Corruption

Transparency, accountability, and trust matter now more than ever.

In Nigeria, as elsewhere in Africa (and the world, for that matter), there is often a large disconnect between what the federal government says in its press statements and what actually happens at the local level. Most observers comment on developments in the Lagos-Ibadan corridor, Abuja, Kano, Kaduna, and Port Harcourt, not least because they are media centers and the most developed parts of the country. It is difficult to know the views of people outside of these areas. Yet they make up the majority of the population in Nigeria. Chief B.O. Ereku provides a perspective from Yenagoa, the capital of Bayelsa state, a major oil producer. (Bayelsa may be familiar as the home state of former President Goodluck Jonathan.) Though a state capital, Yenagoa is best-described as a large town, with little infrastructure, a lack of development, and close ties with surrounding villages. In a recent editorial, Ereku argued that the COVID-19 pandemic showed how "grossly inadequate" all levels of government were at addressing the needs of rural people. For example, the federal government touted its provision of food relief to Bayelsa, but the amount provided was far too small to meet the need. The state government, for its part, set up a task force to procure face masks, hand sanitizers, and establish testing centers. But all three are non-existent in Yenagoa, according to Ereku. As for local governments, they are simply not present. COVID-19, Ereku implies, has highlighted popular cynicism about government at all levels. There is skepticism about how widespread the disease really is. People question whether there needs to be local government, in theory the branch closest to the people. The belief is widespread that federal and state politicians and officials are lining their pockets with funds intended for relief or to fight the disease. They treat with derision "white man" recommendations for social distancing and hand washing with running water; nobody in Yenagoa has running water except for the few that are wealthy. However, Ereku says, there is delight that the rich can no longer practice "medical tourism," going abroad for medical treatment and thereby wasting precious foreign exchange.  Ereku publishes a local newspaper, Atlantic Express. He once worked as an information officer for the World Health Organization. In a huge country such as Nigeria, it is unwise to over-generalize based on local media in one state. Chief Ereku provides insight into how some local people in one place are responding to COVID-19 and, especially, how the federal, state and local governments are perceived. The alienation of many Nigerians from their government is an old song. There is the bromide that Nigeria is still a colonial state: British exploiters have merely been replaced by Nigerian ones. Ereku’s editorial indicates that, in Yenagoa, at least, COVID-19 has probably made the sense of alienation worse. Even though there is such profound discontent, it is unlikely that it will translate into political action. 

