There is a silent war in Africa that few openly talk about, a struggle not between countries or tribes, but between those who lead and those they are meant to serve. A painful truth that has settled deep into the psyche of the continent is that many African leaders seem to harbor an unspoken contempt for their own people, a disdain that runs so deep it manifests in every policy, every decree, every twisted explanation. They treat their citizens as if they were lesser beings, subhuman even, unworthy of anything beyond suffering. And when confronted with the wreckage of their governance, they conveniently point fingers at colonial history and the omnipresent ‘white man.’ It’s an easy scapegoat, a tactic that avoids accountability, diverts blame, and keeps them comfortably in power. Meanwhile, the citizenry is expected to endure, to suffer in silence, and to somehow enrich the very leaders who perpetuate their misery.
At the heart of this contempt is a cruel irony. Independence was meant to herald a new era, a break from oppression and exploitation. Yet, in many African nations, the end of colonial rule merely replaced foreign oppressors with local ones. Leaders who rose to power promising liberation quickly became the new masters. They adopted the colonial playbook—divide and rule, control and conquer—but added their own sinister twist. Where colonial powers saw Africans as mere subjects to be governed, these leaders see their people as nothing more than means to an end: their own enrichment and comfort.
It is a stark contradiction that these leaders who inherited countries on the promise of freedom and self-determination are the very ones who seem to despise their own citizenry the most. It’s a contempt that plays out in broad daylight, under the guise of leadership and governance. When leaders embezzle public funds meant for education, health, and infrastructure, they are effectively saying that their people do not deserve a decent education, good healthcare, or even safe roads. When they travel abroad for medical treatment and send their children to schools in the West, they are loudly proclaiming that their own countries are unfit for their families—though good enough for the masses they govern. It’s a disdain that is both patronizing and punitive, an assumption that the average African is too stupid to notice, too powerless to resist, too unworthy to deserve anything better.
Take, for instance, the broken healthcare systems that plague much of the continent. African leaders frequently blame the colonial past, claiming that the foundations laid by the colonizers were inadequate or non-existent. Yet, it has been decades since the end of colonialism, and in that time, billions of dollars in aid and revenue have flowed into these countries. Where did it all go? Not into public hospitals, certainly. Not into research centers or pharmaceutical manufacturing. No, that money built private mansions, funded lavish lifestyles, and paid for shopping sprees in Paris and London. And all the while, they keep pointing at the past, saying, "It’s the white man’s fault. The colonialists destroyed everything." But the truth is far less convenient. These leaders despise their own people to such an extent that they cannot be bothered to provide even the most basic of services.
This disdain is not only seen in the realm of public health. Consider the dilapidated state of public education in many African countries. African leaders send their children to the finest schools abroad while public schools at home are left to rot, with overcrowded classrooms, underpaid teachers, and no resources. They sit on international panels and speak eloquently about the importance of education for development, yet at home, they care little if their own citizens have access to quality learning. Because, in their eyes, these citizens are not meant to think critically or challenge authority. They are meant to remain ignorant, docile, and easily manipulated—a mass of voters to be whipped up during elections with empty promises and paltry handouts. The colonial past is a convenient excuse, but it does not explain why these leaders actively work to keep their own people uneducated and uninformed. It does not explain why they despise the very notion of an empowered, educated citizenry.
The hatred of their people is often masked in the language of culture and tradition. When citizens demand better governance, leaders claim that they are merely aping Western values, as if the desire for a good life, safety, and justice were inherently foreign concepts. “You want to be like the white man,” they sneer, while sitting in their offices built with money looted from public coffers. They deride their own citizens for aspiring to a standard of living that is considered normal elsewhere, while themselves enjoying every luxury they claim to despise. In doing so, they reveal the depth of their contempt: they do not believe their people deserve better because, in their eyes, they are not better. They are lesser beings, subhuman, meant only to serve and suffer.
