In a move that stunned citizens and international observers alike, Mali’s military-led government has officially dissolved all political parties and suspended political activities across the country. This decision, announced in late May 2025, sent tremors through an already fragile political landscape and triggered a wave of protests that quickly spread across the capital, Bamako, and to smaller towns such as Diafarabé. The government’s action is widely seen as a critical blow to the nation’s democratic aspirations and a hardening of the junta’s grip on power.
The announcement came from the ruling junta, led by Colonel Assimi Goïta, who seized power in a 2021 coup and has since positioned himself as the transitional president. The official justification for the decision was a vague reference to national security and social cohesion. In a televised statement, the government claimed that political parties were contributing to division and instability, thus necessitating their temporary ban. But “temporary” is a word that’s worn thin in Malian politics. Skeptics view this as a calculated move to cement military dominance ahead of proposed constitutional reforms that could extend Goïta’s term to 2030.
Within hours of the announcement, thousands of Malians took to the streets, waving banners that read “No to dictatorship” and “Bring back our voice.” Protesters in Bamako were met with a heavy police presence, with several reports of arrests, beatings, and the use of tear gas to disperse crowds. In the town of Diafarabé, demonstrators blocked roads and set tires ablaze, prompting the deployment of military vehicles to restore order. It’s clear that frustration is boiling over, particularly among the youth, many of whom feel betrayed by a military government that once promised reform.
The backlash hasn’t stopped at Mali’s borders. The African Union and the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) issued sharp condemnations of the decision, calling it a violation of basic democratic principles and urging the junta to reverse course. The European Union followed suit, warning that Mali risked further isolation if it continued on its current trajectory. Even France, whose relationship with Mali has soured in recent years, released a statement expressing “deep concern” over what it called an authoritarian turn.
But Goïta’s government seems undeterred. Behind the scenes, military officials are pushing forward with a draft constitution that would not only extend the transitional period by five more years but also grant the president sweeping powers over the judiciary and parliament. According to leaked documents, the new charter would give the executive authority to dissolve the National Assembly, appoint judges, and oversee all national media. Critics argue this would institutionalize military rule under the veneer of legality.
Malian civil society, which had largely remained cautious in recent years, is now mobilizing. Prominent human rights groups, religious leaders, and academic unions have joined the growing chorus of opposition. In a rare move, several retired army officers publicly criticized the junta, warning that the erosion of democratic institutions would fuel further unrest and possibly armed resistance. Meanwhile, former political leaders have found themselves silenced, with their parties technically non-existent under the new directive. Several have reportedly gone into hiding or fled the country, fearing arrest.
Mali’s media landscape, too, is feeling the pinch. Independent journalists are facing increased surveillance, and a handful of radio stations have been taken off the air for broadcasting what authorities called “inciting content.” Online platforms such as Facebook and X (formerly Twitter) have become crucial arenas for dissent, though the government has reportedly explored the possibility of temporary internet blackouts to quell digital protest.
The irony of the situation is hard to miss. The military junta, which once claimed it would restore Mali to democratic rule after ending what it called the “ineffective civilian era,” now finds itself accused of authoritarianism and power hoarding. And while it insists the dissolution of political parties is temporary, history has shown that emergency measures in Mali often morph into long-term policies.
For the average Malian, life continues to be marked by economic hardship, insecurity, and a lack of reliable public services. The north remains a hotbed of insurgent activity, and humanitarian agencies report rising levels of displacement and hunger. Amid all this, the political class—what remains of it—has been forcibly sidelined, leaving citizens with few formal avenues to express discontent. Whether the protests will snowball into a broader movement is still uncertain. What is clear, however, is that the junta’s gamble has reignited political passions that had long been dormant. With opposition swelling and international pressure mounting, Mali’s leaders may soon discover that dissolving parties doesn’t dissolve the people’s desire for representation.
