Category: The Conversation – Africa

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Misheck Mutize, Post Doctoral Researcher, Graduate School of Business (GSB), University of Cape Town

A quiet but consequential contest is playing out in the global financial architecture. One that could determine Africa’s ability to finance its own development.

In recent months, powerful voices from the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the Paris Club and US investment bank JP Morgan have questioned the preferred creditor status of African multilateral development finance institutions. These institutions include the Africa Export-Import Bank (Afreximbank) and the Trade and Development Bank (TDB).

Preferred creditor status is a long-standing practice in global finance. It gives multilateral development finance institutions priority in being repaid when a country faces financial distress. The idea is simple. These institutions lend to promote development. During crises, they step in with counter cyclical lending – increasing support when commercial creditors pull out.

This reliability depends on their strong credit ratings, which in turn rest on the assurance that they will be repaid even when others are not. That assurance is what the preferred creditor status guarantees. The World Bank, IMF and regional development banks in Asia and Latin America all enjoy this protection as a matter of practice. Borrowers respect it because breaching it would threaten their access to future concessional lending – loans offered on much lower interest rates and other terms.

The voices against African multilateral finance institutions argue that they are too small to deserve preferred creditor status. Or that, unlike the World Bank and IMF, they do not lend at concessional rates. JP Morgan has even warned that Africa’s development banks might lose their status altogether.

The debate about the preferred creditor status of Africa’s multilateral development finance institutions may sound technical. It is not. If left unchallenged, this narrative could justify the continued high interest rates Africa faces on international markets.

Drawing on decades of researching Africa’s capital markets and the institutions that govern them, I recommend that African governments must reaffirm and defend the preferred creditor status of multilateral development banks. African multilateral development banks must also act collectively to defend their credibility. And the African Union must embed the preferred creditor status of the continent’s development banks in its financial sovereignty agenda.

Unwritten privilege vs law

For the IMF, World Bank and Paris Club, the preferred creditor status is an unwritten privilege. For African multilateral development banks, it is law.

The founding treaties of Afreximbank, the African Development Bank and TDB explicitly enshrine this status. These treaties are registered under Article 102 of the UN Charter, making them binding under international law. African member states have also ratified them into law, domestically.

This makes the status of African multilateral development banks more legally secure than that of Bretton Woods institutions. Yet it is the African banks whose status is now described as “uncertain” or “controversial”.

African governments must correct this perception. The African Union and its members have already endorsed this principle, but stronger, coordinated public statements are needed, especially from finance ministers and central banks. The aim will be to reassure investors that these protections are real, enforceable and backed by political will.

Collective action

Institutions such as Afreximbank, the AfDB, TDB, Shelter Afriqué Development Bank and the Africa Finance Corporation have grown rapidly. Together, they hold more than US$640 billion in assets, expanding by about 15% a year. They have mobilised billions from global capital markets and stepped up lending when global finance withdrew. They have diversified into the panda bonds in China, proving their resilience and capacity to tap into nontraditional capital markets.

Their success, however, has attracted resistance. International creditors and rating agencies have started questioning their preferred creditor status, describing it as “weak” or “shaky”. This has real consequences. It weakens investor confidence. Investors demand higher returns, raising the cost of borrowing for the banks and, by extension, for African countries, based on a risk factor that does not exist.

To counter this, African multilateral development banks must coordinate their responses. The newly formed Association of African Multilateral Financial Institutions is a promising platform. It should be more active and become the unified voice defending the preferred creditor status. It should be used to issue joint legal opinions, engage directly with credit rating agencies and Paris Club members, and run global investor education campaigns that clarify the legal standing and strong performance of African multilateral development banks. The continent’s development banks must speak with one voice. Silence allows others to define their credibility.

Continent’s financial sovereignty

Protecting preferred creditor status is about more than technical finance. It is about sovereignty. Africa is building its own financial ecosystem through the African Credit Rating Agency. The other financial institutions in the ecosystem – which aren’t yet operational – are the African Central Bank, African Investment Bank and African Monetary Fund. Their purpose will be to reduce dependence on external actors and keep Africa’s development agenda in African hands.

A battle of perception

Global finance runs on perception which is shaped by narratives. Those who control the narratives control the cost of money. If the preferred creditor status of African multilateral development banks continues to be misrepresented, Africa’s access to affordable finance will remain hostage to external opinion rather than legal reality.

It will also weaken African development banks just as they are becoming more effective. Their ability to borrow cheaply and on favourable terms depends on their credit ratings, which rest on the assumption that they will be repaid first in case of distress. If that assumption is shaken, borrowing costs will rise.

By reaffirming the legal basis of the preferred creditor status of African multilateral development banks, coordinating their response and embedding this status in the AU’s financial sovereignty framework, African governments and multilateral development lenders can protect one of the most important tools for affordable development finance.

This is not just about defending institutions, it’s about defending Africa’s right to finance its own future on fair terms.

Misheck Mutize is affiliated with the African Union – African Peer Review Mechanism as a Lead Expert on credit ratings

– ref. African countries need strong development banks: how they can push back against narrative to weaken them – https://theconversation.com/african-countries-need-strong-development-banks-how-they-can-push-back-against-narrative-to-weaken-them-267989

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Ndumiso Daluxolo Ngidi, Senior Lecturer, University of KwaZulu-Natal

Violence among learners in South African schools is a pressing concern. The minister of basic education told parliament in 2025 that hundreds of bullying cases had been reported in the first few weeks of the year. Since then, a series of alarming incidents have further drawn public attention.

While these occurrences mirror the high rates of violence in the country, they are also symptoms of systemic challenges within South African schools.

In 2015 the government introduced the National School Safety Framework to set minimum standards of safety and help schools understand and meet their responsibilities. It noted “the relationship between violence and other ecological factors relating to safe and caring schools by locating the school within its broader community”.

The framework suggests an awareness of structural determinants of violence in schools. But the sustained rise in incidents of interpersonal violence among learners points to the need for renewed attention, especially among schoolboys.

We are researchers whose interests include the anthropology of masculinities and health, and inclusive education and children’s geographies. In a recent study we encountered a practice in schools called ukufikisana: a kind of initiation through which senior boys assert their dominance over junior boys, often through violence and intimidation.

Derived from the isiZulu phrase ukufikisana emandleni (“testing each other’s power”), the practice shares similarities with “hazing” or bullying. But it also reveals the social and cultural dimensions of violence within schools. For instance, schoolboys described ukufikisana as how one becomes “fully a boy”, suggesting that the experience and exertion of violence are inevitable.

Our findings demonstrate how ukufikisana reinforces hierarchical gender relations and normalises violence as a means of navigating power and identity among boys. This is deeply entrenched in the school environment.

We suggest that solutions lie in the interplay of poverty, violence and gender norms.

What boys said about bullying

The study
drew on a larger photovoice study exploring learners’ perspectives on violence in and around their school. It focused on 14 teenage boys (aged 14-17) attending a poorly resourced, co-educational school in Inanda, KwaZulu-Natal province. Inanda is an urban area characterised by poverty, unemployment and high levels of violence and crime. Its circumstances are a legacy of the policies applied to black South Africans under apartheid.

The study engaged boys as experts in their own lives, allowing them to share their experiences through images and films. We followed ethical protocols to get consent from schools, parents and learners. A social worker was available to provide support.

