In the sun-baked heart of Sukumaland, northwestern Tanzania, where the vast plains stretch toward Lake Victoria’s shimmering horizon, a seismic shift unfolded in September 2021.
Chief Hangaya, a woman of coastal Zanzibari descent, was installed as the paramount chief of the Sukuma people – the largest ethnic group in Tanzania, numbering over 10 million and comprising 16 per cent of the nation’s population.
This was no mere ceremonial handover; it was a rupture in the fabric of a 200-year-old patrilineal tradition. For generations, the ntemi – the Sukuma chief – has been a male figure, selected through matrilineal succession from the previous chief’s sister’s lineage, embodying the clan’s ancestral wisdom, ritual authority, and dispute resolution.
The Sukuma chiefdoms, once autonomous polities federated under British indirect rule and later integrated into post-independence Tanzania, have always drawn their leaders from within the ethnic fold, ensuring cultural continuity and communal trust.
Hangaya’s ascension – none other than President Samia Suluhu Hassan herself, then freshly ascended to the presidency following John Magufuli’s death six months prior – raises profound implications for Sukuma society and Tanzanian democracy at large.
As a non-Sukuma – her roots tied to the Swahili coastal elite rather than the inland agrarian rhythms of millet fields and cattle herds – she arrived as an outsider in a polity where identity is inseparable from land and lineage. The Sukuma, Bantu speakers closely related to the Nyamwezi, have long navigated a mixed economy of subsistence farming and pastoralism, their social order reinforced by hereditary councils and ritual associations.
Bestowing chieftaincy on a Zanzibari woman challenged this: it risked alienating clan elders who view the ntemi as a spiritual mediator with the ancestors, not a political appointee. Early murmurs from Busega and Shinyanga districts suggested simmering resentment – women have historically held complementary roles, such as the ngole (queen mother), but never the throne itself.
This gender inversion could fracture communal cohesion, sparking intra-ethnic tensions or even localised revolts, as seen in historical pushback against colonial impositions.
Politicisation of tradition
Yet, the deeper peril lay in the politicisation of tradition, especially in the wake of Magufuli’s passing. As a Sukuma native, Magufuli had embodied ethnic pride for the group, channelling patronage to the Lake Zone’s vote-rich strongholds through infrastructure, like the US$10 billion Bagamoyo port project and agricultural subsidies that bolstered cotton and rice yields – key to the region’s 20 per cent contribution to national GDP.
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His death in March 2021 created a power vacuum, exacerbating socioeconomic vulnerabilities: youth unemployment hovered at 15 per cent amid climate-induced droughts eroding pastoral livelihoods, while CCM’s dominance risked fracturing without a unifying figure. Samia’s installation as Chief Hangaya in September 2021 was a pragmatic gesture to bridge this void.
Socioeconomically, it aimed to sustain patronage flows – promising investments in irrigation and tourism to integrate Sukumaland into her globalisation agenda – while neutralising potential ethnic backlash from Magufuli’s allies, who dominated regional party structures.
By adopting the ntemi title, Samia signalled continuity in resource allocation, averting economic disruptions that could spike food insecurity in a region where 40 per cent live below the poverty line. Practically, this co-optation insulated CCM’s rural machine, where chiefs mediate land disputes and mobilise voters, ensuring the party’s 80 per cent parliamentary hold in the zone.
This gesture rippled across national expectations, fostering a veneer of unity in a multi-ethnic federation long wary of tribalism. Tanzania’s post-Nyerere ethos emphasises “Ujamaa” collectivism over ethnic favouritism, with Sukuma influence – despite their size – tempered by cross-ethnic alliances.
Samia’s move projected inclusivity: a Zanzibari woman “adopting” the mainland’s largest group symbolised national cohesion, raising hopes for equitable development amid her early reforms like lifting COVID-19 denialism and easing media curbs.
Yet, it also bred cynicism, as tokenistic symbolism clashed with expectations of substantive devolution – such as Zanzibar-mainland fiscal equity or youth job quotas – potentially fuelling perceptions of elite capture over grassroots empowerment.
Nationally, it set a precedent for using tradition to legitimise outsider rule, but at the cost of authenticity, eroding trust in institutions and amplifying calls for constitutional reforms to decentralise power.
Electoral cataclysm
This cultural tremor, early in Samia’s tenure, foreshadowed the electoral cataclysm that engulfed Tanzania in late October 2025. The general elections, meant to affirm her leadership, devolved into a tableau of repression, culminating in a disputed landslide where she claimed 97.66 per cent of the vote.
The casualties – human and institutional – were staggering. Young protesters, many CHADEMA supporters in their 20s, clashed with security forces in Dar es Salaam, Mbeya, and Tunduma, leaving several dead, including abductions and maimings.
Curfews choked urban life, universities delayed reopenings, and an internet blackout silenced dissent, evoking Magufuli’s authoritarian playbook. The prelude was grim: CHADEMA, Tanzania’s main opposition, was disqualified in April for refusing to sign a contentious code of conduct, a move decried as procedural sabotage.
