Disinformation rocked Ivory Coast in May—but the rumours only exposed the real danger: a contested election, a silenced opposition, and a restless youth majority
The WhatsApp messages began circulating in the early hours of May 19th: “Coup in Abidjan! Army chief shot dead! Civil war has begun!” Within hours, social media exploded with videos of burning buildings and massive crowds, claims that President Alassane Ouattara had vanished, and reports of 33 dead. For a nation still haunted by its last electoral crisis—a civil war that claimed over 3,000 lives—the rumours struck like lightning.
But by May 24th, Ivory Coast’s cybersecurity agency had a different story: it was all lies. No coup. No violence. No missing president. Just a “deliberate and coordinated disinformation campaign” that had exploited the country’s deepest fears.
Yet the fake coup revealed something very real—Ivory Coast is a nation on edge.
The fourth term question
At the heart of the tension sits President Ouattara himself, now 83 and potentially seeking a fourth term in October’s election. Through a constitutional sleight of hand in 2016, he reset his term count, arguing the amendment gave him a fresh start. To his supporters, he’s brought stability after decades of chaos. To his critics—especially the country’s young majority—he’s become the very thing Ivory Coast once fought against: a leader who won’t let go.
The frustration spans every corner of young society. University students on social media express their exhaustion: “On X, I saw posts claiming Ouattara was missing or dead, but it’s all rumours. As students, we’re tired of this uncertainty. We just want a fair election where our voices matter, not more chaos.”
The barring of opposition candidates has particularly stung. “Tidjane Thiam’s exclusion feels like they’re silencing us,” said one Abidjan student. “He’s someone who could bring change, but the system keeps blocking new faces. It’s discouraging for young people like me who want to believe in politics.”
Beyond universities, the sentiment echoes in everyday life. Fatou Diarra, a 27-year-old hairdresser, captured the alienation many feel: “They keep barring people like Gbagbo and Thiam, but they don’t realise it’s pushing us away. I want to vote for someone who represents me, not just the same old names.”
Yet the youth aren’t united. In Bouaké, young supporters of Ouattara’s ruling party took to the streets demanding his candidacy, chanting for the stability he’s brought. The divide reflects a generation torn between wanting change and fearing chaos.
The disappeared opposition
The election scheduled for October 25th looks increasingly like a one-man show. The opposition has been systematically dismantled through legal manoeuvres that feel all too familiar to those who remember Ivory Coast’s troubled past.
Tidjane Thiam, the polished former Credit Suisse CEO who represented the opposition’s best hope, was disqualified in April over citizenship technicalities. Despite renouncing his French nationality and winning 99% support from his party, the courts ruled him ineligible—a decision he’s appealing as politically motivated.
Laurent Gbagbo, the former president whose refusal to concede in 2010 triggered the civil war, remains barred due to a 2018 conviction for looting the central bank. Though acquitted of crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court, his domestic legal troubles keep him sidelined.
What remains is a field of weaker candidates and growing questions about electoral fairness that international observers worry could “bode ill for democracy.”
But one voice refuses to be silenced. Jean Francois Kouassi, the youngest presidential candidate, speaks directly to his generation: “Young people of Côte d’Ivoire, this October 25th we will take state power because we are the most numerous—77% of the population—and it’s our turn to govern.”
His words capture something electric in the air. As another young activist demanded online:
“NO to the INSTRUMENTALISATION of Ivorian INSTITUTIONS… THE PEOPLE demand their RIGHT TO FREELY CHOOSE THEIR PRESIDENT with FREE, TRANSPARENT and INCLUSIVE ELECTIONS in 2025!”
The power of false news
The fake coup rumours didn’t emerge in a vacuum. They tapped into genuine anxieties about a political system many see as rigged and a leader many view as overstaying his welcome. In an age of social media, those fears can spread faster than wildfire—and feel just as destructive.
The disinformation campaign succeeded not because people were gullible, but because it felt plausible. In a country where the last disputed election led to civil war, where key opposition figures have been barred from running, and where regional neighbours have seen military takeovers, rumours of a coup carried an uncomfortable ring of possibility.
Youth activist Awa Konaté connected the dots:
“The government talks about progress, but we’re still struggling. These coup rumors? They’re a symptom of distrust. We need leaders who listen to us, not just the elite.”
Even ordinary citizens felt the weight of recurring tensions. Jean-Marc Kouassi, a 29-year-old shopkeeper in Abidjan, summed up the exhaustion: “I don’t believe these coup stories. It’s just noise on social media to scare people. But honestly, we’re tired of these tensions.”
October’s shadow
As October approaches, Ivory Coast faces a familiar crossroads. The 2010 election was supposed to heal the country’s divisions; instead, it tore them wider when Gbagbo refused to accept defeat. The violence that followed—French troops eventually dragging Gbagbo from his bunker—remains a national trauma.
The institutions meant to ensure fairness appear compromised. The Electoral Commission defends its decisions with clinical language: “The CEI ensures that all candidacies comply with constitutional requirements. Decisions to exclude candidates are based on legal criteria, not political motives.” But to many young Ivorians, these sound like hollow justifications for predetermined outcomes.
The Constitutional Court’s ruling on Thiam was equally stark: “The court’s ruling on Tidjane Thiam’s ineligibility is final and based on Article 55 of the Constitution, which prohibits candidates with dual citizenship from running for president.” Yet critics see the same court that reset Ouattara’s term count in 2016, allowing him endless runs at power while blocking fresh faces.
Opposition groups are mobilising, though their options remain limited. Youth activist Koffi Yannick captures the mounting frustration:
“We, the youth, don’t want another electoral crisis. But when we see candidates like Thiam excluded, it feels like our future is being stolen.”
The regional context looms large. While ECOWAS and the African Union have yet to issue strong statements about the electoral process, the spectre of recent coups in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger hangs over every political calculation. Will international bodies intervene if the election appears rigged? Will they act if violence erupts again?
But this time, there’s also a different energy. Young Ivorians like Miriam Bah believe “the political situation in Ivory Coast is critical but we, the Ivorian youth, can make a change.” Grâce Kotoklui echoes her optimism: “I strongly believe that peace is possible in Côte d’Ivoire and us, the new generation, will accomplish this peaceful future.”
Whether that change comes through the ballot box, street protests, or something else entirely remains the question haunting the country. Civil society groups are quietly preparing election observation missions, while opposition parties debate between participation and boycott—each choice carrying its own risks.
In the markets of Abidjan and the villages of the interior, people remember what electoral disputes can cost. The disinformation may have been false, but the fears it exploited are dangerously authentic. For Ivory Coast, the hardest question isn’t whether the coup rumors were real—it’s whether the country can navigate another election without returning to the violence that once defined it.
With 77% of the population under 35, this generation holds the demographic keys to power. The question is whether they’ll be allowed to use them peacefully.