We prompted the participants to visually depict what violence looked like in their school environment.

Working in pairs, the boys captured images of simulated acts and experiences of violence using cellphones, discussed them and added captions. Then they presented this material in focus group discussions, which were recorded audiovisually and transcribed. We looked for themes in what was discussed.

The boys produced images showing the various ways that violence emerged at school. In one instance, two participants recreated a stabbing incident in which senior boys threatened to stab a junior boy.

Senior boys spoke of ukufikisana as an initiation practice that reinforced their position as “leaders”. One described the “younger and powerless boys” as “puppets”; another said “it’s to show them who is boss in this school”. Another spoke of it as a “baptism of fire”, saying:

they must always be prepared for it because it is coming for them … We show them that we are in charge of the school and they must respect that.

Younger boys told us:

They don’t listen when we try to stop them; they just threaten to beat us.

I was scared of them. So I just kept quiet and let them do whatever they wanted.

It hurt in more ways than one. One boy said:

Ukufikisana is not just what they do; it is also what they say to you … After that experience, I just kept to myself, and I am now more reserved at school.

What ukufikisana does

From our analysis of what the boys said, it appears that ukufikisana serves a dual function. For senior boys, it works as a rite of passage that solidifies their position as “fully boys”, and warrants their demonstration of physical strength, authority and control. For junior boys, the experience enforces submission and vulnerability, framing them as incomplete or “lesser boys”.

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Read more:
Bullies in South African schools were often bullied themselves – insights from an expert

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This dynamic normalises violence among boys in school settings. It also perpetuates rigid and harmful ways of being boys at school. At school, boys must always be ready to fight and to show their power through violence.

From this perspective, it’s possible to understand why violence may be prevalent and persisting in some South African schools.

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Read more:
Violent behaviour shows up at primary school — and can end there too

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For most boys, ukufikisana primes boys to think that bullying and the reinforcement of power through violence are key attributes for their lives. The participants described how this practice shaped their daily interactions, fostering a culture where dominance and submission were ingrained in their understanding of what it meant to be a man.

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Read more:
Why girls continue to experience violence at South African schools

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These findings align with broader concerns raised in recent anti-bullying research, globally and locally, which highlights the need for school approaches to address bullying.

What needs to change

We suggest that to effectively combat bullying, schools should move beyond punitive measures and zero-tolerance policies. Instead, they should adopt participatory and community-driven strategies that not only consider the interplay of poverty, violence and gender norms, but also allow learners to contribute to possible solutions to violence.

One way this might be done is through actively involving learners as equal stakeholders in school violence interventions.

Melusi Andile Dlamini receives funding from the National Research Foundation.

Ndumiso Daluxolo Ngidi 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. Boys, bullying and belonging: understanding violent initiation at a South African school – https://theconversation.com/boys-bullying-and-belonging-understanding-violent-initiation-at-a-south-african-school-256008

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Bedassa Tadesse, Professor of Economics, University of Minnesota Duluth

The US-Africa preferential trade deal – in place for a quarter century – expired on 30 September 2025. It’s far from certain if the trade deal will be renewed and, if so, how. Through the African Growth and Opportunity Act (Agoa), roughly 35 sub-Saharan African countries could export thousands of products to the American market duty-free.

First signed into law in 2000, it was designed to encourage African exports, create jobs, and deepen trade ties. Its usage varied widely: South Africa shipped cars and citrus; Kenya and Ethiopia focused on apparel; Lesotho and Eswatini relied heavily on garments; Mauritius sent textiles and seafood.

Those exports support hundreds of thousands of jobs. A sizeable proportion are held by women and young workers, particularly in areas where formal employment is scarce. For African exporters, a world without Agoa and with broader US tariffs is a double squeeze on competitiveness.

Will Agoa be revived at all or quickly enough? It rests with the US Congress rather than the White House, which has publicly supported a one-year extension. Transitional deals are being floated, but only an enacted law restores certainty. If the deal remains off – or remains uncertain – the sharpest pain falls on smaller, apparel-focused exporters that employ many low-income workers.

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Read more:
US-Africa trade deal turns 25 next year: Agoa’s winners, losers and what should come next

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I am a scholar of international trade with an interest in the economic development problems of developing countries. My 2023 analysis of scholarly articles and policy reports examined the impact of Agoa on the economic performance of sub-Saharan Africa.

If Congress cannot agree quickly, the lapse continues. Even if a renewal arrives later, some damage, such as cancelled orders and lost shifts, will already have occurred, and any retroactive fix will be uneven across sectors and firms. Uncertainty is costly: ambiguity surrounding Agoa’s renewal dampens orders and investment, particularly in labour-intensive sectors such as apparel and automotive components.

Amid the present economic uncertainties, Agoa exporters should prioritise three key measures. First, take steps to redirect vulnerable orders to the EU preference schemes, and regional buyers under the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA). Second, invest in competitiveness through improved ports and predictable customs. Finally, lobby smartly in Washington to argue for a short, retroactive “bridge” renewal.

The high cost of uncertainty for Africa

The duty-free status matters for Africa. Take the case of a basic cotton T-shirt from a country like Kenya or Lesotho that qualifies under Agoa enters the US duty-free. Without Agoa, the standard most-favoured-nation duty is about 16.5% on cotton T-shirts. That swing alone can erase thin margins and redirect orders.

The US imported $791 billion worth of goods from 2001 to 2021 from Agoa eligible countries. The corresponding value of US economic assistance to these countries amounted to $145 billion from 2001 through 2019. The striking difference in magnitude indicates the significance of Agoa in the US-Africa economic relationship.

The trade preferences have particularly benefited apparel, textiles, agriculture and light manufacturing. However, the impact has been uneven. Some countries have used the opportunities more effectively than others, so the consequences of a lapse will likewise be uneven among exporters.

Apparel hubs hit hardest: Lesotho, Eswatini, Madagascar, Kenya and Mauritius built entire export bases around Agoa’s duty-free access for clothing. Without it, typical US most-favoured-nation tariffs (usually 10%-20%) apply immediately, razor-thin margins vanish, and orders get pulled. Factory closures and job losses follow quickly.

South Africa’s cars and fruit: South Africa’s shipments of vehicles, parts, wine, citrus and nuts also face new tariffs. These globally competitive sectors are highly cost-sensitive; the loss of preferences undercuts auto supply-chain investment and farm incomes.

Oil exporters are less exposed: Crude oil generally faces low US tariffs already, so countries like Nigeria and Angola are less affected than non-oil manufacturers and farmers.

Recent returnees are vulnerable: Countries that only recently regained eligibility – after earlier suspensions over concerns about human rights, governance (including coups), or labour rights – are likely to see investors hesitate again amid renewed uncertainty.

What African exporters can do

Given the mix of US statute and presidential practice, there are three realistic paths out of the trade limbo. Congress could pass a multi-year extension in the weeks ahead. That would restore certainty for buyers and factories. Another is a short “bridge” renewal in which lawmakers agree to a one- or two-year extension. This scenario averts a cliff but keeps investment on pause: buyers may place smaller, repeat orders, and postpone new lines until the long-term outlook is resolved. The last is a continued lapse.

