Jonathan Powell
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The politics of São Tomé and Príncipe, the small island nation of roughly 200,000, is hardly among the first states to be invoked in discussions of coups. The microstate is not even considered by a handful of data projects covering coups, given its small size. The state has, however, been shaken by several coup attempts durring its history. Indeed, on this day in 1995, an effort to unseat President Miguel Travoada went into motion. This post revisits this ultimately failed coup, and briefly touches on lessons from the event for those studying coups.

While the casual observer would certainly not question the coup's outcome, the 1995 attempt against Travoada presents a bit of a dilemma for some research coup research. Efforts to study coups cross-nationally have had to arrive at some standard for determining whether a coup has succeeded or failed. For around 50 years, scholars have centered on a one-week threshold for success. If coupists manage to supplant an incumbent for for a full seven days, the event is considered a success.

While obviously arbitrary, any cut off would prove to be so. The large majority of coups see the outcome determined within one or two days. When we originally compared Powell and Thyne's Global Instances of Coups to the Center for Systemic Peace's coup dataset, we actually identified only one case for which the P&T coding of a coup's outcome would have been different if using CSP's 30-day threshold. That event, Lesotho's 1994 coup, had seen a SADC-endorsed and South Africa-led intervention reverse the coup after three weeks. The event was consequently identified as failed coup in CSP and successful coup in P&T's original coding.

São Tomé and Príncipe's 1995 coup represents a rare problem for the one-week threshold because it was resolved right at seven days. In fact, the original P&T coding considered the event to have failed on the seventh day due to the junta's negotiated exit. The exit did not occur, however, until the eighth. Interestingly, a similar progression occurred eight years later in São Tomé and Príncipe when Fradique de Menezes was similarly deposed, but returned to power on the eighth day. More recent cases, such as Burkina Faso's failed 2015 coup bid, have also tip-toed along the seven-day threshold. 

Rather than illustrating the arbitrariness of the standard, what I find more revealing is the manner in which these borderline events fail. Once a coup survives for a handful of days, international pressure becomes paramount to the coup's outcome. In both 1995 and 2003, São Tomé and Príncipe's coups failed due to pronounced international pressure, as did other coups that were reversed after a longer period. Those interested in the roles of internal factors in coups, consenquently, might need to consider the degree to which internal dynamics actually caused a coup to fail, whereas those interested in international factors might want to look at impacts beyond the first week. While internal resistance may be spontaneous, international actions take time. 

Note: Details of the 1995 coup attempt are taken from Coups and Conspiracies in Modern Africa, by Jonathan Powell and Salah Ben Hammou.

Jonathan Powell & Salah Ben Hammou
In the early hours of July 23, 1952, a clique of relatively unknown Egyptian soldiers launched what would be dubbed “the blessed movement” and toppled King Farouk in a coup d’etat. The takeover was a relatively calm affair. The coupists managed to arrest key members of the royal military and capture strategic points within Cairo. By dawn, with the levers of power chiefly in their hands, the soldiers presented themselves to the world as Harakat a-Dubbat al-Ahrar: the Free Officers Movement.

Seventy years later, this story and its protagonists are well-known. The Free Officers’ 1952 coup was pivotal for the creation of modern Egypt and transformed its society from a landed aristocracy to a military republic. One member of the Free Officers and Egypt’s second president - Gammal Abdel Nasser - would become one of the 20th century’s most iconic figures and synonymous with anti-colonial and non-alignment ideals throughout the Middle East and the rest of the world.

But the story of the Free Officers extends far beyond Egypt’s borders. A full appreciation of the Free Officers’ legacy requires understanding how this event influenced the behaviors of individuals abroad - including soldiers, political leaders, and foreign powers.



​Revolution & Counter-Revolution in the Arab World
Successful copycat coups are perhaps the most overt evidence of the Free Officers’ influence - especially those aimed at unseating colonial-backed monarchies. For instance, Iraq saw its own clique of Free Officers topple - quite brutally - the Hashemite monarchy in July 1958 and establish its own military-led republic, headed by General Abdel Karim Qasim. In Yemen, a Free Officers clique borne out of the decades-old Free Yemeni Movement toppled the centuries-old Imamate in September 1962, sparking a civil war that would split the country into two separate states for nearly three decades. Though not targeting a monarchy, Sudan’s Free Officer clique - allegedly formed mere months after its Egyptian counterpart took power - came to power in 1969 and installed Jaafar Nimeiri’s fifteen-year dictatorship. And in Libya, it would be a Free Officer offshoot led by none other than a young Captain Muammar Gaddafi that would topple the monarchy of Idris Snoussi the I and usher in four decades of authoritarian rule.