The Buhari administration has been moving energetically to respond to the coronavirus and the collapse of international oil prices. The finance ministry has moved quickly to recalculate the national budget to account for an estimated price of oil of $20 per barrel, down from a previous estimate of $57. It has also reduced the estimated daily production of oil from 2.1 million barrels to 1.7 million. The oil shock cannot be overstated. Oil has provided more than 60 percent of the Nigerian state's revenue and more than 90 percent of its foreign exchange. But to meet short-term liquidity issues, the federal government has secured a loan of $3.4 billion from the International Monetary Fund. Finally, the central bank has devalued the national currency, the naira, from 305 to 360 per U.S. dollar.  With respect to the coronavirus, the Buhari administration moved quickly to implement the now-standard protocols. Airports and borders were closed; Lagos, Abuja, and Ogun—early hotspots of the virus—were put on lockdown; and a small, hardship payment was authorized for the very poor. Separately, governors imposed lockdowns on their states and inter-state travel was restricted. But there is only so much that good leadership in a time of crisis can do. Because up to half of the population is unbanked, the distribution of emergency payments has proved difficult to do. There are also complaints about failures of delivery of other assistance, especially food, or that the food delivered was expired. Further, it is estimated that the informal economy in Nigeria accounts for 65 percent of GDP. For those in the informal sector, if they don't work, they don't eat. Given these realities, the Buhari administration has eased lockdown restrictions in Lagos, Abuja, and Ogun state, even though cases are still rising. Though with much of the urban population packed into slums, "social distancing" had been all but impossible. Governors are following suit. The director general of the Nigeria Center for Disease Control, Dr. Chekwe Ihekweazu, has been unusually candid about the country's lack of preparation for the disease. However, he has also been pro-active and imaginative in securing testing equipment and other materials from donors abroad. Health agencies, federal and state, have been actively applying the lessons learned from HIV/AIDS and Ebola, especially contact tracing. Up to now, there have been relatively few cases of coronavirus and related deaths. Nigeria had conducted almost 24,000 tests and recorded 3,500 cumulative positive cases with 107 deaths as of May 7. It has seen new reported cases in the hundreds each day for the past two weeks. Though the true extent of the disease is unknowable at this point, it is likely greater. The early steps taken by the Buhari administration may have helped, the disease may merely be late in coming to Nigeria and the Southern Hemisphere, or there may be other explanations. There is also speculation that the relative youth of Nigeria's population and that about half of it still lives dispersed in rural areas may mitigate the spread of the virus. It remains to be seen what the trajectory of the disease in Nigeria will be and whether the fiscal measures taken to respond to the fall in oil prices will be enough. Many observers predict more massive devaluations of the naira will be required. As of May 7, the naira black-market rate was 427 to the U.S. dollar (sell) and 425 (buy), and indication that the currency remains over-valued. Nevertheless, credit must be given to the Buhari administration's quick response and its candor. But these commendable steps in the current crisis do not, and cannot, address the more deep-seated challenges Nigeria faces. An elite cartel long ago "captured" the Nigerian state to personally profit from government oil revenue and government offices with lucrative salaries and benefits. The retirement packages for some state governors, for example, includes paid-for maids, cooks, and chauffeurs, and annual pensions multiple times their salaries that can reach as high as half a million dollars, more than the salary of the U.S. president. For all its faults, this system has kept the country together with no repeat of the 1967-70 civil war, which resulted in some 2 million dead. In a society organized by patronage-clientage networks, oil revenue was shared by patrons with their clients, and patrons were also clients of other patrons. So oil moved up and down the patronage-clientage food chain and kept the system lubricated. Despite its enormous oil wealth over time, the federal government has never provided services for the mass of the population. That is an underlying driver of the nearly incessant insurrections that plague the country, ranging from Boko Haram in the north, the oil patch (where residents benefit hardly at all from oil but now live in an environmentally degraded area) in the south, and the intercommunal and criminal violence in the Middle Belt. Insurrections have not resulted in revolution because the population is divided among 350 different ethnic groups and is split between Christians and Muslims. Nigerian national identity, which could help channel collective grievances, is weak compared to ethnic and religious loyalty. The coronavirus should be added to the witch's brew. The disease appears to be striking the cartel disproportionately, as they are more likely to have contracted the disease during overseas travels. This is particularly significant for the political class. Buhari's influential chief of staff, for example, died from the disease, and numerous governors and members of the National Assembly are sick. Up to now, it hardly mattered to them that there were only rudimentary medical services available; they went to London, Dubai, and Johannesburg for medical care. Now, they are forced to weather the storm at home. There is anecdotal evidence of poplar anger against elites in general who are being held responsible for introducing the disease into Nigeria.  The leadership of the moment cannot overcome the generations of poor leadership and corruption that have left underdeveloped public health services, social safety nets, and trust in government. So, Nigeria is in unchartered territory, with the confluence of the virus and the collapse of oil prices directly challenging the political economy of the country. 

