Political Transitions

Before the presidential elections of March 2015, former Nigerian President Goodluck Jonathan’s international reputation was not a strong one. Jonathan was initially something of an accidental president who, despite his relative inexperience, ascended to lead his country when his predecessor, Umaru Musa Yar'Adua, passed away in office 2010. (President Olusegun Obasanjo in 2007 handpicked Yar’Adua as the ruling party’s presidential candidate, and Jonathan as its vice-presidential candidate.) In 2011, Jonathan surprised many observers in and out of Nigeria by securing the ruling party’s support for another term and ultimately winning the general election. His tenure was characterized by soaring unemployment, increased instability in northern Nigeria as Boko Haram gained strength and territory, and a widespread perception that public funds were pocketed by the influential and well-placed with impunity. To this day, he and his wife are dogged by various corruption scandals winding their way through the courts. But as the votes were counted in March 2015, Jonathan conceded electoral defeat to Muhammadu Buhari, famously asserting that “nobody’s ambition is worth the blood of any Nigerian.” It was an unprecedented and courageous act in Nigerian politics, and it caught many Nigerians and Nigeria-watchers by surprise. He may have wielded power ineffectually or corruptly, but in refusing to cling to it illegitimately, Goodluck Jonathan altered the course of Nigerian history. He also created a surprising new future for himself. Since his concession, the former president is experiencing something of a renaissance as a senior statesman, at least in certain circles. He has been honored with international awards and invited to deliver keynote remarks at global conferences on everything from peace-building to improving educational opportunities. He is particularly sought-after as a champion of democracy, and recently led international election observation teams for the National Democratic Institute in Liberia and the Electoral Institute for Sustainable Democracy in South Africa. His solemn tweets on respect for the rule of law in Ethiopia are covered in the press. The reinvention of Goodluck Jonathan is a fascinating phenomenon, raising questions about whether there are, or should be, limits to the redemptive power of one’s finest hour. How does this kind of collective decision get made, and what is the relative weight of Nigerian popular opinion and international demand for senior statesmen in making it? Is it wise to overlook gross failures of governance in appreciation for one profound moment of integrity? Perhaps Jonathan’s example can incentivize other leaders with dubious records to find their grand gesture for the greater good as a way to clear the slate and open the door to a different life of service. At the same time, perhaps this kind of wholesale reputational rehabilitation suggests that the brand of democracy championed internationally is sometimes a fairly hollow one, fixated on electoral dynamics, unresponsive to demands for accountability, and ultimately designed for the comfort of elites.

Gulf powers have lined up behind Sudan’s ruling military council. Where Sudan goes from here could depend on whether other powers play a countervailing role.

Anyone fishing for a good news story out of Africa recently, and rightly, has celebrated Ethiopia, where dynamic young Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed has dramatically opened political space, departing from decades of repressive, tightly controlled government. Abiy is a charismatic whirlwind of activity—making peace with neighboring Eritrea, working to open the Ethiopian economy to new opportunities for growth, and even mediating between protestors and securocrats in Sudan. Anyone who cares about stability and prosperity in Africa, and anyone who understands how important African partnership will be to tackle the foreign policy challenges of the future, is pulling for him to succeed. Just days ago, Democratic presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg wove Ethiopia into a major foreign policy address, citing the country as an example of “what it looks like when hope triumphs over hostility.” But Ethiopia faces real and urgent challenges, and it is critical that well-wishers not ignore them. Abiy has lifted the lid off of a pressure cooker—one his predecessors held in place with sometimes brutal force—and in some cases the result has not been euphoria, but rather messy, complex eruptions of communal violence. Ethiopia’s story is not a simple one, and the millions internally displaced over the past year, the worrying reports of forced returns, and the potential for 2020 elections to be a flashpoint should focus the minds of policy-makers around concrete ways to provide support to what is sure to be a long and complex transition.  Ethiopia is one of the world’s dozen most populous countries, characterized by tremendous ethnic and linguistic diversity. Over 60 percent of the population is under the age of twenty-five. Despite real gains over the past years, many Ethiopians still live in severe poverty, and official literacy rates hover at around half of the population. It is not an easy country to govern in any circumstance. Against that backdrop, and at a moment of profound change, in which the role of the state and indeed the unifying national idea is being rethought, the possibility of more instability is very real.  The Unites States and others ought to be more ambitious in finding new ways to support the resilience of governing institutions, mechanisms for reconciling longstanding grievances, and the capacity of a government inclined to respect the civil and political rights of citizens to also deliver services and opportunity. Countless talented and patriotic Ethiopians from around the country and across the diaspora have mobilized, sometimes upending their own lives, to lend support to their government’s liberalizing project. They know this will not be a year’s work—it is a generational project. A clear sense of U.S. strategic interests indicates that it is one that deserves more of our own attention and support.

