By Yoni Emmanuel Sesay
There is something revealing about the applause that surrounds political power. It grows louder when a leader assumes office, becomes almost deafening when appointments and favours are being distributed, and begins to fade as the occupant approaches the exit. Yet we seldom ask who is clapping, why they are clapping, what they expect in return, or what truths are being drowned out by the noise.
Sierra Leone knows this spectacle well. It did not begin with President Julius Maada Bio, nor will it necessarily end when his presidency concludes in 2028. It belongs to a political culture in which personal loyalty is too often mistaken for public service, agreement is rewarded as wisdom, and proximity to power becomes a qualification. I call this “the applause economy” because something is produced, exchanged, rewarded and consumed. Praise becomes a currency; loyalty becomes an investment; access becomes a dividend; and silence becomes the price paid for continued inclusion. The flatterer seeks recognition or reward, while the powerful receive reassurance. What neither may readily acknowledge is the cost to the country.
To appreciate how familiar this behaviour has become, we need only recall the administration of former President Ernest Bai Koroma. During his decade in office, ministers, advisers, party officials and beneficiaries of political patronage surrounded the presidency. Many were undoubtedly sincere supporters. Others appeared to regard agreement with the president as the highest expression of loyalty. Government decisions were celebrated as visionary, while criticism was sometimes treated as hostility towards the president, the APC or even the nation.
Then came the election of 2018, and with it an instructive transformation. Some figures associated with Koroma’s political establishment found accommodation within the new political order. Others moved towards the SLPP, leaving behind political identities they had defended with considerable enthusiasm. Some crossed tolongbo—straight ahead—towards the new centres of influence. Others behaved like vehicle apprentices at a busy lorry park, quickly transferring their political baggage from one vehicle to another, less concerned about the destination than about securing a place on the next journey.
One might find the metaphor amusing, but its implications are far from trivial. Changing political parties is not inherently dishonourable. Convictions change, parties abandon principles, and individuals legitimately reconsider their commitments. The difficulty arises when allegiance changes simply because the location of political rewards has shifted. The lesson of 2018 is not that every political defector lacked principle. Rather, it is that where political advancement depends upon access to power, allegiance can become remarkably transferable. Those who now surround President Bio would do well to remember that history.
Sycophancy often begins innocently enough, with agreement. There is nothing wrong with agreeing with a president. The problem arises when agreement ceases to be the product of independent judgment. Whatever the leader proposes is wise, whatever he decides is strategic, and whoever questions him must have some hidden political motive. Before long, agreement becomes an occupation. The sycophant no longer asks whether a decision is right, but whether defending it will preserve favour. Ordinary administrative decisions become historic achievements. Every presidential appearance invites extravagant praise. Even obvious mistakes must be explained away.
There is, however, something more troubling than deliberate flattery. A person who repeatedly defends decisions they privately doubt may eventually begin to believe their own claims. Having invested years in praising a leader, admitting that the leader was wrong can feel like admitting personal failure. What began as calculation becomes self-deception. Yet the leader is not necessarily an innocent victim. Flattery survives because it finds a receptive audience. Repeated praise can be comforting, particularly when governing becomes difficult. The flatterer wants recognition; the leader welcomes reassurance. Both may gradually lose their appetite for uncomfortable truths.
Niccolò Machiavelli recognised this danger centuries ago. In Chapter XXIII of The Prince, he considered how rulers might protect themselves against flatterers while remaining open to truthful advice. The problem remains familiar. A leader surrounded by people who say only what pleases him may eventually know less about his own government than those who criticise it. Every president should therefore ask who among his closest advisers can tell him that he is wrong without fearing the consequences. If nobody can, the presidency has a problem, however enthusiastic the applause outside State House.
Social media has added another dimension. The traditional flatterer needed proximity to power. Today, one need not secure an appointment or enter State House to participate. The internet has produced what I would call the invisible sycophant. This individual may have no government position, no contract, no personal relationship with the president and no realistic access to political influence. Yet every presidential statement attracts immediate praise, every controversy demands instant defence, and every critic becomes an enemy.
