n Sierra Leone’s debate over the 2025 Constitutional Amendment Bill, the most troubling feature is not the substance of the proposals themselves but the silence that has settled around them.
Institutions that traditionally speak during constitutional moments — the judiciary, the Bar, legal academics, and even law students — have retreated into quiet observation. In a constitutional democracy, such silence is not neutrality; it is passive assent. When those trained to interrogate power decline to do so, the space for informed public judgment narrows, and constitutional change proceeds without its natural safeguards.
What makes this silence more striking is that it exists alongside an unusually engaged and vocal citizenry. Students, traders, market women, drivers, and young professionals have raised questions about the direction of constitutional change with clarity and seriousness. The constitutional instinct of the public is alive. It is the institutional guardians — not the citizens — who have fallen quiet. In this inversion, the problem is not civic apathy but elite withdrawal.
The metaphor of The Silence of the Lambs is therefore apt, though not for dramatic effect. Lambs do not remain silent because they are unaware of danger, but because they are conditioned to believe that noise invites consequence and that survival lies in stillness. Today, the lambs are not powerless citizens but the guardians of legality themselves. Their silence is not ignorance; it is informed withdrawal in a sensitive environment. What appears as restraint may in fact be a deeper form of acquiescence, one with consequences that extend far beyond the present debate.
History shows that constitutions rarely collapse through dramatic events. They erode slowly — through hesitation, caution, and the quiet retreat of those who understand the stakes but choose not to engage. Legal theorist Mark Tushnet warns that democratic decline often begins with “legalism without legitimacy” laws enacted through proper procedures but without the institutional resistance that gives them democratic meaning.
Silence, in this sense, is not harmless. It becomes a mechanism of constitutional drift, allowing power to consolidate while appearing formally compliant with the law.
The Constitution is often described as a three-legged stool: the Executive, Parliament, and the Judiciary. Each leg must bear equal weight if the structure is to stand. When the judiciary — the branch entrusted with constitutional interpretation and the protection of rights — withdraws from public engagement during a moment of constitutional redesign, the entire structure becomes unstable. The absence of visible legal engagement leaves Parliament and the Executive to reshape the constitutional order without the counter-weight that gives the system balance.
Other democracies confronted with similar moments have recognised this danger and responded by encouraging engagement rather than silence.
During Ghana’s 2010–2012 constitutional review, the Judicial Council and the Bar Association submitted detailed memoranda on judicial appointments, tenure, and court structure. Their participation was not framed as political interference but as constitutional stewardship. Legal input was understood as part of the democratic process itself, enriching rather than undermining legitimacy.
Kenya followed a similar path in the lead-up to its 2010 Constitution. Judges, magistrates, and legal scholars played visible roles throughout the reform process, advising on electoral timelines, dispute-resolution mechanisms, and institutional design. Rather than weakening judicial authority, this engagement strengthened public confidence in the final constitutional settlement and anchored the reforms in legal coherence.
South Africa offers perhaps the clearest illustration of how openness can function as a constitutional safeguard. Its post-apartheid constitutional culture is built on transparency, with judges submitting written opinions during the drafting of the 1996 Constitution and continuing to comment on legislation affecting judicial independence. In that system, silence is viewed not as prudence but as abdication, because constitutional authority is understood to be sustained through visible accountability.
Even in the United Kingdom, where parliamentary sovereignty is deeply entrenched, judicial engagement has long been normalised. Between 1979 and 2015, UK judges provided evidence on at least twenty bills, including major constitutional reforms. Their contributions focused on technical clarity, institutional impact, and legal coherence rather than political outcomes. Judicial independence was not weakened by this practice; it was reinforced by public confidence that judges understood and defended the constitutional architecture.
Paradoxically, it is in the United States — long regarded as a strict adherent to the separation of powers — that judicial appearances be
Institutions that traditionally speak during constitutional moments — the judiciary, the Bar, legal academics, and even law students — have retreated into quiet observation. In a constitutional democracy, such silence is not neutrality; it is passive assent. When those trained to interrogate power decline to do so, the space for informed public judgment narrows, and constitutional change proceeds without its natural safeguards.
What makes this silence more striking is that it exists alongside an unusually engaged and vocal citizenry. Students, traders, market women, drivers, and young professionals have raised questions about the direction of constitutional change with clarity and seriousness. The constitutional instinct of the public is alive. It is the institutional guardians — not the citizens — who have fallen quiet. In this inversion, the problem is not civic apathy but elite withdrawal.
The metaphor of The Silence of the Lambs is therefore apt, though not for dramatic effect. Lambs do not remain silent because they are unaware of danger, but because they are conditioned to believe that noise invites consequence and that survival lies in stillness. Today, the lambs are not powerless citizens but the guardians of legality themselves. Their silence is not ignorance; it is informed withdrawal in a sensitive environment. What appears as restraint may in fact be a deeper form of acquiescence, one with consequences that extend far beyond the present debate.
History shows that constitutions rarely collapse through dramatic events. They erode slowly — through hesitation, caution, and the quiet retreat of those who understand the stakes but choose not to engage. Legal theorist Mark Tushnet warns that democratic decline often begins with “legalism without legitimacy” laws enacted through proper procedures but without the institutional resistance that gives them democratic meaning.
Silence, in this sense, is not harmless. It becomes a mechanism of constitutional drift, allowing power to consolidate while appearing formally compliant with the law.
The Constitution is often described as a three-legged stool: the Executive, Parliament, and the Judiciary. Each leg must bear equal weight if the structure is to stand. When the judiciary — the branch entrusted with constitutional interpretation and the protection of rights — withdraws from public engagement during a moment of constitutional redesign, the entire structure becomes unstable. The absence of visible legal engagement leaves Parliament and the Executive to reshape the constitutional order without the counter-weight that gives the system balance.
Other democracies confronted with similar moments have recognised this danger and responded by encouraging engagement rather than silence.
During Ghana’s 2010–2012 constitutional review, the Judicial Council and the Bar Association submitted detailed memoranda on judicial appointments, tenure, and court structure. Their participation was not framed as political interference but as constitutional stewardship. Legal input was understood as part of the democratic process itself, enriching rather than undermining legitimacy.
Kenya followed a similar path in the lead-up to its 2010 Constitution. Judges, magistrates, and legal scholars played visible roles throughout the reform process, advising on electoral timelines, dispute-resolution mechanisms, and institutional design. Rather than weakening judicial authority, this engagement strengthened public confidence in the final constitutional settlement and anchored the reforms in legal coherence.
South Africa offers perhaps the clearest illustration of how openness can function as a constitutional safeguard. Its post-apartheid constitutional culture is built on transparency, with judges submitting written opinions during the drafting of the 1996 Constitution and continuing to comment on legislation affecting judicial independence. In that system, silence is viewed not as prudence but as abdication, because constitutional authority is understood to be sustained through visible accountability.
Even in the United Kingdom, where parliamentary sovereignty is deeply entrenched, judicial engagement has long been normalised. Between 1979 and 2015, UK judges provided evidence on at least twenty bills, including major constitutional reforms. Their contributions focused on technical clarity, institutional impact, and legal coherence rather than political outcomes. Judicial independence was not weakened by this practice; it was reinforced by public confidence that judges understood and defended the constitutional architecture.
Paradoxically, it is in the United States — long regarded as a strict adherent to the separation of powers — that judicial appearances be