Easy to overlook among the COVID-19 headlines is a positive development involving the prosecution of former President Jacob Zuma. It has the potential for reaffirming, perhaps reanimating, South African commitment to the rule of law and trust in government, which flagged considerably during Zuma’s tenure. For the past decade, Zuma has fought charges and indictments related to his alleged acceptance of bribes, employing every means available to obstruct the judicial process. His final appeals have been rejected by the constitutional court, South Africa's highest, or withdrawn. Since the coming of "non-racial democracy," Zuma has been a leader in government, becoming deputy prime minister in 1999. Often involved in party infighting, he successfully engineered the resignation of then President Thabo Mbeki and his own election as president in 2009, in which position he served until his resignation in 2018. Throughout his government service, he has been dogged by criminal accusations, most notably rape (on which he was acquitted on a technicality) and accepting bribes as deputy president from a French company in conjunction with South African arms procurement. More generally, as president, he become the face of government corruption and "state capture." Nevertheless, he remains popular among the poor and his fellow Zulus, the largest ethnic group in the country, and continues to enjoy some support within the ANC. Of course, there is a reason that COVID-19 is dominating the headlines in South Africa. The country has the largest number of reported cases of the virus on the African continent, with over 5,600, but it also has the most developed public health sector of the larger African countries and has instituted the continent's most extensive testing regime, with over 200,000 tests conducted. Hence the presence of the disease is more readily measured in South Africa than elsewhere where testing is less widespread. President Cyril Ramaphosa, leader of the ruling African National Congress, has so far received high marks from international public health experts for his strict application of the COVID-19 control orthodoxy: social distancing, sheltering in place, and, in effect, the shutdown economic activity. Further, if belatedly, the government has increased the social allowances paid by the government, which nearly all poor South Africans receive, to help cope with the economic consequences of the lockdown. Though there are indications that the strategy is working, domestic criticism is mounting. There is the sense that many of Ramaphosa's regulations are excessive, such as his ban on the sale of tobacco and alcohol. The administration's public messaging has also been contradictory and confused. Most at issue, however, is the use of excessive force to enforce lockdown rules by the South African police. As of April 20, eight people have reportedly been killed as police and soldiers enforced the lockdown, and two hundred cases of police brutality have been recorded. Some of the actions have included the use of whips, rubber bullets, beatings, and the destruction of private property. At least some government officials have been reassuringly contrite upon news of security service brutality. “We hang our heads in shame,” said Defense Minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula. “We will not at any point defend what has happened.” He said that investigations were underway. But other officials, have appeared less than sympathetic. Early on, the police minister apparently explicitly encouraged police to “not be nice to suspects,” and President Ramaphosa seems to have initially defended the excessive force in the interest of stopping the pandemic. Some human rights organizations have filed petitions in court concerning the rights violations. For all its faults, this is what sets South Africa apart from its peers on the continent: an independent, if imperfect, judicial system. Though such police brutality should not have occurred and those people should not been killed, there is a peaceful avenue toward accountability. Similarly, though Zuma’s comeuppance has long been delayed, he is now one step closer to it. He is scheduled to stand trial in June, depending on how soon South Africa’s society can return to a semblance of normal. While it is by no means certain that he will be convicted—the episode for which he will be tried occurred more than a decade ago, and evidence goes stale—the whole exercise is itself an achievement. His trial means that a former African chief of state will be forced to account for his alleged crimes by a court of law. This is good for African democracy and for the rule of law.

