Thomas Sankara: The African Dictator Who Truly Loved His Nation

He dreamed of a nation freed from hunger, corruption, and colonial chains. Instead, he was shot down at 37, betrayed by his closest friend.

In just four years, Thomas Sankara tried to build a new Burkina Faso: land for peasants, schools for children, clean water for every village, equality for women, and an army that served the people instead of ruling them. He lived simply, owning nothing more than a modest house, two guitars, three bicycles, and a Renault 5.

But his defiance of France, the IMF, and Africa’s entrenched elites sealed his fate. On October 15, 1987, gunfire in Ouagadougou ended the revolution. What followed was not progress, but a return to poverty, corruption, and foreign dependence.

In this documentary we trace the rise and fall of Thomas Sankara, the African leader who refused to enrich himself, who fought to change everything, and whose death left behind one of the continent’s most haunting lost futures.

Writer: Vlad Racovita
Editor: Santhi Christina

Tags: Thomas Sankara, Thomas Sankara documentary, Burkina Faso history, Upper Volta, Che Guevara, African revolution, Burkina Faso coup, Blaise Compaoré, Françafrique, Anti imperialism Africa, dictator, African dictators, Assassination of Thomas Sankara, Pan Africanism, Socialism, Communism, African history documentary, Poverty, Poor, CIA, French colonies, Military coups, Ibrahim Traoré

