Ibrahim Traore a New Light of Black Nationalism

Recently the consistent work of president Ibrahim Traore has began to gain viral attention across our Diaspora. Though these efforts are nothing new but relatable and reliable to Traore's promises upon taking his positionin2022. In these endeavors, the people of Burkina Faso are starting to rediscover their sense of self-identity and pride. Not only that, but other nation-states like Mali and Niger are also embracing this unity initiative, coming together under one banner of the Sahel Nation. By pooling their resources, they aim to strengthen the collective identity. As residents of Africa and throughout the diaspora, they are beginning to embrace unity and cultivate a shared vision.

Together, as a community, we are witnessing examples of individuals achieving self-sufficiency while nurturing a sense of collective identity—ultimately the tools for creating a genuine nation.

Ibrahim Traore rise to power portray a new highly needed sense of global Black Nationalism and Pan Africanist theology. Reincarnating the energy of those before him such as Burkina Faso own Thomas Sankara, Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, Patrice Lumumba and more. 

Long under European colonization the belief and practice of Black Self-sufficiency has been neglected regurgitating a unethical partnership with western European influences that take and harvest our resources as our people continuously lie in hunger and limited opportunities. 

Throughout our journey as a people, there comes a time when the veil must be lifted—when one man’s courage rekindles the embers of a sleeping fire. Such is the case in Burkina Faso, where President Ibrahim Traoré’s recent works are not just going viral—they’re sounding an ancestral drum of unity that we’ve long been told to forget, and For some of us, this is something we have long waited for. His actions are not just political—they are historical. They echo the long-held dream of a race, and a people, learning again to walk without begging permission. 

When Traoré stepped into leadership in 2022, it was not his intention to please outsiders or entertain foreign media. He walked into his role carrying the weight of generations who fought,  bled, and organized under the banners o. independence and dignity. In his rise, the people of Burkina Faso have found more than just a president—they have found a reflection of what it means to be a proud, African, and self-determined. His message is simple, yet revolutionary: we can govern ourselves, feed ourselves, defend ourselves. We do not need approval to be whole. 

The fire he has sparked is not isolated. From the dry winds of Niger to the proud rivers of Mali, the call to unite under the Sahel banner is growing louder. These aren’t just alliances—they are reawakenings. The land is beginning to remember its strength. They are pooling their resources not for war, but for independence. And that, in itself, is a battle against the idea that Black nations cannot exist without Western puppeteering. The people are no longer asking to be seen. They are seeing themselves—and they are standing taller because of it. 

Ibrahim Traoré is not the first to carry this flame. His steps follow giants—Thomas Sankara, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, Patrice Lumumba—each of whom dared to say what the world feared: that Black people, wherever we are, have the right to live in fullness and freedom. He is their echo, but also their evolution. The world thought Pan-Africanism died with coups, with bullets, with smear campaigns. But what we see now is that it never died. It was simply regrouping, in silence, waiting for a moment like this. 

     For too long, colonization was not just in the land, but in the mind. We were taught that partnership meant subordination, that progress meant selling what was ours to those who never valued us. Our gold, our oil, our rare earth minerals —all extracted while our children die of hunger and our elders sit jobless beneath the sun. Traoré’s vision dares to say no more. No more exporting wealth and importing struggle. No more listening to the same European script about governance, aid, and democracy while our people live the same suffering.  

     What Ibrahim Traoré represents is a return—not to the past, but to the principles our ancestors died for. Unity. Dignity. Self-defense. Black leadership that answers not to France or America, but to the soil it stands on. Or in the case of those here, the soils it bled on the land it built on, and the legacy we've created. He is not perfect, but he is proof that the spirit of resistance still lives. 

     It is time that we, too, begin to speak his name at dinner tables, in car rides, and under stars the way our ancestors once told stories of Garvey ships or Sankara’s speeches. Let his story be a reminder that Black history is not a chapter in someone else's book—it is the book. It is still being written. And the pen, at least for now, is back in Black hands. 

    Ibrahim Traoré was born in 1988—a birth year close to my own. And perhaps that’s what strikes me most. To see someone of our generation step so firmly into history with clarity and conviction—without waiting for permission from the so-called gatekeepers—is something to witness. Too often, the council of elders, whether intentionally or not, have dismissed our capacity to make sound, decisive choices for our people. They forget that wisdom isn’t just born fromage, but from deep study, courage, and vision. Traoré carries all three.

His leadership is not based in lofty speeches or rehearsed slogans—it’s in the  case of those here, the soils it bled on the land it built on, and the legacy we've created. He is not perfect, but he is proof that the spirit of resistance still lives. 

     It is time that we, too, begin to speak his name at dinner tables, in car rides, and under stars the way our ancestors once told stories of Garvey ships or Sankara’s speeches. Let his story be a reminder that Black history is not a chapter in someone else's book—it is the book. It is still being written. And the pen, at least for now, is back in Black hands. 

    Ibrahim Traoré was born in 1988—a birth year close to my own. And perhaps that’s what strikes me most. To see someone of our generation step so firmly into history with clarity and conviction—without waiting for permission from the so-called gatekeepers—is something to witness. Too often, the council of elders, whether intentionally or not, have dismissed our capacity to make sound, decisive choices for our people. They forget that wisdom isn’t just born fromage, but from deep study, courage, and vision. Traoré carries all three.

