Seedy Njie, the deputy speaker of the Gambian Parliament, has recently found himself in the crosshairs of public opinion, splashed across the tabloids and subjected to a relentless online assault. 

With the fervor of a lynch mob, his critics have been quick to hurl every possible accusation his way, from political prostitution to outright betrayal. Njie has been labeled a “political prostitute” by his detractors, a man who shamelessly switches allegiances to suit the prevailing political winds. But what if this so-called political promiscuity is not a vice but a virtue — a shrewd survival tactic in a political landscape fraught with volatility and betrayal?

Yet, before we join the chorus of condemnation, let us pause to examine the situation with a more critical and philosophical lens. Let’s take a closer look at the man and his deeds. Is Seedy Njie truly the villain the internet has painted him to be, or is he simply the latest in a long line of Gambian political players who have mastered the art of survival in a treacherous political landscape? 

In many ways, Njie’s journey seems to echo Niccolò Machiavelli’s teachings, who argued that the ends often justify the means in the ruthless game of power. Just as Machiavelli advised rulers to be both a lion and a fox, Njie has displayed both courage and cunning, adapting to every change in the political weather with the skill of a seasoned contortionist in a carnival tent.

To understand the peculiar animosity directed at Seedy Njie, we must first understand his journey — a journey that begins in one of The Gambia’s smallest and poorest villages, far from the urban centres where power and privilege are typically born. Njie had neither the family connections nor the financial backing that typically underwrite a political career. What he did have was a sharp mind and an uncanny ability to read the political winds. 

Unlike many of his peers who have enjoyed the luxury of a more privileged background, Njie climbed the greasy pole of politics from the bottom up. He started as a national student leader and demonstrated an early aptitude for aligning himself with the centres of power. 

Under the authoritarian rule of Yahya Jammeh, Njie proved his loyalty and rose through the ranks to become a Nominated Member of Parliament and later, Minister of Information — a role that saw him singing the praises of Jammeh with all the zeal of a courtier who knows which side his bread is buttered on.

Like the Roman statesman Cicero, who managed to thrive amidst the treachery of Roman politics through his eloquence and adaptability, Njie understood that survival often demands flexibility and a keen sense of timing. He is a political maverick, an orator who can switch from Churchillian grandeur to slippery sophistry with a flick of his tongue. 

Njie can talk tough on Monday and murmur sweet nothings on Tuesday, depending on the political weather. Whether in the right wing or the left wing, he has mastered the art of fluttering his wings in whichever direction the wind blows, leaving his critics dizzy and disoriented — much like a Westminster MP caught in a scandal, turning whichever way the press will let him.

But Njie’s real talent lies in his ability to reinvent himself. When the Jammeh regime fell, Njie did not fade into obscurity like many of his contemporaries. Instead, he briefly joined Jammeh in exile before returning to The Gambia, ready to play a new game. 

With remarkable agility, he transformed from a critic of the new Barrow administration to a strategic ally, employing the same tactics of flattery and political manoeuvring that had served him so well under Jammeh. 

Lest we forget, Seedy Njie, along with his fellow political mercenaries Rambo Jatta, Fatoumata Jahumpa Ceesay, and Fabakary Tombong Jatta, took an interesting stance reminiscent of the ancient Greek politicians who played both sides to maintain power. They insisted on Jammeh’s right to return to The Gambia and even threatened to “destabilise the country” should President Barrow dare to arrest him. 

And what did President Barrow, a man whose spine seems as firm as a piece of overcooked spaghetti, decide to do in the face of such bluster? He opted for the path of least resistance, of course. Instead of confronting these vocal remnants of the past regime, he chose to buy peace at the expense of principle, appointing Jatta and Jahumpa to cushy diplomatic posts while elevating Njie and Fabakary to the legislative arena—one as Speaker, the other as Deputy Speaker of Parliament.

And this, dear reader, is where our story takes a twist. For instead of being lauded for his adaptability — a trait often celebrated in politicians — Njie has become a lightning rod for scorn and derision. 

In this, he resembles figures like Winston Churchill, who switched political parties twice yet is remembered for his steadfast leadership during Britain’s darkest hour. It seems that for Njie, much like Churchill, adaptability is a virtue only celebrated in hindsight, not in the immediate, tumultuous present.

