President Samia Suluhu Hassan and Tanzania’s Descent into Authoritarianism

Baba Yunus Muhammad

The woman once hailed as a reformer has tightened her grip on power, crossing red lines even her authoritarian predecessor hesitated to breach.

When Samia Suluhu Hassan became president of Tanzania in March 2021, following the sudden death of John Pombe Magufuli, the mood across the nation and much of Africa was one of guarded hope. Here was a woman whose calm demeanor, religious integrity, and inclusive rhetoric seemed to promise a new chapter for Tanzania — a country exhausted by years of repression, paranoia, and fear. Hassan, the first female head of state in Tanzania’s history and the only Muslim woman leading a nation in Africa, projected humility and pragmatism. She was viewed as a potential reformer who might steer the country back toward democratic governance after the suffocating rule of Magufuli.

That hope has since evaporated. Four years into her presidency, and with elections looming in October 2025, Samia Suluhu Hassan stands accused of dismantling the very democratic ideals she once symbolized. Her administration has tightened its grip on power through a pattern of repression that surpasses even the authoritarian excesses of her predecessor. The dream of a more open, accountable Tanzania has withered under a system that now combines the outward trappings of democracy with the inner logic of autocracy.

The transformation has been gradual but unmistakable. When Hassan took office, she began by speaking the language of reconciliation. She reopened a few banned newspapers, reached out to exiled opposition figures, and allowed political rallies that had been outlawed under Magufuli. These gestures were interpreted as signs of liberalization. Western diplomats, eager to rehabilitate Tanzania’s image, praised her as a “listening leader.” Civil society activists cautiously welcomed the apparent thaw. The international community, fatigued by years of dealing with Magufuli’s hostility, seemed relieved.

But beneath this veneer of reform, the architecture of repression remained intact. Within two years, the government’s tone began to harden. Promises of political openness gave way to arrests, intimidation, and censorship. Opposition rallies were again restricted, media outlets were warned against “incitement,” and journalists were summoned by police for questioning. By 2024, as local elections approached, reports of widespread manipulation began surfacing once more. Ballot irregularities, intimidation of observers, and biased rulings by the electoral commission signaled that Tanzania’s experiment with democracy had once again turned hollow.

Many observers compared Hassan’s governing style to that of her predecessor. But a closer look reveals that she has gone further — crossing red lines Magufuli himself never dared. The most striking example is her treatment of political opposition. Tundu Lissu, the charismatic lawyer and leader of the opposition party Chadema, was charged with treason in April 2025, a non-bailable offense that carries the death penalty. Lissu, who survived an assassination attempt in 2017, had become a symbol of democratic defiance in Tanzania. His detention represents a chilling escalation: not just the silencing of dissent, but its criminalization at the highest possible level.

Another opposition figure, Luhaga Mpina, was disqualified from contesting the presidency under dubious circumstances. The Registrar of Political Parties — a presidential appointee — barred Mpina’s candidacy at the last minute, citing technicalities. When the High Court ordered that he be reinstated, the Electoral Commission, nominally independent but clearly aligned with the ruling party, ignored the ruling and barred him again. As of now, Hassan faces no credible opponent in the October polls. It is a political landscape without precedent since Tanzania reintroduced multiparty democracy in 1992.

Even within her own ruling party, Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM), dissent is no longer tolerated. Humphrey Polepole, a senior CCM stalwart turned critic, was abducted in October 2025 after criticizing Hassan’s leadership. The police later claimed he was being investigated for “criminal speech.” His disappearance sent a clear message: loyalty to the president has become indistinguishable from loyalty to the state.

The erosion of Tanzania’s democratic norms under Hassan’s leadership reflects not merely a continuation of autocracy but its consolidation. For decades, CCM has maintained its grip on power through patronage, control of state institutions, and manipulation of electoral rules. The move to multiparty politics in the early 1990s was meant to dilute that dominance. Instead, it entrenched it. Elections were never free, but they were at least competitive. Now, even the pretense of competition is fading. As veteran Tanzanian columnist Jenerali Ulimwengu lamented recently, “there is no competition worth the name.”

This tightening of control is accompanied by an alarming assault on the digital public sphere. In a stark departure from Magufuli’s practice of post-election shutdowns, Hassan’s government has preemptively blocked access to major social media platforms — including X (formerly Twitter), Telegram, and Clubhouse — months ahead of the election. JamiiForums, Tanzania’s most vibrant online platform for citizen journalism, has been taken offline entirely. The effect is suffocating: a silenced public discourse, cut off from the outside world, unable to document or resist the unfolding repression.

Meanwhile, the rhythms of state-sponsored violence continue. Opposition activists are harassed, journalists intimidated, and rallies disrupted by police. Civil society organizations operate under constant surveillance. The government’s rhetoric has shifted subtly but decisively — from promises of “dialogue and reform” to warnings about “national security” and “foreign interference.” The same vocabulary that once justified Magufuli’s strongman politics has re-emerged under a softer, more polished face.

