Heads of State and Government

South Africa is a democracy conducted according to the rule of law with a genuinely independent judiciary. While post-apartheid South Africa has made progress in addressing extreme poverty among the black majority, the white minority (just under 8 percent of the population) dominates the economy and enjoys a first-world standard of living, while that of the black majority has been compared to Cameroon. The African National Congress (ANC), the party which has dominated government since the end of apartheid in 1994, is a mélange of democratic and "liberation" assumptions and procedures. Once multiracial, the ANC is now largely a Black political party. During the 2009–2018 presidency of Jacob Zuma, it became deeply ensnarled in corruption and steadily lost the support of the electorate. Zuma is widely regarded as personally corrupt. Cyril Ramaphosa, a close associate of Nelson Mandela, campaigned within the party to unseat Zuma and clean up the corruption, not least to stimulate foreign and domestic investment in the economy. Ramaphosa only narrowly won, and Zuma retains considerable influence. Nevertheless, Ramaphosa's victory was the occasion for the longstanding criminal proceedings to go forward against Zuma for corruption, specifically involving bribes paid by a French company to secure defense contracts more than a decade ago. There have since been many courtroom dramas: the latest is that Zuma's trial has been postponed until July 19. In effect, Zuma and his lawyers have sought to make the case a political rather than judicial one. If convicted, Zuma would likely go to jail. As part of his ANC cleanup, Ramaphosa has also suspended Ace Magashule—a close Zuma ally also credibly accused of corruption—from his position as the ANC secretary-general. Zuma, Magashule, and others are seeking to recapture somehow the ANC and ultimately force out Ramaphosa. For the time being, Ramaphosa has the upper hand. The backstory is that the ANC is deeply divided. One wing, associated with Zuma, sees Black poverty as best addressed through vast expansion of the state in the economy, with it becoming an employer of last resort, and massive programs of transfer payments for the redistribution of wealth. It is often impatient with constitutional and legal provisions that protect private property and limit what the state can do. Similarly, it sometimes resents the independence of the judiciary. This wing is "populist," and has been associated with the Zulu ethnic group, which makes up about a quarter of the population. It is often conservative on social issues, disliking, for example, gay marriage. On the other hand, it is home to many female politicians. The other wing, now associated with Ramaphosa, seeks to address poverty by diversifying the economy, largely through private investment, to spur growth. That wing sees corruption as a significant bar to the investment the economy needs if it is to grow fast enough to reduce poverty. On social issues, it is broadly progressive and seeks to downplay ethnic identities. As with democratic politics anywhere, numerous other factors shape the ANC, including personalities and personal ambition. For example, in the 2018 contest to lead the party, Ramaphosa's chief opponent was Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, an ex-wife of Jacob Zuma but a formidable politician in her own right. The business community generally favors the Ramaphosa wing, with its greater openness to international trade and investment. But the Zuma wing remains in many ways the voice of the townships and rural dwellers left behind in post-apartheid South Africa.

Benin has been something of a poster child for African democracy following its move away from Marxism–Leninism after the collapse of the Soviet Union. No longer. On paper, Benin is a constitutional democracy conducted according to the rule of law. But since Patrice Talon was elected in 2016, the president has systematically squeezed the substance out of the democratic and constitutional forms, leaving only a shell. Over time, Talon has intimidated or banned the opposition, politicized the security services and the judiciary, and limited the media. Freedom House has charted the downward spiral: between 2019 and 2020 it lost its status as a “free” country. The African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights, a part of the African Union (AU), also publicly criticized the trajectory. Talon's response was to withdraw Benin from the court's jurisdiction. The April 11 presidential elections are a major signpost of the transition to an authoritarian—if weak—state.  Talon banned opposition candidates, the supporters of whom boycotted the election. Turnout was perhaps 26 percent of those eligible to vote. African reaction to the elections is disappointing but not surprising. Election observers from the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the AU praised the elections as being "calm" and "orderly." Election observers from African organization tend to be loath to criticize elections in African countries. The U.S embassy's official statement after the elections was conventional if hardly hard-hitting. It called on those aggrieved to pursue their claims in the courts not the streets, urged the government to “consult with all stakeholders” on the way forward, and expressed concern about the low turnout. (Benin has been a political ally in the struggle against jihadism in West Africa.) Over time, authoritarian rule is like to promote instability in Benin—as it has elsewhere in Africa. For now, however, Talon appears to have gotten off scot-free. He is not a tyrant in the style of Uganda's Idi Amin or even of Chad's Déby, thereby muting Western criticism. Indeed, he appears to be an example of a new style of African "Big Man" who comes to power without need for a military coup. No longer do military units seize the central bank, the presidential palace, the radio station, and install one of their own as president. Instead, duly elected heads of state gradually erode democratic and constitutional norms. John Magufuli in Tanzania was another example of this approach, and he, too, appeared to be successful until he literally dropped dead. This publication is part of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Project on the Future of Democracy.

