By Alagi Yorro Jallow Dangerous speech is not merely an outburst; it is a warning sign of democratic fragility. When a supporter of a major political party allegedly calls for arson, violence, and national destruction, and institutions respond with silence, the threat to democracy becomes structural. This editorial examines how perilous speech, institutional hesitation, and selective outrage create conditions for instability in The Gambia, and why moral courage is essential for safeguarding the Republic. Democracies do not collapse only through coups or constitutional manipulation. They also collapse through speech that normalizes violence, delegitimizes institutions, and transforms political competition into existential warfare. The viral video of a United Democratic Party supporter, Binta Dibba, allegedly calling for arson attacks on the homes of Deputy Speaker Seedy Njie and IEC Chairman Joe Colley, and urging that “the country be burnt” if the UDP loses the December presidential election, is not merely inflammatory. It is a symptom of deeper democratic fragility. Yet the greater danger was not the video. It was the silence that followed. The UDP did not condemn the remarks. The National Human Rights Commission did not condemn the remarks. Civil society organisations did not condemn the remarks. Only one voice broke the silence: Madi Jobarteh. His intervention was not simply a reaction; it was an act of courage and democratic guardianship. He reminded the nation that political parties bear responsibility for the conduct of those who speak in their name, whether or not they hold membership cards. He reminded us that dangerous speech must be confronted before it metastasizes into violence. His voice stood alone, and that loneliness is the real crisis. Dangerous speech is not ordinary political rhetoric. It is speech that creates conditions for violence by framing opponents as enemies, institutions as illegitimate, and elections as do-or-die battles. When a supporter calls for homes to be seized, officials to be attacked, and the country to be burnt, she is not expressing frustration; she is articulating a blueprint for political violence. In fragile democracies, such speech is not merely reckless; it is predictive. It signals that some supporters are prepared to abandon democratic norms if outcomes do not favour them. It signals that political identity has become more important than national stability. It signals that violence is becoming an acceptable vocabulary of political grievance. But dangerous speech becomes truly dangerous only when institutions fail to respond. The UDP’s silence is not a neutral act. It is a political choice. And political choices have consequences. When a party refuses to condemn dangerous speech from its own supporters, it sends a message that loyalty outweighs responsibility. It signals that violence is tolerable if it comes from within the political family. It signals that moral courage is conditional. The National Human Rights Commission’s silence is equally troubling. The NHRC has been vocal in the past when government officials or ruling party supporters crossed the line. Yet in this case, where a supporter allegedly called for arson, violence, and national destruction, the Commission remained mute. Silence from an institution tasked with safeguarding rights is not neutrality; it is abdication. Civil society’s silence reveals a deeper malaise: the politicisation of moral outrage. Organisations that routinely issue statements on political tensions, hate speech, and electoral conduct suddenly found their voices missing. When civil society becomes selective in its interventions, it loses credibility and becomes indistinguishable from partisan actors. In this landscape of silence, Madi Jobarteh’s voice stands out not because it is loud, but because it is lonely. He did what institutions should have done. He did what political parties should have done. He did what civil society should have done. He did what the guardians of democracy should have done. He spoke. Silence in moments of dangerous speech is rarely accidental. It is strategic. It is rooted in political calculation, fear of alienating supporters, and the belief that condemnation may weaken electoral momentum. But this calculation is short-sighted. It trades long-term democratic stability for short-term political convenience. Political parties often fear that condemning their own supporters will be interpreted as weakness. They fear internal backlash. They fear losing the loyalty of the most vocal segments of their base. But democracies are not protected by appeasing extremists; they are protected by isolating them. Civil society’s silence is often rooted in political alignment. Organisations that lean toward certain parties may hesitate to condemn their own side. But civil society loses its moral authority when it becomes selective. Its legitimacy depends on consistency. The NHRC’s silence may be rooted in institutional caution, political pressure, or fear of appearing partisan. But human rights institutions do not exist to be cautious; they exist to be courageous. The Gambia is a young democracy emerging from two decades of authoritarian rule. The wounds of the past are still fresh. The institutions of the present are still fragile. The culture of political competition is still evolving. In such a context, dangerous speech is not merely reckless — it is destabilising. The memory of political violence is not distant. The fear of democratic backsliding is not imaginary. The stakes of elections are high because institutions are still consolidating. Silence becomes complicity. The Gambia cannot afford selective outrage, partisan silence, moral hesitation, or rhetoric that threatens peace. Madi Jobarteh’s intervention was not simply a condemnation; it was a reminder of what democratic guardianship looks like. He did not speak because it was easy. He spoke because it was necessary. He spoke because silence would have been dangerous. He spoke because democracies depend on individuals who refuse to normalise violence. His voice matters because it breaks the illusion that dangerous speech is harmless. It challenges political parties to take responsibility. It forces civil society to confront its own inconsistencies. It reminds institutions that silence has consequences. In fragile democracies, moral courage is not optional. It is essential. Dangerous speech is a warning. Silence is a choice. Together, they create conditions for democratic fragility. The Gambia must decide whether it will confront dangerous speech wherever it emerges or allow silence to become a shield for extremism. Political parties must condemn violence unequivocally, consistently, and immediately. Civil society must reclaim its moral courage. The NHRC must rediscover its voice. Citizens must refuse to normalise rhetoric that threatens peace. Democracy is not defended by silence. It is defended by the courage—the courage to speak when speaking is inconvenient. In this moment, only one person showed that courage. The rest must follow. Post navigation Dangerous Speech Alert: UDP Supporter Calls for Election Violence Special Retirement Tribute!!