By Lt. Col. Samsudeen Sarr Rtd
In the simmering theatre of Gambian politics, a drama of generational reckoning and ideological realignment is unfolding with electrifying intensity. At its core lies a rare and riveting clash between two towering figures within the People’s Democratic Organisation for Independence and Socialism (PDOIS): the venerable Halifa Sallah—philosopher, revolutionary, and writer of elliptical truths—and the unflinchingly bold Alagie Mamadi Kurang, a rising political firebrand who has dared to question the sacred.
This isn’t just another polite policy disagreement or intra-party squabble best dismissed as a “healthy democratic exercise.” No. This is a high-stakes political duel with seismic implications for the soul of PDOIS—and perhaps the future of Gambian democracy itself. What’s needed now is not mealy-mouthed neutrality but bold discernment. So, stepping out from behind my usual curtain of security discourse, I wade into the boiling waters of present-day Gambian politics—where the battle is no longer between parties but between past and future.
Three months ago, I found myself in a riveting exchange with a sharp-minded, British-Gambian legal officer in the UK military police, whom I’ll refer to as “PSJ”. We dissected an electrifying question echoing across West Africa: “Who, in The Gambia, bears the revolutionary spark of Senegal’s Ousmane Sonko?” Since Sonko’s populist lightning bolt cracked through the Senegalese political sky, Gambian opposition hopefuls have cast longing glances across the border, dreaming of their own political earthquake in 2026.
One name stirred our attention like a sudden gust of Harmattan wind: Mr Alagie Mamadi Kurang. A man of unpolished candour and untamed courage, Kurang radiates the raw qualities of a reformist in the mold of Sonko—honest, unafraid, and unshackled by old-guard allegiances. “If”, we thought, “Halifa Sallah would make good on his oft-repeated vow to step away from presidential politics and rally behind Kurang, PDOIS might just capture lightning in a bottle”.
Driven by this belief, I reached out to Kurang via Facebook to offer encouragement—a veteran soldier extending a hand to a budding political warrior. He didn’t reply. But then, as if fate had other plans, Halifa Sallah began reappearing in the media spotlight. With his signature riddles and circular metaphors, he floated—yet again—the idea of a 2026 candidacy. Was he walking back his long-claimed political retirement?
Kurang’s response? Daring. Decisive. And utterly unprecedented in the annals of PDOIS politics.
In a face-to-face showdown on Eye Africa TV, Kurang did what many believed impossible—he challenged Sallah directly. No genuflection, no sugar-coating. With razor-sharp logic and youthful clarity, he dismantled the myth that PDOIS single-handedly engineered the opposition coalition of 2016. Yes, PDOIS contributed, he acknowledged—but the real momentum, he reminded viewers, came from Mama Kandeh’s lone-wolf campaign and the political vacuum left by the imprisonment of UDP’s Ousainou Darboe. These were not just inconvenient truths—they were explosive ones.
Kurang’s intervention was nothing less than a political exorcism: calling out the old ghosts haunting PDOIS and demanding a reckoning. Like the youth-driven PASTEF movement in Senegal, he signalled a generational revolt against complacency. His message: the elders can guide, yes—but the time for passing the baton has come.
And it is a baton Halifa Sallah seems unwilling to release.
Let us remember: the moral high ground PDOIS claimed in 2016 began eroding the moment the Coalition’s cornerstone promise—a three-year transitional presidency—was betrayed. When President Barrow broke the pact, Lawyer Darboe, freshly freed from prison, gave the betrayal legal cover, publicly declaring the deal unconstitutional. And Halifa Sallah? The very man who sold the three-year vision to the people? He stood silent, shackled perhaps by loyalty or caution—but certainly not by the fiery integrity the moment demanded.
That silence stung. It pierced the hearts of many who believed PDOIS was the moral compass of Gambian politics. And in that silence, a crack widened—one that Alagie Mamadi Kurang is now courageously marching through.
This moment is not merely about “who” will lead PDOIS. It’s about “what” the party still stands for. Will it evolve into a movement that reflects the hunger of a new generation? Or will it become a museum of revolutionary nostalgia, led by ghosts of past glories?
Mr Kurang’s challenge is a thunderclap—a sign that the time of timid politics is over. He is not merely questioning a man; he is confronting an era. And in doing so, he has struck a nerve in the national consciousness, daring others—within PDOIS and beyond—to ask: “Is it time to change the guard?”
I, for one, believe it is. For in politics, as in life, revolutions cannot live forever on the fumes of yesterday. They must be renewed with fresh purpose, fresh blood, and leaders willing to tell hard truths, even to their mentors.
Had Mr Halifa Sallah seized the mantle of leadership that history so expectantly laid at his feet—had he stood tall in the aftermath of the coalition’s betrayal, pointedly denouncing the grand deception that followed President Barrow’s bitter 2019 divorce from Lawyer Ousainou Darboe with Darboe’s wimpy withdrawal from the once-sacred three-year transition pact—PDOIS might have ignited a political firestorm. The rupture in the coalition was no ordinary political squabble; it was a tragedy, a thunderclap of opportunity. In the 2021 presidential elections, PDOIS could have emerged not just as a participant, but as the soul of the original revolution—a clarion voice calling a disillusioned nation back to its promised destiny. By boldly condemning both Barrow and Darboe for aborting the coalition’s transformative mission, Sallah could have awakened a silent majority desperate for honesty, hungry for integrity, and starving for direction.
But instead—PDOIS chose the path of passivity, drifting through 2017 to 2021 in a haze of polite indifference, as if the betrayal of a national mandate was but a minor hiccup. The only flicker of introspection came not from within the party, but from economist Nyang Njie, who dared to prod the sleeping conscience of the nation in a televised interview with Mr. Sallah on Kerr Fatou TV. Njie asked the question many had whispered in private: “Why Barrow?” Of all the contenders in 2016, why entrust him with the reins of the coalition? But rather than affirm the legitimacy of the decision, rather than defend the process as the will of the people’s delegates, Mr Sallah dodged. With a dismissive smirk, he quipped, “Who were those saying that even a dog was acceptable as long as Jammeh had to go?”
A throwaway line? Perhaps. But to the attentive, it was a slip of the mask—a revelation of simmering doubt and unspoken regret. That remark exposed a man who may have disagreed with the course taken but chose silence over confrontation, retreat over resistance. Was it strategy? Was it fear? Only Mr Sallah knows—but whatever the reason, it was a moment of abdication when the country needed clarity.