The news out of Sudan, so recently full of fragile hope, is now deeply troubling. For over a week, the Transitional Military Council, or TMC, has been violently suppressing the very protestors whose bravery and persistence created the conditions for the security services to seize power from disgraced former President Omar al-Bashir. Over a hundred civilians have been killed, many more wounded, and the facade of shared goals and commitment to reform between citizens and security elites irreparably broken.  The resolve of the Sudanese people to resist thinly disguised military dictatorship cannot be underestimated, but they are not operating in a vacuum. Over the past weeks of halting negotiations between a mix of military and militia leaders on one side and the Declaration of Freedom and Change Forces, a coalition of civil society leaders and political opposition on the other, those international forces interested in a Sudan have helped to tip the balance to the brutal reality of today—some with their actions, and others with their passivity.  The United States falls squarely in the latter camp. It’s undoubtedly a good thing that the United States has been unequivocal in condemning the latest violence, but it is equally true that statements are not enough, and that U.S. leadership has been badly lacking over the last critical weeks. While a positive development, it remains to be seen how the upcoming visit of U.S. Assistant Secretary for African Affairs Tibor Nagy, and rumors of a special Sudan advisor, will play out. The TMC has been emboldened by the warm embrace it received from Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Egypt—hardly a collection of democratic champions. While their $3 billion commitment to stabilize Sudan is insufficient to address the country’s massive economic challenges, it is a concrete show of support, and a taste of what could be possible for a Sudan that is compliant with these international patrons and ruthless in its internal repression. A critical question remains on the table about other viable alternative futures for Sudan. All parties recognize that Sudan cannot climb out of its economic collapse alone. So where will help come from, on what terms, and with what timeline? Answering that question requires international leadership that is visionary, not reactive. When Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy tried to provide some direction from the African Union by stepping in to mediate talks in recent days, civilian participants were arrested in the aftermath of the meeting. The AU has an important role to play, but it needs an international ecosystem of support. The distortions in Sudan’s economy that have favored a small set of elites are part of an unsustainable system. Most Sudanese know that. But it remains very unclear who can be counted on to support true transformation. Right now the concrete international help on the table is a temporary lifeline from the Gulf straight to the TMC. The choice between something and nothing is no choice at all.