Burkina Faso today is one of the 
poorest countries in the world. 80% of the population lives 
with less than 2$ dollars a day. Adult literacy rate hovers 35% and is in decline. One child out of three is 
chronically malnourished. One child out of five dies before the age of five.
Life expectancy is just 62. In 2022 and 2023 alone, there 
were three military coups: it’s a landlocked state with no 
coast, no industry, and no stability. History cannot be built on what-ifs. But Burkina Faso carries a shadow: the possibility 
that its trajectory could have been different, had one man not been assassinated 
in 1987 — at just 37 years old. His name is Thomas Sankara. A soldier who refused his privileges. A leader 
who cut ministerial salaries. And who sold the government’s Mercedes to pay for medicine. 
A president who launched the most ambitious vaccination campaign in Africa, immunizing 
millions of children against measles, meningitis, and yellow fever in just weeks. Who built hundreds 
of schools and health centers in just a few years. A man who placed the poor first. Always first. Who believed that progress was not 
measured in skyscrapers or highways, but in every child in school, every village with 
clean water, every worker able to feed his family… …and no family, …abandoned,
by the state. In the early 1980s, Burkina 
Faso is called Upper Volta. It is one of the poorest countries in the world. 
Its GDP per capita is less than $300 a year. Only 3% of children attend middle school. Hunger is 
permanent. The countryside is struck by drought. Desertification from the Sahel advances every 
year. Average life expectancy is just 40 years. Independence from France in 1960 does 
not bring freedom. The state survives on foreign aid, loans, and the export of cheap raw materials. France keeps dictating 
its economy, its trade, its leaders. Between 1966 and 1983, five coups 
d’état replace one uniform with another. President Maurice Yaméogo (1960–1966) 
is overthrown by the army. Later, Colonel Saye Zerbo (1980–1982) stages a 
coup, promising reform but delivering repression. Zerbo is then overthrown by officers led 
by Jean-Baptiste Ouédraogo (1982–1983). It is in this cycle of collapse and betrayal 
that a young officer, Thomas Sankara, begins to rise. Trained in Madagascar, he witnesses 
the 1972 Malagasy Revolution, when students and workers overthrow the government. He 
absorbs communist and anti-imperialist ideas. He returns to Upper Volta with the 
conviction that his country, too, can change. In 1981, under Colonel Saye Zerbo, Sankara is 
appointed Secretary of State for Information. The role is meant to control journalists. 
To maintain government propaganda. Instead, Sankara orders journalists to write the 
truth — “exactly as it happens, even if it offends those in power.” It is shocking. 
Journalists had expected censorship. Instead, Sankara demands them to be honest. The 
government, including Zerbo himself, becomes the subject of open criticism in 
its own press. Zerbo threatens him. Sankara resigns in 1982. But Sankara is already 
a leader for the young who want change. Later that year, Zerbo is overthrown. 
Jean-Baptiste Ouédraogo takes power. He is a weak man. Unknown to the public. In 1983, he 
appoints Sankara Prime Minister, already famous among the masses. Ouédraogo hopes to stabilize 
his rule by including this charismatic officer. But Sankara’s speeches are uncompromising. “Down with corruption.”
“Down with imperialism.” “Down with France and the West.” Within months, he is placed under house arrest. 
His detention is meant to silence him. Instead, it splits the army. Younger, radical 
officers in the army rally to his side. Conservative officers remain with Ouédraogo. 
The military, the government, stand divided. On August 4, 1983, Sankara’s allies, 
led by Blaise Compaoré, launch a coup. They seize the capital, Ouagadougou. They free Sankara and they place him 
at the head of the state. At the age of 33, Sankara 
becomes President of Upper Volta. But he doesn’t like this name. It suggests a 
colonial past. It means nothing to the people. He wants to leave that past behind. He renames 
the country Burkina Faso. The land of upright, honest people. Because he wants 
to build his country this way. The changes begin immediately. He fights bureaucracy. He silences the political 
parties. He wants power concentrated in his hands, because he knows that if these people keep 
influence, his radical reforms will never pass. Thousands of state employees are dismissed. Many 
were absent from work. Many spent their days in bars sipping alcohol. Yet they were paid salaries 
far higher than farmers and workers. Sankara calls them parasites living off the poor. He bans 
them from flying business or first class — only economy. No more champagne in hotels or fine 
dining — only local food. He bans luxury imports like perfume and whiskey saying:’’we have to 
choose between giving whisky to some of you, or giving clean water to all of us’’. Ministers 
must use local furniture and locally made goods. He bans presidential portraits in offices, saying: 
“People should see themselves in those portraits.” He declares war on hunger, 
corruption, and dependency. He seizes land from feudal landlords and 
traditional chiefs. Then he distributes it to peasants who work it. He 
orders irrigation projects, wells, and small dams across the country. 
Farmers are given tools and support. Wheat production rises by 75%. Within four 
years, Burkina Faso produces enough food to guarantee two meals a day and five liters 
of clean water for every citizen. To stop the Sahel desert from swallowing farmland, 
he orders millions of trees to be planted. He sells the Mercedes cars of politicians, 
replaces them with the cheapest car in the country, the Renault 5, and uses the money to pay 
for the most ambitious vaccination kcampaign in Africa. In just two weeks, 2.5 million children 
are immunized against measles, meningitis, and yellow fever. Thousands of lives are saved 
simply by cutting the luxuries of the elite. He builds 350 schools and hundreds 
of health centers and pharmacies. Literacy campaigns reach every village. 
School enrollment increases by more than 50%. Literacy rises from 13% to over 70% 
in four years. To keep children in school, he introduces canteens to feed them 
to cut food costs for their parents. He also wages war on the oppression of women. 
