Lome, Togo – The chants have faded in the streets, the barricades have been cleared, and an eerie calm hangs over Togo after days of mass protests in the West African nation’s capital. But beneath the surface, anger simmers, security forces remain stationed at key intersections, and many fear the storm is far from over.
From June 26 to 28, thousands took to the streets of Lome to protest constitutional reforms that critics say enable President Faure Gnassingbe to remain in power indefinitely. The 59-year-old leader – in office since 2005 after the death of his father, who ruled for 38 years – was recently sworn in as president of the Council of Ministers, a powerful executive role with no term limits under a newly adopted parliamentary system.
The protests were swiftly and violently suppressed.
At least four people are believed to have died, dozens were injured, and more than 60 were arrested, according to local civil society groups. Verified videos circulating online show beatings, street chases, and men in plainclothes dragging civilians away.
But in a country long used to political fatigue and fractured opposition, the past week marked a rupture.
Rejecting a political dynasty
To many observers, these protests represent more than a reaction to constitutional reform: They signal a generational break.
“These young people are not simply protesting a new constitution,” said Pap Koudjo, a Togolese journalist and essayist. “They are rejecting 58 years of political inheritance, from father to son, that has brought nothing but poverty, repression, and humiliation.”
Most of the protesters were under 25. Many have never known another leader. They have grown up with frequent blackouts, crumbling infrastructure, joblessness and shrinking freedoms. The constitutional change, which removed term limits from the new executive role and eliminated direct presidential elections, was a red line.
The government attempted damage control. A steep 12.5 percent electricity price hike – another source of rage – was quickly withdrawn. The activist singer Aamron, whose arrest days earlier had galvanised public anger, was discreetly released.
But neither move stemmed the unrest.
“The arrest of Aamron was a trigger,” said Paul Amegakpo, a political analyst and chair of the Tamberma Institute for Governance. “But the real story is that this regime has lost its ability to offer a negotiated and institutional solution to the crisis. It is relying purely on military strength.”
He points to signs of disquiet within the state itself. A rare statement from former Defence Minister Marguerite Gnakade, condemning the violence and Gnassingbe’s leadership, suggests fractures may exist at the highest levels of the security apparatus.
“There’s an institutional void,” Amegakpo said. “Two months after the transition to the Fifth Republic, the country still has no appointed government,” he added, referring to the post-amendment Togo.
Civil society fills the vacuum
Perhaps more telling than the protests themselves is who led them. Not traditional opposition parties, which have been weakened by years of cooptation and exile, but influencers from the diaspora, civil society activists, artists and uncelebrated citizens.
“The opposition has been exhausted – physically, politically, and financially,” said Koudjo. “After decades of failed dialogue and betrayed agreements, the youth has stepped in.”
As protests surged, more institutional voices followed. Several civic organisations issued strong statements condemning the “disproportionate use of force” and demanding independent investigations into the deaths and disappearances. Though not leading the mobilisation, these groups echoed growing alarm about the government’s response and the erosion of civic space.
The Media Foundation for West Africa warned that the environment for free expression in Togo was “shrinking dangerously”, a sentiment echoed by other international observers.
To Fabien Offner, a researcher for Amnesty International, the crackdown is part of a larger, entrenched system.
“What we’re seeing is not an isolated event – it’s the continuation of a repressive architecture,” Offner told Al Jazeera. “We’ve documented patterns of arbitrary arrests, beatings with cords, posturing torture, and impunity – all now normalised.”
Amnesty says families are still searching for loved ones taken during the protests. Some have received no information on their whereabouts or legal status.
“This is not just about protest management. It’s about the systematic denial of fundamental rights,” Offner said.
He added that the government’s claim that protests were “unauthorised” is a misreading of international law. “Peaceful assembly does not require prior approval. What’s unlawful is systematically preventing it.”
Amnesty is calling for an independent inquiry into the deaths, a public list of detainees, and full transparency from prosecutors. But Offner also addressed a more uncomfortable truth: international silence.
“Togo has become a diplomatic blind spot,” he said. “We need stronger, more vocal engagement from the African Union, ECOWAS, the United Nations, and key bilateral partners. Their silence emboldens the cycle of repression. They must speak out and act.”
Even the country’s Catholic bishops, traditionally cautious, warned in a rare statement of the risks of “implosion under suppressed frustration”, and called for “a sincere, inclusive and constructive dialogue”.
Togo’s unrest also reflects a broader trend across West Africa, observers note, where youth-led movements are increasingly challenging entrenched political orders – not just at the ballot box, but in the streets, on social media and through global solidarity networks.
From the recent mobilisations in Senegal to popular uprisings in Burkina Faso, young people are asserting their agency against systems they view as unresponsive, outdated or undemocratic. In Togo, the protests may be domestic in origin, but they are part of a wider regional pulse demanding accountability and renewal.
The government holds its line
“These were not peaceful assemblies – these were attempts to disrupt public order,” said Gilbert Bawara, minister of public service and senior figure in the UNIR governing party.
Bawara denied that security forces committed systematic abuses, and insisted that “if there were any excesses, they should be examined based on facts, not rumours.” He added that the government remains open to dialogue, but only with “visible, structured interlocutors”, not anonymous calls from abroad.
He also defended the recent constitutional changes, arguing that they had followed a legitimate process. “If anyone disagrees, they can petition, they can participate in elections. These are the foundations of a democratic society,” Bawara told Al Jazeera.
But critics argue that such avenues are largely symbolic under the current government. With the governing party dominating institutions, controlling the security forces, and sidelining opposition figures through arrests, exile and cooptation, many view the political playing field as fundamentally rigged.
“There are democratic forms, yes,” said analyst Paul Amegakpo. “But they are hollow. The rules may exist on paper – elections, assemblies, petitions – but power in Togo is not contested on equal footing. It is captured and preserved through coercion, clientelism, and constitutional engineering.”
Amegakpo said the regime’s recent moves suggest it is more focused on optics than engagement.
“The government has announced its own peaceful march on July 5,” he noted. “But that reveals something deeper: they are not listening. They are responding to social and political suffering with PR and counter-demonstrations.”
Moment of reckoning
What comes next is uncertain. Protests have subsided for now, but the heavy presence of security forces and internet slowdowns suggest continued anxiety.
Analysts warn that if unrest spreads beyond Lome, or if cracks widen within the security apparatus, the country could face a deeper crisis.
“We are not yet in a revolutionary situation,” Amegakpo said. “But we are in a deep rupture. If the regime keeps refusing to acknowledge it, the cost may be higher than they imagine.”
For the youth who led the protests, the message is clear: they are no longer willing to wait.
“There is a divorce between a generation that knows its rights and a regime stuck in survival mode,” said Koudjo. “Something has changed. Whether it will lead to reform or repression depends on what happens next.”