Chad strongman Idriss Deby's death on April 20, allegedly in combat with rebel forces that had crossed over from Libya, is bad news for the immediate struggle against jihadi radicalism in Nigeria, Niger, and Cameroon. The news is also unwelcome for France and the United States. Deby had been a staunch ally against jihadi radicalism in the Sahel, and especially against Boko Haram and its factions. His army, the beneficiary of substantial French investment, is commonly regarded as the best in the region. Chad hosts the headquarters of the French Operation Barkhane, numbering just under 5,000 fighters. Deby cooperated with the U.S. military, allowing it to maintain a drone base to aid in the fight against jihadism. The French government has stated that "France lost a brave friend" and that France supports Chad's "stability and territorial integrity." Deby is an example of the dilemma faced when the United States, France, and other Western powers tie themselves to autocratic strongmen—for that is what Deby was. He ruled Chad for a generation, faced numerous attempted coups, and manipulated the constitution and the electoral process to, in effect, make himself president for life. He also accumulated an estimated personal fortune of $50 million in one of the poorest countries in the world. Domestic opposition had been growing. His immediate placeholder, the "National Council of Transition," appears to be beholden to the military. It has made Deby's son the interim president, itself a coup: under the constitution that role falls to the speaker of parliament. For now, it looks like the essence of the Deby regime will continue. But what about the rebel columns advancing on N'Djamena? The ambitions and grievances that drive them presumably do not go away with Deby's death; France and to a lesser extent Nigeria will likely be decisive as to what happens next on that front. As for the Chadian people, initial reports are of fear of the unknown, especially the possibility of civil war. This publication is part of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Project on the Future of Democracy.

While international attention has been focused on Ethiopia’s multiple internal and foreign policy crises, the political situation in Somalia has gone from precarious to untenable.

New data from CFR’s Women’s Power Index shows that in countries such as the United States, Belgium, and Lithuania, more women are in power than ever before.

On April 11, Chadians went to cast their votes to elect a president. The electoral commission is to certify the outcome by April 25. Not that the outcome was ever in doubt: incumbent president Idriss Deby, born in 1952, said publicly that he knew in advance that he would win "as I have done for the last thirty years." In 2018, he engineered a new constitution that would enable him to win the presidency two more times—by rigging if necessary—thereby remaining in office until 2033. As in past elections, opposition candidates ran but none really had a chance of winning; seven of the seventeen applicants for the presidential race were rejected, while others boycotted the vote. Chadians know that their elections do not reflect the popular will: on election day, observers said that turnout was low and unenthusiastic.  This election, like previous ones that Deby won and others conducted by African big men, is essentially a pageant, designed to underscore to Chadians his legitimacy and to mollify foreign partners. It is an "election-like event"—the form of a genuine election absent the substance. The event is far from an opportunity for Chadians to express their political preferences. Deby, a general with extensive French military training, made his way into politics through the army. As of now, with a firm grip on the military and government institutions (including the electoral commission), a willingness to use violent repression if he deems it necessary, and considerable political skills, Deby appears set to remain president for life—absent an unexpected palace coup that likely would be bloody. He has never let human rights considerations get in his way. He has done well out of public office: one estimate of his personal wealth is $50 million from holding military and civilian office in one of the poorest states in the world. Yet Deby poses a policy dilemma for Western governments devoted to democracy and human rights. He is a staunch ally against Islamist radicalism. His army is the best in West Africa, thanks to substantial French investment. The country hosts a large French military base, and some U.S. military personnel are also present. The Chadian army, alongside that of Nigeria and South African mercenaries, drove Boko Haram out of a part of Nigeria's Borno State. Deby is an example of the Sanskrit proverb "the enemy of my enemy is my friend"; his foes are frequently the same as the West's. For nations as well as individuals, it is not always possible to choose your friends—hence Western cooperation with Chad while overlooking Deby's big-man rule. This publication is part of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Project on the Future of Democracy.

