Cotonou throbbed with music and light, a dazzling festival orchestrated by the President’s son intended to deliver a few hours of collective joy to Benin. But beneath the vibrant surface, a stark reality persisted – a nation grappling with instability and hardship.
The timing of this spectacle wasn’t accidental. As public discourse narrowed and economic struggles deepened, the festival wasn’t simply entertainment; it was a carefully constructed narrative, a deliberate attempt to shape perception.
Benin’s official statistics paint a misleading picture. Despite glossy reports, the country faces alarming levels of food insecurity, with a significant portion of the population lacking access to adequate nutrition. The World Food Programme reveals a grim truth: widespread chronic malnutrition and entrenched poverty.
Adding to the tension, Benin’s political stability, once a regional strength, is fracturing. A recent attempted coup in December exposed vulnerabilities, with rebels attacking key government installations before being subdued. Simultaneously, concerns are mounting over dwindling civil liberties and the suppression of dissent.
This situation echoes a powerful observation by Karl Marx, who described religion as “the opium of the people.” He didn’t condemn belief itself, but recognized its capacity to soothe suffering, often at the expense of addressing its root causes – poverty, exploitation, and political oppression.
Now, that role of distraction can be found elsewhere: in grand spectacles, mass entertainment, and official culture. When celebration silences anger, when music replaces debate, and emotion eclipses justice, entertainment functions as a modern-day opium, numbing the population to its true plight.
The consequences are tragically real for those who dare to challenge the status quo. Reckya Madougou, a former minister and presidential candidate, languishes in prison after a politically motivated life sentence. Professor Joël Aïvo, a constitutional law expert, faces a decade behind bars for “undermining state security.”
Journalists like Hugues Comlan Sossoukpè have been abducted and detained, accused of inciting rebellion. Cyber-activist Steve Amoussou was arrested under questionable circumstances, and Candide Azannaï, a former opposition minister, is now implicated in the recent coup attempt. These are not isolated incidents, but a pattern of repression.
In a society where expressing political or intellectual views can lead to imprisonment or worse, the dazzling displays of music and light become symbolic acts – demanding attention, neutralizing tensions, and pushing vital conversations offstage.
Spectacle isn’t inherently anti-democratic; culture is essential for a free society. But when it’s used to mask hunger, deflect outrage, and stifle crucial political discussion, it transforms into a tool of ideological sedation. It becomes a sop to the people, not a catalyst for change.
A nation captivated by illusions, rather than truth and justice, risks sacrificing its citizens on the altar of image. The crucial question isn’t whether festivals should exist, but whether public life still allows for honest dialogue, accountability, and the right to dissent. When culture supplants politics, the most vulnerable suffer twice – first from hunger, then from silence.