The irony is rich. Gambians, it seems, have a curious habit of cherry-picking their villains. Fabakary Tombong Jatta, Rambo Jatta, and Fatoumata Jahumpa Ceesay were just as complicit in their efforts to ensure Jammeh’s return, even threatening to destabilise the country should Barrow dare to arrest the ex-dictator. 

Yet, when these figures were handed plum government positions — Jatta as Speaker of the Parliament, Jahumpa Ceesay and Rambo Jatta in cushy diplomatic roles—the public outcry was significantly muted. But not so for Njie. No, for him, the knives are out. Here, we might recall the philosophical observations of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who pointed out the hypocrisy inherent in society’s selective morality: we often condemn in others what we secretly condone in ourselves. If duplicity is to be despised, then why do we not apply this contempt universally, rather than focusing it narrowly on Njie?

Let’s look even closer at this gallery of rogues. Consider Mamburay Njie, now the Managing Director of the Gambia National Petroleum Corporation; Yankuba Dabo, Commissioner General of the Gambia Revenue Authority; Njogu Bah, Director of the Public Utilities Regulatory Authority (PURA); and Alhagie Ceesay, Chief of Protocol at the State House. All of these individuals were knee-deep in the old regime, facing charges of economic crimes and dereliction of duty. Some were even convicted. 

And yet, they have all managed to keep their heads low and their positions secure, evading the same level of scrutiny and condemnation heaped upon Seedy Njie. This selective outrage recalls the observations of Friedrich Nietzsche, who argued that society often punishes not the crime itself, but the audacity of those who commit it in broad daylight. 

Njie’s visibility, his audacious navigation of power, is perhaps his greatest sin in the eyes of a public that would rather turn a blind eye to the quiet transgressions of others.

So why, pray tell, is Seedy Njie singled out as the poster boy for all that is wrong in Gambian politics? Is it because he’s particularly good at playing the game — a game that, like it or not, is intrinsic to the political fabric of The Gambia? Or perhaps it’s because he hails from the provinces, and there is an unspoken bias against those who rise from rural obscurity to national prominence. 

Gambian society, much like any other, has its prejudices, and one of them is the tendency to look down on those from the countryside as less refined, less deserving of power. Njie’s rise challenges this narrative, and for that, he is despised. One might liken him to the biblical David, the young shepherd who rose from the fields to challenge the giants of his time, only to be scorned by those who feared his ascendancy.

There’s also the matter of Njie’s youth. At a relatively young age, he has managed to climb higher and faster than many of his contemporaries. This rapid ascent is bound to inspire envy among those who feel left behind. It’s always easier to tear down those who have succeeded where you have not. And let’s not forget that Njie has outmanoeuvred

many of his critics, demonstrating a level of political acumen that few in The Gambia can match.  

This success, instead of being admired, breeds resentment. The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, “Character is destiny.” Njie’s destiny has been shaped by his character —ambitious, resilient, and unyielding. It is perhaps this unyielding nature that grates on those who have been less successful in their political pursuits.

But let’s be honest — Njie is no more guilty than any of his peers. If anything, he is simply better at a game that has been played since time immemorial. Look back to the days of Sir Dawda Jawara’s regime and you will see a similar story. Tombong Saidy was a fierce critic of the PPP, but when Jammeh came to power, Saidy’s undiplomatic shaming of the PPP at a convention in Washington, D.C., earned him a diplomatic post. Today, he is celebrated as a hero in certain circles. 

Dr. Amadou Scattred Janneh, once a relentless critic of Jammeh, accepted a ministerial role under the very dictator he denounced, only to later find himself out in the cold. Sheriff Bojang, a journalist of repute, also succumbed to the allure of power, becoming Minister of Information under Jammeh. These men have all walked the same path as Njie, yet they do not face the same ire. 

Why? Perhaps the answer lies in the observations of George Bernard Shaw, who quipped, “He who cannot change his mind cannot change anything”. Njie, with his adeptness at shifting allegiances, has mastered the art of changing his stance to suit the political climate. This flexibility, while infuriating to some, is precisely what has allowed him to survive and thrive in the ever-shifting sands of Gambian politics.

