In the aftermath of the violence of October 29, 2025, one phrase has echoed through political speeches, public forums and media commentary: “Never again.” It is a powerful promise, but it risks becoming another slogan unless it is matched by meaningful action.

The Presidential Commission of Inquiry, chaired by retired Chief Justice Mohamed Chande Othman, identified demands for a new Constitution, wider democracy and improvements to the electoral system among the long-standing political issues that formed the backdrop to the violence. 

The Commission also identified economic and social grievances. If that diagnosis is accepted, the obvious prescription is to accelerate reform, not postpone it.

Yet postponement is what many citizens fear. The Commission has recommended that a new Constitution be in place by 2028, ahead of the 2029 local government elections and the 2030 general election. That target raises uncomfortable questions.

Only a few years ago, the case against completing the constitutional process before 2025 rested on the claim that time was too short. The Presidential Task Force on Political Reforms had favoured further dialogue, while stakeholders convened by the Tanzania Centre for Democracy agreed in 2023 that a new constitution could not realistically be completed before the 2024 civic and 2025 general elections.

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Today, 2028 is closer than 2025 was when those arguments were being made. If time was the obstacle then, why is there still so little visible momentum now? The calendar has not become more generous. It has become more unforgiving.

Draining reforms

There could possibly be a total of three commissions before any serious dialogue on reform begins. Inquiry is done, Criminal Investigation has just been formed, and Reconciliation could follow. 

This potential delay raises an important question for public debate: is the slow pace merely the consequence of bureaucratic inertia and competing priorities, or does it risk becoming a form of deliberate reform attrition? 

Attrition is a familiar military concept. Rather than seeking a decisive victory, it seeks gradually to weaken an opponent by exhausting their resources, morale and capacity to continue. In politics, reform attrition works differently but can produce a similar outcome.

Reforms are not rejected outright. They are deferred. Commissions are established. Timelines are extended. Consultations are promised. New priorities emerge. Stakeholders enter the process without a clear path to implementation. Public attention moves elsewhere, advocates become fatigued, and urgency fades.

Whether intentional or not, the result can be the same: reform momentum is depleted. This should concern everyone, regardless of political affiliation. Delayed reforms do not simply postpone solutions. They allow grievances to deepen and weaken confidence that institutions can resolve national disputes peacefully and fairly.

History’s warning

History does not offer simple templates, and Tanzania is not Kenya, the former Yugoslavia or Nepal. But each case illustrates how unresolved political questions can become harder to settle when reform is repeatedly deferred.

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Kenya restored multiparty politics in 1991, but this did not settle deeper disputes about constitutional accountability, electoral fairness and executive power. The 2007 election, held after a failed constitutional-reform attempt, was followed by violence that killed more than 1,300 people and displaced more than 600,000. 

A 2008 power-sharing agreement reopened the constitutional path, and a new constitution was approved in a referendum in 2010. The lesson is not that reform must be conceded only under pressure. It is that delay can make eventual reform far more costly.

The former Yugoslavia provides an even more sobering caution. After the death of President Josip Broz Tito in 1980, a weakening federal centre, economic strain and resurgent nationalism eroded trust among the republics. 

Slovenia and Croatia declared independence on June 25, 1991, and Croatia’s separation was followed by grave conflict. The lesson is not that delayed reform inevitably leads to war. It is that a prolonged failure to resolve fundamental political questions can harden mistrust until peaceful compromise becomes much more difficult.

Nepal’s 2006 Comprehensive Peace Agreement promised a new constitutional settlement after a decade of civil war. Yet disagreements and repeated delays meant that almost nine years passed before the constitution was approved in September 2015. The process itself became a source of renewed political tension.

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The common principle is clear: reform delayed is not automatically reform denied, but prolonged delay steadily narrows the space for peaceful, negotiated change.

Need for roadmap

‘Never again’ must be measured not by speeches but by policy choices. If the violence of October 29 taught the nation anything, it is that prevention costs less than recovery. A commission can diagnose problems and recommend solutions, but it cannot substitute for political will.

A constitution is not merely another government project. It is the framework through which citizens negotiate power, accountability and representation. Treating its completion as an item that can be endlessly deferred risks suggesting that these fundamental concerns are negotiable.

If 2028 remains the target, the public should see a credible roadmap with clear milestones, timelines, responsible institutions and regular progress reports. Citizens should be able to see not only where the process is going, but when each stage is expected to be completed.

Without such transparency, promises become increasingly difficult to distinguish from postponements. The greatest danger is not only that reforms are delayed, but that citizens begin to conclude that they are being managed rather than heard. Trust, once eroded, is far harder to rebuild than a constitution is to draft.

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If ‘Never Again’ is to mean anything, it must start with confronting the causes of past instability rather than allowing reform to wither through attrition. The country cannot afford another cycle in which unresolved grievances are deferred until they become crises.

Time is no longer an excuse for delay. It is precisely the reason urgency is required.

Festo Mulinda is a political analyst and freelance columnist. He can be reached at mulindafesto@gmail.com or on X as @fmulinda_III. The opinions expressed here are the writer’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Chanzo. If you are interested in publishing in this space, please contact our editors at editor@thechanzo.com.