On April 8, the leaders of Botswana, Malawi, South Africa, and Zimbabwe met with Mozambican President Filipe Nyusi to consider next steps with respect to the crisis in Cabo Delgado. They decided to send a team of experts to the battle zone to make recommendations. The leaders also agreed to meet again in three weeks’ time. The meeting fell under the purview of the Southern African Development Community (SADC), a sixteen-member regional bloc. SADC is not moving quickly on this crisis, and, in the past, it has failed to address major regional crises, especially in Zimbabwe. It remains to be seen whether that pattern will be repeated with respect to Mozambique.

Tundu Lissu, in an interview, comments on expectations for President Samia Suluhu Hassan, a Zanzibar native who was sworn in following former President John Magufuli’s death as Tanzania’s sixth—and first female—president.

Nigerien President Mahamadou Issoufou, set to step down after two terms in office, was last week awarded the Ibrahim Prize for Achievement in African Leadership. The chair of the Mo Ibrahim Prize Committee, Festus Mogae, a former president of Botswana and himself a recipient of the prize, said that Issoufou had "led his people on a path of progress." The committee noted that Issoufou had faced "severe political and economic issues." Niger in the best of times is one of the poorest countries in the world, facing recurrent, severe drought. It has been buffeted by jihadi terrorism, a host of economic issues, and COVID-19. Unlike many other African presidents, Issoufou did not try to remain in office beyond his constitutionally mandated two terms by amending the constitution or pursuing other extralegal means. The prize committee, in addition to Chairman Mogae, is luminous. The committee’s members are Graca Machel, former first lady of both Mozambique and South Africa; Aïcha Bah Diallo, human-and-women's rights activist from Guinea; Mohamed ElBaradei, Egyptian diplomat and former head of the International Atomic Energy Agency; Horst Köhler, former president of Germany; and Mary Robinson, former president of Ireland. Former members include Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, now the head of the World Trade Organization, and former UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan. Mo Ibrahim, an Anglo-Sudanese billionaire, established the Ibrahim Prize in 2006 to promote good governance. Considered the world’s largest cash prize, award recipients are given $5 million over ten years, followed by $200,000 a year for life. Recipients can also apply for an additional $200,000 per year for their own philanthropy. Hence, the prize frees recipients from the pecuniary concerns that might otherwise encourage them to remain in office after their terms expire. Since its establishment, the prize has been awarded only six times. The five recipients preceding this year's were Joaquim Chissano (Mozambique) in 2007; Festus Mogae (Botswana) in 2008; Pedro Pires (Cape Verde) in 2011; Hifikepunye Pohamba (Namibia) in 2014; and Ellen Johnson Sirleaf (Liberia) in 2017. Nelson Mandela was awarded an "honorary" prize, as he was not eligible for it, having left office before the prize was established. The fact that most years the selection committee cannot identify a departing head of state that qualifies for the prize is often taken as an indictment of the quality of African leadership at the highest levels. Ibrahim prize recipients have been notable for operating within a broad political culture of respect for human rights and the rule of law. Notably, all of the heads of state that have received it have left office when their constitutional terms of office were up. The prize, however, is awarded for "good governance," not for the promotion of democracy as defined in the developed world. This publication is part of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Project on the Future of Democracy.

