Authoritarianism

Nolan Quinn is a research associate for the Council on Foreign Relations’ Africa Program. On January 19, U.S. Secretary of State Michael Pompeo—on his last full day in the position—announced visa restrictions on “Tanzanian officials responsible for or complicit in undermining” the general elections held in late October last year. As of yet, none of the individuals sanctioned have been identified publicly. In announcing the measures, Secretary Pompeo asserted that “there are consequences for interfering in the democratic process,” while the U.S. embassy in Tanzania said it had “kept its promise” to hold accountable those officials who had interfered in the elections. Prior to Tanzania’s elections, Secretary Pompeo released a nonspecific statement urging African governments to hold “free, fair, inclusive elections.” The Tanzanian government, led by President John Magufuli and the increasingly authoritarian ruling party, Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM), undoubtedly failed to heed Secretary Pompeo’s call. However, the same could be said of incumbents in the Ivory Coast, Guinea, and Uganda, none of which faced a response from the Trump administration beyond rhetoric. While the reasoning behind the decision to single out Tanzania—one that belies the Trump administration’s weak record of defending democracy in Africa—is not clear, what is apparent is that U.S.-Tanzania relations have sharply soured in the past decade. Until recently, the U.S.-Tanzania partnership was strong. In 2013, President Barack Obama became the third successive U.S. president to travel to Tanzania. In a joint press conference with Tanzania’s President Jakaya Kikwete, who was also the first African head of state to visit the Obama White House, President Obama commended Tanzanians—and their government—for “doing their part to advance the good governance and transparency upon which democracy and prosperity depend.” Obama, in touching on the “spirit of friendship” the two countries enjoyed, was not merely offering a one-sided, feel-good bromide: from 2006 to 2012, approval of U.S. leadership in Tanzania stood at an average of over 72 percent; in 2015, 78 percent of Tanzanians expressed confidence that President Obama would “do the right thing regarding world affairs.” Tanzania has also consistently been among the top two or three recipients of bilateral aid administered by the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) in sub-Saharan Africa. However, the 2015 annulment of an election in Zanzibar—one initially praised as the smoothest in the semiautonomous archipelago’s history—precipitated what has been a rapid deterioration in bilateral relations. Citing the Zanzibar election and limitations on freedom of expression, in March 2016 the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC), a U.S. foreign assistance agency, suspended its partnership with Tanzania. Magufuli further irritated relations when, in June 2016, his government unilaterally cancelled a contract with Symbion Power, a U.S. company that had received more than $110 million in MCC procurement awards. Pressure to act against the Tanzanian government rose further amid a crackdown on human rights, which included the president’s pledge to set up a “surveillance squad” targeting the gay community. On January 31, 2020, the Trump administration announced sanctions against Paul Makonda, the regional commissioner of Dar es Salaam, for his role in targeting “marginalized people,” and on the same day, the White House added Tanzania to a list of countries—considered by some commentators the final iteration of President Trump’s much-maligned “Muslim ban”—for its apparent failures to share public-safety and terrorism-related information. Pompeo’s final imposition of sanctions for electoral malfeasance is likely to command support across the aisle. In the U.S. House of Representatives, a bipartisan group of lawmakers introduced a resolution noting discontent with the Tanzanian government’s conduct in business disputes and its role in suppressing dissent in the lead-up to the elections. Following the vote, Senator Bob Menendez (D-NJ) called violence by security forces “the culmination of five years of sustained attacks by the Magufuli administration against the country’s democratic institutions,” while U.S. Ambassador to Tanzania Donald J. Wright, a political appointee, noted that “detaining opposition leaders is not the act of a government confident in its victory.” Tanzanian opposition figures have welcomed Pompeo’s move. Zitto Kabwe, a Tanzanian opposition leader, had already expressed a desire for other countries to sanction Tanzania. Fatma Karume, a former president of the Tanganyika Law Society who was disbarred seemingly for her political activism, thanked the United States for “saying NO to IMPUNITY” and giving those “who believe in DEMOCRACY and HUMAN RIGHTS renewed vigour.” Magufuli’s main contender for the presidency in October’s elections, Tundu Lissu, called the move a “clear and unmistakable warning to dictators who stole elections.” The question for the Biden administration is not whether it will repeal sanctions against Tanzanian officials. Without wholesale changes in Tanzania’s political climate, it will not, though the broader travel ban is almost sure to be axed. More pressing is for President Biden and his coterie of advisers to decide whether to send similarly strong messages to other authoritarians in Africa, particularly in Uganda, where reported abuses have been on par or worse than those in Tanzania. While the United States’ democratic credentials have certainly been damaged following the assault on the U.S. Capitol, failing to punish blatant abuses of human rights would do nothing more than leave autocrats comfortable in their ill-gotten victories.

