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Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Busani Ngcaweni, Director: Center for Public Policy and African Studies & Visiting Professor, China Foreign Affairs University, University of Johannesburg

In the ongoing quest to understand South Africa’s political and economic stagnation, it may be helpful to look at other postcolonial states that have travelled further along the path of independence. This may help clarify the stagnation question that citizens, politicians and economists are grappling with.

Much of the analysis of postcolonial Africa and Asia has identified poor leadership, authoritarianism and misguided economic policies as determinants of stagnation. These factors do matter. But they do not fully explain why some new independent states collapsed into dysfunction while others achieved growth. The deeper question is how institutions are built, sustained or destroyed.

South Africa’s stagnation is not the complete absence of growth or democracy, but the inability to convert political freedom and economic potential into sustainable and inclusive growth manifesting in quality of life for the majority.

The World Bank calls this an incomplete transition. In its 30 years of democracy review report, the South African Presidency concluded that the economy was performing below its full potential, unemployment was high, poverty levels were persistent in pockets of broader society and inequality levels were stubbornly high and racially biased.

As we read in the World Bank’s Africa’s Pulse report, these challenges continue to trouble most of the countries on the continent.

I have encountered this in my economic governance capacity building work in government and through my affiliations with local and Asian universities. There is common concern about deteriorating statecraft and the weakening of institutions.

In that connection, this essay is framed as a comparative reflection. It situates Pakistan alongside Ghana, Malaysia and Singapore, then turns to former Pakistani civil servant and now academic Ishrat Husain’s book, Governing the Ungovernable. It is a detailed case study of institutional decline.

A former governor of the central bank of Pakistan and long-time government advisor on public sector reform, Husain offers an authoritative framework against which we can understand the performance of other post-colonial states. I use this framework to mirror South Africa, showing how elite capture, institutional weakness and cycles of reversal explain its present stagnation.

I chose Pakistan because its story of “ungovernable” institutions is similar to that of South Africa, compared to Singapore, whose success story is determined by the performance of its institutions.

Ungovernabilty in Pakistan

Husain identified ungovernability as a key determinant of Pakistan’s stagnation. By ungovernability he does not mean complete disorder (although there is too much political instability in Pakistan). He uses the term to describe a state where institutions exist but fail.

Pakistan, he writes, developed

a well entrenched system in which political, bureaucratic, business and professional elites collaborate in extracting rents at the expense of the larger society (p. 41).

Every major crisis could be traced back to this governance deficit (p. 43). Need we add, in many post-colonial states in Africa and Asia, institutions are either still being formed or they do not exist.

Institutions that should deliver services instead serve rent-seeking. Tax authorities, utilities and the police used their discretion for private gain (pp. 70–72). Elites blocked reforms because they benefited from dysfunction. Even when reforms began, they were quickly undone.

Ungovernable thus means institutions exist in name but not in substance.

Husain identifies coalitions that benefit from weakness and resist reform.

• Political dynasties dominate parties without internal democracy, using legislatures as platforms for patronage (p. 134).

• The military intervened in 1958, 1977 and 1999, stunting civilian institutions (pp. 140–144).

• Bureaucrats exploited their powers for rent extraction (p. 155).

• Business and landed elites resisted taxation and defended subsidies (pp. 160–165).

• Law enforcement was crippled by bribery and political appointments:

Law and order is bound to suffer when police officials are appointed… rather than professional competence. (p. 172).

Together, these groups made Pakistan ungovernable in practice.

Husain points to several interlocking causes: the vacuum after the death of Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Pakistan’s first governor-general (1947–48) (pp. 22–24), repeated military dominance (pp. 140–144), weak dynastic parties (p. 134), corruption across key sectors (pp. 70–80), cycles of reform and reversal (pp. 112–115), entrenched patronage networks (pp. 180–182), and a systemic governance deficit undermining taxation, energy, law and service delivery (pp. 200–210).

