The current context politicises everything, but we must resist simplistic interpretations. What I observed on the ground, and what our documentation confirms, is that the vast majority of young people who took to the streets in 2025 were primarily making specific economic and social demands.

The guaranteed national minimum wage in Togo is 52,500 CFA francs (approx. US$93), one of the lowest in West Africa. This amount doesn’t cover basic needs. On top of this, there’s a crisis in essential public services. For several months now, power cuts have lasted four to six hours a day. For young people trying to start a business, this is an insurmountable obstacle. The resulting frustration is not abstract. It is daily, tangible and has been building up for years.

What’s particularly serious is that these young people no longer have the right to express this frustration without legal risk. People have been arrested simply for posting on social media about their distress at living conditions. Some have been detained for three to six months, or even close to a year. And in November 2025, a decree extended prosecutions to online interactions, including the simple act of liking a post. By closing down the digital space, which was the last accessible forum for free speech, the state turned social frustration into a political crisis.

The protests of June and July 2025 illustrate this perfectly. They were triggered by the arrest of an artist who spoke out online about living conditions, among other issues. But the demands voiced on the streets were primarily economic and social. This is important to note, because it changes the analysis and therefore the necessary responses.

This movement marked a break with the organisational methods we were familiar with. Until then, protests in Togo followed a traditional pattern. An organisation would notify the authorities of an event and the authorities would grant or refuse permission, in accordance with the framework set out in the law on the conditions for exercising freedom of assembly and peaceful public demonstration. This process made it possible to identify a legally responsible party, and potentially a target for the authorities in the event of repression.

In 2025, the call to protest circulated directly on social media, driven by numerous anonymous or semi-anonymous voices. The Movement of 6 June, known as the M66 movement, played a unifying role, but without recognised legal status in Togo, it could not legally file a declaration of assembly. As a result, the state found itself facing a movement with no official leader, which made targeted repression more difficult, but also deprived protesters of the formal protection afforded by a registered assembly.

Social media played a dual role. First, it played a part in mobilisation and amplification. Facebook and TikTok, in particular, made it possible to bypass traditional media, reach the diaspora and echo the call internationally. Second, it had a role in real-time protection. We have documented situations where the posting of an online alert was enough to make officers who had come to arrest an activist back down. International visibility creates tangible political pressure. It’s not foolproof, but it’s a tool that can now be used deliberately.

During a press briefing in October 2025, the public prosecutor condemned what he called the ‘abusive and anarchic’ use of digital platforms, while reiterating the current legal framework. He said we were warned that ‘from now on, anyone who produces, reproduces, publishes or shares content that falls outside the current legal framework will be subject to prosecution’, and this would also apply to anyone posting a comment, who would be accused of ‘complicity by approval’.

This statement introduced significant legal uncertainty for anyone expressing themselves online on sensitive topics. The mere act of interacting with a post deemed subversive can now lead to prosecution. For us, this creates a real operational dilemma. Online documentation, which is one of our main tools for protection, has become a legally risky activity.

So we’ve had to adapt our practices, by communicating via encrypted messaging services, training activists in digital security and being more vigilant about digital traces. But the most serious impact is invisible, in the form of widespread self-censorship. People who spoke freely two years ago are now keeping quiet. This silent shrinking of the space for expression is perhaps more worrying than the arrests themselves because it leaves no trace in the statistics.

The risks faced by protesters and human rights defenders are manifold and must be distinguished, as each calls for a different response.

Physical risk is the most immediate, with violence during dispersals, the use of teargas and arbitrary arrests. Our observations document cases of disproportionate use of force in relation to the UN’s principles on the use of force, which require that any intervention be necessary, proportionate and non-discriminatory.

The legal risk is the most extensively documented in our files. Togolese law sets the period of police custody at 48 hours, renewable once, giving a legal maximum of 96 hours until any appearance before a magistrate. Yet we have documented cases of people being held in police custody for over a week, moved from police station to police station and cut off from all contact with their relatives or a lawyer. These practices constitute clear violations of Togolese law, quite apart from international standards.

The risk of exile is a reality reflected in our data. Two people we are directly supporting, one of whom has a disability, had to leave Togo following the June 2025 protests and have not been able to return yet. This speaks volumes about the severity of the perceived threat.

The psychological risk is systematically underestimated. All of the 10 or so activists and journalists we supported in 2025 reported high levels of stress and symptoms of anxiety linked to reprisals. But talking about mental health remains taboo. A person who expresses psychological distress is often marginalised. Yet this causes lasting damage to civic space, and we must begin to acknowledge it.

Finally, gender-based risk deserves to be explicitly addressed. Women human rights defenders face an additional layer of violence. As soon as a woman speaks out publicly on human rights, she is targeted by online harassment, messages telling her to return to the home, attacks on her private life and family pressure.

We have supported women who have been forced to scale back or cease their activist work because those around them forbade them from continuing to post online. This harassment constitutes a documented form of gender-based violence and has been identified as an obstacle to women’s participation in public life.

On the civil society side, this movement marked a real generational turning point. Around 80 per cent of the situations we documented involved young people, protesters, citizen journalists and online witnesses. A generation that had largely stayed away from public engagement has crossed a threshold.

Capacity for collective documentation has also improved. We have gathered more evidence and testimonies than in any previous period, a valuable resource for our future advocacy work.

On the state’s side, the situation is worrying. Since 2017, the CIVICUS Monitor has recorded a continuous deterioration of civic space in Togo. The response to the 2025 protests was initially repressive, then legally restrictive with the public prosecutor’s statement on digital interactions. The series of advocacy campaigns conducted since 2023 has not yielded the expected progress.

What’s paradoxical is that the state does respond when it chooses to. A journalist published a video a few weeks ago showing people drinking unsafe water, and within 72 hours, the state had intervened. This proves that response mechanisms exist. What we hope is that this responsiveness will also apply to issues of rights and freedoms, with the same speed.

Our demands are practical and form part of international commitments that Togo has already made.

The immediate priority is the adoption of a national law to protect human rights defenders, in line with the 1998 UN Declaration on Human Rights Defenders. We have been advocating for this legislation for over five years. This law must grant human rights defenders recognised legal status, provide reporting mechanisms in the event of threats, guarantee access to legal assistance and establish a dedicated institutional framework. Several countries in West Africa have already taken steps in this direction. Togo has the institutions to do the same.

The second priority is the most structural demand. The economic and social conditions that have fuelled the crisis must be taken seriously. Access to employment, reliable electricity and functioning public services are not political demands. They are economic and social rights guaranteed by the African Charter.