Sénégal: building citizen power through tradition and institutions

The 24 March 2024 election of Bassirou Diomaye Faye as President of Senegal, with over 54% of the vote in the first round, marked a historic turning point. This victory, preceded by mass civic mobilizations and judicial interventions, was widely interpreted as the triumph of a reinvigorated citizen power. Two years into the mandate, however, the question arises: does this political renewal truly translate into institutional substance?

the paradox of citizen power in Senegal

On the one hand, the election of 2024 and the dialogues held in 2024 and 2025 suggest a collective will to reappropriate the nation’s constitutional foundations. President Faye himself declared that “the Constitution does not belong to us,” signaling a break with the exclusive appropriation of state authority. On the other hand, key institutional innovations—such as direct citizen access to the Constitutional Court—remain absent from the final draft laws. This omission, criticized by civil society groups like Divan Citoyen, risks perpetuating a democratic fatigue that could undermine the gains of the civic awakening.

This tension between civic promise and institutional lag invites a re-examination of what it means to be a citizen in Senegal today. It is not enough to vote every five years; citizen power must also manifest in the ability to hold power accountable, participate in deliberative processes, and embody ethical virtues that sustain democratic life.

a citizen is more than a voter

The modern conception of citizenship, rooted in Western political thought, emphasizes rights and representation. Yet the Senegalese experience reveals a deeper, more complex reality—one that draws on ancestral traditions of deliberation, accountability, and moral virtue. From the Greek polis to the Roman civis, from the French Revolution’s “citizen-sovereign” to T.H. Marshall’s layered citizenship (civil, political, social), the idea has evolved across time and cultures. But in Senegal, it also finds expression in the penc (village assemblies under the baobab tree), the ethos of jom (honor and courage), kersa (dignity and restraint), and teranga (hospitality and generosity).

These concepts are not mere relics of the past. They form a living ethical matrix that shapes how Senegalese citizens engage with public life. As philosopher Souleymane Bachir Diagne argues, there is no single universal model of citizenship—only “lateral universality,” where different traditions inform and enrich one another without hierarchy.

the crisis of civic virtue

Despite the richness of Senegal’s deliberative traditions, modern political life has seen a decline in core civic virtues. The erosion of ngor (integrity), jom, and kersa manifests in political opportunism, corruption, and public discourse marred by insults and defamation. This loss of ethical grounding weakens institutional reforms, no matter how well-designed. As Cynthia Fleury reminds us in her work on democratic pathologies, institutions alone cannot sustain democracy; they require citizens who are not only vigilant but also courageous, self-possessed, and resilient to resentment.

Today, Senegal faces a paradox: the institutions of democracy are in place, yet their effectiveness depends on citizens who are both empowered and ethically grounded. The challenge is to integrate modern governance tools—such as constitutional oversight, participatory budgets, and independent anti-corruption bodies—with the living traditions of the penc, masla (mediation), and jubbanti (reconciliation).

towards a reinvigorated citizen power

Seven key proposals can help bridge this gap and foster a sustainable civic culture in Senegal:

• Direct citizen access to the Constitutional Court: Allow individuals or groups to file constitutional petitions without mediation by political authorities. This would institutionalize the “people-as-judge” model theorized by Pierre Rosanvallon and empower citizens as active rights-bearers.
• Legal recognition of traditional deliberative spaces: Formalize the role of penc, mbootaay (youth and women’s associations), and neighborhood councils in municipal decision-making—especially on urban planning, resource management, and social programs. This would revive local democracy by anchoring it in community practices.
• Civic education rooted in ethical virtues: Reform school curricula to include the philosophy of jom, kersa, ngor, and teranga, alongside universal political thought (Aristotle, Tocqueville, Arendt). This education should aim to cultivate citizens who are both informed and ethically grounded.
• Independent and citizen-accessible oversight bodies: Strengthen institutions like the Court of Auditors, the National Anti-Corruption Office (OFNAC), and the General Inspectorate of State by guaranteeing their autonomy and creating direct citizen complaint mechanisms. A unified digital platform could enable citizens to report abuses and request audits.
• Institutionalizing national dialogues: Establish a public charter for national dialogues that ensures transparent participant selection, fair deliberation rules, and mandatory public explanations for any deviations from recommendations. This would prevent dialogues from becoming mere PR exercises.
• A politics of democratic care: Address the emotional and symbolic dimensions of citizenship by recognizing dignity—through truth and reconciliation processes, memorialization of historical injustices, and policies that combat youth unemployment and social exclusion. As Fleury argues, resentment cannot be cured by material benefits alone; it requires symbolic recognition.
• Revitalizing decentralization with participatory tools: Mandate participatory budgets in municipalities, citizen audits of local finances, and annual public assemblies where local leaders account for their actions. These tools, inspired by experiments in Porto Alegre and Kerala, can be adapted to Senegal’s deliberative culture.

lessons from African and global experiences

Senegal is not alone in this journey. South Africa’s 1996 Constitution allows direct citizen petitions to the Constitutional Court and established a Truth and Reconciliation Commission—a model of post-apartheid civic refoundation. Tunisia’s 2014 Constitution, though suspended in 2021, showed the potential of inclusive deliberation. But both cases also highlight the fragility of democratic gains without sustained civic vigilance.

In contrast, Benin’s 1990 National Conference inspired democratic transitions across Africa, but its legacy faded in the 2010s due to weak institutions and declining civic engagement. These examples underscore a vital lesson: democratic refoundation is not a one-time event but a continuous process requiring both strong institutions and an active, ethically grounded citizenry.

overcoming objections: tradition, modernity, and realism

Critics may argue that this vision romanticizes tradition or underestimates institutional constraints. But the goal is not to idealize the past; it is to identify living resources—both modern and ancestral—that can strengthen Senegal’s democracy. The penc and the virtues of jom are not relics to preserve; they are tools to adapt and deploy in the service of justice, inclusion, and accountability.

Others may question the feasibility of these reforms in the face of political resistance or economic constraints. Yet, as philosopher Raymond Geuss reminds us, critical thought must expand the boundaries of the conceivable. Without such horizons, realism becomes cynicism. The reinvention of citizen power in Senegal demands both institutional rigor and ethical depth—a fusion of modernity and tradition, rights and virtues, vigilance and care.

In the words of Achille Mbembe, the challenge is to build a “politics of the common” that recognizes historical struggles without being trapped by them. For Senegal, this means forging a citizen power that is not only legally protected but also ethically sustained—a power rooted in the baobab tree of tradition and the institutions of the republic.