Ousmane Sonko has resumed his public pronouncements, and the entire political balance of the country has been shaken. His rally on November 8th, at the foot of the Léopold Sédar Senghor stadium, was far from a simple show of force. It was a wake-up call. First to his supporters, then to the establishment, but above all to the state authorities.

The Pastef leader addressed a large crowd, galvanized by the return of the orator who had spearheaded the electoral wave. His speech, punctuated with references to justice, transparency, and the struggles that led to change, resonated as a reminder of a moral contract still in force. For Sonko, the history of the break with the past must not be lost in the day-to-day management of power.

This speech primarily revealed a major issue: the redistribution of political authority. The March victory did not erase Sonko's central role in the revolutionary dynamic. And on Saturday, he reaffirmed that the mobilizing force of the project remains linked to his name. Diomaye may preside, but the militant energy remains Sonko-esque at heart.

Behind the displays of loyalty, a silent power struggle is taking shape. The government establishes institutions, the movement drives change. The former manages the state, the latter claims fidelity to the narrative that brought about the change of power. Who truly holds the keys to a break with the past? The one who speaks for the nation or the one who speaks to the hearts of the activists?

The two men's styles embody this divergence. The president proceeds cautiously, preferring action to pronouncements, and attempts to project an image of calm after the storm. Sonko, in contrast, emphasizes the popular dimension of power—that is, emotion, fervor, and the rhythm of the streets. Two forms of legitimacy intersect: one institutional, the other charismatic.

But a paradox threatens the equation. To govern, one must work within constraints; to transform, one must sometimes challenge those same constraints. Yet, in Pastef's eyes, the promised revolution cannot simply become a memory. If the symbols are slow to materialize, frustration could organize itself into renewed protests. And Sonko already appears as the voice of those who fear the normalization of the project.

His most discussed statement—that he would not be responsible for any potential split in the partnership—sounds like a thinly veiled warning. The leader of the ruling party is casting himself as the guardian of the promise, the guarantor of the required standards. The president, on the other hand, bears the risk of burnout.

The Senegalese are watching. They have elected a duo, with two faces and a single ambition: to break with the practices of the past. But when vision and governance diverge, which one sets the pace?

Sonko has just reiterated that he is neither retired from politics nor willing to be satisfied with the slow pace of power. He wants the country to still feel the breath of change, not just its institutional echo. Now fully in charge, will Diomaye demonstrate that he can embody this break with the past… without remaining in his mentor's shadow?

What happens next will depend on their ability to combine their strengths instead of pitting them against each other. But one thing is certain: by reshuffling the cards, Sonko has reopened the game. And the people, who dislike both false starts and backing down, now await the next stage of the contest.