Herman J. Cohen is the former assistant secretary of state for African affairs (1989–1993), the former U.S. ambassador to the Gambia and Senegal (1977–80), and was a member of the U.S. Foreign Service for thirty-eight years. You can find his blog here. While the Sudanese military expelled President Omar al-Bashir from office, the people of Sudan are ultimately responsible for toppling his regime, and the leaders of the protest movement have promised not to let up until civilian rule is secured. They well know that any persistence of military control represents a continuation of the Bashir regime, and in particular, the Arabic-speaking population’s monopoly of power. For three decades they have endured the suppression of civil society, labor unions, freedom of press and religion, and any real measure of democratic expression or development. The Sudanese people have enough experience with the security apparatus Bashir created to know that exchanging one general with another does not represent improvement. A loss of oil revenue to the independent South, a rise in state corruption, and a series of devastating internal conflicts all contributed to the end of Bashir’s reign, which itself began in a 1989 coup. Supporting al-Bashir was the National Islamic Front (NIF) party, and its leader, Hassan el-Turabi, a devoted revolutionary with a doctorate from the Sorbonne, who believed a Salafist Sudan under his leadership could spread Islamism throughout the Horn and North Africa. The NIF’s vote share in parliamentary elections consistently topped out at 15 percent, excluding them from participation. With guidance from el-Turabi, al-Bashir coopted the NIF’s Islamist ideology as a political rationale for the coup, leading to the imposition of Sharia-based law—and ultimately, an entanglement with the United States. El-Turabi spent the first few years of the junta supplying weapons to Islamist revolutionaries in Tunisia, Libya, and southern Egypt. He also revised Sudan’s immigration laws to allow all citizens of Arab nations to enter Sudan visa-free and reside there—enabling extremist groups to set up shop in the country. During a 1992 visit to Khartoum, I saw a city map in the American Embassy showing the office locations for nine Middle Eastern extremist groups. It was around this time that a wealthy scion named Osama bin Laden fled Saudi Arabia to establish a foothold in Khartoum. One year later, the World Trade Center was bombed. The Clinton administration designated Sudan a state sponsor of terrorism, and the U.S.-Sudan relationship became embroiled in sanctions, diplomatic withdrawals, and condemnations by the UN. By 1996, economic and political isolation were taking a heavy toll. Turabi’s influence began to wane. Sudanese officials began asking foreign governments how they could ease the pressure; one move was to expel bin Laden to Afghanistan. Yet Sudan’s involvement in the 1998 U.S. embassy bombings and the 2000 USS Cole bombing deepened its reputation as a pariah state.  Meanwhile, the Khartoum government was continually dogged by its conflict with the Sudanese People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM), the rebel group fighting for self-determination in the country’s majority-Christian south. A major oil discovery in 1999 provided revenue and helped the Khartoum regime to stabilize its control, but provided little or no benefit for the people of the south where the oil itself was located.  George W. Bush’s 2000 election marked a turning point for U.S.-Sudan relations. The U.S. had been providing substantial humanitarian aid for the drought-stricken South. But the new administration wanted to mediate a lasting solution to the internal conflict, motivated largely by Bush’s key evangelical Christian constituency. Oklahoma Senator James Inhofe was particularly vocal regarding South Sudan’s Christians.  In 2005, the Bush administration’s efforts bore fruit with the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement between the Khartoum government and the SPLM. Bush himself was involved in this process—Salva Kiir’s famous Stetson hat, which he is rarely seen without, was a gift from the then-president. After a transitional period, the agreement provided for a 2011 referendum on South Sudanese independence, which passed with over 98 percent of the vote. But Khartoum’s problems continued. The new nation of South Sudan enjoyed sovereignty over the oil deposits and revenue Khartoum previously controlled. Although Khartoum was able to negotiate a $24-per-barrel transit fee for oil passing from South Sudan through its territory to Port Sudan in the north, the Sudanese economy was crippled. Youth unemployment and overall poverty levels skyrocketed. The military regime became increasingly corrupt.  Above all, the problem in Khartoum was al-Bashir, one of the worst dictators the world has seen in the post-colonial era. Bashir stole billions from his people while they suffered through poverty and famine. In Darfur, Bashir responded to an insurgency among non-Arabs with a campaign of genocide, slaughtering hundreds of thousands. Bashir did not simply roll back Sudan’s fledgling democracy; he replaced it with fraudulent elections and a kleptocracy designed to keep him in power. To secure his thirty-year dictatorship, he created a “hydra-headed” security state which, having turned on Bashir, may now struggle internally over control of the country, as Alex de Waal recently chronicled in AfricanArguments (and in the case of the various paramilitary organizations Bashir created, perhaps violently). Besides Sudan’s total lack of democratic institutions and a massive national security sub-state designed to thwart their development, the protest movement will also have to contend with the fact that political power has always been controlled by Arabic-speaking elites. With the separation of the south, the Sudanese people are nearly all Muslim, but Arabic speakers remain a minority, despite their disproportionate influence. It will be a challenge to reform the country’s power structures and create a system which fairly shares control among all Sudanese. Yet as al-Bashir learned, it is a mistake to underestimate the power of the protesters. With support from the African Union, they are rejecting half-baked proposals from Sudan’s generals for a joint interim government which would maintain military control. The Sudanese people’s unrelenting demand for real change even after al-Bashir’s ouster is remarkable, and a reason for cautious optimism. After three decades of dictatorship, no one is more familiar with the numerous obstacles to democracy and prosperity than the Sudanese themselves.

