In Niamey, the Confederation of Sahel States has marked a significant institutional milestone with the inauguration of its Parliament. However, beneath this apparent structural development lies a fundamental question: can credible regional integration truly flourish without a foundation of democracy, political pluralism, and a genuine popular mandate?

The symbolism in Niamey was meticulously arranged. In late August 2026, representatives from Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger officially convened the confederal Parliament of the Alliance of Sahel States (AES). This new body comprises forty-five legislators, with fifteen from each member nation, tasked with contributing to the Confederation’s framework. These parliamentarians have already adopted their internal rules of procedure and established three crucial commissions focused on defense and security, diplomacy, and development.

On paper, the vision is compelling: three nations, having withdrawn from ECOWAS, endeavoring to forge their own shared institutions. Official pronouncements position this Parliament as a key expression of newfound sovereignty and deeper Sahelian integration.

Yet, an unsettling query persists: whom do these deputies genuinely represent?

An architecture strikingly similar to ECOWAS

The inherent paradox is stark. After vocally criticizing ECOWAS as an organization detached from its populace and lacking true sovereignty, the AES appears to be adopting many of its institutional mechanisms: a confederal structure, shared political bodies, and now a parliamentary assembly designed to address matters pertinent to the citizens of member states.

This comparison becomes particularly disquieting when examining the parliamentary design.

The ECOWAS Parliament, with its 115 seats, is envisioned as an institution representing the community’s populations, and ECOWAS has declared its objective to eventually elect its parliamentarians through direct universal suffrage. In its current practice, members are often designated from the national assemblies of member states.

The AES, by contrast, inaugurates a Parliament of 45 members, fifteen allocated to each of the three countries. While quantitatively different, the underlying principle is analogous: to create a regional assembly tasked with fostering integration.

Therefore, the true divergence lies not so much in the architectural blueprint, but rather in the source of political legitimacy.

And precisely there, the critical flaw emerges.

A Parliament without popular elections?

The confederal Parliament of the AES takes root in three nations currently under military governance following coups d’état: Mali since 2020-2021, Burkina Faso since 2022, and Niger since 2023. The promised temporary transitions have extended indefinitely, leaving the return to a regular electoral order shrouded in uncertainty. International IDEA highlights the prolonged nature of military transitions across these three countries.

In Burkina Faso, the situation offers a particularly revealing insight. The military authorities have indefinitely postponed elections and progressively constricted the political sphere. In April 2026, Ibrahim Traoré even publicly urged Burkinabè citizens to “forget” democracy, deeming it unsuitable for the nation. His administration had previously dissolved political parties.

In Mali, the coups of 2020 and 2021 solidified the army’s grip on state institutions. Elections initially slated for 2024 were deferred, and the junta has remained firmly in control.

Under such conditions, how can a genuinely representative confederal Parliament be constructed?

The question is not to deny the Sahelian peoples their inherent right to regional integration. It is far simpler: should an institution claiming to speak on behalf of the people be composed of representatives whose legitimacy does not directly originate from those very people?

The inherent danger is the creation of a superficial democracy: seats, committees, internal regulations, speeches, and ceremonies, yet with minimal capacity for ordinary citizens to choose those who purport to speak in their name.

The great absent: the citizen

Within the capitals of the AES, the lexicon of sovereignty has become pervasive. Political sovereignty, economic sovereignty, military sovereignty, monetary sovereignty: the term has become the guiding principle of the new Sahelian doctrine.

However, sovereignty should not exclusively signify independence from Paris, Washington, or Brussels.

It must also embody 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 significance does a regional Parliament possess when political parties are banned or marginalized? What is the worth of a Confederation 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.

Sahelian populations primarily contend with insecurity, poverty, forced displacement, unemployment, inadequate public services, and the escalating cost of living. Armed groups continue to devastate vast territories, displacing millions across the region due to violence. Consequently, institutional construction cannot be detached 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. Internal regulations will not heal a sick person in a rural area deprived of medical care.

The imperative, therefore, should be to build institutions that serve citizens, rather than citizens serving institutions.

The paradox of an integration that reproduces what it denounced

The AES was partly forged on a critique of ECOWAS, which authorities in Bamako, Ouagadougou, and Niamey accused of being overly intrusive and 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 unequivocally: why not surpass ECOWAS?

Why not establish an AES Parliament directly elected by citizens? Why not enshrine robust protection of public freedoms within its foundational texts? Why not constitutionally guarantee multipartyism, press freedom, judicial independence, and the peaceful alternation of power?

Such an approach would have constituted a genuine institutional revolution.

Instead, the AES risks giving birth to a mere institutional replica of ECOWAS, devoid of its democratic ambition.

And Togo in all of this?

The presence of Togo in the regional equation also warrants close observation, even though Lomé is not a member of the AES.

Faure Gnassingbé’s Togo now appears to be increasingly aligning politically with the Sahelian regimes, despite its own deeply concerning democratic record.

Since the 2024 constitutional reform, the country has transitioned to a parliamentary system where the President of the Council of Ministers holds most executive power. Faure Gnassingbé, who has been in power since 2005 after succeeding his father, assumed this new role in May 2025. This transformation has been condemned 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 reportedly resulted in several deaths, according to human rights organizations. Restrictions on social media and arrests were also documented.

As recently as July 2026, Togolese citizens were protesting, 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 reignited concerns 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 realignments. It is progressively becoming an active participant whose political model raises significant questions.

The true test will be that of the people

The AES Parliament may be a historical event. However, history will judge less its inaugural ceremonies than its capacity to genuinely represent its populations.

It is insufficient to simply have a Parliament to achieve democracy. It is not enough to have deputies to ensure representation. And it is not enough to invoke the people to govern in their name without seeking their input.

The AES still has the opportunity to choose its path.

It can construct a Confederation founded on popular sovereignty, political freedom, and accountable leadership. Alternatively, it risks becoming an institutional framework designed to consolidate military powers that, under the guise of sovereignty and the fight against insecurity, indefinitely postpone democratic deadlines.

This encapsulates the profound ambiguity surrounding 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.