On March 9, the governor of Kano state removed Sanusi Lamido Sanusi from his position as Emir of Kano, which is usually regarded as the second or third most important Muslim traditional ruler in Nigeria. Briefly under what amounted to internal exile in a neighboring state, Sanusi sued in the federal courts for his freedom. He won, and the Federal government did not intervene to block the judgement. He has now moved to join his family in Lagos. There is speculation, especially among some Nigerian expats, that he is looking to launch a political career, perhaps even contesting for the presidency in 2023. Sanusi is a rather unique figure in Nigeria. Prior to his enthronement as Emir of Kano, he was the governor of the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) under the presidency of Umaru Yar'Adua and his successor, Goodluck Jonathan. In this position, Sanusi won the prestigious international award of “Central Banker of the Year.” As CBN governor, he publicly called attention to the disappearance of some $20 billion in oil revenue from the government’s coffers; Jonathan removed him as a result. At that time, especially among Nigerian expats and parts of the business community, there were hopes he would enter politics. But, as a member of the royal house of Kano, he instead sought successfully his election by the “kingmakers” to become the Emir of Kano after the death of his uncle, the previous emir. His election was supported and approved by the then-governor of Kano, Rabiu Kwankwaso, a member of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) generally regarded as a reformer.  In 2015, Abdullahi Ganduje, a politician from the rival party, President Muhammadu Buhari’s All Progressives Congress (APC), won the governorship. Sanusi was highly critical of the news governor’s alleged corruption. In the elections of 2019, Ganduje claimed that Sanusi was supporting his opponent for the governorship; traditional rulers are supposed to be above partisan politics. After Ganduje’s reelection, the emir’s criticism continued unabated. Ganduje secured the approval of the Kano state executive council to remove Sanusi and secured the election among the kingmakers of another member of the royal family to be Emir. There has been speculation that President Buhari had a hand in his removal, but such allegations are strongly denied by presidency spokesmen, who point out that relations with traditional rulers are the purview of governors, not the president. Sanusi is apparently not contesting the governor’s right to remove him as emir. Though there are precedents going back to British colonial times for a governor to remove a traditional ruler, it is not done lightly, not least because of concern for popular unrest in the aftermath. Yet, the media reports little popular reaction in Kano to Sanusi’s removal. Sanusi emphasized the injustices faced by the poor of Nigeria’s political economy, particularly those in the north, in terms that resonate positively with a Westernized audience. But, he was not known for his liberality in the unstructured alms-giving that characterizes traditional charity. At the time twelve northern states adopted Sharia, a popular cause among the northern poor, he did not support it. Should he wish to enter electoral politics, Sanusi’s way forward is not clear. He is popular among the captains of Nigeria’s modern economy, just as he is among international business people. He appears especially popular among Nigerian expats, both those living abroad and those returned home. Hence, Lagos would appear to be his natural political base. But, Lagos, including its political class, is dominated by the Yoruba. It is hard to see them making room for a northerner, especially a critic of the political economy from which they benefit. On the national level, Nigeria’s system of political alternation, or “power shift,” between Christians and Muslim and between north and south, plays against him. Even under the British, the northern, Muslim, political class feared domination by the much wealthier and more advance south. They have long feared exclusion from government and hence from the wealth that accrues to those that capture the state and can access oil revenue. Power shift, in response to those fears, was an important part of the 1998 to 1999 transition from military to civilian government. In principle, after eight years under President Buhari, a Muslim from the north, it will be the Christian south’s turn in 2023. Especially in Lagos, among Nigerian expats and in the internationally-oriented business community, it is increasingly said that Nigeria no longer needs power alternation to stay together. This was the argument used by supporters of the southern Christian Goodluck Jonathan when he ran in 2011, though it was ostensibly the north’s turn at the presidency. (The Muslim president, Umaru Yar’Adua, died in office. Jonathan, as vice president, was meant to finish Yar’Adua’s first term and then make way for a northern Muslim to run in 2011.) The aftermath of those elections, however, when it was clear that Jonathan had won not least by rigging, were marked by horrific bloodshed in the north; riots that started against Jonathan’s victory morphed into rival Christian-Muslim pogroms with a strong ethnic dimension. In 2015 the political classes nation-wide joined together to ensure the election of Buhari, thereby restoring power shift. In 2019, still the north’s turn, both major political parties fielded northern Muslim presidential candidates. Some of the leading contemporary Yoruba politicians are Bola Tinubu and his successor as governor, Babatunde Fashola. Both are Muslims and southerners. Could a southern ticket include two Muslims, with Sanusi as a vice-presidential candidate? That is a possibility. However, the way forward for Tinubu, Fashiola, or other Muslim presidential candidates is not clear. Since 1993, the south’s Christian majority has become much more politicized and uncompromising. That, along with growing radical Islamic movements in the north, narrows the scope of the possible in Nigerian politics. Buhari’s vice president, Yemi Osinbajo is a Christian Pentecostal preacher, also with a positive international reputation. What about an Osinbajo-Sanusi ticket? A dream for the business community. But Osinbajo denies political ambition and says he is merely “on loan” from his church to the government as vice president. In any event, 2023 is a long way away, and much could happen in the interim. 

Though the current Delta insurgency has been underway since 2005, discussions of Nigerian insecurity at present tend to overlook it. Instead, the focus is on the northeast, where the jihadist Boko Haram is at war with the Nigerian government, and the Middle Belt, where communities and militants fight over land, water, and cattle and often exacerbated by ethnic and religious differences. What sets the Delta apart is that it produces most of Nigeria’s oil, which is the source of most of the Nigerian government’s revenue and essential for the stability of Nigeria’s current political system. A recently published annual report by the Foundation for Partnership Initiatives in the Niger Delta (PIND) is a salutary reminder of violence in the Delta. The report, the Niger Delta Annual Conflict Report [PDF], shows that there were 416 violent incidents resulting in over one thousand recorded deaths in 2019. In 2018, there had been 351 episodes resulting in 546 deaths. PIND ascribes much of the increase to organized crime, political rivalries, communal disputes, “cult clashes,” and land disputes. Cults are often quasi-criminal, quasi-religious, and often have political connections. PIND notes that political violence increased while communal violence declined. The states most affected were Rivers, Edo, and Delta.  Oil was discovered in the Delta in marketable quantities in the 1950s and came to dominate Nigeria’s market economy after the end of the civil war in 1970. In some parts of the Delta, the petroleum industry has so polluted the environment that the way local people had traditionally earned their living—fishing and farming—no longer was possible. More generally, there is resentment that the region does not benefit enough from the oil wealth. Under the principle of “federal character,” oil revenue is shared out by the federal government to the states and local governments. The federal government retains for its use about half of the revenue. There is a bonus paid to the oil producing states that is contentious; the recipients see it as too small, while much of the rest of the country sees it as too large. Under these circumstances, discontent is endemic among people in the Delta and periodically erupts into insurrection. At present, the federal government keeps the insurrection at a relatively low level by payments to militia leaders, or “amnesty payments,” which date back to the end of the worst of the insurrection. When the Buhari administration tried to stop them, militants resumed attacks on the oil infrastructure, crippling government revenue, compelling the Buhari administration to resume them.  Thus far, the increase in violence does not appear to have led to more sabotage of oil producing facilities, nor to a decline in oil production. The concern, however, must be that if unchecked it will eventually affect oil producing facilities. The Delta is inherently unstable, with multiple warlords and militias competing for power and a larger share of the government payoff.