While the uncertainty persists, African exporters can look to other measures to shore up business. I propose these three:

Plan for uncertainty: Redirect vulnerable orders to the European Union’s preference routes. Use the Generalised Scheme of Preferences and relevant Economic Partnership Agreements where rules of origin are met. Also pivot to regional buyers under the African Continental Free Trade Area. This can be paired with quick logistics wins such as:

• pre-clearance: allowing customs processing before goods reach port, cutting dwell times

• single-window customs: a digital portal where all trade documents are submitted once, reducing delays and paperwork

• scheduled sailings: fixed, reliable shipping timetables that shorten delivery cycles and improve buyer confidence.

Together, these steps can improve margins through faster lead times. Countries can also bridge working-capital gaps for exposed firms with trade guarantees or invoice discounting, so confirmed orders don’t collapse. They should also maintain a standing public–private task force ready to pivot as US decisions evolve.

Lobby smartly in Washington: Affected countries should coordinate with embassies and lead exporters. They should present hard evidence, including buyer letters, job counts and likely US price pass-through, to argue for a short, retroactive “bridge” renewal. They can also stress that predictable access supports US supply-chain diversification away from China and stabilises consumer prices.

These countries could also align their messages across affected sectors, ranging from apparel to autos and agro-processing. The goal is to show a broad economic impact rather than narrow special pleading. They should also time their outreach to coincide with congressional windows and committee calendars.

Invest in competitiveness: Trade officials should compete on reliability. This is because dependable power, faster ports and predictable customs often matter more to buyers than wages alone. Build regional inputs (yarn-to-garment, packaging, parts) so a shock in one market doesn’t halt production, and scale testing and certification so one run meets US, EU and UK standards.

They should aim to move up the value chain: from free-on-board/full-package (for example, in apparel, not just cut-make-trim but also sourcing fabric and trims and arranging logistics) to components, branded, and ready-to-eat lines, where margins are stickier. Tie investment incentives to verifiable outcomes: jobs, on-time-in-full delivery, and clean production.

For three decades, African governments were urged to liberalise and build export capacity on the promise of predictable rules. A sudden US pullback moves the goalposts—raising prices at home, cutting jobs abroad, and shrinking the space for rules-based trade. Exporters can buy time with EU routes, regional buyers and logistics fixes. But only Congress can restore certainty: pass a short, retroactive bridge renewal now, then set a clear timeline for a multi-year AGOA update.

Bedassa Tadesse 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. Africa’s trade deal with the US was left in limbo: what exporters can do about it – https://theconversation.com/africas-trade-deal-with-the-us-was-left-in-limbo-what-exporters-can-do-about-it-268515

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Christophe Premat, Professor, Canadian and Cultural Studies, Stockholm University

The term “Françafrique” describes the political, economic and military networks built to preserve French influence in Africa. It refers to a past era but many believe that it still shapes relations between France and its former colonies today.

The word was popularised by French economist, historian and activist François-Xavier Verschave in his 1998 book Françafrique: The Longest Scandal of the Republic. He used it to condemn a neocolonial system that created dependence and allowed for French interference. Originally, the idea meant a close cooperation between France and Francophone Africa.

As a researcher in political discourse and Franco-African relations, I am interested in how the idea of Françafrique still affects the way both sides see each other today.

How Françafrique got its name

The term Françafrique was first used in 1945 by Jean Piot, editor-in-chief of L’Aurore newspaper. He saw it as a way to unite France and Africa to renew the French Empire. Later, Félix Houphouët-Boigny, the first president of independent Côte d’Ivoire, gave the term a positive meaning. In 1955, he used it to describe a positive partnership. He wanted to celebrate the shared language, culture and economic ties between France and Africa.

Verschave completely redefined the meaning of the term. For him, Françafrique symbolised a shadowy system of corruption, patronage and political interference.

A key architect of this system was Jacques Foccart. He was the African affairs adviser to French presidents between 1958 and 1974 and then adviser to Prime Minister Jacques Chirac between 1986 and 1988. He also served as the secretary-general for the Community and African and Malagasy Affairs, a body designed by General Charles de Gaulle to manage France’s relations with its former colonies.

The pillars of Françafrique

Françafrique is based on three main pillars:

1. Political and military support

Since African independence in the 1960s, France has maintained close ties with leaders considered to be “friends of France”. Through specific defence agreements, Paris retained the right to conduct military interventions to stabilise or protect allied governments. Key examples include Operation Manta in Chad in 1983 and Operation Serval in Mali in 2013. This structure was upheld by a shadow network. It was made up of unofficial advisors, intelligence services and personal connections among the elite. It was best symolised by the so-called “African cell” within the Élysée Palace, which was long led by Foccart.

2. Economic ties

The economic pillar of Françafrique is defined by deep financial ties. The CFA franc currency, created in 1945, is a clear legacy of colonial-era monetary dependence. Major French corporations like Elf, Bolloré, Bouygues and Total gained privileged access to key sectors such as oil, infrastructure and telecommunications in Africa. In return, these companies often funded a hidden system of financial support for African political parties and regimes. This corrupt system was exposed in the 1990s when a judicial investigation revealed that the French state-owned oil giant, Elf-Aquitaine, operated a vast network of corruption that involved both French politicians and African leaders.

3. Personal and informal networks

Beyond official diplomacy, Françafrique thrived on personal and informal networks. It operated through a web of businessmen, diplomats and military figures. These intermediaries formed a powerful “parallel state”. Their networks mixed business deals, intelligence work and personal friendships. This system effectively bypassed standard diplomatic channels. The importance of these personal ties is confirmed in the 2024 memoirs of Robert Bourgi, a key insider. As a disciple of Foccart, he details his extensive relationships with numerous African political leaders.

Is Françafrique really over?

The Francafrique system was weakened by major global and regional shifts. The Soviet Union’s collapse, growing demands for democracy in Africa, and financial scandals in France all challenged its existence.

A key turning point was the 1990 La Baule speech by French president François Mitterrand. He declared that French aid would be tied to democratic reforms. Despite this, French influence persisted, simply changing its form through privatisation, new military partnerships and economic diplomacy.

In the 2000s, successive French presidents – Jacques Chirac, Nicolas Sarkozy and François Hollande – all vowed to end the Françafrique era. However, continued French military action in Côte d’Ivoire in 2002, Mali in 2013, and the wider Sahel region until 2023 demonstrated a lasting French security role on the continent.

A concept in crisis

Today, the concept of Françafrique is in crisis. Under President Emmanuel Macron, the term itself has become politically taboo. Since his 2017 speech in Ouagadougou, he has insisted on breaking with the old logic of paternalism. He advocates instead for a “partnership of equals”.

Symbolic initiatives aim to modernise the relationship. These include returning looted artworks to Benin, acknowledging France’s role in the Rwandan genocide, and creating a new Africa-France Summit format.

Yet for many Africans, this new rhetoric does not match reality. French military presence in the Sahel, the ongoing use of the CFA franc (even as it is slowly rebranded), and the dominance of large French companies fuel a powerful feeling that French influence remains largely unchanged.

In countries like Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger rejection of France is now expressed through pan-Africanist and sovereignty rhetoric, which has led to regime changes.

The rise of competing powers

A key feature of the current era is the diversification of Africa’s international partners. Countries like China, Turkey, Russia and Gulf states are now major players in both economic and security sectors. The era of France having an exclusive “backyard” in Africa is over. African states now enjoy significantly greater geopolitical leeway.