In False Dawn, Steven A. Cook examines why Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, and Turkey did not transition to democracy, explaining how and why Middle East uprisings didn’t succeed.

Adam Valavanis is a volunteer intern in the Africa program at the Council on Foreign Relations in Washington, DC. On December 3, police officers killed six terrorists after a security patrol was ambushed in eastern Burkina Faso. Reports from the country in the past year point to a worrying sign that the spread of Islamist terrorism continues unabated in the West African country. Jihadis, many of whom are affiliated with al-Qaeda and other Islamist militant groups active in Mali, now operate in and sometimes control parts of the north and east of the country, many of which are labelled no-go zones due to government’s inability to secure them. The east has historically played host to local militias and crime syndicates, which operate with impunity in a region largely outside of the government’s influence. Islamist terrorism has wracked the Sahel for several years now, but it is a relatively recent phenomenon in Burkina Faso. Its arrival is partly related to the fall from power of former President Blaise Compaore. Popular unrest in response to a failed bid to extend his nearly three decade-long tenure in 2014 pushed Campaore from power. The country’s Western-trained presidential guard, still loyal to the former president, staged a coup to topple the transitional government in 2015. The coup ultimately failed and the presidential guard was subsequently dissolved. The dissolution of the presidential guard left a hole in the Burkinabe security apparatus, providing an opening for jihadist groups to expand in the country. Some believe that the recent spate of attacks have been supported by former members of the presidential guard, who could see these Islamist groups as their way back into power, though no direct evidence to support this is available. Initially, terror groups affiliated with Tuareg rebels in Mali and al-Qaeda primarily operated in the north of the country, along the border with Mali. In 2016, the situation escalated as attacks led by these groups began targeting southern Burkina Faso, including the capital Ouagadougou. This year has seen the spread of Islamist terrorism to the east, along the border with Ghana, Togo, Benin, and Niger.  Both the north and east have long been neglected by the central government, which failed to extend the state security apparatus over the region and invest in the local economy. This negligence has allowed organized crime to flourish in the east making possible the expansion of jihadist groups there. The area is also home to dense forests that provide an ideal landscape for militant groups to evade the government. Compounding the problem, the Burkinabe military has credibly been accused of recent extrajudicial killings and other abuses. This undermines their efforts against jihadis, further allowing them to use the region as a launch pad for attacks in Burkina Faso and across West Africa.   

Nelson Mandela was born on July 1, 1918, and passed away on December 5, 2013. So, this year marks the centenary of his birth and December 5 the fifth anniversary of his death. At the huge FNB Stadium in Johannesburg on December 2, more than one hundred thousand people participated in the Global Citizen Festival: Mandela 100, sponsored by the Motsepe Foundation. The event raised some $7 billion in commitments for the relief of poverty across the African continent, from big corporations, governments, and small donors. Performers included Beyonce, Jay-Z, and Usher, and speakers included a variety of South African political, economic, and traditional leaders, as well as Mandela’s family. In the audience was Oprah, South African President Cyril Ramaphosa, and numerous other heads of state. The event, hosted in part by South African comedian Trevor Noah, showed that Nelson Mandela’s international appeal is undiminished. Within South Africa, Nelson Mandela remains the national icon and a unifying figure in a society fractured by race and class. Nevertheless, criticism of him persists and is growing, especially among radical political figures. Robert Mugabe, the Zimbabwe dictator deposed by his deputy and military in November 2017, has been especially vocal in his criticism. He, along with some South African critics, argued that during the transition from apartheid to non-racial democracy, Mandela conceded too much to the white minority and preserved their white privilege. They note that the gulf between the wealth of white people and everybody else is greater now than it was under apartheid. (The event itself was marred by numerous muggings as the crowd broke up to go home.) The persistence of black poverty and the slow pace of social change fuels criticism of Mandela. Among these critics, there is little understanding of the limits imposed by political and power realities at the time of the transition: the apartheid state retained full control of the security services and was far from defeated. The transition was therefore a negotiated settlement in which the apartheid government, led by the National Party's F.W. de Klerk, ceded political power to the black majority while preserving white economic power. Some years after their death, national heroes often face critical reappraisals which take historical realities little into account. With respect to Mandela, that process has started in South Africa, but the dominant narrative remains that Mandela’s achievements in bringing South Africa to non-racial democracy in the context of the ideals of racial reconciliation were extraordinary. 

