There was a time when Burkina Faso was more frequently cited for its stability than for its misfortunes. This period was not without its critics, far from it. Blaise Compaoré faced accusations of centralizing power, stifling political life, and restricting democratic alternation. For twenty-seven years, he embodied a contested authority, regularly denounced by segments of the opposition and the international community.

Yet, with the benefit of hindsight, a pertinent question arises: what purpose does political debate serve when citizens can no longer live safely? This query now permeates conversations among many Burkinabè, who draw comparisons between the stability of the Blaise Compaoré era and the current situation under Captain Ibrahim Traoré.

Under Blaise Compaoré, Burkina Faso was not a nation where populations lived under the constant threat of armed assault. Citizens moved freely between regions, farmers cultivated their lands, merchants supplied markets, and families traveled without fear that each journey might culminate in tragedy. Terrorism, which would later destabilize the Sahel, had not yet plunged the country into a security crisis of such magnitude.

This reality does not erase the criticisms leveled against his regime. However, it underscores a fundamental truth: the primary duty of a state is to safeguard its citizens. Without security, freedoms, reforms, and political promises largely lose their significance.

Since Captain Ibrahim Traoré’s ascension to power through a military coup, Burkinabè citizens harbored hopes for a radical shift on the security front. The new authorities had pledged to reclaim national territory, bolster national sovereignty, and provide a more effective response to armed groups. Nearly several years later, it is evident that these aspirations continue to confront a particularly challenging reality on the ground.

Under Ibrahim Traoré’s governance, official communiqués frequently highlight military operations and the successes of the defense forces. Nevertheless, in numerous regions, attacks persist, localities remain isolated, and major roadways continue to be perilous. For a segment of public opinion, these announced victories struggle to translate into a sustainable improvement in the daily lives of the population.

Perhaps the most telling tragedy is not merely the persistence of violence. It lies in the fact that thousands of Burkinabè now believe their safety is better assured far from their homes. Each week, families abandon their villages, their lands, their businesses, and their houses to seek refuge in safer zones or to cross borders into neighboring countries. No people willingly choose exile when their own nation offers them the conditions to live in peace.

This silent exodus of populations undoubtedly constitutes the most severe judgment on the efficacy of security policies. When a citizen prefers to become displaced or a refugee rather than remain in their village, it reflects a profound loss of confidence in the state’s capacity to ensure their protection.

Meanwhile, Ibrahim Traoré continues to champion a discourse heavily focused on sovereignty, a break with former partner powers, and patriotic mobilization. These themes resonate with a portion of the population. Yet, sovereignty cannot be solely a political slogan; it is also measured by a government’s ability to exercise authority over its entire territory and to guarantee the security of those who reside there.

Another striking element is the silence of many who once fiercely criticized Blaise Compaoré. Those who vigorously denounced his mode of governance now appear far more discreet when it comes to evaluating the results achieved under Ibrahim Traoré. This contrast fuels the perception of a double standard, where certain leaders are judged with significantly greater severity than others.

Comparing the Compaoré and Traoré periods is not to idealize the past nor to ignore the limitations of the former regime. It is to pose a simple question: what is the absolute priority of a state? For many Burkinabè, the answer is clear. Before speeches, before symbols, and before grand declarations of sovereignty, a government is expected to demonstrate its capacity to protect its citizens.

The well-being of a nation is not defined by slogans nor by the popularity of a leader. It is measured by the tranquility of its villages, the safety of its roads, the openness of its schools, the functioning of its markets, and the confidence families place in their future.

As long as Burkinabè continue to leave their country or regions in search of security elsewhere, the debate surrounding the outcomes of Ibrahim Traoré’s leadership will remain open. For history will remember deeds more than words, and actual capacity more than promises—the real ability of a state to offer its people what they desire above all else: to live freely, with dignity, and in security.