South Africa reflects these same patterns

South Africa’s political and economic stagnation can be defined as a prolonged period in which the state struggles to generate growth, reduce inequality and renew governance capacity, despite the presence of democratic institutions and economic potential. This challenges the theory of South African exceptionalism, as we witness the same trend of political and economic elites whose decisions result in the capture of institutions and the destruction of public value.

In South Africa, the role of economic and political elites is central to understanding institutional fragility. The Zondo Commission of Inquiry into State Capture (2018–2022) revealed how networks of political leaders, senior bureaucrats and business elites colluded to systematically weaken public institutions for private gain.

State-owned enterprises such as Eskom, Transnet and South African Airways were targeted through corrupt procurement, inflated contracts and political patronage, undermining their ability to deliver services and support economic development. The commission showed that elite capture distorted the functioning of key accountability institutions including the National Prosecuting Authority and law enforcement agencies, which were compromised to shield powerful individuals from scrutiny.

These practices eroded public trust, drained fiscal resources and entrenched political stagnation. Testimonies from the ongoing commission led by retired judge Mbuyiseli Madlanga are echoing stories told at the Zondo Commission, and now, like in Pakistan, showing the “ungovernability” of the criminal justice system.

Like in Pakistan, the police and the National Prosecuting Authority are politicised and weakened. The army, once a regional force, has declined under shrinking budgets and skills shortages. Immigration is compromised by incoherent policy, corruption at the Home Affairs department and porous borders. Local government is the weakest link, condemned by poor leadership, incompetence and failing services.

Therefore, in the South African case, ungovernability or institutional weakness cannot be explained solely by colonial legacies or structural constraints, although they do matter because the apartheid regime was corrupt. Ungovernability has been actively produced and perpetuated by elites who hollowed out institutions designed to safeguard democracy and development. They became machines of rent-seeking instead of agents of national development. They subverted the will of the people for the will of the elites who undermine accountability.

As in Pakistan, the institutions exist but fail. They are captured by elites. Reforms begin but rarely last. Why?

The comparison is instructive. Ghana fell into coups. Malaysia survived but with uneven governance. Pakistan allowed patronage to corrode its foundations. South Africa shows the same symptoms: revenue shortfalls, energy collapse, transport paralysis, policing failures, weakened defence, porous borders and failing municipalities.

Singapore deliberately built strong institutions and prospered.

Some answers

Husain warns against “sweeping reforms that collapse at each election cycle” (p. 245). Instead, he calls for “selective, sequenced and incremental reforms that enjoy broad consensus” (p. 246). The implication for South Africa is clear.

Political settlements must be reset so that institutions serve citizens rather than factions. Core institutions must be restored: courts, revenue authorities, utilities, police and prosecutors. Coalitions must be built around national goals of security, growth and fairness (p. 252).

Comparative lessons are instructive. Singapore shows the rewards of disciplined governance, while Malaysia illustrates the limits of partial reform. Above all, renewal will take decades, as decay did (p. 260).

From Pakistan’s partition in 1947 to Ghana’s independence in 1957, from the separation of Malaysia and Singapore in 1965 to South Africa’s democratic transition in 1994, post-colonial states have combined early promise with the test of institution-building. Some passed, others faltered.

Husain’s book shows that ungovernability is not chaos but the hollowing out of institutions until they exist only on paper. South Africa mirrors this reality.

The case of Pakistan also defies the idea that cultural or religious homogeneity guarantees cohesion and growth. Despite greater uniformity than many of its neighbours, Pakistan has struggled to sustain unity and development. Cohesion and growth, as Husain’s analysis confirms, are not products of identity but of politics. They depend on the presence of a developmental elite able to mobilise all productive forces in society, on effective institutions that secure delivery and accountability, and on coalitions that bring legitimacy to the national project while managing contradictions. Without these, even homogeneous nations fragment.