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​While these successful attempts dramatically illustrate the potential for revolutionary coups, they tell only half the story, as shown in the figure above. It’s also important to consider conspiracies that tried, but failed, to topple governments. Although Jordan’s Hashemite monarchy avoided the fate of its Iraqi counterpart, this was not due to a lack of effort from would-be copycats. In 1957, a clique of Jordanian Free Officers allegedly attempted to seize power in the Zarqa barracks but failed when King Hussein directly intervened to stop the coup. Similar conspiracies by Free Officer-inspired cliques and officers were similarly uncovered and stamped out in 1958, 1959, 1960, and 1963. In Saudi Arabia, authorities uncovered a Free Officers-inspired coup plot in 1955, in which the plotters allegedly had coordinated with Egyptian soldiers months before. At the conspiracy’s trial, then-Defense and Aviation Minister Prince Mishaal bin Abdulaziz allegedly confronted the plotters and asked, “which one of you thinks you are Gammal Abdel Nasser?”  Similar plots - both allegedly concocted by air force officers -  were uncovered in 1962 and 1969, resulting in hundreds of arrests.
           
The thwarted conspiracies suggest that like-minded revolutionaries weren’t the only ones learning from Egypt’s Free Officers - their targets were, too. Political leaders - particularly monarchs and privileged ruling classes - took steps to mitigate the risk of Free Officer-inspired coups. After the fall of King Farouk in Egypt, Jordanian authorities founded the General Investigative Department (GID) to vet out coup conspiracies in the armed forces. Other regimes took more dramatic measures - even staging preemptive coups. For instance, Sudan’s first successful coup in 1958, masterminded by then-Prime Minister Abdalla Khalil, occurred in part to preempt a Free Officers-inspired coup by lower-ranking soldiers. In Saudi Arabia, the royal family so feared a coup to the point that they forced King Saud’s abdication in favor of his half-brother Faisal. Other leaders took measures to insulate the masses from Egyptian influence, including Yemeni leader Imam Ahmad’s ban of radios.

Foreign Friends or Foes?
Egypt’s Free Officers also captured the attention of foreign actors like the United States and Great Britain. The US was actually aware of the conspiracy against King Farouk but withheld the information, allegedly in hopes of securing the new regime’s support in the developing Cold War. But this prospect quickly disappeared once the Free Officers revealed their anti-Western sentiments.

With Britain, the US moved to support the region’s pro-Western allies like Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Libya in the face of their nationalist, pro-Free Officer opponents. These measures became especially sophisticated after the Iraqi Free Officers toppled and massacred the royal family in 1958.  For example, Western powers relied on their intelligence services to uncover ongoing Free Officer conspiracies (Libya 195; Jordan 1958, 1959; Saudi Arabia 1955, 1962) and inform their allies. In addition, contingency plans were also developed to safeguard the allies’ physical safety. In 1956, British intelligence devised a plan to rescue Libya’s Idris Snoussi in the event of a coup and allow him to address the nation through the radio to counter the attempt. Fearing a wave of Free Officer-style coups following the Iraqi monarchy’s demise, the US deployed troops to Lebanon to safeguard President Camile Chamoun while British forces shored up King Hussein in Jordan. Of course, these measures had varied degrees of success. Whereas Western support insulated the regimes in Jordan and Saudi Arabia, Britain’s decision to cut back support for Snoussi in Libya inevitably led to his downfall in September 1969. 

Reflecting on a Coup’s Legacy
Coups are generally viewed as domestic affairs - and for good reason. These events usually start and end within a single country’s borders. But if observers, academics, and policymakers glean anything from Egypt’s Free Officers, it should be that coups can have much wider-reaching implications than often assumed. History invariably focuses on “successful” actions, as seen in places like Iraq and Libya, but a more telling illustration of the impact of Egypt’s 1952 on coups throughout the region suggests to look elsewhere. Beyond those successes, the region saw Free Officer-inspired conspiracies arise in various countries, with some of those plots only failing due to critical and sometimes dramatic acts from either ruling elites or their foreign allies. 

Despite efforts by sympathetic leaders--particularly Qaddafi, who promoted dozens of coup conspiracies throughout much of Africa--coups directly inspired by the Free Officers would subside. Nasser's 1970 death, various acts of "coup-proofing," and--perhaps most importantly--increasing less being seen worth emulating, likely all contributed to the close of this tumultuous period. 

The following was recently published at Just Security.

