Category: Academic Reportage

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Fanny Voélin, PhD candidate in geography, University of Bern

The youth-led protests that eventually brought down Madagascar’s President Andry Rajoelina were sparked, in part, by his attempt to use large-scale urban infrastructure projects as a means of consolidating power.

Rajoelina’s government placed urban mega-projects at the centre of its strategy to assert power and legitimacy. These projects enabled him to create and channel rents to key allies, while anchoring his rule in Malagasy history and territory. They were also meant to transform the spatial and political imaginaries of the state through monumental visions of modernity and development. By spatial and political imaginaries, I mean the contested ways leaders and citizens imagine space and power, and what a modern city and a legitimate government should look like.

Yet these projects did little to meet the needs of most Malagasy citizens. Those that might have done so, such as social housing schemes, were left unfinished or poorly realised.

By the time Rajoelina, who came into power via a coup in 2009, was re-elected for a third term in late 2023, his legitimacy was already deeply contested. Months of daily power and water cuts in the capital city, Antananarivo, combined with the launch of a highly energy-consuming cable car, sparked protests that ultimately led to his overthrow.

After three weeks of intense protests in major cities, Rajoelina fled the country. The army seized power, suspended the constitution, and dissolved key political and judicial institutions. It announced a transitional period.

It is not the first time since independence in 1960 that the military has intervened. Rajoelina was ousted by the same elite unit, the CAPSAT, that helped him seize power in 2009.

For the past four years, I have conducted doctoral research on the politics of urban planning and urban development in Antananarivo. Drawing on this work, this article shows how the very urban strategies through which Rajoelina sought to consolidate power contributed to his downfall. Once it became clear that urban infrastructure projects weren’t going to meet pressing social needs, they quickly generated disillusionment and anger.

Read more:
Megaprojects in Addis Ababa raise questions about spatial justice

Both my research and the regime’s collapse highlight the pitfalls of relying on large-scale infrastructure projects to gain political authority in a highly unstable and competitive political system.

Building power and legitimacy through the capital

Tapping into youth disillusioned with the approach of his predecessor, President Marc Ravalomanana, Rajoelina rose to power in 2009 through a coup.

At only 35, Rajoelina, a former DJ and head of print and media companies, embodied renewal and the hopes of the Malagasy youth. He led a transitional government until 2013. He was then elected into office in 2018. The opposition boycotted the 2023 elections amid growing popular discontent.

Read more:
Madagascar’s next president must put public safety and job creation first

From the outset, Rajoelina placed large-scale infrastructure construction at the centre of his political agenda.

In Antananarivo, numerous “presidential projects” were launched. These included a cable car, an urban train, a new city, colosseums, stadiums and social housing. Most of them were painted in the regime’s orange colours. They were strategically located in highly visible areas of the capital and its periphery. In parallel, Rajoelina reworked the national history and territory by renaming key sites in the city.

As I have argued elsewhere, these initiatives played a crucial role in Rajoelina’s attempts to build political authority. Infrastructure development served as an important source of rents he used to secure the loyalty of key allies and further centralise power in the presidency.

The projects were also symbolic, combining elements of tradition and modernity. They were an opportunity for staging state spectacles that aimed at legitimising his increasingly authoritarian rule.

When symbols of power backfire

Yet the spectacle turned against its orchestrator. While some projects had long been contested, the disillusionment reached its peak in 2025. Presidential projects crystallised growing popular anger over the corruption of the regime and the deteriorating living conditions.

In February 2025, in the municipality of Imerintsiatosika, 30km west of the capital city, demonstrations erupted in response to the threat of land seizure and eviction. It is here that the new city of Tanamasoandro was planned to serve as a potential new capital.

In late August 2025, the cable car, finally put into operation for a few hours a day more than a year after its completion, reignited controversy over government spending priorities. The vast majority of the population can’t afford the cable car – 80% of the people live below the poverty line.

The cable car costs an estimated €162,000 (US$188,725) per month in electricity bills. This in a city where power cuts have become a daily occurrence.

Far from serving as a symbol of progress and modernity, the “longest cable car in Africa” came to embody Rajoelina’s disconnection from the needs of the population and the corruption of a regime perceived as serving only its elites.

The battle for urban space

The spark that ignited the current crisis was the violent arrest of opposition municipal councillors on 19 September. The councillors had demanded that the Senate address the water and electricity shortages and their severe impact on the population.

More than 50% of businesses reported electricity outages, with
6.3 outages in a typical month lasting an average of 3.9 hours each, costing firms an average of 24% of annual sales, according to a February 2025 World bank review of the country’s economy. About 20.5% of firms experienced an average of two water shortages a month. Power cuts lasted up to 12 hours a day over the weeks preceding the coup. Students, poor families, and street traders were hit hard as they could not afford generators.