This duality — the autocrat in reformist clothing — makes Hassan’s leadership uniquely insidious. She presents herself internationally as a modernizer and peacemaker, while domestically consolidating power through fear. The optics are carefully managed: lavish rallies, choreographed crowds, and speeches that blend maternal warmth with firm resolve. Political researcher Nicodemus Minde has described these events as “procedural coronation rituals,” where the illusion of democratic participation masks the inevitability of the outcome.

Yet to understand how Tanzania arrived at this point, one must look beyond individual personalities to structural factors. Since independence in 1961, CCM and its predecessor, TANU, have cultivated an unbroken monopoly on political life. Even as the country transitioned to multipartyism, CCM retained control over the civil service, the judiciary, the media, and the economy. Opposition parties were permitted to exist but never to thrive. When the opposition became genuinely competitive — particularly after 2015, under Chadema’s rise — repression intensified. Magufuli’s harsh measures in 2020 ensured CCM’s total domination of parliament. Hassan inherited this political machine and, rather than dismantle it, has perfected it.

The international context has also emboldened her. The retreat of Western democracies from active democracy promotion has created a permissive environment for authoritarian consolidation across Africa. Under Donald Trump’s second term, the United States drastically reduced funding for governance and human rights programs. European donors, grappling with migration crises and wars in Ukraine and the Middle East, have deprioritized African political reform. In this vacuum, leaders like Hassan have found greater room for autocratic maneuvering. The global decline in democratic norms has provided both the example and the cover for repression.

Hassan’s case is part of a broader trend. Across Africa and beyond, leaders are criminalizing opposition under the guise of combating terrorism or protecting sovereignty. In Turkey, opposition leader Ekrem İmamoğlu faces jail on terrorism charges; in Mozambique, Venâncio Mondlane faces similar accusations. Hassan’s Tanzania fits neatly into this global pattern: regimes that mimic the symbols of democracy — elections, courts, parliaments — while hollowing them out from within.

For Tanzanians, this political regression carries deep emotional weight. The country has long prided itself on stability, moderation, and a tradition of peaceful politics. Julius Nyerere’s vision of unity and dialogue still resonates in the national consciousness. But the current trajectory threatens to undo that legacy. The imprisonment of opposition leaders, the silencing of journalists, and the erosion of judicial independence are more than isolated abuses; they signal a fundamental rupture in the social contract.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy lies in the betrayal of expectations. Hassan’s rise was interpreted, especially by women and Muslims across Africa, as a symbol of progress — a moment when faith, gender, and democracy could coexist harmoniously. Instead, her rule has deepened cynicism toward democracy itself. Many Tanzanians now speak of elections as a “national performance” rather than a genuine choice. The sense of betrayal cuts deep: that even a leader once seen as compassionate and reform-minded could succumb to the corrupting logic of absolute power.

As the 2025 elections approach, the atmosphere in Tanzania is one of subdued tension. On one side, Hassan’s government projects confidence, orchestrating massive rallies and emphasizing continuity and stability. On the other, the opposition is leaderless, fragmented, and under siege. Civil society operates in fear, and the media landscape is barren. International observers, if they are even permitted to attend, will likely witness an election stripped of suspense, conducted under conditions that render its outcome predetermined.

In private, many Tanzanians express despair. They have seen this story before: a ruling party invoking national unity to justify repression, a leader manipulating legality to mask illegitimacy, and an electorate reduced to spectators. The difference now is that the illusion of reform has collapsed completely. The hope that democracy might be restored under a new face has faded into disillusionment.

It is tempting to view Tanzania’s descent into authoritarianism as part of a cyclical pattern — the ebb and flow of democracy in Africa. But what makes the present moment distinct is its finality. By barring her opponents, censoring her critics, and erasing avenues of dissent, President Samia Suluhu Hassan is not merely tilting the political playing field; she is closing it altogether. The outcome of the 2025 election is already clear. What remains uncertain is how long Tanzanians will endure governance without genuine accountability, and whether the world will continue to look away.

In the end, Hassan’s legacy may not be one of reform or progress but of disillusionment — the quiet entrenchment of authoritarianism under the guise of civility. Tanzania’s democratic promise, once fragile but alive, now flickers faintly in the shadows of state power. The woman once celebrated as a beacon of new hope has become the custodian of an old tyranny, proving again that in much of Africa, democracy remains less a system of governance than a performance of legitimacy — and the ballot box, for all its ritual sanctity, still an empty gesture.

About the Author:
Baba Yunus Muhammad is the President of the Africa Islamic Economic Forum and a seasoned political analyst focusing on governance, democracy, and socio-economic transformation across Africa. He writes extensively on the intersection of faith, leadership, and political reform on the continent. babayunus@icloud.com