Nolan Quinn is a research associate for the Council on Foreign Relations’ Africa Program. President John Magufuli's death at sixty-one years of age followed a familiar pattern among Africa’s putative strongmen: denials that he was sick followed by secrecy as to the circumstances of his dying and where it happened. Magufuli, like other African heads of state, apparently sought treatment outside his own country, rumor had it either in Kenya or India—perhaps both. Vice President Samia Suluhu, announcing the president’s death yesterday, said the president died from a heart condition, and that he had been treated at two different hospitals in Dar es Salaam, the commercial capital. However, in social and traditional media both in East Africa and elsewhere, rumors that the president had contracted COVID-19 had been circulating for more than a week. The mystery surrounding the true nature of his death could well remain unresolved. Yet if, as seems likely, Magufuli has died from COVID-19, the story of his demise would prove ironic. A conservative Roman Catholic—yet influenced in his outspokenness by a Nigerian Pentecostal televangelist—the president denied the presence of the disease in Tanzania, having declared victory over the novel coronavirus thanks to the power of prayer. Meanwhile, escalating numbers of senior officials and clergy have been dying of "respiratory disease." Prior to Magufuli’s death, the Catholic Church in Tanzania had become the most high-profile institution willing to contradict the narrative spun by its most high-profile adherent. Even after Magufuli had fallen ill—the vice-president announced he was initially admitted to the hospital on March 6—the government arrested individuals for spreading “false information” about the president’s health. Such tools of power, hardly considered legitimate in the decades preceding Magufuli, were used with increasing regularity as the president moved Tanzania in an authoritarian direction. Intimidation of opposition leaders and the media became commonplace. Suluhu, who became Tanzania’s first-ever female vice president in 2015, is now legally considered the acting president of Tanzania. A swearing-in date has not been announced for her to formally take office; the constitution states that she is to serve the remainder of Magufuli’s five-year term, which began after he was re-elected in October in elections marred by violence and fraud. One member of parliament who worked closely with Suluhu called her “the most underrated politician in Tanzania,” but reports have surfaced that the acting president does not command support across the various factions of the Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM), the ever-fractious ruling party. While it appears unlikely that the constitutionally outlined succession plan will be contravened, especially given the military’s weak political influence, the circumstances of Suluhu’s rise to power—coupled with her gender in a nation that retains deeply patriarchal beliefs—could handicap her political ambitions. The new president will have several pressing issues to address. Tanzania is still in the grips of what appears to be its biggest wave yet of COVID-19. Anecdotes from those in Tanzania—one of few sources of information on the disease’s prevalence in Tanzania at present—suggest case numbers are falling, but prominent figures continue to become sick with COVID-like symptoms. The government will come under renewed pressure from international health agencies to begin reporting data and accept assistance, such as vaccines, from abroad. And while Tanzania has weathered the COVID-related economic shock better than many other countries, growth has nonetheless been below potential, and will remain so if the government does not begin to recommend science-based public health practices. At the southern border, a brutal jihadi insurgency in Mozambique occasionally spills over into Tanzania. Under Magufuli, bilateral relations with Tanzania’s southern neighbor were occasionally strained, but cooperation between the two had been improving. Regardless, the trajectory of violence suggests the insurgents will prove a lasting headache for the incoming government and potentially even further into the future. Most unpredictable is the path the new government will take with regard to respect for political freedoms. While Tanzania has never been considered fully democratic, it was, prior to Magufuli, known for its political stability, respect for minorities, and limits on power. It would seem unlikely that Suluhu, a soft-spoken former activist, shares Magufuli’s authoritarian tilt. Indeed, many Swahili-speaking users on Twitter and the Tanzania-based message board JamiiForums have interpreted her rise as heralding an easing of restrictions on speech, as has opposition leader Tundu Lissu. But the degree to which intolerance of criticism has become institutionalized within CCM is unclear and, until more time passes, unknowable. The assessment of Magufuli’s reign therefore remains a work in progress: was it a deviation from the mean, or merely the beginning of a darker era in Tanzania’s politics? This publication is part of the Diamonstein-Spielvogel Project on the Future of Democracy.

Japan's constitutional debate is about not simply the document's past but also the nation's ability to respond to twenty-first-century challenges.