In this new competitive landscape, France is attempting to redefine its policy. It now emphasises targeted bilateral relations, support for civil society, and academic and cultural cooperation. However, this strategic shift is struggling to overcome decades of deep-seated mistrust.

The powerful and enduring image of Françafrique continues to shape perceptions, especially among a younger generations of Africans who view past relations with scepticism.

An unfinished break

Today, discussing Françafrique means confronting both a historical system and a powerful political idea. While the shadowy networks of the past have faded, the underlying structures of economic influence remain. So too do the powerful postcolonial emotions that shape relations between France and Africa.

Françafrique may no longer be an official policy. Yet it remains a powerful lens. It is the key to understanding how colonial legacies continue to shape the present day.

Christophe Premat is a Professor of Francophone Cultural Studies and Director of the Centre for Canadian Studies at Stockholm University. He is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of the Nordic Journal of Francophone Studies. He recently published Sensibilités intellectuelles africaines with Buata Malela (Hermann Editions, https://www.editions-hermann.fr/livre/sensibilites-intellectuelles-africaines-buata-b-malela).

– ref. What is Françafrique? The taboo word that reveals the shifting influence of France in Africa – https://theconversation.com/what-is-francafrique-the-taboo-word-that-reveals-the-shifting-influence-of-france-in-africa-268129

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Teklehaymanot G. Weldemichel, Lecturer in Environment and Development, University of Manchester

Famine – the extreme scarcity of food – devastated Ethiopia’s Tigray region during and after a two-year war that began in November 2020. Yet, the famine’s impact is one of the least documented crises of recent years.

Despite the enormous scale of suffering and the far-reaching consequences of the 2020-2022 war, there hasn’t been enough attention paid to all aspects of the disaster, or to aid to enable the region to recover.

The famine dimension of the conflict – how starvation was used as a weapon of war and continues to shape the region today – has largely failed to garner the global and domestic attention it demands.

We have closely followed and extensively written on the Tigray crisis since 2020 as researchers and firsthand witnesses. In a recent article published by the World Peace Foundation – a research institution focused on understanding and preventing conflict, particularly in Africa – we argued that the famine in Tigray was deliberately produced and deliberately obscured. In a recent journal article, too, one of us examined how the Ethiopian government and its allies created a “zone of invisibility” around the Tigray war.

In our view, famine was used as a weapon in a campaign of destruction in Tigray. Our research draws on humanitarian reports, testimonies, satellite imagery and conflict data to reconstruct how deprivation unfolded. We studied who was affected and why global famine detection systems failed to recognise the scale of the crisis.

The lack of reliable data caused by government restrictions, international inaction and structural blind spots in global famine monitoring systems hid the scale of one of the deadliest wars of the 21st century.

Famine in Tigray was not an outcome of war. It was the result of policies – a siege, economic blockade and obstruction of aid – designed to destroy civilian life.

Failure to document the famine has serious implications. It distorts global understanding of what happened in Tigray, limits accountability for war crimes and leaves the international community unprepared to respond to future politically induced famines.

When famine goes unrecorded, the suffering of entire populations is erased from the world’s moral and political map. It also weakens the mechanisms designed to prevent such atrocities elsewhere.

As a result, modern famines driven by political violence – in places like Tigray, Sudan and Gaza – are missed, downplayed or denied until it is too late.

Background: war and siege

The Tigray war broke out in November 2020 between the regional leadership, Tigray People’s Liberation Front, and the central government.

From the earliest days it was marked by large-scale and systematic destruction and looting of social and economic infrastructures. Industries, farms, irrigation systems, food stocks, crop fields, orchards, food storage facilities and businesses across Tigray were looted and destroyed.

Beyond the physical damage, occupying forces actively obstructed farmers from tilling and planting their land. Within six months, this had driven Tigray – home to about six million people at the time – into mass starvation.

In famines caused by natural calamity and economic crisis, poorer communities or those in remote locations are often the worst hit. In Tigray, places along roads were devastated because they were accessible to invading forces.

The destruction and looting of infrastructure was followed by a siege that lasted more than two years. The Ethiopian government and its allies imposed a full-scale blockade on Tigray.

Banks were shut down. The bank accounts of ethnic Tigrayans – both within the region and nationwide – were frozen. The movement of people, goods and humanitarian aid to and from the region, and within Tigray, was brought to a near complete halt.

Communications and access to the media were shut down. The multilayered siege left Tigray almost entirely cut off from the world. Commercial and humanitarian supplies were deliberately obstructed for most of the period.

This resulted in widespread deprivation, suffering and death, much of which has received little documentation or recognition.

The conflict is now described by some studies as a genocide and the deadliest conflict of the 21st century. An estimated 800,000 people were killed through massacres, enforced disappearances and starvation.

Even after the 2022 African Union-brokered ceasefire, hunger and deprivation persist, especially in the western zones and areas bordering Eritrea that remain under occupation. Urban populations whose livelihoods and workplaces were destroyed have yet to rebuild.

The implications

The Tigray famine reveals deep flaws in how global institutions – including the UN and international humanitarian agencies – measure and classify famine.

The siege prevented humanitarian access and data collection. This made famine difficult to measure and easier to deny.

International famine frameworks rely on indicators like market food prices and malnutrition rates among displaced people. They look at crop failure, loss of livestock and disrupted rural livelihoods. Not at urban households, civil servants or small traders – groups who were among the worst affected in Tigray. They don’t capture urban forms of deprivation, such as banking exclusion or a sudden loss of salary or assets.

Agencies’ dependence on official government data led to a system failure. The absence of data was treated as an absence of suffering.

Famine in Tigray was a deliberate effort to weaken and humiliate a population. The implications go beyond Ethiopia. They expose how global systems remain unfit for documenting or responding to politically induced famine.

What must change

To prevent future famines from being erased, there needs to be a transformation of global famine detection and humanitarian response systems.

• First, the UN and humanitarian agencies must reform famine assessment metrics and systems to account for politically induced starvation. They must include urban and middle-income groups in their analyses. This will help identify and expose deliberate starvation strategies early.

• Second, human rights bodies should investigate famine as an intentional act of war rather than as an unfortunate by-product. This is a step in the direction of holding perpetrators to account for policies such as sieges, blockades and aid obstruction.

• Third, donor governments and humanitarian organisations must insist on accountability and transparency in their engagement with states that obstruct humanitarian access to populations in need.

• Finally, scholars and human rights advocacy organisations should continue documenting how famine functions as a tool of genocide. This would ensure that invisibility does not shield perpetrators from scrutiny. In an age of global connectivity, the absence of data should trigger investigation.

Failing to learn from Tigray will leave the world just as blind to the next famine.

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. Starvation as a weapon of war: how Ethiopia created a famine in Tigray – https://theconversation.com/starvation-as-a-weapon-of-war-how-ethiopia-created-a-famine-in-tigray-268395

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Dan Paget, Assistant professor, University of Sussex

In Tanzania, something snapped this year. Protests followed the 29 October 2025 elections. They are unprecedented in their scale, national breadth and political content since the country’s independence in 1961.

But the repression unleashed by newly re-elected President Samia Suluhu Hassan has also been unprecedented. She has gone further than her autocratic predecessors in closing off the political space and silencing opposition figures.

By putting her main rival Tundu Lissu on trial for treason and barring others from contesting the presidency, Hassan has crossed autocratic thresholds that other leaders have not. Activists have been arrested, brutalised or disappeared.

