The True Cost of Democracy: The Broken Promises and Lessons
- Kamogelo Theledi
- Sep 15, 2025
- 3 min read
Democracy in South Africa and Kenya was born in moments of extraordinary hope. Both countries gave the world iconic images of queues at polling stations and celebrations in the streets. Both moments were hailed as victories not just for their citizens but for the idea of democracy itself. In South Africa, 1994 was a turning point that ended decades of apartheid. The sight of Nelson Mandela casting his vote signalled that the long struggle for dignity, equality and freedom had finally borne fruit. Ordinary South Africans felt they could finally exhale. Liberation movements spoke directly to the people, and their vision aligned with the aspirations of a battered but determined nation.
Kenya had its own democratic watershed in 2002. After nearly four decades of rule by the Kenya African National Union, citizens peacefully removed a party that had become synonymous with authoritarianism and corruption. Mwai Kibaki’s victory through the National Rainbow Coalition renewed confidence that democracy could deliver reform, accountability, and national renewal. Yet more than twenty years after Kenya’s moment and more than thirty years after South Africa’s, both countries find themselves wrestling with the true cost of democracy.
South Africa’s democratic promise has been eroded by state capture, rising unemployment and persistent inequality. The unanswered questions around the deaths of Steve Biko and the Cradock Four remind us that justice remains unfinished business. The liberation leaders who once embodied sacrifice and struggle are now accused of becoming detached elites, beneficiaries of the systems they pledged to dismantle. Kenya’s story is not very different. The optimism of 2002 soon led to corruption scandals, ethnic politicking and contested elections. The violence of 2007 and 2008, which claimed more than 1,000 lives, remains a scar on the country’s conscience. While the 2010 Constitution promised sweeping reforms, uneven implementation has left many citizens disillusioned. Devolution has created new opportunities for local governance and entrenched new layers of corruption. Growth has not translated into equity, and the burden of debt and unemployment continues to weigh heavily on young people.
These failures are not unique to South Africa or Kenya. Across the continent, democracy often comes draped in red carpets for commemorations, while the silenced and forgotten are left to grapple with betrayal. The true cost of democracy is rarely acknowledged: the grief of families whose loved ones died in the struggle, the dashed hopes of citizens who still wait for accountability and the frustrations of a new generation that feels democracy has not delivered.
That frustration is reflected in the latest Africa Youth Survey. It found that 70 percent of young people believe their countries lack enough women leaders and role models. Support for democracy remains strong, with 69 percent of African youth saying democracy is always preferable to other systems of government, but this number has dropped from 76 percent in 2022. At the same time, the share of youth who say non-democratic systems can sometimes be preferable has jumped to 29 percent, up from just 18 percent three years ago.
Perhaps most telling, 60 percent of young Africans now say Western-style democracy is not suitable for the continent and believe countries must create their own systems. This number has risen steadily from 54 percent in 2022. For many, equality under the law remains the top pillar of democracy, followed closely by free and fair elections and freedom of speech. Encouragingly, two-thirds of African youth still believe their voices matter to their country’s leadership, and nearly half are registered to vote.
On this International Day of Democracy, it is worth asking hard questions. What good is democracy if it does not deliver accountability, justice and inclusion? What does democracy mean to those who remain silenced and forgotten? And how do we ensure that young Africans do not inherit a hollowed-out system that celebrates symbolism but ignores substance?
Democracy is not simply the right to cast a ballot. It is the right to expect leaders who honour the sacrifices that made those ballots possible. Its true measure is not found in anniversaries and ceremonies but in whether the most vulnerable can finally say they too have been heard.