Alexander H. Noyes is a political scientist at the nonprofit, nonpartisan RAND Corporation. After thirty-seven years in power, President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe was toppled via a military coup in November 2017. His successor and former vice president, Emmerson Mnangagwa, promised a break from Mugabe’s authoritarian rule and economic mismanagement, declaring a “new Zimbabwe” that is “open for business.” After two years in power, to what extent has Mnangagwa delivered on his promises? In short, it’s bleak.   In a RAND study published this week—based on interviews I conducted in Harare, Zimbabwe, with politicians across the political spectrum—I systematically assess Zimbabwe’s political and economic reform efforts that Mnangagwa has been touting over the past two years. I found very little genuine progress, along with an uptick in repression and a rapidly declining economy that is near collapse.   On the political front, reform promises are severely lagging. The report assesses five main reform areas, including elections, legislation, the security sector, judiciary, and repression. The research revealed very few tangible steps toward reconfiguring Zimbabwe’s autocratic system. Repression has increased and the military is ascendant.    Despite some progress in certain areas, Mnangagwa’s economic reform efforts are either incomplete or falling short across a variety of sectors. A new currency regime has been hit by runaway inflation, corruption continues unabated, land reform is incomplete, the mining sector is increasingly militarized, and the privatization of state assets has been fraught with false starts. Rampant political interference and intraparty splits underlie the country’s stunted progress. As an adviser to Mnangagwa put it: “Politics dictates and distorts economics” in Zimbabwe.   Although Mnangagwa has repeatedly deployed flowery reform rhetoric, his administration’s piecemeal actions belie any movement toward genuine political or economic reform. There is a wide gap between the government’s reform rhetoric and the reality on the ground. The government’s well-rehearsed slogans appear to be largely political theater targeted at the international diplomatic community and potential investors. Even where limited progress has been made, such steps appear to be largely cosmetic. A serving member of parliament characterized Mnangagwa’s political reform efforts as putting “mascara on a frog.”   With the old guard and the military still firmly in power—and both benefiting from their perches atop the highly cartelized-and patronage-based economy—genuine reform is unlikely in the next one to three years under present conditions in Zimbabwe. The country is likely to continue down a path of political polarization, protests, political violence at the hands of the state, and economic deterioration.   Zimbabwe has tremendous potential, with rich natural resources and one of the most educated populations in Africa. How can the United States and international actors help arrest this downward spiral and support Zimbabwe’s recovery? Although Zimbabwe does not have much strategic value to the United States, America is the largest bilateral donor to Zimbabwe and holds some leverage.   Politics and economics are inextricably linked in Zimbabwe and the country will be unable to recover unless the two sectors are addressed in tandem. To help the country recover from years of mismanagement, corruption, and state violence, international actors—including the United States—would be wise to push the government in a coordinated fashion to implement genuine political, economic, and security reforms.   Genuine reforms would go a long way toward putting Zimbabwe on a democratic path, lessening high levels of political polarization, and repairing the collapsing economy. A good starting point would be pushing the government to respect its own constitution, allow for peaceful protest, fully repeal repressive laws, and hold security forces accountable for human rights abuses and the killing of unarmed civilians. International democracy and governance assistance should be increased, with a particular focus on professionalizing political parties. A cooling-off period of one to five years before military officials can join politics would also help to disincentivize more coups and security sector involvement in political processes.   The international community should also proceed with extreme caution on economic support for the government, withholding support for debt relief or any new lending until clear and unambiguous progress has been made on reforms and respect for human rights.   Mnangagwa is attempting to have his cake and eat it too, paying lip service to reforms in the hope of securing international support but staunchly refusing to implement any measures that might harm his and his closest supporters’ political and economic interests. 