The protests spread across a series of major cities and towns in Tanzania. However, an internet blackout created a fog of war in which details are difficult to ascertain.

I am an assistant professor of politics at the University of Sussex. I have dedicated 11 years to studying Tanzania’s anti-authoritarian struggle.

Amateur and professional coverage found its way through the internet blackout. What I see in this footage is anger and tragedy running through these protests, and the struggle of the anti-authoritarian movement at large. However, at least fleetingly, there has been hope as well.

The anger is directed at the regime. It simultaneously focuses on Tanzanians’ material circumstances and what they see as the political sources of those circumstances. The hope comes from a changing sense of what is possible – the regime long seemed invulnerable. The protests have thrown its authority into doubt.

The protests

The immediate trigger for the public protests was the sham general election.

The protests turned violent. Protesters set police stations and other buildings ablaze, hijacked police and ruling party vehicles, and ransacked polling stations.

The regime responded with force. Police met civilians with gunfire and teargas.

Two people were reportedly killed and several others injured on election day. Media sources, who include opposition leaders and diplomats in Tanzania, put the number of those killed over three days of protests in the hundreds.

The triggers

Tanzanians have plenty of reasons to be angry at the government.

The causes are many. About 72% of citizens work as street vendors, motorcycle taxi drivers and in other informal jobs. Yet Hassan’s neo-liberal government suppresses the demands of these constituencies.

Under Hassan’s rule, young people in particular have been neglected. Tanzania is a youthful country, with more than half of the population below the age of 18. They have especially suffered from Tanzania’s under-investment in education and health relative to its regional neighbours.

While Hassan has presided over an economy that has continued to steadily grow, it has remained deeply unequal. More than 66% of Tanzanians remain poor.

The anger is not just about policy, but politics too.

The ruling party, Chama Cha Mapinduzi (CCM), has deep roots. It has ruled Tanzania in one form or another since the country’s independence from Britain in 1961. For years, CCM has used autocratic measures to tip the playing field in its favour.

Since 2014, under former president John Pombe Magufuli, it has been steadily extending those measures. By 2020, the playing field had become all but closed.

Protesters are directing their anger against the regime. They have torn down posters of Hassan. They are demanding constitutional reform, a truly independent electoral commission, and free and fair elections.

Unprecedented protests

These people’s-power protesters, in short, are defining their cause in terms of democracy.

There is no precedent for protests like this in Tanzania. There have been many vigorous protests over the year. However, they have been localised protests against the forced eviction of the Maasai from ancestral lands, extraction by transnational gold mining corporations and exclusion of the public from the proceeds of natural gas extraction.

In semi-autonomous archipelago Zanzibar, electoral manipulation has been consistently protested for three decades,

Yet, Zanzibar aside, protests against the regime itself have always remained anaemic, until now.

It is not for want of trying.

The main opposition party Chadema has steadily turned to protest since 2016. It called for nationwide protests in the wake of the apparent rigging of the 2020 elections. Yet, few turned out to join them.

Chadema, and the opposition at large, has struggled in the face of a violent state apparatus to draw protesters beyond a cadre of committed activists to its banner. Until now.

What’s different

Until days ago, the sort of protests unfolding across Tanzania seemed like a fool’s hope. The CCM regime, and its security apparatus, would never allow them. Protesters were arrested, brutalised, abducted or killed. Resistance, it seemed, was futile.

The 2025 protests have thrown all of this into doubt.

As political scientists Adam Branch and Zachariah Mamphilly observe, in protests, what seems possible can change profoundly and suddenly. Whenever protests gather momentum, the dynamics of their formation and repression change. Security personnel can seem hopelessly outnumbered. Protests can seem unassailably large.

In this context, protesters have created spaces in which they – rather than the regime – rule, at least temporarily. The footage of protesters making off with ballot boxes, tearing down posters and saying the previously unsayable shows moments that have an air of emancipation.

The exuberance may not last. Tanzania’s regime has not endured for 64 years for nothing. If the crackdown hardens, and the death toll climbs, the streets may clear quickly. If, in contrast, the police are unable to contain the protests and the military refuse to support them, they may quickly lose control.

Whatever follows, Tanzania has changed almost overnight. One way or another, the change is almost certainly not yet over.

Dan Paget is the Principal Investigator of NEWREPUBLIC, a research project funded by the European Research Council.

He is also in receipt of a Small Research Grant from the British Academy and the Leverhulme Trust to investigate anti-autocratic ideas.

For further information about NEWREPUBLIC and his wider research, see https://www.danpaget.com/.

Dan is a member of the British Labour Party.

– ref. Tanzania: President Samia Hassan’s grip on power has been shaken by unprecedented protests – https://theconversation.com/tanzania-president-samia-hassans-grip-on-power-has-been-shaken-by-unprecedented-protests-268849

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Oluwole Ojewale, Research Fellow, Obafemi Awolowo University, Regional Coordinator, Institute for Security Studies

When the military overthrew the democratically elected government in Mali in 2020, coup leader General Assimi Goita promised to root out jihadists in the north of the country. Mali had been struggling to defeat them for nearly a decade.

Multiple terrorist groups operate in Mali. An al Qaida-linked group known locally as Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) is the most lethal, considering the audacity and scale of its attacks. The group rejects the state’s authority, and seeks to impose its interpretation of Islam and sharia.

Despite the military government’s pledge to enhance security, there has been a 38% rise in violence directed at civilians in Mali in 2023, as reported by the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data.

Human Rights Watch reports that Islamist armed groups carried out 326 attacks against civilians between 1 January and 31 October 2024, and 478 people were killed.

In September 2024, JNIM attacked Bamako’s international airport and a military barracks in the capital city.

After years of mounting attacks, Mali’s insurgency has entered a new phase. Violence has now diffused from northern and central Mali to southern Mali. JNIM’s blockade of southern Mali since September 2025 has cut off trade routes, starved towns, and tested the limits of the Malian state’s control over the landlocked country.

As a security scholar with a focus on west and central Africa, I have researched security in Mali on broader issues like terrorism and arms trafficking. I believe JNIM’s latest strategy is particularly dangerous because the objective is strategic, economic, psychological and political.

Such blockades are deliberate instruments of coercive governance and asymmetric warfare (a conflict between irregular combatants and the army), designed to weaken the military government, incite the public and possibly consolidate control.

My view is that the Malian military has been unable to dislodge the terrorists because the blockade zones are vast, semi-arid, and crisscrossed by ungoverned routes that defy easy surveillance. Many of these areas lie beyond the reach of effective state presence. There, the army’s movements are predictable and slow, while insurgents blend into local communities and forests with relative ease.

The terrain favours guerrilla tactics: narrow roads, bush paths and seasonal rivers create natural obstacles to mechanised military movement. Terrorist groups with motorbikes can easily get around.

The blockade

The blockade of southern Mali, which began in September 2025, has cut off the region from essential supplies. It’s creating severe humanitarian and economic consequences.

Mali recently suspended schools and universities due to a severe fuel scarcity caused by the blockade. The siege underscores the fact that the Malian army is ill-equipped, overstretched and strategically disadvantaged in countering evolving terrorist tactics.

The blockade is not a conventional military siege involving trenches or fortified positions. Instead, it operates as a networked disruption, blocking roads that link Mali to its coastal neighbours, particularly Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire.