Salah Ben Hammou & Avery Reyna

Once considered relics of the 20th century, military coups have captured global headlines this past year. The recent wave of coups – removing governments in Myanmar, Guinea, Burkina Faso, Sudan, and elsewhere – have garnered widespread attention by policy-makers, academics, and political leaders alike. Observers have been especially quick to call on the international community to respond to the power-grabs. International actors, the argument goes, can leverage different resources like sanctions, membership suspensions, and embargoes to push coup leaders to cede political power and reinstate civilian rule.

For example, Frances Z. Brown and Thomas Carothers recently advocated on these pages for the United States to develop a global anti-coup strategy. Like similar commentaries, the authors list a compelling and exhaustive list of standards that the United States and international community more broadly should follow in the wake of military coups. These standards include explicitly naming and shaming coups as coups, advocating for a strict adherence to a transitional timeline, and collaborating with other international actors to pressure coup participants to step aside.

While all these standards are vital for a robust anti-coup strategy, the international community also needs to move beyond a focus on the military officers who take political power. In particular, anti-coup strategies should take steps to deal with the civilian allies, supporters, and instigators of military coups. This requires foregoing a one-size-fits-all approach and better understanding the political context where coups have occurred.

 Civilians in Military Coups: More Common Than We Think
Although military coups invoke images of soldiers and tanks, these events often occur with the support and involvement of civilian constituencies. Despite this reality, civilian collaborators rarely receive the same level of focus and backlash as military coup leaders. Instead, there is a tendency to use different forms of civilian support as indicators of a “popular” coup – such as mass protests demanding military intervention. For example, protests demanding military intervention against then-President Mohamed Morsi preceded Egypt’s 2013 coup, contributing to a debate over whether the event constituted a military takeover at all, given its alleged popularity. Nearly a decade later, we know the answer to be a resounding yes.

In their article, Brown and Carothers rightfully call on the United States to give less weight to claims of coup popularity. But addressing civilian collaboration requires the recognition that civilians can play several different roles beyond just participating or rallying pro-coup protests. For example, research on Egypt’s 2013 crisis shows that civilian businesspeople and opposition party leaders coordinated with the military before the coup and used a host of financial resources to fund support for the takeover. Some evidence suggests that oligarchs – once benefactors of Hosni Mubarak’s authoritarian government – used their resources and media enterprises to rally support for the military’s intervention while also funding the Tamarod (or “rebellion”) popular protest movement. Civilian collaboration can also manifest in the post-coup context after the dust settles. For instance, coup leaders may formally withdraw from politics while still wielding their ties to civilian affiliates to influence the political system, thereby sidestepping any meaningful consequences for their actions. In other cases, civilian affiliates enable coup leaders to not only neutralize domestic opposition to the coup but to also appease the international community’s demand for a civilian government. For example, after Egypt’s coup, the transitional government saw several opposition leaders like Mohammed ElBaradei involved – lending the military government short-term credibility – but this token opposition involvement was short-lived as the military government consolidated power.

Understanding the various roles of civilians in illegal power-grabs and similar actions is also relevant to democratic backsliding in the United States, including attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election and the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol. Although there has been much debate on whether the attack constituted a traditional coup, it should be noted that then-President Donald Trump and his allies allegedly considered using the military to overturn the 2020 election results, and the Trump White House reviewed a draft executive order that would have facilitated this military involvement. In short, civilians are not the uniformly pro-democratic figures many observers and policymakers may believe them to be.

Here’s Why It Matters: Sudan’s Political Crisis
These concerns are not negligible or merely theoretical. The involvement of civilians can significantly complicate and hinder efforts to reinstate the rule of law after a coup. This can be seen in Sudan, where the issue of civilian collaboration has been present throughout the current political crisis. Following the fall of President Omar al-Bashir in the face of mass protests in 2019, a civilian-military government was formed to navigate the country’s transition to democracy. However, in October 2021, the military ousted the transitional government of Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok only days after a faction of former rebel leaders organized protests demanding a coup. In the face of widespread civilian opposition, Sudan’s coup leaders have since relied on a constellation of civilian members from al-Bashir’s regime – including figures from the former ruling National Congress Party NCP) and their affiliates – to shore up their government.

