It was supposed to be living proof that another world remains possible. Instead, it became a stark reminder of how fragile that world’s foundations really are. The 2026 World Social Forum, expected in Cotonou from August 4 to 8 for its long-awaited return to African soil, collapsed within forty-eight hours under a government ban as brutal as it was unexpected.
On paper, everything had been carefully prepared. Two years of work, driven notably by the West African Global Convergence of Land and Water Struggles, had secured the necessary authorizations from Beninese authorities. The University of Abomey-Calavi had given its green light to host most of the debates. Thousands of delegates from 108 countries had booked their tickets, funded their travel, and converged on Benin hoping to revive, twenty-five years after Porto Alegre, this great worldwide gathering of grassroots movements.
Then everything fell apart. On August 4, opening day, the planned march was banned at the last minute. The following day, the entire Forum was placed under an outright ban. Police moved into the university, which had approved its participation only weeks earlier. Volunteers on site were ordered to leave immediately. A caravan of activists from West Africa, including several feminist organizations, was turned back; five buses were diverted after already crossing the Beninese border. Other delegations, likewise blocked, had to retreat to Lomé, in neighboring Togo.
Faced with widespread bewilderment, the government cited insufficient advance notice to manage a gathering of this scale in the streets of Cotonou, pointing to safety risks for both residents and participants. The explanation did little to convince organizers, for whom nothing had signaled such a reversal: contacts established with the administration before Benin’s elections seemed, on the contrary, to guarantee the event would go smoothly. It was precisely after the vote that the wind shifted, with no clear warning of the rupture to come.
What stands out in this sequence is less the scale of the crackdown than its speed and improvised nature. Denied access to the university, participants did not immediately give up: they held makeshift workshops in bars, hotel rooms, and private courtyards. The Forum even seemed to regain a measure of legitimacy on August 6, when authorities suggested a partial resumption of activities would be tolerated. But the damage was done. The momentum was broken, trust was shattered, and most of the program never materialized.
Reactions were swift. From Geneva, the Europe-Third World Centre denounced a frontal attack on social movements and called on Benin to honor its international human rights commitments. In France, Attac lamented months, if not years, of activist preparation lost, while pointing to a broader climate of authoritarian tightening it observed elsewhere that summer. Organizers themselves struck an equally bitter tone: a statement from the Technical Secretariat called the decision an insult to the Beninese people, noting that the country regularly hosts major international events, from the Festival of Masks to Vodun Days.
Beyond the symbolism, the consequences were very real. Organizations with often limited resources found themselves having spent travel money for nothing. Networks mobilized around freedom of movement, who had come in particular to voice the concerns of exiles from West Africa and the Sahel, saw their platform for expression reduced to nothing. No final declaration, no joint action plan, ever emerged from this aborted edition.
One question remains unanswered for now: will the World Social Forum ever find its way back to Benin, or will the Cotonou episode stand as proof that hosting a global protest movement is always, until the very last moment, a negotiation with whoever happens to hold power.