These roads are vital arteries in Mali’s economy, serving as corridors for trade, fuel and humanitarian supplies. Cutting them off not only isolates communities but also undermines public confidence in the state’s ability to govern and secure its peripheries.

The army’s constraints

The inability of the Malian army to lift the blockades is rooted in the fact that it is fighting an irregular, asymmetric conflict against a mobile and deeply entrenched insurgent group. The Malian Armed Forces are structured for conventional warfare but are being drawn into a battle that requires flexibility, intelligence dominance, and rapid response capabilities.

JNIM, on the other hand, thrives on mobility and decentralisation. Its fighters move lightly, using motorcycles and small arms. They can strike swiftly and retreat into difficult terrain before state forces can respond.

The army also has logistical and operational shortcomings. As I’ve written elsewhere, Mali lacks military capabilities and cannot easily acquire them under current sanctions and international isolation.

Although the junta has sought help from military partnerships with Russia’s Wagner Group (now the Africa Corps), such collaborations have yielded little.

When JNIM imposes multiple blockades simultaneously in southern Mali, the army faces an impossible task. Its forces are too dispersed to mount a coordinated and sustained counteroffensive. Reinforcements face ambushes on poorly maintained roads or find themselves in unfamiliar terrain.

Geography, governance and strategic decentralisation

Geography helps explain Mali’s military paralysis. The blockade zones are vast and out of reach. The terrain is full of natural obstacles.

The Malian state has long struggled to extend state presence beyond urban centres like Bamako and Segou. In rural areas, the army’s arrival is often seen not as a return of governance but as an intrusion, with the risk of human rights abuses.

Decades of neglect, corruption and abusive counterinsurgency practices have alienated local populations and eroded intelligence networks.

The blockade operations aim to paralyse Bamako. Once confined to the country’s northern deserts and central plains, JNIM has, over the past few years, steadily advanced southward, carrying out sporadic attacks near the capital.

What explains this growing audacity of a group armed with little more than motorcycles and Kalashnikovs?

The answer lies in organisational logic. Unlike movements that depend on a single command structure, JNIM operates as a highly decentralised network of semi-autonomous cells. This allows it to adapt quickly to local conditions, exploit state weaknesses, and expand its influence without overstretching its resources. Each cell draws upon local grievances to recruit and sustain operations. Adaptability is JNIM’s greatest strength and the Malian state’s most enduring vulnerability.

The paradox of militarisation

Despite increased military spending, new alliances and aggressive rhetoric, JNIM’s territorial reach and tactical sophistication have only deepened.

The more the state militarises, the less secure its citizens appear to become.

This paradox reflects a broader trend in the Sahel. Counterinsurgency efforts are mostly military, without addressing the socioeconomic and governance conditions that sustain insurgencies.

Corruption, inequality and local marginalisation are some of these conditions. Thus, military campaigns become mere exercises in containment rather than resolution. In this context, JNIM’s blockades and incursions are not only military manoeuvres but political statements about who truly controls Mali’s hinterlands.

A war beyond firepower

The blockade in southern Mali reveals the limits of state-centered military power in an asymmetric war. To lift blockades for good requires more than tactical victories; it demands rethinking security.

The military government must cooperate with neighbours such as Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire.

More importantly, reclaiming territory must go hand-in-hand with rebuilding trust, restoring governance and addressing grievances. Until then, the motorcycles and AK-47s of JNIM will outpace the tanks and rhetoric of Mali’s military junta.

Oluwole Ojewale 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. Bamako under siege: why Mali’s army is struggling to break the jihadist blockade of the capital – https://theconversation.com/bamako-under-siege-why-malis-army-is-struggling-to-break-the-jihadist-blockade-of-the-capital-268521

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Olivier Walther, Associate Professor in Geography, University of Florida

A coalition of jihadist groups affiliated with al-Qaida have laid siege to landlocked Mali’s capital. For over a month, they have attacked convoys supplying Bamako with fuel, putting considerable pressure on the military junta that has been ruling the country for five years.

The security situation has deteriorated to such an extent that the United States has asked all its citizens to leave the country immediately. After more than 10 years of civil war, will the jihadist blockade lead to the fall of the capital? The Conversation Africa spoke to researchers from the Sahel Research Group at the University of Florida.

What is the current situation in Bamako?

Attacks on transport infrastructure and convoys travelling between urban centres in the Sahel region have increased dramatically since the late 2010s. Our research shows that certain transport routes in Mali are particularly targeted by jihadist groups. One is the route connecting Bamako to Gao, a strategic economic centre with a large military base. These attacks are combined with the blockade of other urban centres like Farabougou, Timbuktu, Kayes and, more recently, Bamako.

Bamako, which is in the south-western part of the country, has experienced jihadist attacks before, notably in 2015 and in 2024. But those were limited terrorist strikes. The current blockade reflects much greater ambition and capacity by the jihadists. In July, coordinated attacks in south-western Mali marked a new stage of Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin’s southward expansion.

For weeks now, Bamako has been isolated from its external sources of supply, particularly fuel, which must be imported from its coastal neighbours. The government was recently forced to declare the closure of schools and universities due to lack of transport.

Why Bamako?

Bamako is by far Mali’s most important city in terms of population, economy and politics. Its fall would have catastrophic consequences and determine the country’s future trajectory.

With a population of 4.24 million in 2025, according to Africapolis, the Bamako urban agglomeration is more than 10 times greater than the second-largest city, Sikasso. Bamako’s importance is not only demographic. All executive functions are concentrated there, including ministries, the national television broadcaster and the international airport.

Bamako also accounts for a large share of the national economy. Our studies suggest that more than 90% of formal businesses are located in the Bamako metropolitan area.

Capturing Bamako would obviate the need to capture larger territories and could decide the fate of the Malian conflict. Control of a capital often serves as the de facto criterion for political recognition. For instance, despite commanding little beyond Kinshasa in his final years, Mobutu Sese Seko remained recognised as Zaire’s leader until Laurent-Désiré Kabila took the capital in May 1997.

Capturing the capital city has also been the central step in the resolution of many African civil wars. In 2011, the capture of Abidjan by the forces of Alassane Ouattara, France and the United Nations brought an end to the second Ivorian civil war.

Would the capture of an African capital by jihadists, rather than by conventional rebels, trigger an external intervention by western or African powers? This is unlikely. With the exception of its partners in the Alliance of Sahel States, Mali’s government is very isolated diplomatically.

France was forced to depart just a few years ago, and was stung by its deep unpopularity in the region. A new French intervention seems unimaginable. The US is currently more interested in transactions than in new interventions, especially in Africa.

Mali’s break with the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas) would also seem to prevent a coordinated regional response. Even Burkina Faso and Niger, Mali’s neighbours and its partners in the Sahel alliance, are bogged down with their own jihadist insurgency.

What then for Bamako and Mali?

Three broad scenarios seem imaginable:

• a military surge in which the Malian junta manages to break the blockade

• a negotiated settlement that would presumably lead to a new form of government

• political chaos following the fall of Bamako.

The first scenario would require a successful mass mobilisation by the military regime in power. With the help of the Alliance of Sahel States and most likely Russian mercenaries, Malian forces would need to concentrate in the Bamako metropolitan area and also regain control of key routes.

