'He Who Feeds You Controls You' - Traoré Reloads Sankara’s Revolution

By Gillian Schutte

Thomas Sankara, the visionary leader of Burkina Faso in the 1980s, once declared, “He who feeds you controls you.” Through his uncompromising stance on sovereignty, self-reliance, and Pan-African unity, he reshaped how African nations could resist external domination. Though assassinated in 1987, Sankara’s legacy reverberates anew under Captain Ibrahim Traoré, the young leader who came to power via a popular military coup in September 2022. Many in Burkina Faso see Traoré’s actions as the reloading of Sankara’s revolution: a defiant stand against neo-colonial influence in pursuit of full decolonisation.

While countries like South Africa grapple with the chains of neo-colonial entanglement, Burkina Faso under Traoré provides a more radical roadmap for reclaiming autonomy. Traoré’s bold experiment in decolonial praxis would likely strike Frantz Fanon—author of The Wretched of the Earth—as essential for a people determined to retake their destiny. Indeed, Fanon wrote that decolonisation is “the veritable creation of new men,” and Burkina Faso under Traoré is forging precisely that transformation: expelling foreign troops, rejecting Western aid dependency, and reasserting sovereignty over natural resources.

One of Traoré’s first decisive moves was terminating France’s longstanding military presence. For decades, French troops had remained in Burkina Faso under a pretext of security cooperation that served France’s neo-colonial interests. In January 2023, just months into office, Traoré’s government annulled the 2018 military accord with France and ordered all French soldiers to leave within a month. Jubilant crowds filled Ouagadougou’s streets, hoisting signs that read “France dégage!” (“France, get out!”). This watershed moment signalled a definitive break with colonial-era dependencies. As Fanon observed, colonialism inculcates a deep sense of inferiority that teaches the oppressed to rely on the coloniser for protection. In his act of expelling French troops, Traoré delivered a dramatic psychological catharsis: Burkina Faso could confront its security needs—chiefly a jihadist insurgency—without paternalistic “help” from those complicit in the region’s destabilisation.

Following this military rupture, Traoré also struck at French soft power, suspending broadcasts of RFI and France 24, and expelling journalists from Le Monde and Libération for alleged subversive activities. Critics decried these measures as curbing press freedom, yet they also reflect a broader resolve to control the national narrative and halt foreign media from undermining Burkinabè goals. Fanon remarked that decolonisation is “a program of complete disorder,” requiring the upending of entrenched colonial structures. Sankara, too, recognised the power of narrative. “We must speak, not to pass the time, but to transform our world,” he once declared, pointing to the importance of local ownership over how African stories are told.

Perhaps most revolutionary is Traoré’s outright rejection of Western economic dictates. Where numerous African nations line up for IMF loans or European funding, Burkina Faso has moved decisively to self-reliance—a principle Sankara championed. Traoré has echoed Sankara’s ethos, proclaiming: “Africa does not need the World Bank, the IMF or their aid.” Rather than seek foreign handouts, his administration has invested in domestic production, purchasing tractors and farm implements, building processing plants to add value to agricultural output, and deploying mobile clinics for remote health coverage. These moves address the exploitative pattern of exporting raw materials and importing finished goods—a paradigm Sankara called an expression of neo-colonial bondage.

When the United States responded to these shifts by suspending USAID assistance, Traoré remained unfazed, asserting Burkina Faso was “feeding itself” through bolstered domestic grain production. This stance aligns with Fanon’s view that for a colonised people, “the most essential value…is first and foremost the land: the land which will bring them bread and, above all, dignity.” It also resonates with Sankara’s warnings about the subtle forms of imperialism—through loans, food aid, and blackmail. Traoré’s policies aim to break the chain of dependency at its most fundamental link: the ability to feed and heal one’s own citizens without external interference.

Equally noteworthy is Traoré’s land tenure reform, which declares all land in Burkina Faso the property of the nation—a measure to end foreign land grabs. Sankara made similar moves during his presidency, insisting that genuine sovereignty requires control over natural resources. By halting the sale of Burkinabè land to foreign corporations, Traoré effectively rejects what he calls “colonialism 2.0.” Restoring land to local communities fosters economic self-reliance while striking a symbolic blow against the presumption that outsiders can lay claim to Africa’s soil. In Fanonian terms, it reasserts the native’s ownership of his world and counters the trauma of once being a stranger on one’s own land.

