Blood on our streets, blood on our conscience

As murder rises in The Gambia, can a nation protect life while refusing to punish those who deliberately take it?

By Mohammed Jallow

The soul of a nation is measured not merely by the laws written in its statutes, but by the seriousness with which it protects human life. In The Gambia today, a dangerous and deeply uncomfortable national conversation is unfolding. It is a conversation many fear to have openly, yet one that cannot be avoided any longer. The issue is the death penalty, its revival, and whether this country has reached a point where the state must reconsider the ultimate punishment for the ultimate crime.

Across our communities, from Banjul to Serekunda, from Brikama to Farafenni, there is growing anxiety. Murder, violent attacks, armed robberies, mob justice, and senseless killings are becoming disturbingly frequent. Families sleep with fear. Communities increasingly live with uncertainty. The sanctity of human life appears under assault.

The question before us is simple but painful. What should happen to a person who deliberately murders another human being?

This is not about accidents. This is not about self defense. This is about intentional, premeditated, cold blooded murder. The deliberate taking of life.

What should justice look like?

There is a growing group of voices in The Gambia who oppose the death penalty under all circumstances. They argue that the state should never take life. They speak about human rights, reform, mercy, and international legal obligations. Their arguments deserve attention.

But there is another side to this debate, one that many ordinary Gambians feel in silence.

What about the victim?

What about the murdered child?

What about the father stabbed to death?

What about the mother strangled in her home?

What about the daughter whose life was cut short by a criminal with no conscience?

And what about the family left behind?

It is easy to speak about mercy when you are far removed from pain. It is easy to argue for abolition when murder is a statistic on paper. But if you woke up tomorrow and received a call that your wife, husband, child, brother, sister, or parent had been deliberately killed by someone, would your view remain unchanged?

Would you still speak only of mercy?

This is where morality, justice, and reality collide.

The Holy Quran speaks clearly about murder. Allah says in Surah Al Maidah 5:32:

“Whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption in the land it is as if he had slain mankind entirely.”

This verse establishes the enormous gravity of murder. To unjustly kill one innocent soul is to attack the very sanctity of humanity.

The Quran also speaks directly on justice in Surah Al Baqarah 2:178, where Allah prescribes Qisas, the principle of equal justice.

“O you who believe, prescribed for you is legal retribution for those murdered.”

This principle is not rooted in cruelty. It is rooted in justice, deterrence, and the protection of society.

The Bible is equally uncompromising on murder.

Exodus 20:13 declares.

“You shall not murder.”

The command is absolute.

Genesis 9:6 goes even further:

“Whoever sheds human blood, by humans shall their blood be shed, for in the image of God has God made mankind.”

The biblical principle is unmistakable. Human life is sacred. The deliberate taking of innocent life carries the highest moral weight.

Religious doctrine therefore does not trivialise murder. It treats murder as among the gravest offenses against God and humanity.

This brings us to The Gambia’s history.

The death penalty has long been part of our legal architecture. While The Gambia’s democratic government abolished the death penalty in April 1993, the military regime of former President Yahya Jammeh restored it in 1995 through the Death Penalty Restoration Act. The justification at the time was direct. The military government argued that rising murder and violent crime required severe punishment to protect citizens.

Whether one agrees or disagrees with the regime’s methods, the rationale was clear. The state exists first to protect innocent life.

The most infamous moment came in August 2012.

Former President Yahya Jammeh ended a 31 year execution moratorium by ordering the execution of nine death row inmates by firing squad at Mile II Central Prison. The nation was shocked.

The executions triggered domestic and international condemnation. Human rights organizations strongly criticized the action. Many Gambians were horrified by the secrecy and speed.

Yet others quietly supported the move, believing the state was sending a powerful message to violent criminals.

Today, under President Adama Barrow, the country maintains an official moratorium on executions established in 2018. The Gambia also acceded to the Second Optional Protocol to the ICCPR, signaling movement toward abolition.