The South African Independent Electoral Commission has announced that national elections will occur on a Wednesday between May 7 and the end of the month in 2019. The three leading parties will be the governing African National Congress (ANC) led by current state President Cyril Ramaphosa; the official opposition Democratic Alliance (DA) led by Mmusi Maimane; and the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) led by Julius Malema. The ANC, the party of Nelson Mandela, has been the governing party since the 1994 transition from apartheid to “non-racial” democracy. Ideologically, it is a broad church. It has been the party of the black majority, which comprises about 80 percent of the population. However, it is tarnished by corruption and poor governance associated with the former party leader and state president, Jacob Zuma. The DA is center-right, and in South Africa’s racial calculus, has been the party of whites, coloreds, and, increasingly, Asians. It is aggressively seeking black electoral support, and its leader Maimane is black. The EFF has radical economic and social policies; among other things, it calls for the expropriation of white-owned property without compensation. At the last parliamentary elections in 2014, of the 400 seats in parliament, the ANC won 249; the DA won 89; the EFF won 25. Six other parties also altogether hold the remaining seats, a reflection of South Africa’s system of proportional representation.  As he looks to the national elections in 2019, Ramaphosa is still seeking to consolidate his authority within the ANC in the aftermath of a bitter fight for its leadership. That effort will be helped if the ANC exceeds expectations in the 2019 elections, even if the number of seats it wins is fewer than in 2014. However, if the ANC performs below the expectations of the moment, Ramaphosa will be weakened and perhaps even exposed to possible removal. To become a credible party of government, the DA will need to expand its electoral appeal beyond racial minorities that altogether are only about 20 percent of the population. Its leaders are looking to make inroads among hitherto black middle-class support for the ANC. Despite its frequent media coverage, which is largely due to its fiery rhetoric, the EFF remains on the fringe.  This far in advance of the 2019 elections, predicting the outcome is a mug’s game. Many scenarios are possible, including a merger or alliance of the EFF with the ANC. (Julius Malema was once in charge of the ANC’s youth league until he had a falling out with Zuma.) Moreover, if the DA, EFF, and the minor parties increase their share of the vote, and if the ANC’s drops below 50 percent, then coalition scenarios become possible. Nevertheless, as in most democracies, incumbency is an advantage, and the ANC also benefits from being the party of the black majority. In South Africa, race is likely to continue to be the greatest predictor of electoral behavior, if perhaps less so than in the past.  

For many South Africa watchers, it can be difficult to conceive of the state as a separate entity from the ruling African National Congress (ANC). The ANC is so closely associated with the long struggle against apartheid, the birth of a democratic state, and the founding leadership of modern South Africa that it can seem fundamental to the country’s identity. Notwithstanding some opposition parties’ important gains in local elections in recent years, many analysts and journalists cover the ANC’s internal debates and power struggles as if they were synonymous with national political contests—and for good reason, because to date they largely have been. For obvious reasons, the blurring of lines between the party and the state raises concerns about the extent of corruption in South Africa, as well as questions about the strength and resilience of South Africa’s democracy. But, South African voters may have a much easier time envisioning a South Africa that is not governed by the ANC than is typically assumed. Recently released polling from Afrobarometer suggests a meaningful decline among South African voters with a strong sense of party loyalty, particularly among young, educated urban voters. For the first time in eighteen years of polling, over half of respondents considered themselves nonpartisan. For these voters, their own sense of identity does not overlap with party affiliation. They are unlikely to be moved by nostalgic campaign appeals based on liberation credentials. They are dissatisfied with their government, wish to enjoy more personal and economic security, and are likely to cast their votes for any party they believe can deliver on these core issues. In fact, the Afrobarometer survey found a solid majority would forfeit fundamental democratic rights if they could be assured of strong government performance on service delivery, which suggests that the country’s fundamental national values may be far different from the way they are conventionally described and understood.  The numbers suggest that external and internal narratives about South Africa may be diverging, and that those genuinely trying to understand the South African state may need to consider a broader range of political possibilities going forward. They also underscore the challenge before new President Cyril Ramaphosa as he approaches next year’s elections. Ramaphosa will need to attract voters unmoved by the historic triumphs of the ANC and convince them that the same ANC that has so dissatisfied them can achieve the results they crave on employment, security, and housing—all while managing the fraught internal politics of the party itself.