Inspired by Gen Z uprisings around the globe, Malagasy youth took to the streets on 25 September. What began as protests over basic utilities quickly expanded into a broader contestation of Rajoelina’s regime. Artists, trade unions, civil society organisations and politicians joined the movement.

At the spatial heart of the protests were two of Antananarivo’s most politically symbolic squares. The garden of Ambohijatovo, renamed Democracy Square (Kianjan’ny demokrasia) by Rajoelina himself in 2009, had previously hosted 35,000 of his supporters against Ravalomanana. On 1 October, demonstrators managed to gain access to the square after confronting the police, marking an important symbolic victory for the movement.

Ten days later, on 11 October, protesters, now joined by elements of the army, took over 13 May Square (Kianjan’ny 13 mai), the symbolic centre of Malagasy political protests since the 1970s.

Rajoelina attempted to counter the movement. He called his supporters to gather at the Colosseum Antsonjombe, built during the transition (2009-2013). It was presented at the time as the “biggest socio-cultural venue in the Indian Ocean and in Africa”.

However, the colosseum, which was full at its inauguration in 2012, was now empty, illustrating the president’s isolation.

Protesters also targeted key symbols of the presidency. The headquarters of Rajoelina’s printing company was burned down. So were the cable car and the urban train stations. The urban trains had never been put into service.

What Rajoelina had intended as symbols of power and modernity had thus become symbols of failure. They exposed Rajoelina’s vanished legitimacy and the fragile foundations of a power largely built on representation.

The afterlife of urban infrastructures

Rajoelina’s case illustrates that infrastructure construction can be a double-edged strategy. It can be used to assert power in authoritarian contexts, but it risks backfiring when a regime lacks the means to realise its ambitions. Rajoelina’s urban projects initially captured the imagination of the youth and the wider population. But as they failed to meet pressing social needs, they quickly generated disillusionment and anger.

An official from the Antananarivo municipality told me in late 2022 the cable car, unilaterally imposed by the presidency, was a “thorn in the side” of municipal authorities and “risks becoming a white elephant”. The same could be said of all presidential infrastructure projects, inseparable from a regime that had fallen out of favour.

The case of Madagascar raises broader questions about the afterlife of urban infrastructure projects closely associated with fallen leaders. How will they be maintained, repurposed, or abandoned? What consequences will they have for urban and national governance, residents’ lives and hopes, and the imaginaries of power in the years ahead?

Fanny Voélin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Madagascar protests: how ousted president Andry Rajoelina’s urban agenda backfired – https://theconversation.com/madagascar-protests-how-ousted-president-andry-rajoelinas-urban-agenda-backfired-267654

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Jonathan Powell, Visiting assistant professor, University of Kentucky

What began in late September as Madagascar’s student demonstrations over crippling electricity outages and water shortages quickly evolved into broader demands for political reform. It became a call to dismantle a system widely seen as corrupt and unaccountable, and for President Andry Rajoelina to resign.

As demonstrations swelled across the country, the embattled president sought to restore order through curfews, the dismissal of his energy minister, and ultimately the dissolution of his government. To no avail.

Eventually, the elite CAPSAT unit – the same corps that had propelled Rajoelina to power during the 2009 coup – overthrew him. Once CAPSAT soldiers joined protesters, seized control of the armed forces and exchanged fire with loyalist troops, Rajoelina fled the country.

From abroad, he attempted to dissolve parliament in a bid to block impeachment proceedings. Mere hours later, CAPSAT announced it had seized power, dissolved most state institutions, and assumed control of the government.

Yet while Rajoelina’s domestic legitimacy faced severe challenges, he continued to enjoy regional recognition, most notably as the current chair of the Southern African Development Community (SADC). This suggests that leaders whose authority is widely contested at home can still receive regional and international validation.

Even as Malagasy citizens mobilised to demand accountability, institutions like the SADC repeatedly conferred legitimacy on a president with dubious democratic credentials. That’s despite their ostensible commitment to democratic governance and constitutional order.

As scholars who have published extensively on coups and political instability in Africa, we contend that this disconnect between regional endorsement and domestic opposition undermines the credibility of such organisations.

In turn, this limits their ability to deter antidemocratic behaviour, including coups, executive overreach, and the erosion of institutional checks and balances.

Elected, but illegitimate?

Questions over Rajoelina’s democratic legitimacy were far from new. In February 2009, then the mayor of Antananarivo, he attempted to declare himself president in the midst of mass demonstrations against the Marc Ravalomanana regime. He didn’t succeed but a subsequent military coup installed him as the interim leader.

