From Burundi to Washington: Echoes of Authoritarian Drift

The forced deportations of immigrants without due process, violent crackdowns against protesters in Los Angeles, ICE raids, and the deployment of military forces in Washington, D.C. are chilling reminders of the authoritarian playbook. For those of us who have lived through repression, these are unmistakable warning signs. Credit: Shutterstock

I moved to the United States in 2012 with great reluctance. I wasn’t sure why I should uproot myself to a country thousands of miles away from my hometown. The move reminded me of a childhood I hadn’t fully embraced—growing up in faraway countries like Russia and China, making constant adjustments, encountering racism, and forging and losing friendships along the way. I had promised myself I would not impose the same cycle on my children.

But the U.S. turned out to be different. It wasn’t China, and it wasn’t Russia. It was, and still is, a mosaic of cultures, languages, and nationalities unlike anywhere else. Most importantly, it was a country rooted in the fierce belief that people are free to speak, dissent, and live as they choose.

That bedrock principle, however, is eroding. The U.S. is changing in ways eerily reminiscent of my home country, Burundi. In 2015, when President Pierre Nkurunziza defied the constitution to seek a third term, peaceful protesters were met with bullets, political opponents were silenced, and journalists fled. Many of those journalists found refuge in the U.S.—at Voice of America, for instance—only to lose their livelihoods recently when the government shuttered most of VOA’s Africa department.

The dismantling of USAID has left social workers and health experts reeling, their efforts to uplift millions crushed overnight. Yes, the U.S. has long had a complicated role abroad. I grew up hearing about its support for abusive leaders like Mobutu in what was then Zaire and its meddling in countries’ internal affairs in the name of fighting communism.

But those contradictions always existed alongside a powerful counterforce: freedom in journalism and academia, and activism that relentlessly exposed America’s own wrongs. Writers like Alfred McCoy and critics like Noam Chomsky built careers by holding the U.S. government accountable—something unthinkable in today’s Burundi, Moscow, or Beijing.

That commitment to truth and liberty was precisely why, when Burundian security forces fired live bullets into protesters, students instinctively ran to the U.S. embassy—not the Russian or Chinese one. For decades, U.S. soft power was rooted in the promise of human rights and democracy.

Today, that promise is faltering. The forced deportations of immigrants without due process, violent crackdowns on protesters in Los Angeles, ICE raids, and the deployment of military forces in Washington, D.C. are chilling reminders of the authoritarian playbook.

For those of us who have lived through repression, these are unmistakable warning signs. Dictatorships do not emerge overnight; they take root when fear replaces voice, when courts surrender independence, and when social movements fracture. Above all, they thrive on apathy and isolation.

Defending human rights and democratic principles is never easy—as my organization, Human Rights Watch, knows too well. But it is the only way to safeguard the dignity of the vulnerable and the cohesion of our shared humanity. So if Washington retreats from that responsibility, who will step up?

The answer lies, in part, with African governments. This is the moment for the continent to claim leadership, to strengthen multilateralism, and to shape a global order rooted not in interventionism or self-interest, but in Ubuntu—a vision of shared humanity, community, and interdependence.

Many Africans applauded when South Africa took Israel to the International Court of Justice, alleging that Israel violated the Genocide Convention in Gaza. That same courage is needed in Sudan, eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, and the Sahel, where civilians face atrocities while the U.S. limits itself to mineral deals or silence.

“African solutions to African problems” cannot remain a slogan. It needs to become a policy agenda with concrete commitments. That means building stronger regional institutions with the authority and resources to act, supporting accountability mechanisms like the African Court and the International Criminal Court, and investing in early warning systems that can prevent crises before they spiral into atrocities.

It also means protecting independent media and civil society so that governments are held accountable at home as well as abroad. And it means engaging at the United Nations and other multilateral forums not just as individual states, but as coordinated blocs capable of shaping outcomes.

The U.S. retreat is not simply a void; it is a test. If African leaders want to claim greater influence in the global order, they must demonstrate it through pragmatic policies that protect civilians, strengthen the rule of law, and prioritise human dignity over mineral contracts and short-term business deals. This is less about replacing America and more about safeguarding Africa’s future on its own terms.