Pervasive corruption has long stymied development and fueled emigration from some of Central America’s poorest countries. The recent disbanding of antigraft commissions makes their prospects for reform gloomier.

His shady associates and wrongheaded policies are making a bad problem worse.

2020 is off to a rough start for “Africa’s richest woman,” Isabel dos Santos, the jet-setting daughter of former Angolan President José Eduardo dos Santos, who led his country for 38 years until being succeeded in 2017 by current President João Lourenço. Ms. Dos Santos is at the center of the Luanda Leaks, a series of investigative reports developed by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists and informed by a voluminous amount of documentation that a Portuguese hacker provided to the Platform to Protect Whistleblowers in Africa. The reports detail how Ms. Dos Santos used access to the state’s resources for private gain, including by transferring funds from state-owned enterprises to offshore private companies that she and her allies controlled. Angolan authorities have frozen her bank accounts, and last week the Angolan attorney general announced that she had been indicted for money laundering, mismanagement, and other economic crimes, largely committed during her tenure as head of the state-owned oil company Sonangol from June 2016 to November 2017.  In considering these reports, it’s worth remembering just how poor many Angolans are and how battered the infrastructure of the state remains 18 years after the end of the brutal civil war. Angola’s human development indicators are distressing, from infant mortality to access to education to the overall portion of citizens living in poverty. 44% of Angolan citizens don’t even have access to clean water. It is certainly not the case that grand corruption in Angola is a victimless crime. In one sense, the Luanda Leaks are explosive. They provide an evidentiary basis for legal action, and pull back the curtain on the mechanics of looting the Angolan state and the network of enablers that benefited along the way. But at the same time, they are hardly breaking news. Angolan activists and journalists have pointed out the grotesque nature of corruption in the country for decades, often at great personal risk. In financial and political capitals around the world, no one who has any familiarity with Angola is genuinely surprised by these revelations. Of course, one hopes that the fallout from the Luanda Leaks will deter others from using public positions of trust for private gain, and that it will shame those glossy international service providers who facilitated graft into a better faith effort at compliance and diligence. But it should also prompt some soul-searching in a wider circle. How is it that, collectively, people around the world had resigned themselves to the notion that stealing from the public was simply business as usual in Angola? What passed for world-weary sophistication was something much more insidious—an easy tolerance for injustice and a cynicism that enrages the people who suffer while elites congratulate themselves for being in the know.

Transparency International (TI) has issued its Corruption Perceptions Index. As in previous years, its citizens togerther with a selection of international organizations perceive Nigeria as one of Africa’s most corrupt countries. Nigeria’s ranking—146 out of 180 countries surveyed worldwide—is little changed from years past. TI measures the perception of corruption, not corruption itself, in the public sector. (It does not measure the perception of corruption in the private sector.) The current low ranking is no surprise. Nigerians commonly regard the state as corrupt, and President Buhari campaigned successfully for the presidency in 2015 on an anti-corruption platform. TI was founded in Berlin in 1993 to combat global corruption. Two of its founders are Nigerian, former President Olusegun Obasanjo and Oby Ezekwesili. Obasanjo was jailed and nearly murdered by the notoriously corrupt Sani Abacha, who, as military chief of state from 1993 to 1998, looted the state to the tune of billions of dollars. Subsequently, Obasanjo served as president of Nigeria from 1999 to 2007 and established or supported a number of anti-corruption agencies. But Obasanjo, virtually penniless when he was released from prison, has since become rich. Critics now accuse him of corruption. Ezekwesili, a minister on Obasanjo’s government, is a “good-government” activist and former presidential candidate. Among other things, she organized the #BringBackOurGirls movement to pressure the government of President Goodluck Jonathan to take action to free the Chibok school girls, kidnapped by Boko Haram in 2015. Definitions of corruption vary from country to country and reflect differing cultural values; TI does not seek to define it, nor does TI seek to analyze the political role it plays. In Nigeria, corruption has an important political dimension. Defined as the private annexation of state resources, it arguably keeps Nigeria from breaking apart. The country’s multi-ethnic elites require the state to access its oil wealth. An uneasy alliance among elites has therefore kept the country together and averted a repeat of the 1967–70 civil war. That said, there is in Nigeria an understanding of “excessive” corruption, namely the wholesale looting of state assets. That is seen as altogether different from the policeman at a checkpoint asking a motorist, “What do you have for me today?” Still, however defined and whatever its political function, corruption is “bad,” and the TI index influences Nigeria’s international reputation and reflects how at least some Nigerians see their own government.