This strategy seems to us the least likely. Not just because of the limitations of the Malian military, but considering that very little fighting has taken place in urban areas in the Malian conflict. Timbuktu, Gao and Kidal have been variously conquered or “liberated” without fighting. Government forces, rebels and jihadists preferred to withdraw when their opponents advanced.

A second, perhaps more likely, scenario is some sort of a negotiated political settlement between Mali’s military authorities and jihadist actors. We have suggested for many years that a political agreement is the only way to end a conflict that cannot be won militarily by any of the parties.

Calls for dialogue have recently resurfaced and gained traction among religious, political and business leaders in Mali. However, the issue remains divisive. Prominent advocates for this option include Alioune Nouhoum Diallo, former president of the National Assembly, and Mossadeck Bally, president of the National Employers’ Council.

Proponents often cite experiences of settlements reached via dialogue between Islamists and state actors elsewhere in the region, particularly in parts of the Maghreb. Those cases, however, were shaped by very different traditions of state-Islam relations.

A negotiated political settlement in Mali would require substantial revisions to, or even abandonment of, the country’s constitutional principle of laïcité (secularism). Successive elites, including the current military, have refused to consider this. And given the jihadists’ upper hand, government would have to make concessions that would undercut its legitimacy.

That said, a mediated dialogue might be more likely should Bamako fall into the hands of the jihadists. Governing a city of that scale, and securing cross-border flows of fuel and trade, would almost certainly need negotiated arrangements with neighbouring states which are hostile to the jihadists. In such a scenario, jihadist groups might accept a less hostile governing authority as part of a pragmatic settlement. Potential figures to lead or broker such a process include the exiled Imam Mahmoud Dicko. Even in exile, he wields influence over Malian politics.

A final scenario is one in which the jihadist coalition conquers Bamako and displaces the current regime. While an entry into the city is now imaginable, it would be much less likely that the jihadists could form a cohesive government. The groups that form the coalition have a long and convoluted history of splits, mergers and rivalries. They also have a conflictual relationship with the Islamic State – Sahel Province, the Sahelian branch of the Islamic State, which is active in eastern Mali.

If the jihadist coalition were to gain control of the capital, it is more than likely that the Islamic State would demand to be involved in the exercise of national power. This could fuel rivalries between the two groups. Somalia and Afghanistan have both experienced versions of this scenario.

The highly fluid and confused situation makes predictions about the likelihood of any of these scenarios highly speculative. What does seem clearer is that the crisis at the heart of the Sahel is not likely to be resolved in the near future.

Olivier Walther receives funding from the OECD.

Leonardo A. Villalón has previously received funding for academic research on the Sahel from the US Governments’s Minerva Initiative.

Alexander John Thurston, Baba Adou, and Cory Dakota Satter 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. Jihadists have blockaded Mali’s capital. What’s at stake – https://theconversation.com/jihadists-have-blockaded-malis-capital-whats-at-stake-268692

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Samir Ramzy, Researcher, Helwan University

Sudan has been embroiled in a civil war between the army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces since April 2023, sparked by a power struggle between the two parties. The war has displaced more than 14 million people. Over half the population of about 50 million is facing acute levels of hunger.

Several mediation initiatives have been launched since the start of the war, with limited success. The African Union has also been unable to get the main warring parties to agree to a permanent ceasefire.

The four countries leading the main peace mediation effort (known as the Quad) are the US, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. They issued a joint statement in September 2025, calling for a ceasefire in Sudan and offering a roadmap to end the internal conflict.

I’ve been researching Sudan for over a decade, and in my view, these countries’ capacity to deliver a final political settlement for Sudan is severely constrained.

The prospects for peace rest on the resolution of three factors:

• the sharp differences between the Sudanese army and the Quad over who should participate in post-war politics

• a widening rift between the main protagonists in the war on the terms of ending it

• internal divisions within the Quad – particularly between Egypt, the UAE and Saudi Arabia – over how to balance support for the army, curb Islamist influence and manage competing regional interests.

The Quad’s plan called for an immediate ceasefire, a three-month humanitarian truce and an inclusive political process to resolve disputes within nine months.

The statement was initially welcomed by the Rapid Support Forces and Sudan’s army leaders.

However, follow-up meetings between the Quad and representatives of the warring parties have failed to translate any of these proposals into action.

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Meanwhile, the paramilitary troops and their allies captured the city of El-Fasher in North Darfur after a bloody 500-day siege. This was the army’s last major stronghold in Darfur.

Darfur encompasses nearly 20% of Sudan’s territory. It borders Libya, Chad and the Central African Republic. The capture has fuelled concerns of a de facto partition of the country in the western region.

Against this backdrop, the Quad’s latest initiative seems unlikely to achieve more than a fragile ceasefire.

The obstacles

Efforts to broker peace in Sudan are hindered by three key challenges.

1. Diverging agendas between the Quad and the Sudanese army

Despite broad similarities between the Quad’s roadmap and a proposal the army submitted in March 2025 to the United Nations, key differences remain.

The core disagreement lies in the design of the political process to follow the ceasefire. The Quad insists that Islamist factions should be excluded from consultations over fears that these factions have close ties to terrorist groups and Iran. The army’s proposal, by contrast, opposes the exclusion of any party.

The military leadership has alliances with elements of the former Islamic Movement. Its fighters still help stabilise the army’s frontlines.

2. A widening gap between the army and Rapid Support Forces on the terms of ending the war

The army’s roadmap implicitly allows the paramilitary troops to remain in parts of Darfur for up to nine months, provided that local authorities consent. However, it also requires the withdrawal of the group from El-Fasher and North Kordofan.

The Rapid Support Forces’ behaviour on the ground reveals a very different mindset. Rather than preparing to withdraw, the group has expanded militarily in North Kordofan and intensified its drone attacks on Khartoum and other regions.

At its core, the dispute reflects conflicting end goals. The paramilitary group seeks to enter negotiations as an equal to the army. It wants a comprehensive restructuring of the armed forces. The army insists that it should be the only unit that supervises any reform of Sudan’s military institutions – the very issue that triggered the outbreak of war in 2023.

3. Internal divisions within the Quad

The Quad’s own cohesion has been undermined by internal rifts that have derailed several meetings. The most visible divide lies between Egypt and the UAE.

Cairo leans towards the army, seeing it as the guarantor of Sudan’s state institutions against collapse. Abu Dhabi prioritises dismantling the influence of Islamist leaders as the main precondition for peace.

Saudi Arabia is wary of Emirati involvement, especially since the Sudanese army has repeatedly rejected UAE mediation and the Rapid Support Forces has attacked Egyptian policy towards Sudan.

Washington has tried to manage these tensions by limiting direct mediation roles for Egypt, Saudi Arabia and the UAE while keeping them within the broader negotiation framework. These nations have significant leverage over the warring factions.

How Sudan got here

Sudan’s fragile transition began after the ousting of long-time ruler Omar al-Bashir in 2019.

An uneasy power-sharing arrangement between the army and civilian leaders collapsed in 2021 when army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and Rapid Support Forces leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, jointly seized control in a coup. Their alliance fractured two years later and sparked the 2023 civil war.

Despite international pressure, neither side has given in or gained a decisive advantage since.

The conflict has been devastating for Sudan’s population of 50 million. Death toll reports since the start of the war have varied between 20,000 and 150,000 people. The country is facing the world’s worst displacement crisis, and health and education systems have collapsed. Further, more than 12 million girls and women, and an increasing number of men, are at risk of sexual violence.