That was widely condemned as an unconstitutional takeover. Madagascar was suspended from both the African Union and the SADC. His unwillingness to step down contributed to a stalled transition process that took nearly five years.

Rajoelina prevailed in the 2018 vote. While that election was widely regarded as legitimate, despite some irregularities, the 2023 electoral cycle was not. There were accusations of a pre-determined process, protests, a legal challenge to Rajoelina’s eligibility, limitations on opposition rallies and calls to delay until a more credible process could be organised.

In an especially revealing act, National Assembly president Christine Razanamahasoa – a prominent member of Rajoelina’s own party – made a public request for the SADC to push for a delay in the election and for pressure on Rajoelina to allow a freer process.

Such calls went unheeded. Rajoelina prevailed in a vote boycotted by the opposition and accompanied by historically low turnout.

Competing legitimacies

Though public confidence in the political system had plummeted, and frustration skyrocketed, international bodies that purport to defend democratic norms in the region welcomed Rajoelina.

Rajoelina was actively serving as chair of the SADC at the time of his removal. This was a shift from his previous status as a thorn in the organisation’s side in the 2009-2013 transition period.

The SADC refrained from criticising the flawed 2023 election and, in spite of the electoral issues, selected Rajoelina to serve as its chair.

Rajoelina’s case isn’t an exception. It illustrates a tendency in which leaders with dubious domestic credentials are welcomed internationally by supposedly democracy-promoting organisations. There’s also Zimbabwe’s Emmerson Mnangagwa, who rose to Zimbabwe’s presidency following the 2017 coup against Robert Mugabe.

Unlike Rajoelina, the SADC did not require Mnangagwa to take a sabbatical and he has retained power via flawed processes. Neither consistent allegations of electoral malpractice, nor rampant repression, deterred the regional body from selecting Mnangagwa as chair. Nor have such issues deterred the Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa, which has selected Mnangagwa as its next chair.

Rajoelina’s ouster is the first time an SADC chair has been forced from power. If the organisation continues to endorse leaders who hold power through illegitimate means, it will not be the last.

The cost of legitimising illegitimacy

Accepting leaders with questionable democratic credentials deepens the damage on multiple fronts. Most directly, regional organisations can act as clubs of incumbents, with long-term negative consequences.

The 2023 Africa Governance Report on unconstitutional changes of government warned – in bold lettering – “instability may result if elections are not considered credible”.

Inconsistency on this front sends a clear signal to entrenched incumbents and would-be authoritarians: external validation may serve as a substitute for genuine domestic legitimacy. If leaders expect regional recognition despite their violations of constitutional order at home, they may feel they can ignore democratic norms, suppress dissent, or manipulate institutions.

But as Rajoelina’s fall from power shows, acceptance by regional and international bodies offers little protection when internal pressures finally erupt.

Beyond undermining domestic politics, such acts also undermine the credibility of regional organisations. When these same bodies later attempt to mediate political disputes or condemn unconstitutional actions, domestic audiences will be far less likely to see them as impartial or legitimate.

Recent developments in west Africa show how deeply this disillusionment can take root. Mass publics in Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger have rallied behind coup leaders while denouncing the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas).

Seen in this light, the SADC’s condemnation of the coup against Rajoelina and its decision to send a fact-finding mission will likely ring hollow to many Malagasy.

The organisation’s refusal to speak up during the 2023 electoral crisis, despite a direct appeal from the National Assembly president, exposed its reluctance to challenge incumbents. Its sudden defence of constitutional order now seems reactive rather than principled.

Until such bodies apply their standards consistently, their efforts will do little to deter future power grabs – or to restore public confidence in the regional project of democratic governance.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Madagascar coup: why turning a blind eye to an unpopular president weakens regional bodies – https://theconversation.com/madagascar-coup-why-turning-a-blind-eye-to-an-unpopular-president-weakens-regional-bodies-267897

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Papa Sow, Senior Researcher, The Nordic Africa Institute

Turkey has been trying to establish a stronghold in Africa, using the “Opening up to Africa” policy it adopted in 1998.

Its Africa Action Plan, based on humanitarian aid, politics and economic cooperation, has turned toward west Africa.

As a scholar of migration studies, I’ve analysed the forms of agencies, social networks and transnational e-commerce between Dakar and Istanbul. I also look at the people involved, including migrants, networks of traders and “gratis passengers” – people who use their baggage allowance to transport small packages between Istanbul and Dakar.