Nkasi Wodu is a lawyer, peacebuilding practitioner, and development expert based in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. On January 6, a large group of rioters stormed the U.S. Capitol building in an attempt to unconstitutionally obstruct the certification of Joe Biden’s Electoral College victory, following his triumph in the presidential election held on November 3. Fortunately for U.S. democracy, centuries-old institutions held firm in the face of this assault, as Vice President Mike Pence officially announced President-Elect Biden’s victory after Congress completed the counting of the votes. Unfortunately, the events on January 6 could prove detrimental for democracy in the developing world.  For many years, the United States has stood as the beacon of hope for democracy in the world, using its resources to promote democratic values and discourage autocracy from Africa to Latin America to the former Soviet Union. While there have, admittedly, been valid criticisms targeted at some of these efforts, what is apparent is that for decades the United States has helped create space for civil society actors to push for reforms, hold their governments accountable, and build the capacity of emerging activists. Specifically, the United States has stood as the prototype for which civil society actors in African countries push their governments to pursue. However, in a dark twist of fate, many African dictators and faux democrats are now bolstered by the recent happenings in the United States—dubbed an insurrection by President-Elect Biden, while others have called it a coup or domestic terrorism—as an excuse not to uphold democratic tenets which the United States has long defended. Sadly, for many African countries, the events at Capitol Hill may have done irreparable damage to their struggling democracies. Civil society actors have pointed to seamless, non-violent transitions of power in the United States as norms that African governments should aspire to meet. There are numerous examples in sub-Saharan Africa—including Nigeria, Liberia, Ivory Coast, Burundi, and Ethiopia—where mismanaged election processes have truncated transitions and led to violence, military coups, and even civil wars. Activists in African countries have pushed for electoral reform as an essential ingredient for democracy and an antidote to African leaders’ penchant for decades-long terms. The allegations of fraud from many of President Trump’s supporters have not only cast a shadow on the integrity of the process, but also made the work of civil society actors harder by emboldening African political leaders—whose first victim is usually the integrity of the electoral process—to continue organizing elections in which results bear no resemblance to the collective will of the majority. Human rights abuses committed by security forces are another area where African activists have challenged governments. Many African leaders are quick to use the various security agencies under their control to suppress dissent. The efforts of civil society organizations in mobilizing against this practice in the past two decades have been impressive. While the United States has many documented problems regarding police brutality, particularly against persons of color, many civil society actors in Africa have pushed for more accountability of security agencies in their countries using the United States as an imperfect example. Following the violent response to Black Live Matters protests by many U.S. police departments in the summer of 2020, some African countries—such as Nigeria, Cameroon, Mali, Kenya, Uganda, and Ivory Coast—have also seen increasing crackdowns on peaceful protesters. The same can be said of restrictions on civic space in many African countries. While it can be argued that some African governments have consistently pursued dissenting voices, the Trump administration’s inclination to label unflattering news as “fake” and offer “alternative facts” has allowed governments to clamp down on dissenting voices under the guise of limiting the spread of fake news. Nigeria’s minister of information, for example, has continued to push for legislation imposing harsh penalties for the sharing of fake news on social media. When U.S. Senator Chuck Schumer said that “January 6 will go down as one of the darkest days of recent American history,” he was not speaking only for Americans. African civil society actors’ painstaking efforts to build the foundations of representative democracy have inevitably been made more difficult as the guiding light from the “shining city on a hill” has become dimmer. So, while American institutions have seemingly survived the latest assault, its effects will certainly reverberate abroad in many African countries. As then-President Biden begins the difficult task of rebuilding the country after taking his oath of office on January 20, he should consider that restoring functional democracy in the United States is a prerequisite for his foreign policy agenda of revitalizing the American commitment to human rights and democracy around the world. As Biden himself said, the United States leads not by the example of its power, but the power of its example.

