At 37, Burkina Faso’s Captain Ibrahim Traoré stands as the world’s youngest head of state, a figure Western media often paints as a “corrupt warlord”—a leader who, they claim, siphons gold from his country, rules as a dictator, and delays democracy. Yet locals chant “IB, IB!” in the streets, hailing him as a patriot on a mission to “Make Burkina Faso Great Again.” In a twist of global irony, Ibrahim Traoré, like Trump, is a nationalist protectionist—but in a good way, his supporters insist, rooted not in self-enrichment but in African sovereignty and pride.
Burkina Faso’s Nationalist Vision Clashes with Western Narrative
Since seizing power in a 2022 coup, Traoré’s tenure has been enveloped in a fog of allegations. Western officials and media accuse him of at least half a dozen sins: Siphoning Burkina Faso’s gold for personal gain and to “protect his junta,” as one U.S. general alleged. Ruling as a dictator, crushing dissent and postponing elections indefinitely. Corruption and greed, behaving like a classic warlord enriching himself off the state. Cozying up to Russia (and the Wagner mercenaries) after kicking out France’s forces, thus betraying the West. Stifling the press and civil liberties, with reports of arrests of journalists and critics. Destabilizing the region, inspiring coups and undermining the fight against jihadist militants.
These charges portray Traoré as a danger to democracy and stability. The Financial Times and Le Monde have warned of a new “strongman” in West Africa. On social media, posts (often unverified) show diaspora protests demanding Traoré’s ouster and even calling for his arrest, branding him a dictator. Human rights reports have highlighted a crackdown on dissent and abuses by volunteer militias under his watch. By Western accounts, it sounds as if Burkina Faso has traded one set of troubles for another—an Islamist insurgency replaced by iron-fisted military rule.
Yet inside Burkina Faso, a very different story is unfolding. To many Burkinabè, Traoré is not the caricature of a power-mad despot in a palace—he is a young nationalist captain who still wears his faded military fatigues and lives on a humble soldier’s wage. “The idea is not power. That does not interest us,” Traoré insisted early on, “We want to get our population out of this misery.” His actions since have followed that ethos. Far from pilfering the nation’s wealth, Traoré has been busy reclaiming it for his people. Far from silencing the public, he is often seen inaugurating factories and listening to cheering crowds in dusty villages. The West’s narrative of a “corrupt warlord” collides with a groundswell of local support for what he represents: a break from neo-colonialism and a bold bid to build an independent, self-reliant Burkina Faso.
Gold and Accusations of Corruption: “The Gold Heist That Wasn’t”
Nothing has drawn Western ire quite like Traoré’s handling of gold, Burkina Faso’s most prized resource. In April, General Michael Langley, head of U.S. AFRICOM, told the U.S. Senate that Traoré was diverting the country’s gold reserves for personal security rather than his people. The implication was clear: the young captain was either stealing state gold or using it to pay foreign mercenaries. Washington’s tone was alarmist; the accusation of “siphoning gold” cast Traoré as another African kleptocrat.
Traoré’s allies vehemently reject this claim. South Africa’s Economic Freedom Fighters party blasted Langley’s statement as a “blatant imperialist tactic”, noting the irony of a U.S. general scorning an African leader for spending his own country’s gold on national security. “We condemn the West’s continued interference… The EFF supports Captain Traoré’s efforts to reclaim Burkina Faso’s gold for the benefit of its people,” the EFF declared. Indeed, Traoré’s government says it is doing the opposite of looting: it’s nationalizing the gold sector.
Within months of taking office, Traoré moved to take control of industrial gold mines long run by foreign firms. In one landmark deal, his administration paid $80 million to buy back two major gold mines from a UK company. “We know how to mine our gold, and I don’t understand why we’re going to let multinationals come and mine it,” Traoré famously said, articulating a fiercely protectionist stance. He didn’t stop there. In late 2023, he halted the export of unrefined gold to Europe, launching Burkina Faso’s first domestic gold refinery to keep profits and jobs at home. His administration suspended permits for small-scale gold exporters to crack down on smuggling. It even renegotiated mining contracts to secure a greater share of revenue for the state and local businesses. In effect, Traoré has flipped the script: for decades, foreign companies extracted Burkina Faso’s gold and “left little behind”; now the young captain is determined to “flip the table” and make that wealth work for Burkina Faso.
The Western media narrative of Traoré “squandering the country’s gold” conspicuously omits these facts. Yes, Traoré is a nationalist protectionist when it comes to gold—much like Donald Trump’s protectionist stance on American industries—but in a good way, say his supporters. Under his watch, over 70% of gold revenues that were once siphoned overseas are being channeled into national coffers for schools, hospitals, and defense. In January, the government proudly displayed the first gold bars fully mined and refined by Burkinabè hands. Such moves have endeared him to a populace long aware that their land is rich even as they remain poor.