For South Africa, the lesson is clear. The future will not be saved by appeals to “organisational renewal” that leading political parties speak about, cultural unity or new slogans about reforms. It will be built through the deliberate reconstruction of institutions, the cultivation of developmental leadership and the forging of coalitions that sustain legitimacy across political cycles. And it requires stronger instruments of accountability and consequence management.

Only through such long and patient work can the country move from being ungovernable in practice to governable in fact.

Ngcaweni is affiliated with the South African Association of Public Administration and Management (SAAPAM), Faculty Expert at Singapore’s Chandler Governance Institute. He is Distinguished Fellow of the National School of Government of SA and Research Associate at the University of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences where he reads and writes about the National and Regional Economic Development/Governance Models.

– ref. South Africa and Pakistan: countries brought to their knees by elite capture and economic paralysis – https://theconversation.com/south-africa-and-pakistan-countries-brought-to-their-knees-by-elite-capture-and-economic-paralysis-265427

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Richard Fosu, Lecturer in International Relations, Monash University

Hardly a month goes by without news of another unconstitutional change of government on the African continent.

These can take one of three forms.

The first is a military coup d’état or violent change of (democratically) elected government. The second is the refusal of an incumbent government to relinquish power after losing an election. And finally, manipulating constitutions to win or extend term limits of an incumbent government.

We study peace and conflict in Africa, as well as African Union law. We set out these three categories in a paper we published in 2023. In it we analysed unconstitutional changes of government in Africa between 2001 and 2022.

We found that there had been 20 coup d’états, six instances of constitutional manipulation and four attempts by incumbents to hang onto power after losing elections.

These patterns have persisted since the publication of our study. The most recent was the military takeover in Guinea-Bissau in late November 2025.

With the persistence of unconstitutional changes of government, particularly what has been described as a coup resurgence in Africa, we analysed the African Union’s stance on these three forms of regime change.

The African Charter on Democracy, Elections and Good Governance of 2007 prohibits unconstitutional changes of government. It prescribes sanctions to restore constitutional order when they occur.

We found that for the majority of coup d’états (17 out of 20 in our dataset), the AU was strict in enforcing the sanctions prescribed by the charter to restore constitutional order. However, its response to incumbents’ attempts to hang onto power after losing elections and constitutional manipulations to extend term limits has been mixed at best.

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Read more:
Presidential term limits help protect democracy – long ones can be dangerous

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These findings led us to look at how the AU can strengthen continental democratic mechanisms to prevent the so-called African coup belt from widening further.

We conclude from our findings that the AU needs to do two things.

Firstly, avoid unconstitutional changes of government. The way to do it is to:

• foster a true democratic culture in African states

• set clear rules on matters such as constitutional changes that are often manipulated by incumbents to stay in power

• enforce these rules without fear or favour.

Secondly, the AU, the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas) and other regional bodies must apply firm sanctions to civilian leaders who manipulate the law to stay in power, just as they do to military coup makers.

A history of coups

The euphoria that swept across Africa following independence from European colonial rule in the late 1950s and 1960s was short-lived.

Many African countries plunged into decades of political instability, socioeconomic crises and civil wars. One of the major factors that drove this period was the lack of strong systems of democratic participation and peaceful transfers of power.

With no meaningful space for inclusive political participation and peaceful transitions, military coups and countercoups, rebel movements and other violent means of ascending power became the norm.

Between 1956 and 2001, there were 80 successful coup d’états, 108 failed coup attempts and 139 coup plots in sub-Saharan Africa.

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Read more:
Coups in west Africa have five things in common: knowing what they are is key to defending democracy

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In 2000, African leaders decided at a summit in Togo to adopt the Lomé Declaration. This condemned coup d’états and other unconstitutional changes of government. It was the first continental instrument to lay out a framework for a collective African response to unconstitutional changes of government.

This was followed by the 2007 African charter on democracy and the Malabo Protocol on an African criminal court in 2014.

