By Ishmael Sallieu Koroma*
When President Julius Maada Bio announced Sierra Leone’s first National Remembrance Day, it was rightly received as a significant gesture an acknowledgment that a nation cannot move forward without confronting the wounds of its past.
For a country still shaped by the legacy of an eleven-year civil war that officially ended in 2002, remembrance is not optional; it is essential.
But remembrance, if it is to matter, must be more than ceremonial.
Two decades after the guns fell silent, many of those who bore the heaviest burden of the war remain trapped in lives of quiet desperation. Amputees, war-wounded victims, widows, and survivors live with physical pain, psychological trauma, and grinding poverty.
Their suffering did not end with peace accords or international applause for post-war recovery. For them, the war never truly ended.
This uncomfortable truth was laid bare when Mohammed Tarawallie, President of the War Wounded Association, appeared on Truth Media to express his disappointment over a missed opportunity at the State House White Ribbon programme.
Despite being present at an event meant to symbolize healing and unity, Mr. Tarawallie who lost both arms during the war was not afforded the chance to speak with the President. Instead, he was reduced to a photograph, a symbol rather than a participant in the national conversation.
It is difficult to imagine a more painful irony. A man who embodies the cost of Sierra Leone’s darkest chapter should not be used merely for optics. He, and many like him, deserve dignity, voice, and engagement. National healing cannot occur when those who suffered most are seen but not heard.
This is why National Remembrance Day should not be confined to official speeches and controlled events. It should be declared a national public holiday one that allows every Sierra Leonean the time and space to reflect, engage, and participate. A day of remembrance must belong to the people, not just the state.
More importantly, it must centre the victims. Remembrance should include town hall meetings across the country, where survivors can recount their ordeals and where the nation listens uncomfortably, honestly, and attentively. Healing does not come from silence; it comes from testimony.
In my own conversations and interviews with war victims, a persistent bitterness emerges not born of hatred, but of neglect. Many live in abject poverty, surviving through begging, with little to show for years of promises made by successive governments.
Reports were written. Committees were formed. Sympathy was expressed. Yet sustainable livelihoods, psychosocial support, and long-term care remain largely absent.
Perhaps most troubling is that the structural conditions that helped fuel the war endemic poverty, injustice, corruption, and exclusion remain deeply embedded in our national life. When these injustices persist, remembrance risks becoming performative rather than transformative. Let this be said clearly: this is not an argument against National Remembrance Day. It is an argument for taking it seriously.
If the day becomes another platform for speeches and symbolism, it will fail those it is meant to honour. But if it becomes a moment of national reckoning one that listens to the wounded, confronts uncomfortable truths, and commits to concrete action it could mark a turning point in Sierra Leone’s long journey toward genuine reconciliation.
A nation does not honour its past by remembering selectively. It honours it by acting courageously in the present.
Remembrance, without justice and compassion, is simply forgetting by another name.
*Ishmael Sallieu Koroma is a pupil barrister at Tanner Legal Advisory, Bockarie Chambers, based in Freetown.
