By Adonis Byemelwa
Four years have passed since the announcement of the death of Tanzania’s fifth president, John Pombe Magufuli. Yet, the precise moment of his passing remains a matter of perspective.
Was it on the day the government made it official, or had he already drawn his last breath days before? What is certain is that he is gone, leaving behind a legacy that continues to shape Tanzania’s political and economic landscape in ways both profound and controversial.
Magufuli was a leader of extremes, revered by his supporters and resented by his critics. There was little room for neutrality. He was a force of nature—commanding, unapologetic, and relentless in his pursuit of national transformation.
He took on the burdens of leadership with such intensity that, in the end, they may have consumed him. His devotion to development, infrastructure, and economic self-reliance was unwavering, yet the toll it took on him, politically and personally, was immense.
According to Bishop Benson Bagonza of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Tanzania (Karagwe Diocese), Magufuli’s presidency was both a gift and a warning. “Power sought him out, but when he embraced it, it became a heavy cross,” Bagonza reflects. “He carried it with conviction, but in the end, it broke him.”
One of Magufuli’s defining battles was against corruption. He struck fear into those who had long thrived on systemic exploitation, making enemies among the elite. He did not demand bribes or personal enrichment, yet his very stance against graft made him a threat.
His departure saw a swift resurgence of the very forces he had sought to dismantle. Those he had pushed to the margins quickly regrouped, reclaiming lost ground. “He scared them,” says Bagonza. “But fear alone does not eliminate corruption—it only forces it to hide and wait.”
His struggle was not just against corruption but also against resistance from within his government. He fought the opposition, the media, civil society, and digital activists, often isolating himself in the process.
Without strong institutional backing, even the fiercest warrior can be outflanked. Corruption, like water, finds a way to seep through the cracks, and in the end, even his inner circle is not immune. “He fought too many battles alone,” Bagonza laments. “A general without lieutenants will always be outmaneuvered.”
Faith played a central role in his leadership, with frequent invocations of God’s guidance. Yet, as Bagonza points out, faith alone does not guarantee a leader’s fate.
“God gave him power and authority, but He did not promise him longevity,” he notes. “The real question is not how long he ruled, but what he left behind.”
Magufuli’s rise to power was not one he initially pursued with fervor—it found him. But once in office, he fully embraced its responsibilities. His inner circle often championed his presidency with a zeal that at times eclipsed his own.
Now, those same voices have turned their praise to his successor, a cycle as predictable as the shifting tides of political loyalty. “Every president will be called ‘the best’—until the next one arrives,” Bagonza remarks dryly. “Loyalty in politics is like the morning mist. It disappears as soon as the sun rises.”
His death has created an unusual paradox: those who opposed him do not celebrate, and those who supported him do not find peace. His legacy is one of both admiration and unease, a contradiction that reflects the complexities of his rule.
The 2019 and 2020 elections, held under his leadership, remain contentious. It was not just a matter of votes being stolen; it was the integrity of the entire system that was questioned. The role of technology in shaping election outcomes has never been more crucial—or more concerning.
Even Magufuli himself may not have fully realized the extent to which electoral processes had been altered in his favor. “The greatest deception,” Bagonza suggests, “is when even the winner is unsure whether they truly won.”
Though Magufuli rests in his grave, his influence lingers. His family is set to play a symbolic role in upcoming national events, ensuring that his legacy is not easily erased. Chato, his hometown, remains a political focal point, a reminder that history rarely forgets those who leave an indelible mark.
The unfinished business of his presidency demands careful reflection. The democratic deficits of his tenure must be addressed. If they are ignored, the nation will bear responsibility for failing to correct them.
If they are confronted, Magufuli himself will face the judgment of history. Leadership is never absolute; it is defined by a nation’s willingness to learn from its past.
Bagonza’s reflections on Magufuli’s legacy have not been without controversy. His critics argue that he is overly critical of a leader who brought significant infrastructural and economic progress to Tanzania.
They accuse him of focusing too much on democratic shortcomings while ignoring tangible achievements. To them, his comments come across as an unnecessary moral postmortem, an attempt to challenge a leader who can no longer defend himself.
Others, however, see Bagonza’s analysis as necessary and courageous. They argue that Tanzania cannot afford to romanticize its past without confronting its flaws.
To them, his words are not an attack on Magufuli, but a challenge to future leaders: to govern with wisdom, to fight corruption collectively rather than alone, and to ensure that development does not come at the cost of democracy. “We owe it to ourselves,” Bagonza says, “to remember, to reflect, and to build a future that honors both the successes and the mistakes of our past.” The question remains: will Tanzania learn from Magufuli’s era, or will history simply repeat itself?