The Trial of Ousainou Bojang and the Soul of Justice in The Gambia grapples with the sacred principle enshrined in Criminal justice “Beyond all reasonable doubt”. 

In the crowded courtrooms and hushed market stalls of The Gambia, a name stirs the heart of a nation and that name is Ousainou Bojang. He stands accused of a crime that rattled the very core of national security in The Gambia: the alleged murder of Police Intervention Unit (PIU) officers.

Yet, in a twist that cuts deep into our collective conscience, almost the entire nation both publicly and privately have expressed some sort of unwavering belief in his innocence.

This is not just a trial of a man. It is a trial of our faith in justice, a reckoning with how we define guilt, and a reflection of how we treat the burden of proof within the sacred walls of our courts.

Beyond All Reasonable Doubt: A Sacred Threshold or An Abstract theatrics?

In every democracy where the rule of law is upheld, the cornerstone of criminal justice is the presumption of innocence and The Gambia being no exception. The state must prove guilt beyond all reasonable doubt, a sacred threshold that protects the innocent, even if it means the guilty might walk free. It is a standard born out of centuries of blood, tears, and lessons from justice miscarried.

But what does “beyond all reasonable doubt” mean in practice? It means the prosecution must present evidence so convincing, so compelling and so watertight, that no fair-minded person can harbor a real doubt about the accused’s guilt. It is not merely a legal standard; it is a moral wall built to withstand the storms of bias, emotion, public and state pressure.

From Banjul to Brikama, Kartong to Koina, whispers and loud declarations alike paint Ousainou Bojang not as a criminal, but as a scapegoat and someone caught in a storm bigger than himself. In taxis, offices, churches and in mosques, in family living rooms and private bedrooms, there is a consensus almost eerie in its unity: ” Ousainou couldn’t have done it.”

When an entire nation begin to doubt the narrative of guilt, it forces a deeper question: Has the prosecution truly met its burden? Or has the machinery of justice simply moved forward because it must, even if propelled by flawed or incomplete evidence?

To convict a man when public confidence in the process has crumbled would not just be a legal decision but monumentally, it would be a moral fracture. It would suggest that doubt, however loud and widespread, can still be ignored.

Let us not forget what is at stake for this is not about politics, popularity, or public perception. This is about the life of a man. If Ousainou Bojang is innocent and if that innocence has not been unequivocally disproved then convicting him would not merely be a mistake. It would be an act of national betrayal.

And what then? What happens to the mothers who tell their sons to believe in justice? What happens to fathers like us who bring our kids up to belive and trust absolutely in the justice systems of our nation? What happens to our ideas that some of us propagate daily that our courts protect the innocent, not just prosecute the accused? What happens to us, as a people, when the justice system becomes a machine that cannot hear the cries outside its doors? These questions have given me much sleepless nights as I watch the progress of Ousainous case and that of his sister who is also implicated.

Yet, this must be said too: confidence, no matter how widespread, is not evidence. Belief is not proof. The courtroom is not a popularity contest, and verdicts must not be based on public opinion. They must be rooted in facts, in verified truths, in rigorous argument. The only path to real justice is one paved with clarity and conscience.

So as the case against Ousainou Bojang progresses, we must ask ourselves: has the prosecution surmounted the sacred threshold of “beyond all reasonable doubt”? Or are we witnessing a case held together by suspicion and sealed by necessity?

As this case progresses we hope and pray that the courts listen not just to the voices in the courtroom, but to the silence that roars across a nation unsure of its own justice. If doubt exists, it must not be brushed aside. It must be confronted. It must be honored. For that will be our sacred duty to self and to country.

We must all agree that in the end, justice is not served by punishing a man. It is served only by protecting the truth.

 I still belive that our judiciary, one case at a time, one decision after another, will continue to solidify our democratic gains and cement the foundations of true, undiluted and unshakable delivery and dispensation of Justice for our courts remain the last bastion of hope in our beloved Gambia.

M R R.