The past year was a highly eventful one in Southeast Asia. The region suffered significantly from the global pandemic, and yet it also contained some of the states with the best records on COVID-19 in the world, including Vietnam and Thailand. Many Southeast Asian countries, even those that have handled the pandemic effectively, face vast economic distress this year, and the region also faces continued democratic backsliding and major geopolitical and strategic challenges. Here is the first tranche of some events to watch in Southeast Asia in 2021. Vaccinating Populations While Thailand, Vietnam, Singapore, Brunei, and several other Southeast Asian states have had exemplary records in containing COVID-19, especially given that Vietnam and Thailand are not wealthy countries, the region now needs to obtain and vaccinate people to wholly stop the pandemic. Unfortunately, many of the leading vaccine makers have reserved hundreds of millions of initial doses for wealthy countries, and several Southeast Asian states do not seem to have clear plans in place for vaccination. Not surprisingly, Singapore already has begun vaccinations, and seems to have a clear plan in place. Indonesia also has several deals for vaccines, including those from China, but the safety of the Chinese-made vaccines still remains unclear. Other countries like Thailand, Malaysia, and the Philippines do have strategies in place, but they may be stuck waiting for vaccines as European and North American states get more of the first shipments, and still other Southeast Asian states do not have a clear vaccination plan in place. Much of the region may remain unvaccinated even late in 2021. The Economic Impact   Even Thailand and Vietnam and Singapore, which have handled COVID-19 impressively, suffered major economic hits this year, though their ability to control the pandemic will bolster their economic recovery, making them relatively attractive to foreign investment. (Bloomberg recently ranked Thailand as one the strongest emerging markets economically in 2021, although I have my doubts given Thailand’s dependence on tourism, political instability, and other major challenges.) Singapore, a highly trade-dependent and tourism-dependent economy, is expected to see its economy shrink by at least 6 percent when the final figures for 2020 are calculated, while Thailand also has suffered a severe contraction. The Philippines, meanwhile, with one of the toughest lockdowns in the world, has weathered a horrendous economic contraction, probably of around 8.5 to 9.5 percent—its worst economic performance in decades, which has fallen particularly hard in a country with high rates of poverty and inequality.   While it is possible that some Southeast Asian states will rebound strongly in 2021, the reality for many seems grimmer. Without effective vaccination strategies, many Southeast Asian states will continue to struggle. Tourism, so important to economies like Thailand, is unlikely to rebound quickly until travelers feel much more confident about safety. The region has continued to push through multilateral trade liberalization, most recently with the signing of the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership, but it will be of little help if most countries do not get people vaccinated, consumer spending remains depressed, infrastructure building remains in limbo, and most tourists are still scared to cross borders.  COVID-19’s Impact on Democracy   Like many other regions of the world, Southeast Asia saw that the pandemic allowed illiberal leaders to entrench their gains. In a CFR Discussion Paper released in November, I documented some of the ways in which COVID-19 had facilitated more democratic backsliding in Southeast Asia, including in the Philippines, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, and Indonesia, among others. Southeast Asia was hardly alone; Freedom House released a study of the pandemic’s effect on democracy, and showed that democracy had weakened during the pandemic in eighty countries. (I contributed slightly to some of the Southeast Asia research for that report.) Will the region’s illiberal leaders consolidate the further gains they made in 2020? It is likely, although not assured in some places like Thailand.   For Thailand in particular, the kingdom’s domestic struggles—partly due to new restrictions enacted after COVID-19 and partly due to pent-up anger at the monarchy and the military—seem poised for a bleak outcome, with the return of the lèse-majesté law in force and the potential for a substantial crackdown if protests continue into the new year.

