In Burkina Faso, the figure of Thomas Sankara has long since outgrown the sphere of historical commemoration. It now occupies a central place in the political vocabulary of Ibrahim Traoré’s government. Yet beneath the official tributes, the military ceremonies and the rising mausoleum, a question lingers: is the present leadership gradually appropriating Sankara’s image in order to consolidate its own legitimacy?
The convergence is not merely an observation made by outside analysts. It is visible in the state’s own communication.
Since 2026, the Burkinabè authorities have staged a monthly military ceremony dedicated to Thomas Sankara, presented as an initiative ordered personally by Ibrahim Traoré. Official rhetoric goes further still: during a tribute held in February 2026, the president’s chief of staff declared that Sankara’s “torch” now rests in the hands of Ibrahim Traoré.
Such staging of historical continuity raises a fundamental question. Does Ibrahim Traoré simply wish to honour Sankara, or does he seek to present himself as the man who has taken up and continued his struggle?
The distinction matters.
Thomas Sankara belongs to the history of Burkina Faso and to the memory of millions of Africans. But there also exists a family memory, carried in particular by his widow Mariam Sankara, his children, his brothers and his sisters. On this matter, the relationship between the family and the transitional authorities has never been as consensual as the official narrative might suggest.
A rupture that dates back to 2023
The most revealing precedent goes back to February 2023. After the exhumation of the remains of Thomas Sankara and his twelve companions, the government decided to reinter them at the site of the former Conseil de l’Entente, which had become the Thomas Sankara Memorial. The symbolism was deliberate: it was on that very ground that Sankara and his companions were assassinated on 15 October 1987.
The Sankara family objected. On 16 February 2023, Mariam Sankara, her two sons Philippe and Auguste, and the brothers and sisters of the former president addressed Ibrahim Traoré directly, urging him to abandon the plan.
Three sites proposed, none accepted
As an alternative, the family put forward three locations: the Dagnoën cemetery, the Jardin de l’Amitié and the Jardin Yennenga. The disagreement then became public. In the family’s view, the decision had been taken without genuine consensus, and its members refused to take part in the ceremony. On 21 February, they confirmed that they would neither attend nor be represented at the burial.
23 February: the ceremony goes ahead
Two days later, the reinhumation was held regardless. The state moved forward; the family remained at a distance. This episode is essential to understanding what followed, for the Traoré government would progressively turn Sankara’s memory into a central pillar of its own political narrative.
From a private grave to a state monument
Since that period, Sankara’s institutional presence has only intensified.
A mausoleum as a political statement
The mausoleum intended for Thomas Sankara and his twelve companions was erected on the Memorial site. Ibrahim Traoré laid its foundation stone on 15 October 2023, and the structure was inaugurated in May 2025. The project is officially described as a means of preserving and promoting the political legacy of the father of the August 1983 revolution.
Monthly military tributes
In 2026, this commemorative policy acquired a further dimension through the monthly military ceremonies. Through such initiatives, the authorities no longer merely commemorate Sankara — they organise, institutionalise and stage his memory.
This is where one of the major political stakes lies. In the official account, Ibrahim Traoré can appear as the man who finally rehabilitated Sankara in full, restored his memory and resumed his struggle. Government discourse makes the suggestion openly. In June 2026, during a tribute at the Memorial, the minister of foreign affairs asserted that Sankara’s torch is carried “with dignity and commitment” by Ibrahim Traoré.
Such a presentation mechanically brings the two figures closer together in the collective imagination: Sankara, the assassinated revolutionary; Traoré, the young captain portrayed as the one who has taken up the torch.
The risk of a narrative built around Sankara’s remains
It is precisely here that the family question becomes central. For Thomas Sankara’s relatives, his legacy cannot be reduced to an instrument of political communication or to a backdrop for legitimising power. His body, his remains, the place of his burial and his family memory carry an intimate dimension that the state cannot entirely absorb.
Yet since 2023, the authorities have taken control of a large part of the institutional staging of that memory: the reinhumation, the mausoleum, the military ceremonies, the official tributes, the discourse on sovereignty and the constant references to the revolution.
The paradox is striking. The government that today claims Sankara’s political inheritance is also the one with which part of his family found itself in disagreement over how even to dispose of his remains.
This is not to assert that Ibrahim Traoré personally seeks to “take” Sankara from his family. Such an intention would be a matter of interpretation and would require further evidence. But the facts permit another observation: the regime is gradually constructing a narrative in which Ibrahim Traoré appears as the political heir of Captain Sankara and as the man who has resumed his fight.
The construction is far from trivial. It allows the current leadership to place itself within an exceptionally powerful revolutionary lineage in Burkina Faso. It also provides a historical reference capable of lending ideological depth to its own discourse on sovereignty, pan-Africanism and independence. Researchers have noted the frequency with which Traoré invokes Sankara’s memory and the way his political language echoes themes associated with the former president, notably sovereignty and the rejection of external dependence.
To whom does a memory belong?
Ultimately, this is the most sensitive question of all. Thomas Sankara is not merely a statue, a mausoleum or a military ceremony. He is also a family history, a painful memory and a political struggle whose interpretation cannot be imposed by decree.
The transitional authorities may legitimately honour his memory. They may restore sites, organise ceremonies and preserve archives. But another question remains: can they, in the name of that rehabilitation, present themselves as the natural custodians of his inheritance?
The precedent of 2023 shows at any rate that the Sankara family has not always accepted the state’s choices regarding that memory. Herein lies the full ambiguity of the present narrative. By presenting itself as the bearer of Sankara’s torch, Ibrahim Traoré risks shifting the memory of a man assassinated in 1987 towards another story altogether: that of a contemporary government seeking to inscribe its own name in the continuity of the revolution.
Sankara left behind a body of work and a body of thought. Traoré is building his own power. Between the two, the memory of Thomas Sankara has become a major political issue.
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