Is breakthrough still possible?

Despite existing divisions, shifting dynamics on the ground could still produce a limited breakthrough.

The worst scenario for the military would be the paramilitary group’s renewed advance into territories it had been pushed out of.

That prospect might push army leaders to accept a preliminary ceasefire. This would allow the army to regroup and consolidate existing positions without conceding ground politically.

For the Rapid Support Forces, the calculation is different. After spending more than 18 months battling to capture El-Fasher, the group recognises that advancing further towards the capital would come at a high human and political cost. A temporary truce, therefore, could allow it to entrench its governance structures in Darfur and strengthen its military presence there.

In this sense, a short-term ceasefire remains the most practical outcome for both sides. Washington’s eagerness to secure conflict-ending deals is likely to push the Quad towards this scenario.

But a final political settlement in Sudan remains distant.

For now, the most any diplomatic initiative can achieve is to pause the fighting, not to end the war, as it remains difficult to bridge the political gaps between Sudanese powers.

Samir Ramzy 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. Peace in Sudan? 3 reasons why mediation hasn’t worked so far – https://theconversation.com/peace-in-sudan-3-reasons-why-mediation-hasnt-worked-so-far-268541

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Laura Tensen, Assistant Professor, University of Greifswald

Biologists often form deep bonds with the species they study. For some, that relationship begins early in their careers and shapes decades of research. The connection can be personal, even affectionate, but it can also create tensions when others set their sights on the same species.

In biology, certain plants and animals are considered “charismatic species” by the general public. They capture the public imagination through beauty, uniqueness, or cultural significance. Think giant pandas, tigers, or orchids.

Many scientists are drawn to these charismatic species, but that does not always mean they have the opportunity to study them. Competition can be fierce in some academic fields.

We conducted research on these charismatic species, to understand how this field may exclude some academics and give the monopoly on research to others.

Research monopolisation can have several negative effects. For instance, samples may be less commonly shared between scientists. It may even impede an academic’s progress. This can be in the form of sabotaging a competitor’s work, stealing creative ideas and performing biased peer review of funding proposals and publications.

This behaviour doesn’t just harm individual researchers. It can weaken scientific integrity, stifle creativity and drive talented people out of academia. And while our study focused on biology, the patterns are likely echoed across competitive academic fields where prestige and resources are limited.

Charismatic species are easy to love and they’re also good for science. Research on these species attracts more funding, more media coverage, and more space in prestigious journals. But popularity comes with a cost. Our new study reveals that working on these species often fuels competition and, in some cases, fosters exclusionary behaviour.

Over 18 months, we examined academic exclusion in the biological sciences: where established researchers try to prevent potential competitors from studying their preferred animal or plant. We surveyed 826 academics across 90 countries and analysed 800 scientific papers.

The results were striking. We found a positive correlation between a species’ charisma and the impact and volume of scientific outputs. That highlights the benefits of studying such species for a researcher’s prestige and career prospects. But studying charismatic species also tended to increase the likelihood of negative workplace experiences. Younger colleagues, women and researchers based in the regions where the species actually live were the ones who suffered.

Competition and monopolies

Nearly half (46%) of survey participants said they had encountered some form of research monopolisation. Respondents linked charismatic species to greater difficulty obtaining permits or samples, strained relationships with colleagues, and cliquey work environments.

We also found a striking imbalance in participation. Researchers from universities in North America and Europe frequently studied species in Africa, South America and Asia – but the reverse was rarely true. For instance, the eastern barred bandicoot (Perameles gunnii) occurs and was only studied in Australia. The striped skunk (Mephitis mephitis) occurs in the US, where it was studied. But the Malayan culogo (Galeopterus variegatus) was commonly studied by institutions outside Malaysia, as was the aye aye (Paradoxurus hermaphroditus) from Madagascar. This pattern was less pronounced for non-charismatic species.

The result is a skewed scientific landscape. Non-charismatic species, despite their ecological importance, are often underfunded and overlooked.

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Africa’s freshwater ecosystems depend on little creatures like insects and snails: study maps overlooked species

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Career advantages and disadvantages

For those who secure access to charismatic species, the career payoffs can be enormous. Working on them tends to result in more publications, higher citation rates and more opportunities for international collaboration.

The largest collaborative effort we found was for the charismatic cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus), with a total of 50 authors, 37 institutions and 21 countries on one paper. This effort was rewarded with a journal impact factor of 11.1 and 193 citations, showing the benefit to be gained from collaborating. These advantages feed into the academic reward system, where prestige and productivity often dictate career progression.

A journal with an impact factor of 2-3 is considered solid in most fields, 5-10 is highly regarded, and 15+ is exceptional, usually limited to big multidisciplinary journals like Nature or Science. Only a small fraction of academics (perhaps the top 5%-10%) regularly publish in those very high impact journals. Citations vary hugely by discipline and career stage. A typical early-career researcher might have 20-100 citations total, whereas established mid-career academics often have a few hundred to a few thousand.

Our study also highlights the darker side of this system. Early-career scientists and women reported higher rates of exclusion, including refusals to collaborate, appropriation of research ideas and even harassment.

Gender inequities are particularly stark, despite the biological sciences having a much more even gender balance than most other science fields. Women were less likely to participate in international collaborations, which are strongly linked to career advancement. And when women did lead studies, their papers received fewer citations than those with male first or last authors.

The first author is usually the person who did most of the hands-on work – designing the study, collecting and analysing data, and writing the first draft. The last author is typically the senior researcher or group leader who supervised the project, secured funding and guided the work conceptually. In total, of all first authors, 69% were men, and of all last authors, 81% were men. Male dominance differed depending on the study species, where charismatic mammal species scored relatively high.

Productivity in academia manifests itself in publication rates, publication visibility and citation patterns. These can have a cumulative advantage and lead to substantial inequality among researchers. In our survey, 51% of female respondents reported gender-based discrimination.

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We think there’s a better way to assess the research of African academics: here’s how

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Editorial boards also play a role. Many biodiversity conservation journals have male-dominated boards and a bias towards publishing studies on charismatic species. Species preference intertwines with gender inequity. For instance, studies on large carnivores are known to be historically male-dominated, and this association may give men a head start in their careers.

Rethinking incentives

What can be done? One solution is to broaden how scientific success is measured. Instead of focusing so heavily on academic output – publications, citations and journal impact factors – institutions and funders could also value contributions such as community engagement, public communication and policy impact.

This may reduce cumulative advantage in science and increase a sense of fairness, hopefully reversing the subtle ways in which organisational logistics serve to perpetuate disparities in academic institutions.

Such measures are becoming increasingly important in biodiversity conservation, where connecting science with society is essential. By shifting incentives, we may reduce the negative side-effects that arise from competition.

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Scientists themselves also have a role to play. Instead of racing to publish first, research groups could coordinate their work, share data and agree on joint publication strategies. Collaboration over competition could benefit everyone, not least the species that need protecting.

Charisma may help a species capture attention, but it shouldn’t determine who gets to study it, or who gets to succeed in science.

Laura Tensen 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. Some animals are more equal than others: the dark side of researching popular species – https://theconversation.com/some-animals-are-more-equal-than-others-the-dark-side-of-researching-popular-species-266306