South and Southeast Asia have demonstrated mixed results in combating the coronavirus pandemic, yet COVID-19 has been a political boon for illiberal leaders in the region. In fact, South and Southeast Asia have had some of the most extreme COVID-19-related democratic regressions in the world. But it is not irreversible. The COVID-19-era consolidation of political influence should be countered to ensure that politicians cannot use the pandemic to permanently amass more power. Across South and Southeast Asia, defenders of democratic norms and institutions should support safe elections and work to ensure that, even if leaders have amassed extensive powers to fight the pandemic, these powers are time-limited and that plans for returning to political normality are in place. In countries where the number of COVID-19 cases and deaths have been relatively low, supporters of democratic rights and institutions should use street protests, parliamentary sessions, and social media, with appropriate health precautions, to pressure governments. In states that have failed to handle COVID-19 effectively, opponents should highlight these mistakes and show that limiting political freedoms does not guarantee better public health outcomes. For more on the region’s democratic regression in the COVID-19 era, and how to combat it, see my new CFR Discussion Paper, Addressing the Effect of COVID-19 on Democracy in South and Southeast Asia.

Tanzania’s fundamentally flawed elections in late October, and the additional repression unleashed in their immediate aftermath, have provoked international alarm and criticism. From pre-election conditions that stifled free speech and criminalized civic action to election-day irregularities including communications blackouts and ballot box tampering, the entire exercise lacked credibility, making the anodyne statements of the Southern African Development Community nothing short of embarrassing. When opposition leaders are arrested in the aftermath of an election and shortly afterward must flee the country fearing for their lives, there are no congratulations in order for anyone. But sometimes lost in the sheer quantity of alarming news stories about Tanzania’s slide into authoritarianism is the fact that the people of Zanzibar, the semiautonomous region off the coast of mainland Tanzania, have been repeatedly denied their civil and political rights, even in the era when the rest of the country appeared to be on a democratic trajectory. As the International Crisis Group has noted, international observers have corroborated opposition allegations of cheating in every election in Zanzibar since 1995, the year multiparty elections were reintroduced countrywide. In this year’s election, a heavy military and police presence in Zanzibar set an intimidating tone that escalated into beatings, violent expulsions of legitimate observers from polling places, the use of tear gas against civilians, and killings. The people of Zanzibar are almost entirely Muslim, whereas Muslims are a minority on the mainland. Their political rights are consistently denied. Asking them to have faith in the rule of law and peaceful institutions of government to address their grievances is a very tall order, given their repeated experiences.  Zanzibar would seem a very ripe target for violent extremists. As alarm bells sound ever more loudly about the insurgency in northern Mozambique, which has already spilled over into Tanzania, some international soul-searching about why Zanzibar’s plight has persisted for so long is overdue. The point is not that the people of Zanzibar are dangerous; it is that their disenfranchisement is dangerous, in addition to simply being wrong. Those who claim to focus solely on security issues with transnational implications cannot ignore the very real consequences of politics.  

Internet control is more than just an authoritarian problem. It invades the openness of democratic societies as well.

In response to internet censorship by governments across the continent, Africans have turned to technologies of freedom to access blocked content online.

The draft report of the U.S. Commission on Unalienable Rights provides a gift to despotic regimes and reveals the Trump administration’s hypocritical human rights policy.

In the United States and around the world, societies are struggling to balance the sometimes draconian social controls needed to combat a highly contagious infectious disease with the need for limits on government power and the protection of civil liberties. Public health concerns can be used to justify crackdowns on opposition politicians, the manipulation of vital humanitarian assistance, and the emergency overriding of mechanisms meant to prohibit private gain at the public’s expense. In societies where the scales had already tipped toward authoritarianism before the emergence of COVID-19, the disease is providing cover for the further consolidation of power and abuse of citizens. Zimbabwe is a clear example of this trend. But the endgame for Zimbabwe’s government remains very uncertain. The government of Zimbabwe’s shocking campaign to persecute political opponents, which has long been a constant that varies only in intensity over time, has ramped up once again. To take only one egregious recent example, three members of the main opposition MDC Alliance party, Member of Parliament Joana Mamombe, Cecilia Chimbiri, and Netsai Marova were detained at a checkpoint in May, ostensibly for violating lockdown orders to attend a peaceful protest. All three women report subsequently being abducted, tortured, and sexually assaulted. True to form, government officials have publicly mooted wild theories claiming that the allegations were fabricated, or that a mysterious “third force” could be responsible. Last week, the three women were arrested for allegedly lying about their ordeal. Meanwhile, hunger stalked Zimbabwe even before the economic outlook dimmed for the entire region as a result of the pandemic. The World Food Program indicates that half of the population is severely food insecure, and that urban hunger will get even worse by next spring. But the urgency of the crisis has not stopped the government from arbitrarily shutting down urban spaces, or from politicizing the distribution of food aid to punish citizens who support the opposition. Likewise, the desperate circumstances of the population have not stopped government officials seeking to capitalize on the pandemic to enrich themselves. Officials were recently compelled to cancel inflated contracts for medical supplies with a consulting firm linked to the President of Zimbabwe and his family, but not before berating journalists for covering the story. As eagerly as the government of Zimbabwe has seized on this crisis to consolidate power and wealth, there is little evidence of a viable plan for the future. Brutality cannot tame the second-highest inflation rate in the world, make the government’s “command agriculture” scheme anything more than a vehicle for elite corruption, or help the country manage the global economic consequences of COVID-19. Rumors of toxic rifts in the senior ranks of government and even coup plots illustrate the limits of Zimbabwe’s authoritarian consolidation, even in a crisis.