Perhaps Gambians, by nature, are inclined to forget quickly, to forgive easily, and to judge inconsistently. Njie’s only crime, it seems, is being good at what he does — a crime that many of his fellow citizens secretly wish they could commit with equal success. If we are to vilify Njie for his political manoeuvring, then let’s be fair and extend that criticism to all who have engaged in similar tactics. 

And if we are to acknowledge that political pragmatism is a necessity in a country where allegiances can shift with the wind, then perhaps we should cut Njie some slack for simply playing the game as it has always been played. Just as the English writer George Orwell noted, “In times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.” Perhaps Njie’s true offence is his unapologetic transparency in a game of shadows and whispers.

Seedy Njie’s story is not just about one man’s ambition. It is about the very fabric of Gambian politics — a fabric woven with threads of hypocrisy, pragmatism, and, yes, a bit of opportunism. If Njie is guilty of anything, it is of playing his cards better than most. And for that, perhaps, we should tip our hats to him rather than sharpen our knives. 

After all, in the grand theatre of politics, everyone plays a role, and Seedy Njie has simply played his better than most. In the words of Shakespeare, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”. Seedy Njie, it appears, has mastered his lines and hit his marks, while the rest are left fumbling in the wings, a performance worthy of a standing ovation, or at least a begrudging nod from his critics.

Final Thoughts 

Hon. Seedy Njie has become the latest favourite target of tabloid-style attacks and social media outcry. Pictures of him and his family have made the rounds on the internet, drawing a flood of allegations that range from the scandalous to the absurd. Empirical evidence would suggest that if the charges of political promiscuity against Seedy Njie were taken seriously, there would be precious few “politically chaste“ individuals left standing in The Gambia’s halls of power. 

For it seems that many a politician has switched sides, aligned themselves with whoever holds the keys to the treasury, and acted out of sheer self-interest. Yet, Njie is singled out for particular scorn. Why is he held to a different standard than others who have engaged in similar, if not more egregious, actions? 

Is it because his political manoeuvring is more blatant, less forgivable, or simply more entertaining for the masses? Or perhaps he is just the perfect scapegoat, a convenient outlet for a nation eager to vent its frustrations in a climate where every public figure is a potential target for the metaphorical rotten tomato.

When we scrutinise Seedy Njie’s career, we see a complex portrait of a man who has navigated the treacherous waters of Gambian politics with the dexterity of a tightrope walker over a crocodile pit. From his early days as a student leader to his roles under both Yahya Jammeh and Adama Barrow, Njie has demonstrated a keen understanding of power dynamics and a willingness to do whatever it takes to survive and thrive. 

Whether one admires or despises his tactics, there is no denying that Njie has played the political game with a remarkable degree of skill, evoking comparisons to a grand chess master, always several moves ahead of his opponents.

As such, the backlash against him seems less about his actions per se and more about what he represents: a reflection of the contradictions and complexities inherent in Gambian political life. To criticize Njie without examining the broader context in which he operates is to miss the point entirely. 

Njie is not an anomaly; he is a product of a political system that rewards adaptability, cunning, and a certain moral flexibility — qualities that, like it or not, are often necessary for political survival in The Gambia.

In a nutshell, the controversy surrounding Seedy Njie is a microcosm of the larger issues facing Gambian politics and society. It highlights the inconsistencies and hypocrisies that often characterise public discourse and reveals a deeper discomfort with the realities of political life in The Gambia. 

Njie is simply the mirror reflecting back at a society uneasy with its own reflection. Instead of focusing solely on Njie, perhaps it is time for Gambians to reflect on the broader patterns of behavior that his career exemplifies. Are we prepared to hold all our leaders to the same standards, or are we content to continue this spectacle — like Romans of old, cheering in the Colosseum as the latest gladiator, be it Njie or another, fights for his survival?

Or perhaps it’s high time we accept that Njie, in all his headline-grabbing glory, is simply playing his role in this never-ending Gambian political circus — a tragic farce where the script flips quicker than a Westminster scandal. In a land where political loyalty is as fleeting as a handshake at a Tory fundraiser and principles are traded like knock-off handbags on Oxford Street, who among us can genuinely claim the moral high ground?

By Arfang Madi Sillah, Washington DC

Disclaimer: 

The views expressed in this article are entirely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any affiliated institutions or organizations. The author takes full responsibility for the opinions and analysis presented herein. The author holds several academic degrees, including an undergraduate degree in English literature and literary theory.