unrest.”
Several European tour operators have postponed group expeditions, citing security and connectivity concerns. In Zanzibar, some hoteliers report a sudden wave of cancellations. “Tourism depends on perception,” said one operator in Arusha. “And right now, the world sees fire, not safaris.”
Economists warn that this reputational damage could linger. The tourism sector contributes roughly 17 percent of Tanzania’s GDP and employs millions, directly or indirectly.
A prolonged downturn could squeeze foreign exchange reserves and slow recovery from pandemic-era losses. “What’s happening politically is not isolated from the economy,” said a Dar es Salaam-based analyst. “Investors read the same headlines as tourists do. Confidence is built on trust, and trust is fragile.”
Even Tanzanians who once praised Samia’s steady leadership now speak with unease. Her early days in office were marked by optimism, a softer tone after the late John Magufuli’s combative rule, gestures toward media openness, and renewed international engagement.
Nonetheless, critics say that goodwill has evaporated. “She had a chance to redefine Tanzania,” said one university lecturer. “Instead, she’s becoming what she replaced, only more polished.”
Mo Ibrahim’s criticism touches precisely on that sense of lost promise. His foundation, which annually publishes the Ibrahim Index of African Governance, has consistently ranked Tanzania high in stability and public administration.
Nevertheless, this year, he hinted that the country may slip. “We look not just at peace but at participation,” he said. “You can’t call it peace if people are too afraid to speak.”
For ordinary Tanzanians, daily life has become an uneasy balancing act between normalcy and fear. In Dar es Salaam’s Sinza neighborhood, small business owners are rebuilding shops destroyed during post-election riots.
Meanwhile, fuel stations are reopening under police supervision. Bus services are resuming, though some routes remain closed for “security assessments.”
Regional Commissioner Albert Chalamila has ordered public transport to normalize and reopen the Magufuli Bus Terminal, a symbolic gesture toward returning to routine.
But the atmosphere is subdued. Conversations in cafes hover on the edge of politics but never dive in. On public transport, passengers speak in whispers when elections come up.
The trauma of those violent days, and of the information blackout, has left people cautious, not defeated, but wary. “We just want peace,” said a taxi driver outside Kariakoo market. “But peace with dignity, not silence.”
International reactions continue to unfold. The European Union and several human-rights organizations have called for transparent investigations into the conduct of security forces and election management.
The African Union, while offering congratulations, also noted “deep regret” over the loss of life, a mild phrase that critics like Ibrahim say fails to capture the seriousness of the moment. “You can’t heal a wound you refuse to name,” he remarked in his Facebook stream.
The situation poses a complex test for Samia, who has built her international brand around moderation and modern leadership. Her participation in The Royal Tour documentary, which premiered globally on streaming platforms, positioned her as Africa’s new kind of president, approachable, visionary, female, and pragmatic.
Today, those images sit uneasily beside reports of beatings, internet blackouts, and street fires. “It’s an image crisis of her own making,” said a Tanzanian journalist. “The same president who courted the world’s cameras is now avoiding questions at home.”
Yet, amid the tension, there are still faint threads of hope. Civil society groups are quietly organizing forums on dialogue and reform. Religious leaders have called for “national healing through truth.”
The country’s vibrant youth, many of whom were born after Tanzania transitioned to multi-party politics, are once again engaging in online discussions, demanding reform rather than revenge. “We’re tired of being told to wait,” said 26-year-old activist Amina Kweka. “We want to be part of shaping what comes next.”
That sentiment, the desire to move forward without forgetting what has happened, reflects a wider yearning in Tanzanian society.
The question is whether its leadership can meet that demand with humility rather than control. “Authoritarian reflexes are easy,” said one regional analyst. “Dialogue takes courage. What Tanzania needs now is courage at the top.”
As dusk falls over Dar es Salaam, the hum of the city returns, traffic lights flicker, vendors call out, and the sea breeze carries the scent of roasted maize. But beneath that surface calm lies a deep uncertainty. The streets are open, yet the trust between people and power remains closed off.
Dr. Mo Ibrahim’s final words in his interview lingered long after the stream ended. “Tanzania has been a symbol of peace for decades,” he said. “If it loses that, we all lose something. Democracy is not a destination; it’s a conversation, and silence is the death of it.”
