By Abdoulie Mam Njie
In moments of national tension, the power of our words becomes more visible and more dangerous. A single sentence, spoken in haste or in wisdom, can be the spark that lights conflict or the shade that cools rising tempers. Every word we speak is a seed: some take root in hope, others in hurt. Long after the moment passes, our words continue to live in the hearts of those who heard them.
As The Gambia edges toward the 2026 elections, political rhetoric is sharpening. Words that once stayed within party circles now travel instantly through rallies, WhatsApp groups, radio talk shows, and neighbourhood conversations. In this charged atmosphere, even a careless remark can inflame supporters or deepen mistrust. The tone we set today will shape the peace we enjoy tomorrow.
The legacy of the TRRC still rests heavily upon our national conscience. Many Gambians are impatient; others feel unheard. This fragile period demands speech guided by truth and restraint. A single reckless statement can reopen wounds that a nation is still trying to heal.
Our digital spaces have become battlegrounds where rumours move faster than facts. WhatsApp audios, Facebook posts, and short video clips can destroy reputations in minutes. Increasingly, people speak not to build but to provoke. If we do not reclaim honesty and discipline in our online speech, digital hostility will erode the cohesion we rely on. Young people, now the most active participants in online conversations, must especially recognise the weight their words carry.
Within public institutions, the pressure of political seasons has made speech more fragile. Colleagues who once worked with quiet collegiality now speak cautiously, aware that innocent comments may be misinterpreted as political alignment. Leaders must therefore choose words that preserve dignity, calm anxieties, and protect institutional neutrality.
Economic hardship has made speech more combustible. As the cost of living rises, frustrations rise with it. People who feel overwhelmed often express their anger sharply. In such a climate, empathy in speech becomes as important as policy itself. A nation under stress requires leaders and citizens who speak with care.
Radio talk shows and call-in programmes, long considered the pulse of public opinion, have also become spaces where emotion sometimes overtakes truth. An unverified claim broadcast in the heat of debate can send the country into needless alarm. Hosts and callers alike must remember that their words influence the national mood.
At the community level, conflicts over land, alkaloship and political loyalties often begin with careless words — namely a heated exchange in a bantaba, a rumour repeated without thought, or an accusation voiced in anger. Peace at the national level begins with responsible speech in our smallest communities.
Our earliest experiences with speech also shape who we become. A person raised in an environment where words were harsh — where criticism was constant, tempers were sharp, and affection was scarce — often grows up carrying that tone within them. Bitter words produce bitter spirits; aggressive speech produces defensive hearts. By contrast, those raised in homes or communities where encouragement, patience, and gentle correction were common tend to grow into adults who speak with confidence rather than hostility. No one chooses the words they grew up hearing, but every adult chooses the words they pass on. As a nation, we must break the cycles of verbal harm that damage families and communities, and instead cultivate speech that nurtures resilience, dignity, and peace.
Religious leaders, too, bear immense responsibility. Their words travel far across mosques, churches, radios, and social media. Most use that influence wisely, but a few have adopted tones that strain our unity. At a time when faith is central to our identity, religious rhetoric must build bridges, not barriers. Our civic responsibility and our faith-based responsibility are not separate; both require humility, truthfulness, and restraint.
Words can wound, but they can also repair what has been broken.
A sincere “I am sorry” is not merely a social courtesy; it is a spoken act of healing. The Holy Qur’an reminds us of Prophet Jonah (Yunus), who, overwhelmed by darkness and regret, cried out: “There is no god but You; glory be to You. Indeed, I have been among the wrongdoers.” His spoken humility moved Allah to forgive him. In our own lives, the words of Istighfar teach us discipline in speech: they remind us to acknowledge harm, correct ourselves, and speak with greater care. When we regularly say Astaghfirullah, we train our tongues toward humility instead of arrogance, and toward truth instead of impulsiveness.
Gratitude, too, shapes the way we speak. The Qur’an promises: “If you are grateful, I will surely increase you.” Saying Alhamdulillah softens the heart, but gratitude must also extend to our fellow human beings. Thanking others for kindness, help, advice, or simple decency changes the tone of our interactions. A person who practices gratitude speaks differently: they are less likely to use harsh words, less drawn to envy, and less tempted to belittle others. Alhamdulillah lifts our inner state, while “thank you” lifts the people around us. Together, these expressions create a culture where our words heal rather than harm.
The months ahead will test our collective maturity. Elections do not begin at the ballot box; they begin with how we speak to one another long before campaigns start. The Gambia’s progress will depend not only on who wins, but on how we all speak and behave before, during, and after the polls. Leadership begins not with the loudest voice, but with the calmest conscience.
If every word is indeed a seed, then may we choose to plant only what nurtures our nation: truth, compassion, and restraint.
A peaceful future will be shaped not by noise but by the quiet courage of responsible speech.