These three instruments provide for various sanctions targeted at African states and individuals complicit in breaching democratic principles.

Despite these, several African states have still recorded transitions of power that are unconstitutional. And the AU’s response has been mixed.

The AU’s mixed response

These are some of the examples we identified.

In 2010, the AU supported an international effort to remove Laurent Gbagbo after he refused to hand over power after losing elections in Côte d’Ivoire.

Yahya Jammeh’s refusal to step down from power after losing elections in 2016 in The Gambia was also met with a stern response from the AU. It said it “will not recognise” Jammeh. Ecowas considered “removing him using mililtary force” if he refused to hand over power peacefully.

But there have been some notable failures to take action.

For instance, Ali Bongo’s flawed electoral win in Gabon in 2016 did not attract concrete action from the AU. Nor was any action taken over the delayed elections in the Democratic Republic of Congo under Joseph Kabila in 2018.

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Who do Africans trust most? Surveys show it’s not the state (more likely the army)

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The most glaring failure in building democratic principles in Africa has been the lack of sanctions from the AU when incumbents manipulate constitutions to extend term limits.

From Burundi to Côte d’Ivoire, through Togo to Zimbabwe, we found no evidence in our dataset where the AU has directly responded to instances of constitutional manipulations.

Yet, in recent history, constitutional manipulations have been the major precipitants of military interventions. Recent coups in Gabon, Guinea, Chad and Sudan were all preceded by constitutonal manipulation to extend or abolish term limits.

We found that when the democratic space shrinks and people feel they have no way to express dissent, the risk of popular uprisings increases. The military often seizes on these moments to intervene.

What needs to happen

The continental treaties on democracy and good governance require strict adherence to democratic principles and respect for the principles of democratic changes of government.

For them to be effective, the following steps need to be taken.

Firstly, democratic principles must be clearly defined. For instance, does amending a constitution to abolish presidential term limits to benefit an incumbent violate these principles? How about engineering the disqualification of opposition candidates through machinations like politically motivated prosecutions?

Secondly, clear rules must be established on matters like term limits.

Thirdly, the AU, Ecowas and other regional bodies must stop coddling pseudo-democrats whose conduct invites coups. They must stop supervising and endorsing sham elections that keep these leaders in power.

Finally, the AU can demonstrate its commitment to democracy and good governance by refusing to reward autocrats. This could mean not appointing autocrats to important bodies, such as the AU Peace and Security Council (which is charged with monitoring democracy and good governance on the continent), or awarding them chairmanship positions.

Dr Christopher Nyinevi, who works with the Ecowas Court of Justice in Abuja, Nigeria, is a co-author of this article.

Richard Fosu 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 power grabs are rising – the AU’s mixed response is making things worse – https://theconversation.com/africas-power-grabs-are-rising-the-aus-mixed-response-is-making-things-worse-271137

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Saheed Babajide Owonikoko, Researcher, Centre for Peace and Security Studies, Modibbo Adama University of Technology

The killing of Nigeria’s Brigadier General Musa Uba, in mid-November 2025, by the Islamic State West Africa Province, ISWAP, risks boosting the morale of insurgents while demoralising Nigerian troops fighting insurgency.

The rank of brigadier general is one of the highest in the military. A brigadier general typically commands a brigade, which consists of approximately 4,000 troops. Uba was the commander of the 25 Task Force Brigade in Damboa local government area of Borno State.

The death of an officer of this rank isn’t unprecedented. But it is rare. Brigadier General Zirkushu Dzarma was killed in November 2021 with four other soldiers when ISWAP rammed a bomb-laden car into his official vehicle.

Uba’s case differs, however. He was captured – and then killed – during active engagement with the insurgents.

The circumstances around his capture and killing provide insights into two aspects of Nigeria’s security challenges. The first is that it tells us a great deal about technological adaptability of ISWAP. The second is that it highlights the weaknesses in Nigeria’s counter-terrorism efforts.