Nolan Quinn is a research associate for the Council on Foreign Relations’ Africa Program. A story published yesterday in Kenyan newspaper the Nation suggests—though does not confirm—that Tanzanian President John Magufuli was flown into Kenya and admitted to a hospital in Nairobi to receive treatment for COVID-19. The president, who has repeatedly downplayed the disease while encouraging citizens to pray and inhale steam to kill the novel coronavirus, was reportedly placed on a ventilator. Main opposition figure Tundu Lissu told the BBC that the president was in critical condition after experiencing cardiac arrest and later tweeted that Magufuli had been transferred to India for further medical treatment. Both claims remain unverified, but Magufuli, according to a senior Tanzanian medic close to the president, has a history of heart issues that could complicate his recovery. Magufuli’s approach to the pandemic has won plaudits from the president’s personal supporters and COVID-19 skeptics alike, many of whom have taken his denials of the disease’s existence in Tanzania at face value. The president has backed his narrative, and implicitly portrayed himself as the sole arbiter of truth about the virus, through fact-free diatribes questioning the reliability and efficacy of testing, lockdowns, and vaccines. The government’s efforts to criminalize the sharing of data on COVID-19—Tanzania last reported case numbers in May—served to further reinforce Magufuli’s role as the unquestioned authority on the pandemic in the East African nation. The president’s monopoly on information, however, became untenable as a wave of deaths attributed to “pneumonia” spiked suddenly in Tanzania last month. The country’s Roman Catholic Church, to which Magufuli himself belongs, pushed back on the president’s claim that prayer had defeated the virus, urging adherence to best public health practices. (The Church’s website was conspicuously taken offline shortly after but has since gone back up.) The Church again stepped into the fray earlier this month, announcing that sixty nuns and twenty-five priests had died in the last two months after experiencing COVID-like symptoms. Alongside such warnings came a spate of high-profile deaths—some confirmed as COVID-related, others merely suspected. Reports that Magufuli has contracted COVID-19 after flouting public health measures invite a comparison to former U.S. President Donald Trump’s own bout with the disease. However, should Magufuli recover, his political reckoning could prove much different than that of his American counterpart. Trump, upon being discharged from the hospital, released a video hailing the United States’ medical personnel and its development of the “best medicines in the world,” a message his supporters found inspiring. Magufuli’s decision to seek treatment abroad, on the other hand, conveys a lack of faith in Tanzania’s medical infrastructure—this from a fervent nationalist who boasted that he did not send his wife abroad when she was sick due to his belief in Tanzania’s health systems, which he said had begun to attract medical tourism. The seriousness of the president’s condition has also exposed his medical advice as mere quackery. Contradicting the official line on COVID-19 remains dangerous for most people in increasingly authoritarian Tanzania. But even before Magufuli’s unconfirmed diagnosis, ruling-party legislators had begun to exhibit growing unease about the number of deaths from “respiratory disease” being reported. Lawmakers will feel they have less to lose by speaking out when their lives and those of their loved ones are threatened by the unabated, unmonitored spread of COVID-19. Dissent from the within the ruling Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM)—the party in power since independence—could provide an opening for a more serious discussion about the disease’s prevalence in Tanzania and, in doing so, loosen the president’s stranglehold on the party. Much in the way Magufuli went from CCM outsider to spearheading the shrinking of civic space in Tanzania, a bold figure within the ruling party could capitalize on the current episode to begin to reverse course. (With the opposition effectively kneecapped, immediate change is more likely to come from within CCM.) Such an individual would need to cleverly navigate the party’s internal politics—especially during such a tense moment—building a coalition to overcome Magufuli allies who have pushed the president to accept a third term. Until recently, with Magufuli in the ascendancy, this seemed far-fetched. But the president no longer enjoys the all-knowing aura he once did.

Monday is Presidents’ Day. To get you in the proper celebratory mood, TWE presents its tenth annual Presidents’ Day quiz. If you are feeling up to it, you can try the quizzes from 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, and 2020 as well. You can find the answers to the quiz here [PDF]. Note: If the quiz is not displaying in your browser, please click here. Anna Shortridge assisted in the preparation of this post. 

On January 19, French President Emmanuel Macron said that recent successes against jihadis and the pledge of additional EU troops makes it possible to "adjust" French military operations in the western Sahel. More likely is that growing opposition to the costs of French military operations and the upcoming French elections are driving Macron to the decision. The French military presence—Operation Barkhane—numbers 5,100 and cost a reported $1.1 billion in 2020. The French Ministry of Defense has signaled that France is likely to announce the withdrawal of 600 troops in February. Meanwhile, demonstrations have popped up in some West African capitals, with organizers denouncing the French presence as neocolonial. Macron's stated justification for a drawdown strains credibility. Jihadi groups in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger are far from defeated. On January 21, jihadi forces killed three Malian soldiers and three days later they killed an additional six. Concerns are rising that jihadi activity will spread further into Senegal and Ivory Coast. According to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, West and Central Africa already hosts some 7.2 million [PDF] “people of concern”—including refugees, asylum seekers, internally displaced persons, returnees, and stateless persons— with many coming from or located in the Sahel. EU nations are augmenting Task Force Takuba in an attempt to bolster regional security, but the partnership is still getting off the ground. France is looking toward the presidential elections in 2022. Recent polling data shows that for the first time, a majority of French now oppose French military activity in West Africa. The negative, popular reaction to the deaths of thirteen French soldiers in Mali in 2019 illustrates the limited tolerance among the French public for military casualties. Macron is a shrewd politician, belying his technocratic image. His party fared poorly in 2020 municipal elections. Hence a French drawdown in West Africa makes domestic political sense. But, if the French drawdown is substantial, it seems likely that there will be an upsurge of Islamist activity; the armed forces of the weak Francophone West African states have become dependent on the French to hold the line. If the French leave, calls for greater American involvement will likely grow, especially if jihadis sweep toward beleaguered capitals and move to establish Islamist polities hostile to the West. Should such calls occur (as they did following French defeat in Vietnam a generation ago), the Biden administration would do well to proceed with great caution, given the complexity of the situation and the relative lack of granular knowledge about the Sahel in the United States.