2019 brought spectacular change to Sudan. It’s hard to overstate the astonishing distance the country has traveled over the past year. Recent headlines feature reports of truly unfettered humanitarian access, the conviction of former President Omar al-Bashir on corruption charges, and concrete steps on the part of the state to promote religious tolerance. While Bashir must answer for many more crimes, all of these developments would have seemed the stuff of fantasy not long ago. The courage of the Sudanese people, and their capacity to envision a different future for themselves, are genuinely inspiring. But the challenges ahead are vast, and next year may feature fewer celebrated gains and more murky choices. It will take persistence, focus, and good judgement on the part of reformers and their champions in the international community to make irreversible progress in 2020. The transitional plan, laid out for Sudan by the uneasy coalition of security forces and civilian agents of change, envisions an end to the many conflicts on Sudan’s periphery as a precondition for political progress and real democratic accountability. That formula is both understandable—premature elections in a country at war with itself can exacerbate instability—and perilous, as it creates endless opportunities for spoilers to derail the country’s progress, whether they are self-starters or are encouraged to do so by security elites seeking a rationale to retain power. These armed groups have long resisted a truly odious state, but that does not mean they are particularly virtuous or visionary. Good faith peace talks make sense, but careful judgement will be needed to assess progress. At the same time, the goodwill enjoyed by transitional authorities will dissipate if they cannot deliver concrete economic improvements. But untangling the corrupt networks that have siphoned off so many of Sudan’s riches for so long and distorted the economy so grotesquely will be a long slog. Necessary reforms need to be cushioned by international support to avoid straining the population to the breaking point. A sense of urgency is necessary, particularly in Washington, to normalize Sudan’s standing with international financial institutions and to find creative bridging mechanisms in the meantime. An exchange of ambassadors is a welcome and necessary step, but only a preliminary one. Intense, sustained interagency work and close collaboration with Congress, where there are several thoughtful advocates for a reformed Sudan, will be required in the year ahead.

Neil Edwards is the volunteer intern for CFR's Africa Program in Washington, DC. He is a master's candidate at the School of International Service at American University and a returned Peace Corps Rwanda volunteer. In an open letter published on December 4, the former coach of Team Rwanda cycling accused the Rwanda Cycling Federation president, Aimable Bayingana, of corruption and ignoring sexual misconduct against female riders. On December 7, Bayingana, along with some executive members of the federation, resigned. Their resignations occurred alongside an investigation by the Rwanda Investigation Bureau and a promise by the Rwandan Sports Ministry to impose a new policy against sexual abuse that will apply to sports nationwide. Cycling is one of the most popular sports in Rwanda. The nation has hosted the Tour du Rwanda every year since 1998, drawing huge crowds in the process. Team Rwanda Cycling was founded as part of an effort to rebuild the country and restore relations among its people after the genocide. One of its founders, Adrien Niyonshuti, qualified for the 2012 and 2016 Olympic Games in London and Rio, bearing the flag at the opening ceremony for Rwanda at both events. The former coach who wrote the open letter is cyclist Jonathan Boyer. The first American to participate in the Tour de France, he played a pivotal role in developing the cycling program in Rwanda.  Rwanda prides itself on its measures toward gender equality, including having the world’s leading female representation in the legislature at 62 percent—three times the world average. Additionally, women make up half of the cabinet and supreme court. However, according to a survey by Transparency International, around half of respondents believe that gender-based corruption, which includes but is not limited to gender bias and sexual harassment, exists in the workplace. Five percent of respondents reported personally experiencing gender-based corruption, and 85 percent of those who reported personally experiencing gender-based corruption were women. Still the resignations of senior members of the Rwandan Cycling Federation and the possibility of a new policy rollout by the Sports Ministry are positive steps toward correcting gender-based corruption in Rwanda. Continued pressure for reform coupled with policy initiatives from the Rwandan government set a standard of inclusion in the workplace and an expansion of the country’s already impressive anti-corruption measures. 

Iraq’s struggling economy and government corruption sparked the protests, in which hundreds have died. The governing elite appears shaky, and the stability of the country is at stake.

Questions of legitimacy have long plagued the G7. The Trump administration's announcement of the Trump National Doral resort as the venue for next year's summit marks a new low.