I am a scholar researching terrorism and counter-terrorism in the Lake Chad region and I have been studying ISWAP’s terror activities and Lake Chad countries’ response.

Based on this work I would argue that the capture and killing of Brigadier General Musa Uba shows two things. First, it points to ISWAP’s increased capability in rapid intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance. Secondly, it underscores poor coordination between Nigeria’s military authority and counter-terrorism units, as well as poor technological improvements despite increased defence spending.

Accounts of what happened

According to media reports, Brigadier General Uba led his troops, along with members of the Civilian Joint Task Force, on a routine patrol in the ISWAP-dominated area of Damboa on 14 November 2025. They encountered an ambush by ISWAP around Wajiroko village. Two soldiers and two civilian task force members were killed.

The brigadier general managed to leave the point of attack but became separated from the forces and found himself alone in ISWAP territory.

He began coordinating his rescue using WhatsApp on his personal phone. As his WhatsApp messages published in the local media revealed, he had agreed with the rescue team on what to do and how to proceed. A helicopter was reportedly deployed to locate and rescue him, but he could not be found.

Three days later, ISWAP said it had captured and killed him. In its media outlet, Amaq, it claimed that as soon as it had received intelligence about the brigadier general, it deployed a group of fighters to search for him.

A key question this raises is: how did ISWAP determine Uba’s location while the army rescue team couldn’t?

I think that technology might have aided ISWAP in quickly detecting his hideout. This is based on evidence that shows ISWAP’s growing use of technology to enhance its activities in recent years. For example, it’s now using drones for intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance and attacks. In 2022 it released video of military camps and vehicles it filmed using drones to spy on the Nigerian army and the Multinational Joint Task Force in Wajiroko.

How the military responded

News broke in the local media in the early hours of 16 November that the brigadier general leading the ambushed troop was missing. This suggested that ISWAP might have kidnapped him.

The military leadership in Abuja rebutted the news, explaining that the troops were able to fight back and force the terrorists to withdraw. They also debunked the news of the abduction of the brigadier general by ISWAP, saying he successfully led troops back to base.

ISWAP said it had captured him on the morning of 15 November. The Nigerian Army leadership released their rebuttal around 1pm the same day.

Either the military leaders were deliberately covering the truth, or they were not in close and reliable contact with their counter-terrorism units.

This raises questions about communication between the military authority and various units which leads to the issue of the battlefield communication between troops and military authority.

In contemporary warfare and counter-terrorism, troops ought to wear a Global Positioning System (GPS) device attached to their uniforms or equipment.

GPS is one component of the broader positioning, navigation and timing system, which constantly transmits the locations of troops. If something goes wrong, commanders or rescue teams can quickly see exactly where they are without waiting for calls or searching blindly.

This appears not to have been the case.

Between the evening of 14 November, when the troops were ambushed, and early in the morning of 15 November, when the brigadier general was captured, Nigerian military leadership could not evacuate him from the dangerous location despite the short distance of 88km between Maiduguri, the headquarters of Operation Hadin Kai, and Damboa.

The most likely explanation for this is that it didn’t have the necessary intelligence to do so.

This raises the question of whether Nigeria’s military has been investing enough in its technological capabilities. The country invests heavily in the military. In the 2025 budget, 6.57 trillion naira (US$4.5 billion) – about 12.45% of the total budget – was approved for security and defence. The question is whether this money is being spent in ways that equip the military to fight ever-more sophisticed insurgency groups.

With the gradual shift in terrorism and counter-terrorism towards a technology war, the Nigerian military authority must understand that investing in technological capabilities, including tracking technology, is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

Saheed Babajide Owonikoko 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. Terror threat in Nigeria: what the killing of a general tells us about the fight against ISWAP – https://theconversation.com/terror-threat-in-nigeria-what-the-killing-of-a-general-tells-us-about-the-fight-against-iswap-270644