Even Traoré’s personal finances stand as a counterpoint to corruption claims. Upon assuming the presidency, he stunned the political class by refusing the hefty presidential salary. Traoré declared he would “continue to live on his army captain’s salary”, roughly $700/$1,000 a month. In a country where leaders are often accused of looting state funds, this gesture rang loud. He also reversed a planned salary hike for government officials that his ousted predecessor had approved. Instead, those funds would bolster social services. “He did not come for money,” local headlines read admiringly. By cutting ministerial pay and allegedly raising civil servant wages, Traoré sent a clear message that “the nation’s wealth must serve its people”, not enrich its elite. The image of a military captain driving an old pickup truck, rather than a motorcade of luxury cars, has only strengthened his credibility on the streets of Ouagadougou.
Democracy Delayed vs. Development First
Another chorus of Western criticism centers on democracy: Traoré is accused of clinging to power and delaying elections that would return Burkina Faso to civilian rule. Indeed, when he first took over, the captain said a transition back to democracy would be swift. But as an Islamist insurgency raged on, those plans changed. In 2024, a national conference in Burkina Faso approved extending the military-led transition by 24 months beyond the original deadline, and more recently by an additional five years. To Western observers, this was confirmation of autocratic ambition—a young officer reneging on his promise and entrenching himself until 2029. “Democratic backsliding,” warned analysts, noting that Traoré’s new charter even allows him to run in the eventual elections.
Traoré’s camp argues that holding a quick election now would be a sham while much of the country remains under terrorist siege. More than 40% of Burkina Faso’s territory is outside government control due to jihadist violence. Millions are displaced by attacks. How, Traoré asks, can we talk about ballots when our villages are overrun by insurgents? The regime has made “security first” its mantra. Officials point out that the July 2024 election timeline was agreed under ECOWAS pressure, but Burkina Faso later withdrew from ECOWAS to pursue its own path. In an echo of Trump’s “America First” ethos, Traoré has essentially said “Burkina First”, prioritizing defending the nation over pleasing foreign expectations. The new transition charter pledges that if security improves enough, elections can be held earlier than 2029—but Traoré bluntly states that defeating the Islamist threat is the prerequisite for any real democracy to take root.
On the streets of Burkina Faso, many citizens seem to accept, even endorse, this delay. An Afrobarometer survey found two-thirds of Burkinabè accept military rule if it brings security. As of 2025, two out of every three people (66%) in Burkina Faso now accept military rule, marking a substantial rise from just 24% in 2012.
The public’s patience for traditional politicians ran out long ago as one elected government after another failed to beat back the terrorist onslaught. By contrast, Traoré’s aggressive campaign against jihadists—mobilizing some 90,000 civilian volunteers into local defense militias—has fostered a sense of national unity in war. In rural provinces, villagers see the state fighting alongside them for the first time in years. This has earned Traoré something precious: legitimacy in the eyes of his people. At a recent rally in the town of Yako, where Traoré opened a new tomato-canning factory, jubilant crowds interrupted his speech to chant “I.B. à vie!”—“IB for life”. Such scenes are common now. Even as violent attacks continue and “democratic space shrinks,” as critics charge, Traoré can still draw massive crowds who beg him to stay the course. To them, calls from Paris and Washington for immediate elections ring hollow: Whose democracy are we restoring? they ask, The kind that existed on paper while our people were slaughtered?
Traoré has carefully nurtured this narrative of savior over strongman. In speeches, he invokes Burkina Faso’s revolutionary hero, Thomas Sankara, vowing to complete Sankara’s vision of an upright, self-sufficient nation. Like Sankara—who was a young captain himself in the 1980s—Traoré preaches honesty, sacrifice, and “the interests of the masses above all.” He has set up new anti-corruption watchdogs, and at times even dispatched underperforming officials and outspoken critics to the volatile front lines, blurring the line between tough love and repression. To Western diplomats, these are alarming authoritarian tendencies. But many Burkinabè see a leader who demands everyone share the danger and burden of saving the nation. The tension is palpable: Is Traoré forging a disciplined new Burkina Faso—“patriotism” is now the official criterion for picking transitional lawmakers—or is he inching toward tyranny? The answer, for now, depends on whom you ask, and whether they live in Ouagadougou or Washington.
Kicking Out France and Turning East: Patriot or “Putin’s Puppet”?
Traoré’s nationalist streak has also upended Burkina Faso’s foreign policy in ways that exhilarate his supporters and exasperate Western powers. Within months of taking office, he ordered French troops and diplomats to leave the country, abruptly ending a decades-long military partnership. France’s counterterrorism force, stationed in Burkina Faso since 2013, was given one month to pack up after citizens protested in the streets, accusing the French of complicity in the nation’s insecurity. By February 2023, the last French soldier had left Ouagadougou, and Traoré declared an era of “military sovereignty” for Burkina Faso. This dramatic eviction of the former colonial power’s presence earned Traoré hero status across francophone Africa. It also invited comparisons to Donald Trump’s iconoclastic approach to alliances—just as Trump questioned long-standing U.S. commitments and told NATO allies to do more for themselves, Traoré brusquely showed France the door, insisting Burkina Faso would solve its own problems or find new friends who respected its independence.
