By Suntou Touray
To be fair, Yahya Jammeh’s legacy is not one-dimensional. Many Gambians benefited from his policies and generosity. He awarded scholarships, provided financial support to individuals, and elevated many from disadvantaged backgrounds through PaJEP project and other random methods.
After acknowledging that, it is therefore prudent to come to terms with his human folly. Yahya Jammeh is, first and foremost, a human being. Like all human beings, he was capable of making mistakes. Yet, the mistakes he made during his presidency were not minor—they were profound, emotional, and, tragically, deadly. Many Gambians lost their lives, their freedom, and their dignity under his rule.
For those who continue to love and admire him, the most noble and human response is not blind loyalty, but a sincere acknowledgment of his wrongs. The Noble Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught us that when one commits grave errors, the righteous path is Tawba—repentance. This involves seeking forgiveness from God and from those who were harmed. That is the beginning of emotional and moral accountability, and it is an act of strength, not weakness.
What is deeply troubling, however, is the persistent refusal by some to accept the consequences of Jammeh’s actions—choosing instead to defend the indefensible. This stance reflects a lack of compassion and an erosion of our collective empathy. It diminishes the pain of countless victims and their families.
The Gambian people are, by nature, a forgiving nation. And for the sake of national brotherhood, if supporting Jammeh provides emotional fulfillment for some, that is a personal decision. But such support should never come at the cost of truth. It should not invalidate the pain endured by others or erase the lived experiences of those who suffered under his regime.
I speak from personal experience. In December 2007, I was detained at the Navy Headquarters. It was only by the grace and intervention of one naval officer on duty that I was released without harm. Had that officer not been present, I could have become another name in the long list of Gambians who were brutally tortured or disappeared. That moment stays with me—not as bitterness, but as a testimony to how fragile survival was for so many.
To be fair, Yahya Jammeh’s legacy is not one-dimensional. Many Gambians benefited from his policies and generosity. He awarded scholarships, provided financial support to individuals, and elevated many from disadvantaged backgrounds. His government opened the civil service to those who previously had little access, and he sponsored spiritual pilgrimages for many of his supporters, particularly women.
Yet, these contributions do not and should not absolve him of the serious human rights violations that occurred during his time in power. It is human to feel gratitude for the good one has received. But it is also human—and necessary—to show empathy toward others who carry scars from the same era.
We must create space for both truths: that some Gambians were empowered by Jammeh’s leadership, and others were irreparably harmed by it. A healthy society is one that can hold these truths simultaneously without allowing one narrative to silence the other.
I remember my late friend, Ebrima Solo Sandeng—may Allah grant him eternal peace. He was a principled man, a brilliant humanist, and a compassionate family man. To his family and to the families of all victims of past injustices, I extend my deepest prayers: may Allah grant them Jannah and peace.
The road to national healing begins with acknowledgment. Only by facing the past honestly and with compassion can we move toward reconciliation, justice, and unity.
