By Adonis Byemelwa
Tanzania has entered a rare moment of national self-examination. Not the loud, slogan-driven kind that accompanies election campaigns, but a quieter, more uneasy reckoning, one that asks whether the country’s institutions still serve its people, and whether justice can be repaired without reopening old wounds.
Over the past several months, President Samia Suluhu Hassan has spoken with unusual candour about the state of the nation. First, before judges and magistrates, then before ambassadors and international organisations gathered in Dodoma, her message has carried a consistent thread: justice cannot be selective, freedom cannot be symbolic, and reconciliation cannot be deferred indefinitely.
That tone did not emerge in a vacuum. It follows the unrest that accompanied Tanzania’s October 29, 2025, general election, an event many citizens describe not only as politically destabilising but also emotionally draining. The tension did not end when the streets quieted. It lingered in courtrooms where cases stalled, in police stations where families searched for answers, and in homes where fear replaced trust.
So, when President Samia announced on January 15, 2026, during the Diplomatic Sherry Party at Chamwino State House, that she had granted clemency to 1,787 individuals implicated in election-related violence, the response was swift and divided. For some families, it meant reunions long delayed. For others, it raised more profound questions about accountability.
“This was a necessary political decision,” said Fr.Dr. Charles Kitima, a lawyer speaking in a television interview shortly after the announcement. “But reconciliation is not the same as closure. Closure requires truth.”
In her address to diplomats, President Samia placed the clemency within a broader philosophical frame, quoting Søren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” It was an appeal to collective maturity, a call to acknowledge mistakes without becoming trapped by them. Diplomats nodded; Tanzanians listened more cautiously. Many have learned that the gap between intention and experience can be vast.
Weeks earlier, the President had startled the legal community by openly criticising the justice system before its own custodians.
Standing before judges and magistrates, she spoke of fabricated cases, unfair sentencing, and the damage injustice inflicts on national development. “Without justice, there can be no development,” she said, without qualification.
For a retired High Court judge, who requested anonymity, the statement mattered less for its boldness than for its implication. “When a head of state admits this publicly,” he said, “she is also admitting that the problem is structural, not accidental.”
That admission has sharpened scrutiny rather than softened it. Lawyers and rights advocates point to patterns that have persisted for years: prolonged remand detention, enforced disappearances, and court orders ignored by security agencies. In some cases, suspects spend years in custody only for charges to be quietly withdrawn.
“This is punishment without conviction,” said Boniface Mwabukusi, President of the Tanganyika Law Society. “It erodes the idea that the law protects everyone equally.”
Families describe the experience less in legal terms than in human ones. A mother in Mwanza, whose son was acquitted after two years in remand, said the verdict felt hollow. “He came home,” she said, “but he did not come back the same.”
Allegations of police brutality deepen that sense of unresolved harm. Court filings and human rights reports continue to document claims of torture, sexual violence, and degrading treatment of suspects. When acquittals occur, accountability for abuse rarely follows.
“Reconciliation that skips accountability becomes silence,” said Maria Sarungi Tsehai, a Tanzanian human rights advocate based in Nairobi. “And silence has never healed a society.”
President Samia has acknowledged this tension, at least in principle. In Dodoma, she announced the formation of an Independent Commission of Inquiry and pledged to establish a Truth and Reconciliation Commission as part of a longer path toward constitutional reform. The promise signalled ambition, but also revived memories of past commissions whose reports gathered dust.
“The risk,” said Dr Faraja Kristomus, a political scientist at the University of Dar es Salaam, “is mistaking process for progress. People want acknowledgement that harm occurred, and assurances it won’t happen again.”
For many Tanzanians, justice is not an abstract debate but a daily negotiation. It is felt in overcrowded court corridors, where hearings are repeatedly postponed. It is felt when magistrates work under subtle political pressure, or when judicial leaders depend financially on the very executive they are meant to check.
“There is a contradiction we rarely name,” Judge Makene said. “An institution cannot be fully independent if it must ask permission to function.”
Beyond the judiciary, unease has grown over the expanding role of security agencies in civilian life. Analysts note the increasing presence of uniformed and plainclothes officers across institutions that were once firmly civilian, from political meetings to community gatherings. The concern is not only about force, but about fear.
“You cannot ask people to reconcile while they are afraid to speak,” said Rev. Dr Benson Bagonza, a faith leader and social commentator in Arusha. “Trust grows where safety exists.”
Supporters of President Samia argue that she has already widened political space compared to her predecessor, allowing more open debate and opposition activity. Critics counter that fear does not disappear simply because repression softens.
“People talk more now,” said Neema Mwandishi, a journalist in Dodoma. “But they still measure their words. That tells you the work is unfinished.”
The President has consistently linked political reform to economic ambition. At Chamwino, she reaffirmed that Economic Diplomacy remains central to Tanzania’s foreign policy, highlighting investments in the blue and green economy, digital technology, and strategic resources such as natural gas and minerals.
For international investors, the message was reassuring. For economists, it raised a familiar caveat.
“The rule of law is economic infrastructure,” said David Cowan, a regional analyst with Citibank Africa. “Growth depends not just on policy, but on predictable courts and enforceable contracts.”
Asked about allegations of abuse and judicial interference, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Constitutional and Legal Affairs said the government has “initiated wide-ranging reforms, including police training, judicial digitisation, and legislative review,” and insisted that “isolated violations should not be mistaken for state policy.”
That response reflects the central tension of this moment. President Samia speaks the language of reform while presiding over a powerful state whose habits change slowly. For some, that duality is her strength; she understands the system well enough to fix it. For others, it is the test she has yet to pass.
Among ordinary citizens, reactions remain pragmatic. Hope exists, but it is restrained. “We are watching,” said Hassan Mrope, a small business owner in Morogoro. “Listening is good. But believing takes proof.”
In the end, the President’s own words offer the most precise measure of her challenge. To live forward, as she quoted, requires more than reflection. It requires confronting the structures that made injustice possible and dismantling them deliberately.
Justice must move from speeches into cells, courtrooms, and police stations. Freedom must be felt not only by diplomats and politicians, but by detainees, journalists, and families waiting outside prison gates. Reconciliation must begin with truth before it asks for forgiveness.
Tanzania’s future will not be decided by commissions or clemency alone, but by whether power finally submits itself, consistently and visibly, to the law.