As Cameroon-watchers await the official results of this month’s elections amid court challenges, the outcome is highly predictable—victories for the ruling Cameroon People’s Democratic Movement (CPDM) and for the long-serving incumbent president, eighty-five-year-old Paul Biya. But the country’s future is utterly uncertain. It is as though Cameroon’s story is diverging in two radically different directions: one in which past is prologue and citizens and external partners find comfort in familiar faces and continuity; and another in which security is elusive, disintegration persists, and Cameroon becomes unrecognizable to those who knew it before.  The October 7 elections were held against a backdrop of increasing instability as the state battles both Boko Haram in the north and Anglophone separatists in the west. Alarmed by reports of horrific extrajudicial killings, and by the displacement of roughly a quarter of a million people, some of Cameroon’s external partners, including the United States, are grappling with tough questions about the wisdom of ongoing security assistance and cooperation. In some areas, voters were too worried about their immediate security to go to the polls. Others have lost faith in the legitimacy of the exercise, and some of the government’s choices, like its embrace of international observers of dubious credibility, suggest there is indeed reason to doubt the integrity of the process.  Those who value a stable partner in Cameroon over the long run should be interested in supporting a third possibility beyond an unsustainable status quo and a descent into chaos—one in which reforms create a more inclusive society, generational change refreshes the ranks of leadership, those responsible for abuse are held accountable for their crimes, and the connective tissue between government and citizens is strengthened by far more than pro forma electoral exercises. Right now, this third path is far more fantasy than reality. It will take a recognition that these election results settle none of Cameroon’s outstanding questions, and strong internal and external support for real political dialogue, to create space for a better future.

The fact that Zimbabwe is experiencing an economic crisis is neither surprising nor terribly illuminating; most saw this coming months ago as it became clear that there was a currency crisis in the offing, likely to come due immediately after summer’s presidential elections. Years of the government’s economic smoke and mirrors created a situation in which much of the dollarized economy was backed by bond notes of questionable value, and characterized by widespread use of electronic money worth far less than advertised. When the new finance minister stated the obvious by noting that this system could not continue, Zimbabweans were quick to remember how their assets had spiraled into worthlessness in the past, and panic buying and shortages predictably ensued. But the government’s reaction to the crisis was not a foregone conclusion, and to date it is deeply disappointing. Contradictory statements about how the government plans to navigate the currency crisis have bred suspicion and fear. So has the state’s heavy-handed approach to managing the fallout. The vice president has threatened and scapegoated business owners, accusing them of price gouging and hoarding. Scores of trade unionists were arrested for protesting, or planning to protest, a new two percent tax on electronic transactions – essentially an attempt to squeeze the deeply impoverished population even more to address economic shortfalls. State media trumpets headlines about breakthroughs with the international financial institutions or new investments from abroad, but closer inspection tends to reveal far less than meets the eye. When creditors agree to a payment plan to clear longstanding debts, it doesn’t mean that new loans are coming, or even that arrears will actually get cleared. When start-up hedge funds commit to try to raise capital for unspecified projects in the future, it doesn’t mean that an influx of dollars has been secured. In their quest to paint a picture of a new dawn, Zimbabwean officials keep overselling small and preliminary steps, undermining their own credibility. Confusion, repression, and misdirection seem to be the distinguishing characteristics of the “new dispensation,” and they contribute to citizens’ fundamental lack of confidence in government. The recent elections were supposed to bolster the legitimacy of the government and give Zimbabwe a solid new basis on which to move forward. But little seems solid and reliable in this new era – including, as the European Union recently noted, the election results themselves.