Its charismatic chairperson, Tundu Lissu – exiled survivor of a 2017 assassination attempt and 2020 presidential runner-up – languished in solitary confinement on treason charges for demanding reforms. ACT-Wazalendo’s Luhaga Mpina faced similar disqualification, leaving Samia to “run against herself” amid 16 token challengers.
From a political and democratic lens, this was no accident but a calculated erosion, with the Hangaya chieftaincy’s unfulfilled promises underscoring the gap. Tanzania’s 1977 Constitution, amended sporadically, mandates independent electoral bodies, yet the National Electoral Commission (NEC) remains CCM beholden, with appointees lacking bipartisan vetting.
Pre-election abductions – over 200 documented since 2019 – targeted journalists, activists, and youth leaders, stifling the “limited political space” Freedom House rated as “not free” by 2024. Media curbs, including foreign accreditation denials and social media bans, amplified institutional bias.
CHADEMA’s internal democracy – evident in Lissu’s 2025 chairmanship win over Freeman Mbowe – contrasted CCM’s stasis, highlighting how multipartyism has devolved into managed competition.
The 98 per cent parliamentary sweep for CCM, mirroring the 2024 local polls, underscored gerrymandering and voter intimidation in rural bastions like Sukumaland, where the chieftaincy’s symbolic unity failed to quell economic grievances fuelling abstention.
Heavy toll
These events exacted a heavy toll. Economically, the violence deterred investors, threatening Tanzania’s six per cent GDP growth trajectory tied to ports and mining; Chatham House warns of long-term “democratic erosion” costing potential.
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Socially, the loss of young lives – fuelling social media, but especially X posts, decrying “SamiaMustFall” – breeds generational trauma and radicalisation, with CHADEMA vowing UN and ICC probes. Internationally, muted AU responses contrast sharp rebukes from the UK, Canada, and Norway, isolating Tanzania amid East African Community tensions.
How might this descent have been averted? Intentional electoral reforms, long demanded by Lissu and other key actors, were key: independent NEC selection via parliamentary supermajority, diaspora voting, and judicial recourse for results, as enshrined in Kenya’s 2010 model.
Samia’s early gestures – lifting rally bans, releasing Mbowe – faded into cosmetic tweaks by 2023, per Crisis Group analyses. Dialogue platforms, like Ethiopia’s pre-2021 national talks, could have de-escalated, incorporating opposition in code-of-conduct drafting.
Civil society monitoring, bolstered by SADC standards, might have exposed irregularities pre-emptively. Crucially, depoliticising traditions – such as Sukuma chieftaincy – via community referenda would insulate cultural bodies from state co-option, preventing them from amplifying electoral distrust.
Practically, integrating the Hangaya role with tangible socioeconomic deliverables – like Sukuma-led cooperatives for cotton value chains or youth training in green energy – could have translated symbolism into buy-in, building a coalition for reforms rather than resentment.
Had the 2021 installation been framed through genuine consultation rather than top-down decree, it might have built bridges instead of breeding suspicion, aligning ethnic expectations with national democratic renewal.
Stabilisation
Today, as Samia was sworn in on November 3, 2025, amid boycott calls and tight security, the focus must pivot to stabilisation, lest anarchy engulfs the union. CCM’s monopoly, unchallenged since 1961, risks implosion without concessions.
Immediate steps? Release Lissu and detainees unconditionally, launching transparent inquiries into protest deaths via an AU-led commission. Restore internet access and accredit independent media to rebuild trust.
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Long-term, enact constitutional reforms reducing presidential powers – term limits, devolution – and foster youth-inclusive policies, channelling Sukuma agrarian frustrations into cooperatives.
Practically, Hassan could leverage her Hangaya mantle for cross-ethnic forums, auditing patronage to ensure equitable distribution – e.g., 30 per cent of mining royalties to local development funds – while piloting electoral pilots in Sukumaland for NEC independence.
This would operationalise the gesture’s promise, turning ethnic symbolism into a bulwark against fragmentation. Samia, Africa’s rare female leader, could reclaim reformist credentials by convening a national conference, echoing Nyerere’s 1961 vision.
Pan-Africanists like Zimbabwe’s Tendai Biti decry this as a “breaking point,” urging organic alliances against autocracy. Failure invites deeper fissures: ethnic mobilisation, economic sabotage, or spillover to neighbours.
Tanzania stands at a crossroads – tradition upended in Sukumaland four years ago, democracy battered nationwide. Hangaya’s throne, if wielded inclusively, might yet symbolise renewal; Samia’s mandate, if shared, could avert ruin.
But without justice for the fallen youth, anger festers into anarchy. The Sukuma proverb warns: “A chief without people is but a shadow.” In 2025’s ashes, Tanzania must choose substance over silhouette.
Evans Rubara is a Tanzania-based natural resource management specialist, and sociopolitical analyst. He is available at erubara@outlook.com or on X as @PunditParadox. These are the writer’s own opinions and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoints of The Chanzo. Do you want to publish in this space? Contact our editors at editor@thechanzo.com for further inquiries.