However, the legal contradiction remains.

Courts still hand down death sentences for premeditated murder, but those sentences are commuted to life imprisonment. In effect, the death penalty exists in law but not in practice.

This contradiction raises difficult questions.

If the law exists but will never be implemented, what message does that send to criminals?

Does it strengthen deterrence or weaken it?

The first person legally executed in post independence Gambia for murder was Mustapha Danso, a military constable. On September 30, 1981, he was hanged at Mile II Central Prison after being convicted of murdering Emmanuel Mahoney, deputy commander of the paramilitary field force.

The state acted decisively.

Justice, at that time, carried irreversible consequences.

Fast forward to today.

The National Assembly is increasingly becoming a battleground for legal and moral arguments around capital punishment, justice reform, and criminal law. Human rights advocates continue lobbying for full abolition. Civil society groups push government to completely remove death penalty provisions from our statutes.

At the same time, ordinary Gambians are becoming increasingly frustrated by violent crimes and repeated killings.

Public anger rises whenever a murder case surfaces.

People are asking hard questions.

Why are criminals becoming bolder?

Why are killings increasing?

Why do some murderers seem fearless?

The ugly consequence of this frustration is the rise of mob justice.

This is one of the most dangerous developments in The Gambia.

When citizens lose confidence in the justice system, they begin taking the law into their own hands. Suspects are beaten publicly. Crowds act as judge, jury, and executioner.

This is lawlessness.

It is also a symptom of a deeper crisis.

When people believe the state cannot adequately protect them or punish violent criminals, they begin creating their own forms of justice.

That should terrify everyone.

A weak justice system breeds chaos.

The government must confront this reality honestly.

This debate must not be reduced to emotional slogans or elite legal theory. It must be rooted in practical reality. A state has one fundamental duty above all else. Protect life.

That means protecting innocent citizens from killers.

This requires urgent action from the government of The Gambia.

First, law enforcement capacity must be significantly strengthened. The Gambia Police Force needs better resources, modern forensic capability, improved intelligence gathering, and faster investigative systems.

Second, murder trials must be expedited. Justice delayed creates public anger and erodes trust.

Third, sentencing policy must become clear and consistent. The government cannot maintain legal ambiguity forever. It must decide whether to fully abolish the death penalty or restore its enforceability in the most extreme cases of premeditated murder.

Fourth, there must be stronger community surveillance, neighborhood security systems, and crime prevention strategies across urban centers and rural settlements.

Fifth, youth unemployment, drug abuse, and social decay must be aggressively addressed. Crime prevention begins long before the courtroom.

The government must listen to the people.

Not international pressure alone.

Not activist pressure alone.

The people.

The ordinary Gambian mother.

The struggling father.

The fearful market woman.

The worried taxi driver.

The vulnerable student.

Their safety matters.

Their lives matter.

The right to life belongs first to innocent citizens, not to those who deliberately destroy life.

This is where government leadership matters most.

President Adama Barrow and the National Assembly must engage this issue with courage and seriousness. They must confront the painful truth that crime is not theoretical. It is real. It leaves bodies, funerals, widows, and orphans.

No civilised nation should glorify death.

But no serious nation should trivialise murder either.

Justice must be firm. Justice must be credible. Justice must deter.

The message to killers must be unmistakable.

If you deliberately take innocent life, the full force of the law will meet you.

The future of this debate will shape the moral direction of The Gambia.

Will we continue with legal ambiguity?

Will we abolish capital punishment completely?

Or will we restore it for the most heinous crimes?

Whatever path is chosen, one truth must remain central.

Human life is sacred.

The murder of innocent people cannot become normalized.

The blood on our streets must not become the background noise of national life.

A nation that fails to protect its innocent citizens risks losing its moral authority.

The Gambia now stands at a defining crossroads.

The choice we make will determine whether justice remains a living force or becomes an empty promise.

And history will judge us not by what we said in debates, but by how well we protected the lives of the innocent.