In Niamey, the newly formed Alliance of Sahel States (AES) has marked a significant institutional milestone with the inauguration of its confederal parliament. However, beneath this apparent structural development lies a profound question: can genuine regional integration be forged without a foundation of democracy, political pluralism, and a true popular mandate?
The symbolism in Niamey was carefully orchestrated. In late August 2026, representatives from Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger officially established the confederal parliament of the Alliance of Sahel States. This nascent institution comprises forty-five deputies, with fifteen drawn from each member nation, tasked with contributing to the confederation’s formation. These parliamentarians have already ratified their internal rules and established three key commissions focusing on defense and security, diplomacy, and development.
On the surface, the vision appears compelling: three nations, having withdrawn from the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), endeavoring to construct their own shared institutions. Official pronouncements position this parliament as a testament to newfound sovereignty and a cornerstone of Sahelian integration. Yet, a disquieting question persists: who do these deputies truly represent?
An architecture mirroring ECOWAS
The inherent paradox is striking. After condemning ECOWAS as an organization detached from its peoples and lacking sufficient sovereignty, the AES has paradoxically adopted several of its institutional mechanisms: a confederal structure, shared political bodies, and now a parliament designed to address issues pertinent to the member states’ populations.
The comparison becomes particularly unsettling when examining the parliamentary structure itself.
The ECOWAS Parliament, comprising 115 seats, is conceived as an institution representing the community’s populations. ECOWAS has declared its ambition for its parliamentarians to be elected by direct universal suffrage, though currently, members are often designated from the national assemblies of member states.
In contrast, the AES has inaugurated a parliament with 45 members, fifteen from each of the three countries. While quantitatively different, the underlying principle remains similar: to create a regional assembly dedicated to fostering integration. Therefore, the fundamental divergence lies not so much in the architectural design but in the source of political legitimacy.
And it is precisely here that the critical flaw emerges.
A parliament without popular elections?
The confederal parliament of the AES is born within three nations currently governed by military powers, which came to prominence through coups d’état: Mali since 2020-2021, Burkina Faso since 2022, and Niger since 2023. The transitions, initially promised as temporary, have extended indefinitely, casting a shadow of uncertainty over any return to a normal electoral order. International IDEA has highlighted that military transitions in these three countries have now persisted for several years, a crucial element in understanding current pan-African current affairs.
In Burkina Faso, the situation is particularly revealing. The military leadership has indefinitely postponed elections and progressively curtailed political space. In April 2026, Ibrahim Traoré even publicly urged Burkinabè citizens to ‘forget’ democracy, asserting its unsuitability for the nation. His administration had previously dissolved all political parties.
In Mali, the coup in 2020, followed by another in 2021, solidified the military’s grip on state institutions. Elections slated for 2024 were postponed, with the junta maintaining its hold on power.
Under such circumstances, how can a truly representative confederal parliament be constructed? The question is not to deny the Sahelian peoples their right to regional integration. Rather, it is more straightforward: should an institution claiming to speak for the people be composed of representatives whose legitimacy does not directly originate from those very people?
The significant risk is the creation of a superficial democracy: parliamentary seats, commissions, internal regulations, official speeches, and ceremonies, but with minimal capacity for ordinary citizens to choose those who purport to speak on their behalf. This is a central concern for Africa politics English observers.
The absent citizen
In the capitals of the AES, the lexicon of sovereignty has become ubiquitous. Political sovereignty, economic sovereignty, military sovereignty, monetary sovereignty: the term has become the guiding principle of the new Sahelian doctrine. However, sovereignty should not solely signify independence from external powers like Paris, Washington, or Brussels. It must also encompass the sovereignty of the citizen in relation to their own state.
For what value does national sovereignty hold when citizens cannot freely elect their leaders? What good is a regional parliament when political parties are outlawed or marginalized? What significance does a Confederation possess if civil society, journalists, trade unions, and opposition figures lack sufficient space to challenge public decisions? It is precisely here that the AES reveals its primary contradiction, impacting African society news and discourse.
The populations of the Sahel are primarily grappling with insecurity, pervasive poverty, forced displacement, unemployment, inadequate public services, and the escalating cost of living. Armed groups continue to devastate vast territories, with millions displaced by violence across the region. Therefore, institutional construction cannot be divorced from the daily realities faced by these populations.
A new parliament will not feed a family. A confederal commission will not replace a destroyed school. An internal regulation will not treat a sick person in a rural area devoid of medical professionals. The priority, therefore, should be to build institutions that serve citizens, rather than citizens serving institutions.
The paradox of integration replicating what it denounced
The AES was partly founded on critiques of ECOWAS, which authorities in Bamako, Ouagadougou, and Niamey accused of being overly intrusive and of defending interests contrary to those of the Sahelian peoples. Yet, the paradox is now striking: the organization presented as an alternative to ECOWAS is reproducing some of its institutional forms while further weakening democratic oversight mechanisms.
The question should be posed directly: why not strive to surpass ECOWAS? Why not create an AES Parliament directly elected by citizens? Why not enshrine robust protection of public liberties within its foundational texts? Why not constitutionally guarantee multipartyism, press freedom, judicial independence, and the peaceful alternation of power? Such measures would constitute a genuine institutional revolution. Instead, the AES risks giving birth to an institutional replica of ECOWAS, but without its democratic ambition.
And Togo in all this?
The presence of Togo in the regional equation also warrants careful consideration, even though Lomé is not a member of the AES. Faure Gnassingbé’s Togo now appears to be increasingly aligning itself politically with the Sahelian regimes, even as its own democratic record raises profound concerns.
Following the constitutional reform of 2024, the country transitioned to a parliamentary system where the President of the Council of Ministers holds the majority of executive power. Faure Gnassingbé, who has been in power since 2005 after succeeding his father, assumed this new role in May 2025. This transformation was denounced by the opposition as a means to circumvent presidential term limits and prolong his tenure.
Recent events are even more troubling. In June 2025, demonstrations against the government and the constitutional reform resulted in several deaths, according to human rights organizations. Restrictions on social media and arrests were also reported. In July 2026, Togolese citizens again protested, demanding a return to the former Constitution and denouncing the concentration of power in Faure Gnassingbé’s hands.
More recently, the arrest of two French journalists in Togo has rekindled anxieties about the media environment, especially as RFI and France 24 remain off-air in the country since restrictions were imposed in 2025. Togo is therefore not merely an observer of West African political reconfiguration; it is progressively becoming an active participant whose political model raises significant questions for African news today.
The true test will be the people
The AES Parliament may be historic. However, history will judge less its inaugural ceremonies than its actual capacity to genuinely represent the populations. It is not enough to have a parliament to have a democracy. It is not enough to have deputies to have representation. And it is not enough to invoke the people to govern in their name without seeking their opinion.
The AES still has a choice of path. It can construct a Confederation founded on popular sovereignty, political freedom, and the accountability of leaders. Alternatively, it risks becoming an institutional framework designed to consolidate military powers that, under the guise of sovereignty and combating insecurity, indefinitely postpone democratic deadlines. This encapsulates the entire ambiguity of this parliamentary birth.
The AES has just created its Parliament. It now remains for it to create its democracy. For in the Sahel, as elsewhere, true sovereignty should not be that of juntas against external forces. It should be the sovereignty of the people against all forms of power confiscation.
