I REMEMBER exactly where I was when I finished reading The Economist’s assessment of President Samia Suluhu Hassan.
I was sitting in traffic near Kariakoo, watching traders haul sacks of rice and crates of tomatoes across the street, drivers leaning on their horns, the city doing what it always does, moving forward, even when politics feels heavy. That is what struck me most.
The article painted Tanzania as a country sliding toward authoritarian collapse. However, on the ground, life looked far more complicated and far more hopeful. Let us start with the economy, because this is where rhetoric and reality diverge most sharply.
Since Samia took office in 2021, Tanzania’s export earnings have risen from roughly 6.4 billion US dollars to about 8.7 billion US dollars. Foreign exchange reserves now stand at around 5.6 billion US dollars, providing the country with a buffer of several months of imports.
Nominal GDP has grown from approximately 156tri/to over 205tri/, while per-capita income has climbed from about 2.36m/ to nearly 2.94m/. Inflation has stayed below 5 per cent, no small feat in a world rocked by supply shocks and wars.
These are not abstract figures. They show up in quieter ways: shopkeepers restocking shelves more confidently, construction sites restarting, farmers finding buyers for their crops. Tourism tells a similar story.
Arrivals rebounded from pandemic lows of about 1.7 million visitors to more than 5 million last year, generating around 3.3 billion US dollars in revenue.
That money flows through safari guides in Arusha, hotel cleaners in Zanzibar, drivers in Moshi, and artisans in Stone Town. You feel it when guesthouses fill again and when flights land packed.
Foreign investment has not fled, despite the headlines. More than 25 billion US dollars in registered projects are now in the pipeline, projected to create over 650,000 jobs. Industrial parks like Kwala are attracting textile plants, cosmetics manufacturers, and light engineering firms.
These are not vanity projects; they are designed to absorb Tanzania’s growing workforce. And then there is China, a relationship that looks very different when you step away from policy jargon and into farms, factories and ports.
Bilateral trade has now pushed past 8 billion US dollars a year, up from roughly 6.5 billion US dollars just a few years ago, with Tanzanian exports to China jumping more than 40 per cent since 2022 and crossing the 1 billion US dollars mark for the first time, driven by gold, copper, cashew nuts, sesame, coffee, avocados, and increasingly processed agricultural goods.
Duty-free access has changed the game for small exporters: I have spoken with sesame farmers in Morogoro shipping directly to Guangzhou, and cooperative leaders near Mbeya pooling avocado harvests for refrigerated containers headed to Shanghai, people who used to depend on intermediaries now negotiating prices on WhatsApp.
Add to those billions of dollars in Chinese-backed infrastructure, port upgrades in Dar es Salaam, logistics corridors, and the standard gauge railway, and you begin to see why claims of economic isolation ring hollow.
These projects have already created tens of thousands of construction and support jobs, from welders to warehouse clerks, while new industrial zones like Kwala are finally putting Tanzanian-made products into global supply chains. Yes, there are real debates about debt and transparency, and they matter.
However, when The Economist suggests this engagement only benefits elites, it ignores the drivers, farmers, and young logistics graduates whose livelihoods now depend on containers moving through the harbour, and that disconnect between distant commentary and lived reality is exactly why so many Tanzanians feel their country is being judged without being understood. The Economist suggests that all of these benefits are only for a corrupt elite.
That has not been my experience. I have spoken with young entrepreneurs who have secured startup loans. I have met logistics operators who have added trucks to their fleets. I have watched industrial apprentices clock in at new factories. Is inequality still real? Absolutely.
However, the claim that growth is purely extractive does not square with what is happening in neighbourhoods and trading centres across the country. Then there is October 29. No one should minimise what happened. Protests erupted. Security forces responded forcefully. People died.
Opposition figures claimed hundreds of fatalities, with some estimates reaching as high as 700. International observers confirmed deaths but could not independently verify the larger figures. That distinction matters. What has proven is that violence occurred. What remains disputed is the scale.
What is still unknown is the full chain of responsibility. Instead of brushing this aside, President Samia established a national commission to investigate the unrest and promised that its findings would inform reconciliation and reform. That is not the behaviour of a leader pretending nothing went wrong.
Critics argue this is cosmetic. Nonetheless, anyone familiar with Tanzanian politics knows how rare formal accountability mechanisms have been historically.
This is movement, imperfect, slow, but meaningful. The imprisonment of Tundu Lissu and reports of disappearances deserve scrutiny. They demand transparency. Nevertheless, The Economist leaps from documented abuses to sweeping conclusions about centralised tyranny.
Intent is inferred. Motives are assumed. Inside government, Prime Minister Mwigulu Nchemba has publicly committed to dismantling abduction networks and tightening oversight of security agencies.
Whether these efforts succeed remains to be seen, but dismissing them outright ignores the reality that internal pressure for reform exists.
There is also something missing from most international commentary: Tanzania’s political culture. Since the era of Julius Nyerere, the country has prized stability. Power has long been centralised under Chama Cha Mapinduzi. Even under other presidents, the system did not collapse; it adapted and endured.
President Samia inherited that structure. She opened civic space early on, welcomed exiles home, re-engaged investors, then tightened security when unrest threatened wider instability. That oscillation is not new.
It is Tanzania’s long pattern: reform, retrenchment, recalibration. Meanwhile, a newly empowered Ministry of Youth Development is now tackling unemployment directly, rolling out skills training, entrepreneurship funding, and placement programmes. These initiatives exist because leaders know something simple: idle young people do not need slogans, they need opportunities.
Faith communities have stepped in, too, with interfaith missions and prayers for national healing, including support voiced by Pope Leo. It may sound symbolic, but for many families, that solidarity matters.
Regionally, Tanzania continues to play peacemaker, helping ease tensions in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Burundi, and Mozambique. Quiet diplomacy does not generate headlines, but it saves lives. Besides, here is the part that rarely makes it into glossy magazines. Most Tanzanians are tired. Not revolutionary tired, life tired.
They are worried about rent, school fees and medical bills. They want roads fixed and businesses to grow. I spoke recently with a boda-boda rider who summed it up plainly: “We argue about politics, yes.
However, we want peace more.” That quiet majority does not appear in protest photos. However, it shapes the country far more than any single election.
The Economist sees a descent into despotism. What I see is a nation wrestling with contradictions: growth alongside frustration, reform alongside repression, hope alongside fatigue. Samia Suluhu Hassan is not presiding over a perfect democracy.
Still, she is steering Tanzania through a difficult passage with measurable economic gains, renewed global engagement, and cautious steps toward accountability.
This is not a collapse. It is a complicated transition, one being lived day by day by ordinary people who, despite everything, are choosing stability over chaos and building a future one small victory at a time. The author is a senior diplomat and economic analyst.