His leadership is not based in lofty speeches or rehearsed slogans—it’s in the bold actions that speak long before any microphone ever reaches his hands. It is clear he has done his homework. He has studied the movements of those who came before—every victory, every misstep, every betrayal. He understands what worked and what was weaponized against us. And in that understanding, he chose not just to lead, but to disrupt. To take back the reins from the Western-aligned placeholders who sat in office in 2022, smiling in suits while their nations bled, was not an easy act. It was a necessary one.

To reestablish communal principles, to prioritize the needs of the people over the profits of foreign powers, is a selfless act rooted in urgency. Traoré didn’t come to wait. He came to move. Because we no longer have the time to entertain those who tremble at the idea of Black independence. We have no more patience for those who can be bought with handshakes and donor dollars, or who shrink in fear when called to stand against colonial economics dressed up as aid.

What Traoré reminds us is that history doesn’t always wait for the majority. Sometimes, it begins with the few—the bold ones who refuse to look away. And in doing so, they show the rest of us what’s possible. Not in theory, but in practice. Not as a dream, but as a living, breathing example of what can happen when Black leadership commits to our people first.

We’re not witnessing a trend—we’re witnessing a turning point

Traoré’s leadership in Burkina Faso isn’t just marked by speeches or politics—it’s defined by a living, breathing example of Black pride and self-sufficiency. His efforts have planted seeds that are now beginning to bear fruit—not only in his homeland but across the Black world. But what strikes deeper than development projects or defiant policies is his unwavering stance on unity—a unity that reaches far beyond borders, language, or geography. It is the heartbeat of true Black Nationalism. 

He has extended more than just words; he has extended a hand. Through an open-door policy, he’s welcomed any nation willing to stand beside the Sahel States, to shake off the rusted chains of neocolonialism and build something rooted in dignity. Mali and Niger were the first to answer the call. Under the determined leadership of Assimi Goïta and Abdourahamane Tchiani, they

stepped forward—not as followers, but as brothers. Together, they are building a foundation on shared values: sovereignty, accountability, and the kind of Black unity we’ve prayed and marched for.

And while many African nations still cling to Western alliances through groups like ECOWAS, we now see the slow unraveling of that dependency. One by one, states are rethinking their allegiance to systems that have offered them little more than debt and delay. Instead, they are turning toward the Sahel—a space not of division, but of rebirth.

But there was one move from Traoré that touched my spirit in a way no headline ever could. It wasn’t just political—it was personal. His open invitation to Black people across the diaspora—those of us who are descendants of the enslaved ,the displaced, the Indigenous—offering us not just sympathy, but citizenship. He

called it what it is: a home. For those who’ve wandered for generations, who’ve longed for a tangible bridge back to the continent, that invitation speaks louder than centuries of silence. 

Yes, the process may still be tangled in red tape, and the lingering reach of Western influence still complicates the path—but the gesture itself? That is revolutionary. It reminds us that no matter how long they’ve tried to split us across oceans and erase our memory of one another, we are still one people. Still connected. Still heirs of the same struggle and the same glory.

In that gesture, Traoré didn’t just open borders—he opened hearts. He reminded us that we are not guests to our own inheritance. That our place in Africa is not conditional. It is ancestral. And through him, we are reminded that we are, indeed, the sons and daughters of Garvey. Not in theory—but in legacy.

This is not just politics.

This is prophecy being fulfilled

As it was for our ancestors, the work of liberation has never been without

danger. And President Ibrahim Traoré is no exception. The cost of truth, of

standing tall against empire, has made him a target time and time again.

Assassination attempts, slanderous media campaigns, and infiltrations from

foreign-backed agents all aimed at silencing the voice of a man who dares to

walk the road of his foremothers and forefathers. But each time, he has stood

firm—unmoved. Each time, he reminds us: he is walking in the footsteps of

giants.

He is not afraid to be militant when militancy is necessary. And he is not

standing alone. Strategic relationships with powers like Russia and China have opened access to advanced technologies, defense systems, and weaponry— tools that have fortified the Sahel against threats, and restored dignity to a people once left exposed. Attack drones now defend rural villages. Upgraded military systems ensure Burkina Faso does not just survive—but is prepared to strike back when threatened.

And yet, we know: no movement should rest on the shoulders of one man. Not even a man like Traoré. Just as Garvey and Malcolm X laid the foundation for generations to follow, we must now build upon the vision Traoré has reignited. A vision of a united diaspora—one not bound by borders, but by blood. By memory. By mission. It is on us to adopt that vision, adapt it, and apply it wherever we are.

This work starts with removing the foreign grip on our affairs, from policy to culture. It means restoring the sacred trust between our people. It means we stop seeing ourselves as less than any other race. Because the truth is—we are

not only enough, we are more than what we’ve been taught to believe. Our potential, when united, is limitless.

Traoré’s generation—our generation—is not too young to lead, and not too old to learn. This is our prime moment. To build structures that can be passed down. To prepare our children not just for jobs, but for nationhood. Let them inherit power—not just pain. Let them inherit purpose—not just poverty.

We’ve seen this before. After enslavement, we rebuilt. We formed towns like Tulsa, Rosewood, Wilmington—self-sufficient, thriving, unapologetically Black. That same spirit still lives in us. It must. Because the idea that we cannot own, govern, and protect our own is a lie. A lie born from colonization, and reinforced

by fear.

But today, a new wave is rising. A new sense of Black Nationalism. A new sense of pride. A new sense of possibility. But the mission remains the same: freedom by any means necessary.