By Rtd Lt Colonnel Samsudeen Sarr
former commander of the GNA
As the golden glow of Eid al-Fitr (Koriteh) fades into cherished memory, I extend my warmest wishes to all Gambians—Muslims and non-Muslims alike—along with the residents of our beloved Smiling Coast. May the blessings of Ramadan linger in our hearts, and may Allah (SWT) accept our fasts, reward our sacrifices, and shower us with enduring peace, good health, and prosperity. May we be fortunate to witness many more Ramadans in unity and spiritual abundance.
Now, allow me to probe into a topic that’s been weighing on my mind—albeit with a bit of delay. But as the old English proverb wisely assures us, “better late than never.”
The matter in question revolves around remarks made by President Adama Barrow during the Koriteh festivities at the State House, specifically in the presence of a distinguished gathering of religious leaders. His words have since ignited a flurry of opinions—some laudatory, others critical—each painting a different picture of his intentions.
Critics quickly pounced, arguing that the President had chosen an ill-suited moment—one steeped in religious reflection and spiritual renewal—to dive into the murky waters of politics. They were especially uneasy with his pointed remarks about certain imams allegedly turning their mosque sermons into platforms for political critique. Supporters of the President, however, saw no fault in his candour. In their view, he simply seized an opportune moment to address a pressing concern.
What truly captured public attention was his firm rebuke of religious leaders who, in his estimation, had crossed into dangerous territory by publicly accusing his administration of “rampant corruption”—often without offering concrete evidence to back their claims. He questioned the legitimacy of such sweeping accusations, suggesting that many of these spiritual voices might be echoing hearsay and politically charged misinformation rather than grounded truths.
The President’s message was clear: while criticism is vital in any democracy, the pulpit should not be weaponised for unverified political agitation. This, he warned, could stoke unnecessary division and instability. And frankly, I couldn’t agree more.
Lest we forget, recent history offers sobering lessons. Consider Mali, where the charismatic Imam Mahmoud Dicko helped spark the June 5 Movement—a tide of unrest that ultimately swept the government from power and ushered in military rule. When religious fervour intertwines with unvetted political narratives, the outcome can be nothing short of explosive.
To be clear, I hold the firm belief that religious leaders, given the moral authority they command, should not be silenced when they have genuine concerns about governance. Their voices are too important to dismiss. But there’s a time, a place, and a process for such engagement. And what better moment to raise those issues than during the traditional Koriteh courtesy call—a symbolic, time-honoured interaction between spiritual leaders and the Head of State?
Some have argued that these visits, a colonial-era custom originating when Banjul was still Bathurst, were never intended for political discussion. But that’s a selective reading of history. My own parents and grandparents recounted how Muslim elders regularly used such occasions to challenge the colonial establishment on matters of fairness, especially the lack of recognition for Islamic holidays in a calendar dominated by Christian observances. Civil servants had to pray in the morning and return to work—unless Koriteh and Tobaski conveniently landed on a weekend. That injustice was met with relentless advocacy to the governor, eventually winning Muslims their rightful place in the national calendar.
The tradition of thoughtful, respectful discourse continued well into the First and Second Republics. President Jawara welcomed it with his signature grace. President Jammeh—ever the soldier—responded with his usual commanding tone, but even he adjusted the national calendar to better reflect the values of our Muslim-majority nation. Sadly, this inclusive gesture was undone in 2017 by the Coalition government, with little consultation or cultural sensitivity.
Coming back to President Barrow, I found his approach this year refreshingly balanced. He made it plain that if imams or any other citizens have credible evidence of malpractice within his administration, they are encouraged to bring their concerns through proper institutional channels—such as the Supreme Islamic Council or the Ministry of Religious Affairs. What he objects to, and rightly so, is the reckless broadcasting of accusations from the pulpit without prior engagement or substantiation.
To me, that is not a rejection of dissent, but rather an appeal for responsible dialogue—a call to raise the bar of national discourse and ensure that our spiritual platforms remain beacons of unity, not instruments of division.
So, as we bask in the afterglow of Koriteh, let us recommit ourselves to building bridges—not burning them; to speaking truth—but with wisdom and evidence; and to honouring our shared traditions—not by weaponising them, but by uplifting them in the spirit of national cohesion.
Ndewenati! May peace and understanding continue to guide us all.
