By Massah Esther Nyally Bockarie
In my final year at Fourah Bay College, I was a student minister in the Augustine Bona-led Student Union. Ours was the first Student Union the college had had in years. During our leadership, the university administration suddenly increased tuition fees, and that decision was met with strong opposition from us.
In the days that followed, we decided to gather other students and take our collective voice to the administration. What started as a small group of students led by the president, moving from class to class, quickly grew into a protest.
As we approached the Law Department, one of the last departments separating the campus from what we called downtown, we were met by a large number of police officers who blocked the entrance. We retreated together to Edwards Garden, where a few of us made statements to the students who had gathered.
It was such a powerful day. We had taken a collective position, and the administration could no longer ignore us. A few days later, we were invited to a meeting with the Vice Chancellor, who agreed to some of our demands.
But the protest also brought dissatisfaction from one of our colleague student ministers, who was also a government worker. He came to the WhatsApp group angry, sending a long message explaining that our actions were wrong that day. He claimed that the people at the top were angry with us. He reminded us not to forget where our positions and power came from.
His message angered many of us, who had genuinely campaigned and worked hard to see a student union body back in power. Moreover, we had worked hard to establish a student government elected by students, and we believed that the purpose of such an institution was precisely to represent students even when that meant challenging those in power. There were also student ministers affiliated with opposition parties. Though that conversation eventually died down, some of us, however, kept that remark with us.
I think about it now because the institution we fought to build is no longer what it was. Today, the FBC Student Union, among other student unions in the country, is largely dormant, with the Student Warden routinely calling and postponing student elections on his own terms. The General Union of Students across Sierra Leone has also struggled to maintain the kind of independent student voice it was created to provide.
The power of student unions had already begun to decline before our generation. But there was still an opportunity for us to rebuild them as strong pressure groups. Instead, as with many institutions in Sierra Leone, their strength has often been tied to the political environment around them, with one political party backing one or the other.
And this is not only a student problem. I think about the Sierra Leone Teachers Union. My memories of this go back to when my mother was still a teacher. I remember hearing about the weakening of some of its strongest voices during the early years of the APC government, including perceptions that some were brought closer to government through appointments and positions of influence.
Whether through direct political pressure, appointments, internal divisions, or the pursuit of individual interests, the effect can be the same: an institution that was meant to collectively represent its members becomes less willing or able to challenge power.
The same question can be asked of our trade and labour unions. Where are the strong, sustained voices advocating for workers? Where are the institutions that can mobilize people when policies or decisions threaten their interests?
Civil society has not been untouched either. Over the years, some of the strongest voices from civic organizations have moved into government institutions. There is nothing inherently wrong with people moving between civil society and government. In fact, the government needs people with experience outside the state. But when too many independent voices are absorbed into the very institutions they once challenged, something is lost.
And quite recently even the Sierra Leone Bar Association, perhaps one of the country’s most obvious groups of learned professionals and potential checks on power, found itself caught in internal divisions and disputes. An institution that should command public confidence became part of the public conversation for the wrong reasons, with much of this being associated with political interference from the ruling party.
The death of pressure groups did not happen all at once. Some have been weakened by the very governments they were supposed to oppose, through various tactics: internal division, ascension to political office by key voices, and more. And perhaps that is the more dangerous form of political control.
It is easy to recognize repression when people are arrested, protests are stopped, or organizations are shut down. It is harder to recognize what happens when institutions are gradually made less independent, when their strongest voices are brought closer to power, or when internal divisions make collective action almost impossible.
Pressure groups are not supposed to be opposition parties. They do not have to agree with the government, and they do not have to oppose everything the government does. Their purpose is simpler: to make power answer to someone outside itself.
Student unions should be able to challenge university administrations. Teachers’ unions should be able to challenge policies that affect teachers. Labour unions should be able to organize for workers. Civil society should be able to question the government. Professional bodies should be able to defend the independence of their professions.
