Mocha oa Lesotho
On Monday, Kabelo Mollo, a respected voice in Lesotho’s media and commentary circles, posed a question on X (formerly Twitter) that struck me and stayed with me. He asked, “Are there any young aspiring female politicians (that stand out) in the Kingdom?”
One would expect such a question to spark a flurry of responses, a proud parade of names from across our political spectrum. Instead, one of the top replies was a blunt and sobering “none.”
I bookmarked the post, thinking perhaps the replies would grow over time. But yesterday, I returned to find that the silence still echoed. This was more than just an absence of names; it was an indictment. A warning bell. A national reflection.
Are there truly no young aspiring female politicians who stand out in Lesotho?
In fact, we might ask: are there any young aspiring politicians of either gender who currently stand out in Lesotho? The answer, disappointingly, is still “none.”
Now, someone might argue otherwise. They may throw a few names into the mix—perhaps a young MP here, a politically active youth there. But I ask: What bold leadership traits have they displayed so far? What defining national conversations have they led? What difficult issues have they owned with courage and consistency? What fresh, disruptive ideas have they put forward? What cause have they fought for so passionately that it redefined them in the eyes of the nation?
Too often, young people in our political parties have become little more than cheerleaders for the old guard—mere dancers at political rallies, amplifying slogans they did not author, defending legacies they did not shape. They chant, clap, and retweet—but they do not lead.
Lesotho is still waiting for a new generation of leaders. Leaders who can stand on their own, who can articulate a clear vision, who are unafraid to confront power, and who command attention not because of who their mentors are, but because of who they are.
Let’s take a glance across the border.
In his recent address, South Africa’s Mbuyiseni Ndlozi mentioned that he was in his 20s when he became a Member of Parliament. He quickly became known as “the people’s bae,” not for charm alone, but for the eloquence, fire, and clarity he brought to public discourse.
Mmusi Maimane was in his 30s when he took the reins of the Democratic Alliance, the country’s second-largest political party. Agree or disagree with his politics, you could not deny that he stood for something.
Julius Malema was only 32 when he founded the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF), while Floyd Shivambu was just 30.
These were not just figureheads. They were firebrands.
Malema and Shivambu became the sharpest thorns in Jacob Zuma’s side. They were relentless in their pursuit of accountability. They disrupted parliament—not for chaos—but to reclaim its purpose as the house of the people. They pushed boundaries and dragged Zuma to the Constitutional Court over Nkandla, securing a ruling that he had violated the Constitution. That wasn’t just noise; that was history.
When the EFF launched in 2013, many thought it was a revenge project—a platform for the politically wounded. But it caught fire, channeling the frustration of millions of poor and disillusioned South Africans. Nine months later, it won over 1.1 million votes and sent shockwaves through every level of government.
Where is our Malema?
Where is our Ndlozi? Our Maimane? Our Shivambu?
Where are the bold, young, articulate, radical, thoughtful, principled, unapologetically Basotho voices willing to challenge not only the state but also the culture of political complacency that keeps this country stagnant?
And where are the women?
The silence on Kabelo Mollo’s post was particularly loud when it came to aspiring female leaders. That is perhaps the most damning silence of all. It reflects a toxic blend of patriarchal politics, systemic exclusion, and a political environment that still doesn’t know what to do with female power unless it comes in a tokenised, controlled, or ceremonial package.
We cannot afford this anymore.
Yes, we have young people who have won elections. Yes, we have youth leagues. Yes, we have photos of energetic youth dancing at rallies. But that is not leadership. That is choreography.
Real leadership is about ideas. It is about courage. It is about showing up when it’s unpopular to do so. It is about fighting for something larger than oneself, day in and day out.
It is not about inheriting a seat in parliament or having access to a government vehicle. It is not about parroting the views of older men in the party. It is about defining your vision, your movement, and your mark on history.
too many young Basotho have bought into the lie that their role is to clap hands. To dance at stadiums. To defend the indefensible on Facebook. To be the cyber militia of failed politicians. To become the voice note warriors for men who do not know how to let go of power.
They are taught that loyalty is rewarded, not integrity. That ambition is arrogance. That silence is wisdom. That obedience is strategy. That if you play your cards right, they will choose you as a candidate for council or give you a junior position in government.
But is that all we aspire to be?
We must ask: Where are the young people who want to build their own platforms? Who want to speak not as proxies, but as pioneers?
Where are the leaders who say: “This is what I stand for. This is my vision for Lesotho. And this is how I’m going to fight for it—whether you support me or not.”
If young people do not change course, Lesotho is heading for another 30 years of recycled leaders, recycled promises, and recycled failures. The future will continue to be written by people who are stuck in the past.
So, what is to be done?
We need a youth political awakening. Not one that waits for approval from the elders, but one that challenges power directly. That builds from the ground up. That organises, campaigns, and creates its own vision of what Lesotho could be.
We need a political renaissance driven by young Basotho who are not afraid to be unpopular. Who are not afraid to be laughed at, mocked, or underestimated. Because that’s how all great leaders start.
And above all, we need to actively support, uplift, and protect young women in politics. Their voices are not just needed—they are essential.
It is time we move from passive observers to active participants.
Because if we don’t—if we continue to remain silent—then history will not only forget us; it will indict us for our cowardice.
And our children will ask: “Where were you when Lesotho needed new leaders?”
And we will have no answer.
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