By Lineo Ramakhethoa | Opinion Columnist, The Morija Observer
It is a strange thing, the way countries forget. Or more precisely the way countries are encouraged to forget.
A decade ago, Lesotho’s streets were quiet for all the wrong reasons. Explosions rocked residential homes. Armed soldiers moved through the night. Senior police officials were hunted. Ordinary citizens whispered names they dared not say aloud. Mothers locked their children indoors. And the rest of us waited for a headline that would make sense of it all.
It never came. What came instead was silence. Official silence. Military silence. Political silence. The silence was so thick, it became normal.
And now, in the corridors of government and barracks alike, some of the very same voices that never spoke then are preparing to speak on behalf of the country again this time to lead it.
Whispers, Then Promotions
There is a particular cruelty in watching men who kept quiet during national trauma return years later, cleaned and decorated, as if leadership were a matter of tenure rather than memory.
We know who kept silent.
We remember who complied.
But the system remembers differently.
Those who raised concerns were sidelined.
Those who refused orders were passed over.
Those who cooperated with justice were labeled “trouble.”
Now, with the command of the Lesotho Defense Force set to change, it is no coincidence that the officer who refused to carry out an unlawful mission in 2014 remains outside the circle of chosen successors. His name is known in court transcripts. Not because he committed a crime, but because he helped expose one.
Why is he not leading?
The Civilian Cost
We speak often of military reform. Of “stability.” Of orderly transition. But these terms are bureaucratic blankets. They cover wounds.
What about the civilian families whose homes were bombed?
The children who still flinch at loud noises?
The officers’ wives who buried their husbands in silence?
What about the people who remember but were never asked?
Military leadership is not only about discipline and command. It is about memory. And accountability. And the courage to admit that the institution you serve once crossed the line. If Lesotho is serious about turning a page, then we cannot reward those who only started speaking once the storm had passed.
We must instead look at those who spoke when the storm was still overhead.
A Question of Principle
Among the senior officers still in service, there is one whose record remains unchallenged. One who refused an order that later led to national disgrace. One who told the truth not in a press conference, but in a courtroom. He is not flashy. He has not bought loyalty. He has never trended on social media. But perhaps that is exactly what makes him worthy of command.
Lesotho does not need another strongman. It does not need a powerbroker in uniform. It needs a soldier with memory and with the courage to ensure that what happened in 2014 can never happen again.
The army has its own procedures. The government has its own timelines. But the public has a right to demand this: That the next commander be a man who did not need history to be rewritten in order to fit inside it
