CSO’s Demand Action…
By Mackie M. Jalloh
The well of Parliament is supposed to be where the nation’s better instincts prevail—where representatives disagree with discipline, and dissent is dressed in decorum. What unfolded during the last State Opening of Parliament did the opposite. A chamber that should teach our children civics became a stage for a coarse sing-along, with Members of Parliament and party supporters echoing an “immoral song” aimed at Sierra Leone’s First Lady, Mrs. Fatima Maada Bio. It was shaming, not of the woman targeted, but of the institution that permitted it.
In the days since, the National Consortium on Public Accountability (NCPA) has put words to what many Sierra Leoneans felt in their gut: this is not politics; it is a public disgrace. The group is demanding a formal, public apology from the Speaker of Parliament, Hon. Sengepoh Thomas, and urging President Julius Maada Bio to act decisively to protect the dignity of the Presidency and set a line that cannot be crossed.
At a press conference on Fort Street in Freetown, NCPA’s Daniel S. Pewa made the point that matters most: an affront to the First Lady is, by extension, an affront to the President and to the office he occupies. If Parliament cannot model basic respect for the First Family at a ceremonial state occasion, why should any citizen expect evenhandedness or restraint from that House when the stakes are higher?
Journalist, blogger, and activist JB Boima called the incident what it was— “uncivilized, unparliamentary, and totally uncalled for.” His warning landed with force: when Parliament normalizes mockery as a tactic, it sets a precedent that will outlast any single controversy. He insisted the Speaker must apologize unconditionally—not only to the First Lady but to the people of Sierra Leone—and pressed the ruling SLPP to investigate and, where necessary, sanction those responsible.
The critique is not merely moral; it is institutional. Parliament is the country’s most visible classroom in civic behavior. If our children look to the well and see jeers instead of judgment, chants instead of checks and balances, what do we expect them to emulate?
Civil society member David Hindolo Conteh widened the lens: Parliament’s job is to wrestle with the problems that define daily life—the kush epidemic ravaging neighborhoods, crumbling roads, a punishing cost of living, erratic electricity. These are the debates worthy of the red benches. Instead, lawmakers and supporters chose to punch down at a woman at the center of public life, singing “the coco roast” as if national honor were a chorus line. Conteh’s conclusion was bracing: the people are not happy, and the President must “stand tall” to defend his wife and protect the dignity of the state.
That critique is not partisan; it is patriotic. When Parliament abandons seriousness, it abandons the people’s business.
Media personality and political analyst Melvin Tejan Mansaray drew a critical distinction that too many miss: the Office of the First Lady is not a constitutional office, but it is undeniably a public one. It partners with ministries, engages international organizations, and represents the face of the country in countless forums. That status alone commands baseline respect, especially in the nation’s premier democratic theater.
Mansaray also referenced constitutional expectations around civic duties and public order, noting that nothing in law mandates Sierra Leoneans to stand at a precise moment in Parliament, and even if the First Lady had remained seated at some point, that would not be a criminal offense. In practice, he observed, Mrs. Bio has consistently shown proper decorum during State Openings—hardly the record of someone courting disrespect. To single her out in song because of an alleged isolated moment is not accountability; it is scapegoating.
Attorney and child rights advocate Mohamed Galimah underscored what many women saw immediately: this was not only about propriety, it was about power. In a country still struggling to reach and sustain the 30% representation benchmark for women, using a national ceremony to humiliate a prominent woman sends a chilling message. We cannot claim to uplift girls and women on paper while tearing down a First Lady in practice. It is hypocrisy to celebrate female leadership in one breath and weaponize gender in the next.
Mrs. Fatima Bio’s public record—on campaigns for girls’ education, child protection, and health—does not grant her immunity from public scrutiny. But scrutiny is not the same as ridicule, and accountability is not an invitation to mob behavior. One advances institutions; the other corrodes them.
Apologies in public life are not mere words; they are instruments of repair. The Speaker of Parliament presides not only over procedure but over tone. Hon. Sengepoh Thomas’s apology would not be a partisan concession; it would be an affirmation that the House understands its duty to model respect even when tempers flare. Without that acknowledgment, the stain remains—and the permission structure for future disorder hardens.
Ahmed Yillah, NCPA’s Executive Secretary, conveyed the consortium’s official position succinctly: what happened in Parliament is an attack on the President and the Presidency. That is not melodrama; it’s constitutional hygiene. The authority of the executive, legislative, and judicial branches rests on mutual restraint. When one branch treats another’s representatives with contempt, it unthreads the compact that holds democratic life together.
Words must be matched with deeds. Here is the bare minimum of what accountability should involve:
1. A formal public apology from the Speaker on behalf of the House, delivered in the chamber and recorded in the Parliamentary Hansard.
2. An internal investigation to identify MPs or staff who instigated or amplified the chant, followed by proportionate disciplinary measures under Standing Orders.
3. Clear guidance for gallery conduct so that party supporters and visitors understand acceptable behavior during solemn state occasions.
4. Refresher training on parliamentary ethics and gender sensitivity for MPs and staff, with an emphasis on the duty to protect the dignity of all guests—especially those associated with the Presidency.
5. A cross-party statement reaffirming Parliament’s focus on priority national issues—kush, infrastructure, cost-of-living pressures, and reliable power—signaling a pivot back to the people’s work.
None of this chills free speech or neuters robust oversight. Lawmakers can question the First Lady’s initiatives, budgets, partnerships, or public statements in committee or on the floor. What they cannot do, without diminishing the office they hold, is indulge in mob mockery during a state ceremony.
NCPA has urged President Bio to act, and that call is well-placed. The President should defend his wife, yes—but more importantly, he must defend the dignity of the Presidency and the standards of our public square. He can do so without encroaching on legislative independence: by requesting a report from the Speaker, by expressing confidence in Parliament’s capacity to self-correct, and by reminding the nation that courage in leadership begins with courtesy. Swift, measured engagement from State House would set a national tone: Sierra Leone’s politics can be fierce, but it will not be feral.
This incident can shrink us or sharpen us. It can be remembered as the day Parliament chose a chant over character, or as the catalyst that forced a reset in our democratic manners. The First Lady deserves an apology—not because she is beyond criticism, but because she is owed the same dignity every Sierra Leonean is owed, multiplied by the ceremonial weight of her role and the solemnity of the moment in which the insult was delivered.
Parliament must choose what kind of mirror it wants to be for the nation. If it reflects our worst impulses, it will legitimize them. If it reflects our best, it will elevate us. An apology is the first, necessary step toward the latter.
Until then, the song lingers—not as melody, but as warning.