Fanon emphasised that decolonisation is both material and psychological, and Burkina Faso’s present direction showcases both dimensions. It has severed military ties with its former coloniser, reined in foreign media influence, and reclaimed national resources. Yet it also evokes the unfinished aspirations of Thomas Sankara, who famously said, “It took the madmen of yesterday for us to be able to act with extreme clarity today. I want to be one of those madmen. We must dare to invent the future.” Traoré’s willingness to confront powerful global institutions, endure threats of sanctions, and repel possible covert attempts to undermine his rule bears that mark of courageous “madness.” Sankara himself was assassinated in 1987 by forces aligned with foreign interests—an outcome that still haunts Burkinabè politics today.

What reverberates hope is the regional resonance of Burkina Faso’s break with neo-colonialism. The popular coups in Mali and Niger, likewise demanding the expulsion of French troops and diplomats, reveal a growing Pan-African fervour. Across West Africa, demonstrators have carried portraits of Sankara, Traoré, Fanon, and other anti-colonial icons—a testament to the galvanizing effect of watching one nation defy the myth of colonial invincibility. Once a people lose their fear of imperial retribution, the balance of power shifts. In naming France and other foreign powers as part of the problem, Traoré has pierced the euphemistic veil of “security cooperation” and “development assistance” to reveal what Sankara called the “subtle forms” of continuing imperialism.

At the same time, Burkina Faso’s path is fraught with risk. The nation remains vulnerable to security threats, faces entrenched poverty, and could succumb to the same external pressures and internal divisions that ended Sankara’s presidency. But as Sankara acknowledged, the fight for liberation was never expected to be easy or without sacrifice. Through openly confronting potential enemies, Traoré highlights the empowerment that comes from shedding illusions about the coloniser’s unassailable might. Fanon taught that refusing “false generosity” is the first step in forging genuine independence. Sankara demonstrated that genuine independence must involve tangible policies—agrarian reform, public health, education—geared toward self-sufficiency and dignity.

Burkina Faso’s stance thus serves as a mirror for other African nations, including South Africa. Is nominal independence enough if an old coloniser still owns the mines, funds civil society, and trains the military? Fanon argued that unless neo-colonial dependencies are torn down, “flag sovereignties” will persist, leaving African nations colonised in all but name. Sankara believed the only remedy was total transformation—political, economic, and cultural. Traoré’s government, imperfect though it may be, is attempting just that: severing ties that once placed foreigners above local interests and forging a consciousness that stands apart from the paternalistic illusions of Western help.

As more Africans turn their eyes to Ouagadougou with hope or curiosity, the deeper significance of the reloaded Sankara revolution becomes evident. It is not simply about removing foreign troops or refusing IMF loans; it is about reclaiming the right to define one’s future, to feed one’s population, and to guard one’s sovereignty without apology. Traoré’s policies marry the material with the symbolic, echoing Fanon’s call for a decolonisation that reorients consciousness as well as governance. From the vantage point of Pan-Africanism, it stands as a powerful statement that Africans can chart their own course without foreign tutelage.

For South Africa and others, Burkina Faso’s journey provokes the question: what does real independence entail, and at what cost? Sankara’s words still resonate: “We must dare to invent the future.” This spirit of daring is exactly what shapes Traoré’s government, carrying Sankara’s legacy into a new era. Whether it will endure remains to be seen, but even the fact of its current success shows that the illusions of colonial might can be toppled. As Sankara once said, “Our revolution in Burkina Faso draws on the totality of human experiences since the first breath of humanity,” reminding us that the fight against oppression and exploitation is universal, transcending epochs and borders.”

Ultimately, Burkina Faso’s example is a powerful declaration that a determined populace, guided by a bold leadership, can indeed exorcise colonial spectres—economic, cultural, and psychological. In doing so, it re-centres the conversation on what African sovereignty should genuinely look like. It is this praxis that Sankara exemplified: severing the strings of dependency, reimagining national identity, and growing pride in self-sufficient resilience. This is the reloading of Sankara’s revolution by the dauntless Traoré , a rallying call for a new African vanguard. The only lingering question for other nations, including South Africa, is: when will they complete their own?

* Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and social justice activist. Her work interrogates systems of power, capitalism, patriarchy, and whiteness, and is rooted in the defence of the commons, decolonial justice, and the dignity of all life.

** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.