Perhaps the most insidious manifestation of this contempt is how African leaders blame every failure, every corruption scandal, every economic collapse on external forces. When the economy crumbles due to mismanagement and theft, they blame the ‘neo-colonial’ policies of the West. When they fail to deliver services, they accuse international organizations of interference. They invoke the specter of imperialism not as a genuine critique but as a smokescreen, a distraction to shield their incompetence and greed. They rail against Western exploitation while eagerly depositing stolen public funds in Swiss banks, or purchasing luxury real estate in New York and London. It’s a cruel game of misdirection, one that keeps their people perpetually stuck in a state of suffering and confusion.
And the citizenry? They are treated like serfs in a feudal society, expected to serve and enrich their overlords. Every tax dollar collected is not seen as a means to build a nation but as a personal bank account for those in power. They impose taxes on everything, even basic commodities like water and salt, squeezing every drop they can from a populace already on its knees. They promise development projects that never materialize, infrastructure that exists only on paper. Every election cycle, they dangle new roads, hospitals, and schools as bait, only to abandon these promises the moment they secure another term in office. To these leaders, their citizens exist only as a means to an end—a way to maintain their grip on power and to enrich themselves and their families. The suffering of the masses is not an unfortunate byproduct; it is the goal itself. A suffering populace is easier to control, easier to manipulate, and less likely to demand change.
It would be a mistake to think that this contempt is unconscious or unintentional. On the contrary, it is deliberate and calculated. They know that a prosperous, educated, and healthy population would demand accountability, transparency, and good governance. They know that such a population would challenge their authority, question their decisions, and hold them to higher standards. And so, they keep their citizens in a state of perpetual deprivation. They despise the very idea of a society that could one day stand up and say, “No more.”
African leaders often talk of sovereignty and national pride, yet they are the first to sell off their countries’ resources to the highest bidder, often with little regard for the environmental, social, or economic consequences. They rail against Western influence while signing deals that strip their nations of autonomy and enrich only a select few. They speak of Pan-Africanism while undermining regional unity with petty rivalries and narrow self-interests. And in doing so, they reveal their true disdain—not just for their own people, but for the very concept of an independent, dignified Africa.
The ultimate insult comes when these leaders parade themselves as the guardians of African dignity and sovereignty on international platforms. They pontificate about the evils of colonialism and Western interference, while actively participating in the continued subjugation of their own people. They pretend to be champions of the African cause while embodying everything that keeps the continent down—greed, corruption, and a profound lack of empathy for the suffering of ordinary Africans. They use the rhetoric of liberation while engaging in practices that ensure the perpetual enslavement of their own citizens to poverty, ignorance, and disease.
This is not a narrative of hopelessness, but a call to wake up. It is a plea to recognize that while colonialism and external factors have played a significant role in shaping Africa’s past and present, they are not the sole authors of its destiny. The true villains are often much closer to home—those leaders who have taken the mantle of freedom and turned it into a tool of oppression. Those who despise their own people to such an extent that they see them only as cattle, meant to be herded, milked, and slaughtered as needed.
The real question then is, how long will the citizens allow themselves to be treated this way? How long will they buy into the myth that they are powerless, that they deserve nothing better, that their suffering is somehow justified by the sins of history? The time has come to challenge this narrative, to hold leaders accountable not just for their words but for their actions. It is time to say, “Enough.” Enough with the excuses. Enough with the blame game. Enough with the contempt for the very people who give these leaders their power.
Africa deserves better. Its people deserve leaders who see them as human beings, worthy of dignity, respect, and a good life. They deserve leaders who understand that their role is not to enrich themselves at the expense of the population but to serve, to uplift, and to empower. And until that happens, until the continent’s citizens rise up and demand better, African leaders will continue to despise their people and blame it on the white man. Because, in the end, it’s easier to point fingers than to look in the mirror and confront the ugly truth.
So here we stand, at a crossroads. Do we continue to accept a narrative of subjugation and suffering, of blame and excuses? Or do we finally demand the leadership we deserve, the leadership that sees us not as subhuman, but as equals, as partners in the project of building a better Africa? The choice, as always, is ours to make.
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