Listen up, folks—because in a world where silence is golden, speaking the truth gets you shackled.
Bamako just flipped the curtains back on Act IV of Mali’s Democracy Disappearing Magic Show. The accused? Moussa Mara—former Prime Minister, one-time hopeful reformer, and now, the latest political chew toy for the junta’s ever-tightening grip. His crime? Wait for it… a post. Yes, a post. Not a coup, not a conspiracy, not a suitcase full of foreign cash. A post on Platform X (formerly Twitter, now just Elon’s impulse journal), daring—oh, the horror!—to offer public support for critics of Mali’s iron-fisted military rulers.
Boom.
The official charge? “Undermining the credibility of the state.” But let’s drop the legal lipstick, shall we? In plain speak: the junta got their egos bruised by a man with a keypad and convictions.
You know, when we have to protect “state credibility” with handcuffs and hashtags, you’re not running a government—you’re running a daycare for dictators.
Let’s not forget, Mara wasn’t just any rebel with a retweet. He was Prime Minister for eight months back in 2014-2015, a time when democracy still had its boots on in Mali. Sure, not everyone agreed with his politics—but there’s a shark’s breath of difference between policy disagreements and retroactively criminalizing a man’s keyboard courage.
Ladies and gents, this isn’t just about Mali. It’s a symptom of a bigger, global disease—authoritarian cholesterol clogging the heart of public dissent. From Moscow to Naypyidaw, ruling classes are swapping ballot boxes for bully batons, and tweets are now treated like treason.
Question, dear reader: if you need to jail former heads of state to protect your fragile narrative, what the hell are you governing? A country or a cult?
The military rulers in Bamako—no strangers to coups, cloaks, and shadows—have once again shown that their steering wheel only works if the passenger agrees not to speak. And let’s not pretend this opera wasn’t rehearsed. Last year, it was journalists; last week, it was vocal civil society leaders. Today, it’s Mara. Tomorrow? Maybe the mirror will be enough cause for arrest.
Here’s a little secret Mali’s junta doesn’t want you to know: silencing one voice won’t stop the chorus. You can jail a man, but good luck jailing an idea whose time is screaming.
Mara’s indictment isn’t a win for state security. It’s a confession writ large: “We fear words more than weapons.”
Because power built on paranoia doesn’t age well. It rots.
So to the junta, I offer this: If your legitimacy crumbles under a 280-character opinion, perhaps legitimacy never lived here to begin with.
To the people of Mali: the world is watching. And some of us aren’t blinking.
Mr. Mara may stand accused, but we know where the real trial lies—and history’s gavel always lands harder when justice has been mocked.
Stay loud. Stay vigilant. Because silence doesn’t keep you safe. It just wraps the chains tighter.
The game’s on, rulers of Mali. But remember—real power isn’t about stopping dissent. It’s about surviving it.
– Mr. 47
