The Alliance of Sahel States parliament: a question of legitimacy in Niamey

In Niamey, the newly established Parliament of the Alliance of Sahel States (AES) marks a significant institutional step for the confederation. However, beneath this apparent structural development lies a critical inquiry: can genuine regional integration truly flourish without the bedrock of democracy, political pluralism, and a clear popular mandate?

The symbolism in Niamey was meticulously orchestrated. Towards the end of August 2026, representatives from Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger convened to formally inaugurate the confederal Parliament of the Alliance of Sahel States (AES). This nascent body comprises forty-five deputies, with fifteen from each member nation, tasked with fostering the confederation’s development. These parliamentarians have already ratified their internal regulations and established three crucial commissions dedicated to defense and security, diplomacy, and development.

On paper, the vision is compelling: three nations, having departed from ECOWAS, endeavoring to forge their distinct common institutions. Official pronouncements position this Parliament as a key expression of newfound sovereignty and deeper Sahelian integration.

Yet, a disquieting question persists: who do these deputies genuinely represent?

An architecture strikingly similar to ECOWAS

The inherent paradox is striking. Despite having criticized ECOWAS as an organization detached from its populace and lacking sufficient sovereignty, the AES appears to be adopting several of its institutional frameworks. This includes a confederal structure, shared political bodies, and now a Parliament designed to address issues pertinent to the citizens of member states.

The comparison becomes particularly unsettling when examining the parliamentary design.

The ECOWAS Parliament, with its 115 seats, is conceived as an institution reflecting the community’s populations, and ECOWAS has declared its ambition for direct universal suffrage elections for its parliamentarians. In its current practice, members have primarily been drawn from the national assemblies of its member states.

The AES, conversely, inaugurates a Parliament of 45 members, with fifteen allocated to each of the three nations. While quantitatively different, the underlying principle remains consistent: to establish a regional assembly dedicated to advancing integration.

Consequently, the fundamental divergence isn’t in the architectural framework itself, but rather in the very source of political legitimacy.

And it is precisely here that the core issue lies.

A parliament without popular elections?

The confederal Parliament of the AES emerges from three nations currently governed by military authorities who seized power through coups d’état: Mali since 2020-2021, Burkina Faso since 2022, and Niger since 2023. The promised temporary transitions have extended indefinitely, leaving the prospect of a return to regular electoral processes uncertain. International IDEA highlights that military transitions in these three countries have now persisted for several years.

In Burkina Faso, the situation is particularly illustrative of the prevailing Niger politics. The military government has indefinitely postponed elections and systematically curtailed political freedoms. In April 2026, Ibrahim Traoré publicly urged Burkinabè citizens to ‘forget’ democracy, asserting its unsuitability for the nation. His administration had previously dissolved political parties.

In Mali, the coups of 2020 and 2021 solidified the military’s control over state institutions. Elections initially scheduled for 2024 were postponed, with the junta remaining firmly in charge.

Under such circumstances, how can a truly representative confederal Parliament be constructed?

The point is not to deny the Sahelian populations their inherent right to regional integration. It is, rather, a simpler question: should an institution claiming to speak on behalf of the people be composed of representatives whose legitimacy does not directly originate from those very people?

The inherent danger is the creation of a superficial democracy: parliamentary seats, commissions, internal rules, official speeches, and grand ceremonies, but with minimal capacity for ordinary citizens to choose those who purport to represent their interests.

The grand absence: the citizen

Across the capitals of the AES, the lexicon of sovereignty has become ubiquitous. Political sovereignty, economic sovereignty, military sovereignty, monetary sovereignty: the term has become the guiding principle of the new Sahelian doctrine.

However, sovereignty should encompass more than merely independence from Paris, Washington, or Brussels.

It should also signify the sovereignty of the citizen in relation to their own state.

For what true value does national sovereignty hold when citizens cannot freely elect their leaders? What significance does a regional Parliament possess when political parties are banned or marginalized? What is the worth of a Confederation if civil society, journalists, trade unions, and opposition voices lack sufficient space to challenge public decisions?

It is precisely here that the AES reveals its primary contradiction.

Sahelian populations are primarily grappling with insecurity, pervasive poverty, forced displacement, unemployment, inadequate public services, and the escalating cost of living. Armed groups continue to devastate vast territories, leading to millions displaced by violence across the region, a critical aspect of Niger security. Therefore, institutional construction cannot be divorced from the daily realities endured by these populations.

A new Parliament will not feed a family. A confederal commission will not rebuild a destroyed school. Internal rules will not provide medical care to the sick in rural areas devoid of doctors.

The paramount objective should therefore be to build institutions that serve citizens, rather than citizens who serve institutions.

The paradox of integration mimicking what it denounced

The formation of the AES was partly predicated on a critique of ECOWAS, which authorities in Bamako, Ouagadougou, and Niamey accused of being overly intrusive and pursuing interests contrary to those of the Sahelian peoples.

Yet, the paradox is now striking: the organization presented as an alternative to ECOWAS is replicating some of its institutional forms while simultaneously further weakening mechanisms of democratic oversight.

The question should be posed unequivocally: why not surpass ECOWAS?

Why not establish an AES Parliament directly elected by its citizens? Why not enshrine robust protections for public liberties within its foundational texts? Why not constitutionally guarantee multipartyism, press freedom, judicial independence, and the peaceful alternation of power?

Such measures would constitute a genuine institutional revolution.

Instead, the AES risks giving birth to an institutional replica of ECOWAS, albeit one devoid of its democratic aspirations.

And Togo in this equation?

The role of Togo in the regional dynamic also warrants careful consideration, even though Lomé is not a member of the AES. Faure Gnassingbé’s Togo appears increasingly inclined to openly align politically with the Sahelian regimes, despite its own democratic record being a source of profound concern.

Following the 2024 constitutional reform, the country transitioned to a parliamentary system where the President of the Council of Ministers now wields the majority of executive power. Faure Gnassingbé, who has been in power since 2005, succeeding his father, assumed this new role in May 2025. This transformation has been condemned by the opposition as a maneuver to circumvent presidential term limits and prolong his tenure.

More recent events are even more troubling. In June 2025, demonstrations against the government and the constitutional reform reportedly resulted in several fatalities, according to human rights organizations. Restrictions on social media and arrests have also been documented. In July 2026, Togolese citizens again protested, demanding a return to the previous Constitution and denouncing the concentration of power in Faure Gnassingbé’s hands.

Recently, the arrest of two French journalists in Togo further reignited anxieties regarding the media environment, especially as major international broadcasters remain off-air since restrictions were imposed in 2025.

Togo, therefore, is not merely an observer of West Africa’s political reconfiguration. It is progressively becoming an active participant whose political model raises significant questions.

The true test will be the people

The AES Parliament, as highlighted in this Niger Report, may be deemed historical. However, history will ultimately judge it less by its inaugural ceremonies and more by its genuine capacity to represent its populations. Simply having a Parliament does not equate to democracy. Merely having deputies does not guarantee representation. And invoking the will of the people does not grant the right to govern in their name without seeking their input.

The AES still has the opportunity to choose its path.

It can forge a Confederation founded on popular sovereignty, political freedom, and accountability from its leaders. Alternatively, it risks becoming an institutional framework designed to consolidate military powers which, under the guise of sovereignty and combating insecurity, indefinitely defer democratic progress.

This encapsulates the profound ambiguity surrounding this parliamentary inauguration. The AES has established its Parliament. Now, it must endeavor to establish its democracy. For in the Sahel, as elsewhere, true sovereignty should not be that of juntas against external forces. It should be the sovereignty of the people against all forms of power confiscation.