In North Korea, all authority flows from Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un. He has reinstated the party as the central hub to consolidate his power and bring elites to heel.

Despite the COVID-19 pandemic, it’s full steam ahead in Burundi with regard to the presidential and parliamentary elections slated for May 20. As recent weeks brought news of the first recorded cases of the coronavirus in Burundi, they have also featured coverage of crowded campaign rallies. President Pierre Nukurunziza’s reluctance to impose policies aimed at stopping the virus from spreading is converging with his enthusiasm for democratic authoritarianism, putting not only Burundi, but Burundi’s neighbors at risk. There is no suspense whatsoever surrounding the upcoming polls. After Nkurunziza’s run for a third term in 2015 was marred by serious violence, the state has been systematically and brutally eliminating all potential challenges to its authority. Civil society groups that haven’t been banned outright have been bullied into submission, and there is virtually no independent media left in the country. The ruling party’s militia, the Imbonerakure, intimidate and harass Burundians with impunity, even shaking them down for contributions toward the cost of the upcoming electoral exercise. The country’s leadership has chosen impoverishment and isolation as part of its campaign for total control, and it is clear to all that Nkurunziza’s hand-picked successor, Evariste Ndayishimiye, will emerge as the winner later this month in a climate that could not possibly be described as free or fair. Burundi’s trajectory has been apparent for some time. But the pandemic now raises the stakes for neighboring states whose attempts to control the virus are threatened by Burundi’s insistence on moving ahead with electoral theater regardless of the public health risks involved. Regional organizations are supposed to be the venue through which neighbors can coordinate and deconflict their agendas, but Burundi continues to expose the weakness of the East African Community. Just as the EAC’s attempts to advance dialogue in Burundi did nothing to stave off the closing of political space, today the organization seems helpless at best as Burundi and neighboring Tanzania refuse to take COVID-19 seriously. In a region as volatile as the Great Lakes, it is not unduly alarmist to fear that the failure of regional institutions to manage threats may prompt some actors to take matters into their own hands, feeding persistent cycles of instability.

Azerbaijan’s dictator, Ilham Aliyev, is a wily survivor. He woos European democracies with gas exports, hosts the Eurovision song contest and wins $100 million offers of military aid from the United States. Those laurels are all the more remarkable considering he is a ruthless autocrat who tosses politicians and reporters in prison. Now, he sees a new opportunity to consolidate his rule. In recent weeks, Aliyev has used the threat of the novel coronavirus to crack down on opposition groups and independent media: Last month, for instance, he closed a dissident group’s office, saying people could not “gather en masse.” There were four people present. Aliyev is hardly alone. Indeed, from the Philippines to Hungary, autocratic leaders in many nations are using the virus to enhance their own powers—­to put in place new rules that will be hard to overturn even if the coronavirus is defeated. Yet many of the new powers have no clear end date. The pandemic will have entrenched these strongmen indefinitely. For more on my analysis of how authoritarians are taking advantage of the virus to bolster their powers, see my new Washington Post Outlook article.

A new Freedom House report finds that India and the United States were among the foremost contributors last year to democratic backslide and that global freedom continues to decline.