He remembers his school days. A girl in his class became pregnant. She was expelled. The 
boy who made her pregnant stayed. For Sankara, this was the symbol of injustice. 
He never forgot it. In Burkina Faso, women carried the heaviest burdens. 
Fetching water. Farming the land. Raising children. Without rights. Sankara 
says society cannot change unless women are free. He outlaws forced marriage. He 
bans female genital mutilation. He bans polygamy. Women are pushed into schools, 
the army, and government — equal to men. Sankara, especially, wages war on privilege. 
Ministerial salaries are cut. Luxury items are banned. He demands self-sufficiency. 
“Consume what we produce. If we don’t have it, let’s make it.” He mocks people wearing 
thrift clothes with “California” or “Harvard” written on them. “Do you even 
know what those words mean? Why not wear Burkinabè clothes?” Officials are ordered to 
wear traditional Burkinabè cotton. Sankara himself lives simply. A president who 
chooses to live as his people. “I want to create a country where those who are 
governed are happy. Not those who govern.” He also reforms the army. For decades, soldiers had lived in barracks in 
the capital, waiting for the next coup. Idle, plotting, used only to intimidate the 
population. Sankara changes this. He sends them out of Ouagadougou, to 
the borders, into the villages. Soldiers now build roads. They dig wells. 
They plant trees. They help farmers with the harvest. They run vaccination 
campaigns. They teach literacy. Soldiers lose their privileges. Officers eat 
the same food as ordinary soldiers. They wear the same clothes. They train in the fields, 
working the land to feed themselves and cut costs for the state. No privileges. No 
big paychecks. No decorated uniforms. Sankara repeats: “An army that doesn’t serve 
its people becomes their enemy.” So he makes service to civilians part of its doctrine. He 
cuts the military budget, redirecting funds to schools and hospitals. Many officers are 
furious. They lose weapons, they lose perks. Now, with soldiers spread across the countryside, far from the capital, it becomes harder to 
organize conspiracies. Coups are less likely. The military is busy serving the people, 
instead of plotting to overthrow governments. At first, Sankara behaves like no 
president before him. He rides his bicycle to work. Sometimes he jogs. He 
plays football with the people every week. No bodyguards in dark sunglasses. 
No limousines. No walls between him and the crowd. He wants to show that he is 
not above them. That he is one of them. But over time, this becomes harder. 
His radical reforms create enemies everywhere. The landlords he stripped of land. 
The bureaucrats he dismissed. The officers who lost their privileges. The businessmen 
who lost their contracts. The foreign powers he defied. Assassination attempts 
multiply. His security grows tighter. The simple image of a president walking or 
cycling among his people begins to fade. Sankara pushes his fight further. 
Against imperialism. Against dependency. He refuses to borrow a single cent from the 
IMF or the World Bank. He calls foreign debt “a new form of slavery.” He says, “Those who 
feed you, control you.” For him, it is simple: the poor owe nothing to those who 
once enslaved them. If anything, the colonizers owe a debt to Africa. At the 
African Union summit in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in July 1987, he calls on African leaders 
to unite and stop paying. He warns them: “If Burkina Faso stands up alone, I 
will not be here at the next summit.” He is right. The CIA begins to closely monitor 
him. In declassified reports, Sankara is described as “a threat to Western 
interests” in Africa — even called “a danger to democracy and human rights” by the 
U.S. government. The irony is striking: a president who lives like his people, who 
fights corruption, hunger, and inequality, accused of endangering freedom. His model of 
radical independence, his rejection of aid and loans, his calls for self-sufficiency — Washington 
fears this could inspire a chain reaction across the continent. France, too, cannot accept him. 
Paris depends on its former colonies for uranium, gold, cotton, and political control. If 
Sankara succeeds, the whole Françafrique system — the network of corrupt African 
elites who serve France — could collapse. His neighbors turn into enemies. 
Félix Houphouët-Boigny of Ivory Coast, Gnassingbé Eyadéma of Togo, Omar 
Bongo of Gabon — all close allies of France — see Sankara as dangerous. 
They call him “the African Castro.” They worry that his revolution will spill 
over into their borders. They begin plotting with France. Blaise Compaoré, Sankara’s closest 
friend and ally, is pulled into the conspiracy. On October 15, 1987, at 4:30 in the 
afternoon, Thomas Sankara chairs a meeting with his cabinet at the Conseil 
de l’Entente, in Ouagadougou. Outside, gunfire erupts. Soldiers loyal to Compaoré 
storm the building. Sankara stands up. He tells his comrades: “Stay. Don’t be afraid.” 
Then he walks outside with his hands in the air. Witnesses say he shouted to the soldiers to spare 
his companions. His body is instantly riddled with bullets. Fourteen of his men are killed with 
him. His body is then thrown into a shallow grave. The revolution ends in a hail of bullets. 
Blaise Compaoré seizes power. He reverses Sankara’s policies, restores ties with France, 
and opens the country once again to debt and aid. Burkina Faso falls back into the 
system Sankara had tried to destroy. When Sankara’s house is searched, his 
inheritance shocks the world. A modest home, still under mortgage. Two guitars. Three 
bicycles. One Renault 5. No fortune. No hidden accounts. This was the wealth of a president. 
Proof that he lived exactly as he preached. His death leaves a void. Burkina Faso soon returns 
to poverty and corruption. Today, it is once again one of the poorest nations on Earth. Its children 
die of hunger and disease. Coups replace coups. A country that once dreamed of independence is 
now one of the most aid-dependent in Africa. Across Africa, Sankara is remembered as the 
“upright man.” His face is painted on walls, his speeches are quoted by students, 
his name is invoked in protests. He is a symbol of what could have been: a 
leader who chose to live like his people, who wanted to build a country where the 
governed were happy, not those who govern. “You can kill a revolutionary. 
But not his ideas.” He once said.