Those new friends have materialized in the East. Traoré has openly courted Russia and China, part of a broader pivot by the Sahel’s coup-led governments. In August 2023, dressed in fatigues and his signature red beret, he traveled to St. Petersburg for the Russia-Africa summit. There, in front of Vladimir Putin and dozens of African leaders, Traoré electrified the hall with a fiery denunciation of Western “puppet regimes” in Africa. “Our predecessors taught us one thing — a slave who cannot carry out his own revolt does not deserve pity,” he declared, accusing “imperialists” of keeping his country in bondage. The young captain then clasped hands with Putin in a highly publicized photo-op. Within months, reports emerged of Russian military instructors (widely presumed to be Wagner Group mercenaries) arriving in Burkina Faso to train its army. Meanwhile, Traoré has also strengthened ties with China, seeking investment in infrastructure and mining. His government welcomed Chinese firms to bid on road and hospital projects, and there is talk of aligning with Beijing’s Belt and Road initiatives. In diplomatic speeches, Traoré praises a “multipolar world” and thanks BRICS nations for offering partnership without lectures on governance.
Western officials have seized on these moves to label Traoré a “Putin’s puppet” and part of a dangerous new Russian sphere of influence in Africa. U.S. diplomats privately worry that Burkina Faso has “handed the keys to the Kremlin,” echoing concerns raised when neighboring Mali embraced Russian support. French media outlets regularly speculate that Wagner mercenaries are guiding Traoré’s hand. The reality on the ground, however, is more complex. Traoré has been careful to avoid exclusively depending on any single foreign patron. He has reached out to Turkey for drones, and maintains dialogue with his coastal West African neighbors (who are Western allies) to keep trade flowing. And notably, he has insisted no foreign forces—Western or otherwise—will conduct combat on Burkinabè soil. The Russian trainers operate in a limited capacity, officials say, and serve at the pleasure of Burkina’s army command. In Traoré’s view, partnering with Russia or China is not ideological but transactional: France failed us, so we will try others, he essentially argues. This stance mirrors Trump’s transactional approach to foreign affairs, where longstanding friendships were second to “good deals” and national self-interest. For Traoré, expelling France and inviting new partners is simply a matter of making a better deal for Burkina Faso’s security and development.
One tangible outcome of Traoré’s eastward pivot is the formation of a nascent anti-imperialist bloc in West Africa. In 2023, Burkina Faso forged a security alliance with Mali and Niger, pledging mutual defense and joint strategies to rid the Sahel of both jihadists and foreign domination. All three countries, led by military men roughly the same age, have exchanged ambassadors and floated economic cooperation that skirts Western sanctions. There is even talk of these states coordinating a switch from the French-backed CFA franc currency to alternative monetary arrangements, possibly with backing from China. Such developments are watched with concern in European capitals, which fear a domino effect of former colonies turning away from their orbit. But in Ouagadougou’s streets, murals have appeared depicting Traoré alongside Mali’s Assimi Goïta and Guinea’s Mamadi Doumbouya (another young coup leader), with the slogan “Unity and Dignity” emblazoned beneath them. The message is clear: a new generation of African leaders is rising, unabashedly nationalist and uninterested in Western tutelage.
Populism with Integrity: MAGA Meets MBFGA (“Make Burkina Faso Great Again”)
To observers in Burkina Faso, the parallels between Ibrahim Traoré and Donald Trump’s populist surge in America are hard to miss. Both men rode to power on waves of discontent with the status quo, pledging to put their nation “first.” Both railed against global systems they felt were cheating their people—Trump took on free-trade deals and NATO spending, Traoré decries foreign mining contracts and French military “help.” Both bask in the adulation of a passionate base that views them as almost messianic fixers of a broken country. And crucially, both brand themselves as nationalist protectionists. Traoré’s policies of protecting local industries, renegotiating exploitative deals, and closing borders to outside interference echo Trump’s America First ethos, transposed to an African key. It’s as if Traoré is saying: “If the U.S. could have a Trump to reclaim its sovereignty, why can’t Burkina Faso?”