Why should someone who receives nothing tangible from power defend it so fiercely? For some, public loyalty is an investment in possible recognition. Others find belonging and a sense of importance through identification with a powerful figure. Some acquire what might be called borrowed authority. They speak as though the president’s authority extends to them, interpreting his intentions and passing judgment on the loyalty of fellow citizens. They possess no delegated authority, yet behave as though they do.
Of course, enthusiastic support is not necessarily sycophancy. Citizens may sincerely admire a president and defend policies they consider beneficial. The distinction lies in whether their judgment remains independent. The invisible sycophant does not merely support a leader; the leader becomes the measure of what is right. Social media makes this particularly dangerous. A handful of persistent voices can create the impression of overwhelming agreement. Repetition is mistaken for consensus, online visibility for popularity, and partisan enthusiasm for the national mood. A president may begin to believe that the country is applauding when he is hearing only the loudest voices within his political circle.
There is a constitutional problem here that deserves attention. A president is a person; the presidency is an institution. The individual occupies the office temporarily, while the institution must endure beyond him. Loyalty to the president and fidelity to the presidency are therefore not necessarily the same. A minister who defends an unlawful or harmful decision may be serving the president’s immediate wishes while betraying the responsibilities of government. A party official who suppresses disagreement may appear loyal while weakening the organisation’s capacity to correct itself. Sierra Leone needs political institutions in which honest disagreement is possible without automatically being treated as an offence. Competence should matter more than personal favour, and criticism should be answered with reason rather than suspicion.
These questions become particularly relevant as 2028 approaches. President Bio has reiterated his intention not to seek a third term, consistent with the constitutional two-term limit. His constitutional authority remains intact until the lawful conclusion of his presidency, but the political value of proximity to him may already be changing. Those whose careers depend upon personal access must contemplate a future in which influence resides elsewhere. Some will remain faithful to their convictions. Others will legitimately support emerging leadership within the SLPP. There may also be those who begin repositioning themselves with astonishing speed.
The language of personal devotion may give way to declarations of institutional loyalty. Those who once considered disagreement with Bio an act of betrayal may suddenly discover the virtues of independent thinking. The more calculating may attach themselves to prospective successors, carrying their political baggage as carefully as the vehicle apprentices of 2018. If political power changes parties in 2028, the temptation may become greater still. This does not mean that every change of allegiance proves hypocrisy. The real test is whether professed principles survive changing circumstances. Those who condemned particular conduct under one administration should not celebrate identical conduct under another. Bio’s departure will not create the sycophants; it may simply reveal them.
The warning applies equally to anyone aspiring to succeed him. Those who abandoned principle for yesterday’s president may do so again for tomorrow’s. The applause may be transferable, but trust should not be. Ultimately, the greatest cost is borne neither by the flatterer nor by the leader who enjoys the praise. It is borne by the nation. When agreement becomes more valuable than competence, institutions lose their capacity to correct mistakes. Ministers conceal uncomfortable information, advisers avoid difficult conversations, and public officials learn that pleasing superiors may be more rewarding than serving citizens.
Young people notice these things. They see who advances, who is excluded, and which qualities political institutions reward. A society that promotes flattery above merit should not be surprised when its institutions struggle to attract independent minds. Political power, however, is temporary. The crowds disperse, official photographs fade, and declarations of extraordinary leadership eventually give way to praise for someone else. What remains are the consequences of government: the schools strengthened or neglected, the roads built or abandoned, the institutions protected or weakened, and the public resources properly administered or wasted.
As Sierra Leone approaches 2028, both the APC and the SLPP should reflect upon the political culture they have helped sustain. The country needs leaders who welcome honest counsel and citizens who can support a government without surrendering their judgment. The greatest danger to a president may not be the critic who speaks against him, but the admirer who never speaks against anything. When applause becomes the measure of leadership, the leader may hear everything except the truth. And when the applause finally stops, the nation is left to count the cost.
Who the cap fit, let them wear it.