No Law, No End? The Politics of FGM

By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura

A young girl is held down, not by strangers, but by women she has known and loved all her life. They tell her to be strong. One day, they assure her, she will understand. She cries, resists, but the hands are too strong. Then, it happens...the pain – sharp, unforgettable, all-consuming. They still call it love. Because this is how it has always been framed.

You believe that love protects, it does not harm, it does not leave wounds that linger long after the body has healed. And yet, in many communities across Sierra Leone, female genital mutilation (FGM) continues to exist within that contradiction. Not as violence, not as harm, but as care, as culture, as something done for girls, not to them.

The practice clothes itself in music, drumming, dancing in the streets. It masquerades as celebration. It is something to look forward to, something that signals belonging. “I desired to be part of it,” Rugiatu Neneh Turay admits. “I never knew it was deeper than what the eyes see.” Rugiatu is an outspoken anti-FGM activist and founder of the Amazonian Initiated Movement (AIM), whose advocacy is rooted in her own lived experience. She remembers questioning everything as it happened, the woman who performed it, the relatives who took her there. “The excessive bleeding… the pain during urination… the weakness,” she says. “That was the turning point”.

Criticism of the practice is arguably at its most vocal, with awareness campaigns spanning across districts. National data from the "FGM Country Research Initiative" suggests a decline, from about 90% prevalence to 83% in recent years. But there remains a stubborn reality. “You don’t enforce policies until there is something to enforce,” notes the Chief Director at the Ministry of Gender and Children’s Affairs, Charles Bockari Vandi.

Legislative efforts have been made, consultations held, drafts prepared, but the law itself has not materialized.

In its absence, the focus shifts. Not to outright elimination, but to reduction: Community engagement, awareness… It is a strategy built on time. But for those who have lived through it, time feels costly. “The day politicians stop playing politics with FGM,” Rugiatu says, “that will be the day it ends.” Because beyond culture, there is another layer, one less visible, but deeply influential: Politics. According to activists, the practice is sometimes protected, even encouraged, for political gain. Supporting it can secure loyalty, opposing it can risk losing it.

Still, awareness has made an impact. Organizations like Forum Against Harmful Practices (FAHP), working at the community level describe a decline in some areas, and in others, a shift, where the practice becomes less visible, more private. It’s still chosen, sometimes for acceptance, sometimes for marriage, and most times because not choosing it carries its own consequences. “Even with awareness raising, the lack of a clear, unified message, especially the tension between zero tolerance and age of consent, creates confusion, and that slows down real change,” asserts FAHP National Coordinator Ishmael Cole.

FGM continues to exist in a space of contradiction. It is questioned but still defended. Experienced as pain, yet still described, in some places, as love. And maybe that is where the discomfort begins. Not just in the act itself, but in what we choose to call it. Because if something hurts, if it scares, scars and destroys…can it still be called love?