Yet there is a key difference: where Trump’s tenure was marred by questions of personal conduct and self-dealing, Traoré has so far maintained a Spartan personal ethic. He styles himself as a humble soldier carrying out the people’s mandate, not a billionaire outsider. He does not fire off late-night tweets; instead, he dons dusty boots and treks to far-flung villages to personally assess needs. When critics accuse him of dictatorial tendencies, Traoré’s supporters counter that unlike many populists, he hasn’t enriched himself one bit—“He still earns only a captain’s pay!” is a common refrain. And unlike demagogues who scapegoat minorities or immigrants, Traoré’s rhetoric, while fiery against “imperialists,” pointedly calls for unity among Burkinabè of all ethnicities and religions. In one of his first addresses, he emphasized that Christian and Muslim communities must stand together against division, a notable attempt to bridge religious gaps in a country with a mixed heritage.
Traoré’s “Make Burkina Faso Great Again” agenda is heavy on tangible development projects. In just two years, he has presided over the completion of a long-delayed new international airport, the establishment of two tomato-processing factories to spur agro-industry, and the creation of a National Cotton Processing Center to finally produce textiles from Burkina’s own cotton. Thousands of tractors and farm machines have been distributed to farmers in an effort to achieve what he calls “food sovereignty”. The results are beginning to show: last year Burkina Faso recorded nearly six million tons of cereal harvest, a major increase attributed in part to these programs. Each new factory opening or road project is accompanied by a rally where Traoré raises his fist and invokes national pride. These bread-and-butter accomplishments underpin his popularity far more than his anti-Western slogans.
It is here that Traoré’s nationalist protectionism diverges “in a good way.” To supporters, he is delivering the goods—quite literally paving roads and generating jobs—without the venality often associated with strongman regimes. “What they fear is not dictatorship. What they fear is independence,” reads one viral commentary defending Traoré. The young leader’s camp believes Western elites aren’t truly worried about a lack of elections or alleged rights abuses; they are worried that Traoré’s model might succeed. If Burkina Faso manages to improve living standards while thumbing its nose at the West, it would pose an existential question to the established international order: could countries long subjected to foreign paternalism actually thrive on a diet of self-reliance and aligned partnerships with the Global South? “Hands off AES!”: Solidarity protests sweep West Africa in defense of Burkina Faso and Captain Traoré
The New Anti-Imperialist Wave – and the West’s Real Fear
Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger have formalized their cooperation through the Alliance of Sahel States (AES), a bloc that explicitly rejects Western influence and ECOWAS authority. This alliance is experimenting with joint military forces, economic integration, and a pan-Africanist vision of governance, aiming to replace externally imposed models with locally driven solutions. Together they form a loose anti-imperialist wave, toppling old alliances and experimenting with new governance models. This has set off alarms in Western capitals not heard since the Cold War. France’s influence in its former colonies is evaporating; French businesses are losing mining concessions and utility contracts. The United States worries that vast swathes of resource-rich Africa are drifting into the orbit of China and Russia, who are eager to fill the vacuum. The geopolitical stakes of Traoré’s rise extend far beyond Burkina Faso’s borders. If he succeeds in stabilizing his country on his terms, it could inspire a domino effect of African nations charting more independent courses.
Western economists caution that Traoré’s protectionist policies—like rejecting IMF loans and Western aid—could backfire in the long run, starving Burkina Faso of capital and expertise. Security analysts note that despite his bravado, the jihadist threat remains severe; without Western intelligence or airpower, Burkina Faso’s war effort may struggle. There is quiet talk in corridors of power that “Burkina Faso will come back to us, once they realize the cost of going it alone.” In the meantime, sanctions and diplomatic pressure are tools being quietly employed to isolate Traoré’s regime. The regime-change playbook that Africa knows so well—economic strangulation, information warfare, even rumors of coups—loom in the background. In April, Burkina Faso’s government claimed to have foiled a foreign-backed plot to assassinate Traoré. The tension between Burkina Faso and the Western powers has never been higher in recent memory.
And yet, for all the external pressure, Traoré’s position at home appears secure. He has tapped into a deep well of national pride and frustration with past humiliations. As one Ouagadougou shopkeeper put it, “They call him a dictator, but we call him our liberator.” It’s a dramatic framing, perhaps, but it captures the prevailing sentiment that the West’s true grievance is not Ibrahim Traoré’s flaws, but his audacity. He has dared to assert that an African nation—one of the world’s poorest, no less—should control its own destiny, its own wealth, and its own alliances. In doing so, he mirrors Donald Trump’s populist revolt against globalist norms, yet adapts it to an African context striving for dignity after generations of exploitation.
As Traoré himself quipped in a recent speech, “If that makes me dangerous, then yes, I am dangerous—dangerous to those who wish to keep us dependent.” In the eyes of his people, Ibrahim Traoré, like Trump, is a nationalist protectionist fighting to “make his country great again.” The difference, they argue, is that Traoré is doing it for the right reasons—and that is precisely what keeps certain powerful critics awake at night.
Sources: The statements and events in this article are supported by reporting from Al Jazeera, Blackagendareport, the Washington Post, the Institute for Security Studies, and other public records and statements.