My study highlights active transnational trade and a circular, yet strategic, migration that is less visible. The interviews focused primarily on the back-and-forth of traders between Dakar and Istanbul, the gratis passengers (mainly Senegalese), and other Senegalese businessmen. Using the power of social media such as WhatsApp, TikTok, and Facebook, some of them regularly trade with Turkey while residing in Senegal. Others go back and forth between the two countries.

I conclude that the ease of people’s movement between Senegal and Turkey has enabled growth in the circulation of goods between Turkey and Senegal.

A number of factors have been responsible for this success. They include ease of getting Turkish visas and airline travel (and the discounts Turkish Airlines offers to the so-called gratis passengers). There are also historically rooted Muslim networks (Muridiyya and Tijaniya Sufi Muslims) in both countries.

In 2021, the volume of commercial, industrial and investment exchanges between the two countries reached more than US$540 million, compared with more than US$91 million in 2008. During the last visit of Senegalese prime minister Ousmane Sonko to Turkey in August 2025, both countries said they wanted to increase the bilateral trade to more than US$1 billion.

Historical ties

Cooperation and diplomatic relations between Senegal and Turkey go back to the early 1900s when an honorary consulate was opened in Dakar to preserve the contacts established with Istanbul. These early contacts are the beginnings of a Turkish diplomacy aimed at exploring the economic prospects of west Africa.

The first Turkish ambassador was posted to Senegal in 1963. The first Senegalese embassy opened in Turkey in 2006.

Senegal’s exports to Turkey include cotton, fishery resources, cereals, fruits and skins. It imports steel, furniture and spare parts.

This cooperation also extends to defence, security and culture. In 2020, the construction of a Turkish cultural centre was planned for Senegal in the coming years.

In 2017, Turkey regularised more than 1,400 Senegalese living in the country. The numbers of Senegalese in Turkey varies according to different sources. We estimate that several thousand Senegalese live in or have passed through Turkish territory since the mid-2000s.

Many Senegalese traders and social network entrepreneurs, especially women, have seized the opportunity in the last 15 years to take business trips to Istanbul and to promote trade exchanges without even leaving Senegal. This has changed the landscape of Senegalese migration to Europe and also allowed certain types of traders to specialise in Turkish imports.

These imports, and specifically the Turkish products, are commonly known as bagassu Turkii in Senegal. They include cosmetics, household accessories, clothing and technology.

Round-trip dynamics between Dakar and Istanbul

The traders interviewed said they had chosen İstanbul as a wholesale supply centre because of the high cost of travel to China and visa problems with China. In Istanbul, most of the Senegalese work as freight “shippers” or gratis passengers and, by extension, carriers of tax-free parcels to Senegal and other west African countries.

We differentiate them from the “kargo” migrants, who transport large quantities of goods and products from Turkey by sea freight to reach Senegal.

Gratis passengers, carrying smaller quantities, travel by plane. But they also often send the rest of their goods by boat or overland through kargo migrants.

The round-trip dynamics they have developed between Dakar and Istanbul rely on the fact that they benefit from preferential rates for plane tickets. They have set up a paid parcel transport system based on their baggage allowance.

Unlike normal passengers who cannot exceed the authorised 46kg, gratis passengers can carry up to 100kg per trip. This is often with 50% reductions on their fares because of travel offers and loyalty cards with companies such as Turkish Airlines and Air Algérie. Due to the often excessive luggage, it is still not possible for them to benefit from a normal import agreement, hence the use of preferential tariffs.

Gratis passengers also have the option of carrying additional baggage to be charged as cargo. They regularly take two or three return flights per month.

Steps forward

This work opens four avenues for further analysis.

Firstly, studies on the volume of goods shipped from Senegal to Turkey, and vice versa, who transports them, and how much they earn. Both states would then be better able to support them in various ways (data collection, access to appropriate services, platforms for exchange, skills and experience) in the creation of new jobs.

Secondly, the e-commerce sector deserves greater consideration. It has not only contributed to lowering the cost of goods in local markets for consumers but has also made bagassu Turkii more widely available in Senegal.

Thirdly, local artisans accuse the bagassu Turkii of undermining local textile production and creative skills. Several Senegalese artisans – shoemakers, jewelers, tailors – told us, for example, that Turkish products – shoes, leather bags and clothes, above all – are serious competition for certain local products. The more elaborate and refined bagassu Turkii sell easily in the Senegalese market because of their affordable prices, unlike local products that are handmade and often require many hours of work.

Fourthly, short-term circular migration can boost the economies of low-income countries and gradually allay the concerns that currently dominate the political debate over international migration.

Papa Sow does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Turkey’s charm offensive in Senegal: migration scholar unpacks the relationship – https://theconversation.com/turkeys-charm-offensive-in-senegal-migration-scholar-unpacks-the-relationship-264420