On June 16, Africa observed the Day of the African Child. This year’s theme focused on universal access to water, sanitation, and hygiene—a date traditionally marked by summits and promises of a brighter future. In Togo, government representatives will likely deliver soothing speeches. Yet behind the official rhetoric, the reality on the ground is harsh: to maintain its grip on the country, the Lomé administration has too often resorted to armed force, striking innocent children. This is a tragic litany of broken promises and vanished investigations.
From Soweto to Lomé: the shield of child killing
The Day of the African Child was originally established to honor the students of Soweto who, in 1976, rose up to demand quality education and reject the imposition of Afrikaans. While many states have since worked to realize those rights, Togo’s system appears to have turned the repression of youth into a final political bulwark.
Protecting a child involves more than declarations of intent. It means guaranteeing the right to be born and to grow up with dignity. In facilities that serve as hospitals in Togo, mothers still give birth on the floor. Due to lack of resources and infrastructure, maternity wards are overcrowded, sometimes resembling newborn camps where life hangs by a thread.
While subregional and international institutions renew their short-, medium-, and long-term commitments to children, Lomé pretends to follow suit. But any protest by young people against these systematic violations of their fundamental rights is met with live ammunition. Even those who are not protesting, simply out seeking a livelihood, end up on the list of victims.
Jacques Koutoglo: the drowning theory versus a family’s grief
Nearly a year has passed since the family of Jacques Koutoglo began demanding justice. The 15-year-old middle school student was beaten to death and then thrown into the Bè lagoon in Lomé during the first demonstrations of June 2025. That afternoon, the teenager was not marching; he was simply looking for food.
In response to the tragedy, Pacôme Adjourouvi, then minister of human rights, initially publicly supported the theory of a “natural drowning” amid the unrest, before backtracking and announcing an official investigation to assign responsibility. Since then? Nothing. The minister left his post without ever releasing the investigation’s findings. The government’s refusal to authorize a memorial mass for the young Jacques’s soul only deepens the sense of injustice for an inconsolable family.
Joseph Zoumekey and Rachad Maman: silence as the only answer
In 2017, the fate of 13-year-old Joseph Zoumekey already showed that repression spared no age. Sent by his mother to buy spices in the Bè-Kpota neighborhood, the child was struck by a live bullet. It took until 2018 and the conclusions of an independent autopsy by Amnesty International experts to confirm that the cause of death was indeed a gunshot wound, contradicting the official version. Despite repeated calls by the NGO to bring the perpetrators to justice, Faure Gnassingbé’s administration remained silent.
The same year, in Bafilo, 14-year-old Rachad Maman suffered a similar fate while walking beside his father to demand democratic reforms. Hit by gunfire aimed at the group of demonstrators, his case sparked international outrage, materialized in a petition by Amnesty International signed by thousands worldwide. The demand was simple: shed light on the matter and prosecute those responsible. That request too went unanswered.
Anselme Sinandaré and Douti Sinalengue: north and south united in grief
Further north, in Dapaong, the memory of Anselme Sinandaré (12) and Douti Sinalengue (21) remains vivid. In 2012, during a peaceful student protest demanding the presence of teachers in classrooms, both were shot dead. More than a decade later, no official procedure has identified the shooters within the security forces.
From the far north to the coast, the observation emerges with painful consistency: the lives of children seem to count for little against the imperatives of power retention. Dozens of families are thus stripped of their future, seeing their offspring—tomorrow’s leaders—sacrificed with impunity. This dynamic of repression persists and spans generations since the beginning of the Gnassingbé family’s governance.
Yet Togo is indeed a signatory to the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child, ratified on May 5, 1998. By leaving these crimes unpunished and these investigations without follow-up, the authorities in Lomé send a clear signal to the international community: respect for treaties ends where the demands of their political survival begin.