The coup regime’s allies have also been important in the face of the international community’s attempts to mediate talks between “civilians” and the military, namely the Tripartite talks. These talks – backed by the United Nations Integrated Transition Assistance Mission in Sudan (UNITAMS), the Intergovernmental Authority on Development (IGAD), and the African Union (AU) – allegedly aimed to build a new civilian-led transitional government. Although international actors originally presented and supported the Tripartite mechanism (TPM) as a solution to Sudan’s political stalemate, observers and pro-democracy groups denounced the process as a sham, especially after the talks saw only the military and its allies (e.g., former NCP members, Popular Congress, Unity Party, former rebel leaders like Minister of Finance Jibril Ibrahim) present. Although coup leader General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan recently announced that Sudan’s army would be exiting the political process, pro-democracy groups noted that the military’s civilian allies like former NCP members would remain present and continue to represent the military’s interests . The Tripartite dialogue was halted by UNITAMS on July 6, after the withdrawal of the military; international mediators have since called for reconciliation between the pro-democracy groups and the civilian forces that supported and legitimized last October’s coup.

With the use of their civilian collaborators, the military’s leadership grows more capable of protecting its interests and grip on the country – even if military leadership formally exits politics. Its collaborators can still block meaningful security sector reform, pursue aggressive policies favoring the military, and neutralize anti-military opposition. While international actors may be genuinely seeking to promote a civilian-led government in Sudan after last year’s coup disrupted the country’s democratic transition, if they hope to succeed, their efforts must focus on meaningfully addressing the concerns of pro-democracy civilians who share this goal, not just on reinstating nominally civilian rule.
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 So What Can The International Community Do?
To better deal with civilian allies of military coups, the international community should indeed place less weight on supposed signals of coup popularity but also move beyond the blanket demand for a “civilian” government or transition. This means better appreciating the distinctions between actual pro-democracy civilian factions and those that are linked to the military. A civilian government handpicked by the military might appease the international community’s demands but does little to improve a country’s democratic prospects.  In practice, a robust anti-coup strategy should also place the same pressures on civilian collaborators that military coup leaders face. Ultimately, military extrication from politics is a necessary requirement for democracy. But ignoring the different ways coup leaders seize and retain political influence – including through actors not wearing fatigues – undermines the goal of protecting or restoring democracy.
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The following was recently published on The Washington Post's Monkey Cage.

Salah Ben Hammou

On Monday, Sudanese Lt. Gen. Abdel Fattah al-Burhan announced that the military would withdraw from the U.N.-mediated tripartite talks — and pull out of Sudan’s political process more generally.

The announcement came eight months after Burhan and the military toppled the government of former prime minister Abdalla Hamdok, in October 2021. Hamdok’s government, working alongside the military, had been navigating the country’s democratic transition following the exit of longtime strongman Omar Hassan al-Bashir in April 2019.
Since the 2021 coup, Sudanese citizens have participated in widespread protests against its leaders, who have responded with brutal force. In addition to international condemnation and severe foreign-aid cuts, Sudan has seen a crippling political crisis develop over the past eight months. The recent U.N.-led talks reportedly aimed to build a political agreement between civilian leaders and the military. Now the coup leaders appear to be exiting the political stage — a surprising move that Burhan claims will allow the formation of a civilian government.
My ongoing research suggests the military isn’t likely to step away from politics entirely. A closer look at the civilian factions involved in the political process — many of which are known military allies — suggests that the military’s influence will probably continue.

When civilians participate in coup politics
Civilian collaboration in military coup politics around the world is actually quite common, if perhaps less studied. Sudan’s coups, for example, have seen frequent civilian involvement, including the country’s first successful coup in 1958, when Prime Minister Abdalla Khalil ordered the military to topple his own government. In October, I explained here in TMC how former rebel leaders who once opposed Bashir’s regime organized protests days before the coup to demand the military’s intervention against Sudan’s transitional government. But as recent developments show, civilian collaboration can extend well beyond the initial power grab and become part of post-coup politics.

Since the coup, Burhan and the military have reintegrated civilian remnants of Bashir’s fallen regime into the government, including members of the former ruling National Congress Party (NCP) and its affiliates. These measures include appointing party members to ministerial positions, unfreezing their financial assets and stacking the civil service with NCP loyalists.

This happened after the military’s reinstatement of Hamdok in November failed to quell unrest in the streets, and the former premier then resigned in January. The United Nations, the African Union and the United States put considerable pressure on Sudan to return to civilian governance. To that end, the military’s civilian allies — including the former rebels who demanded the coup — continue to participate in the tripartite talks. That didn’t sit well with pro-democracy groups like the Forces of Freedom and Change and the Resistance Committees, who boycotted the talks.

Why civilians take up the military’s interests
​Beyond publicly legitimizing coup leaders, civilian collaborators can advance core interests of those who orchestrated the coup. And they can help neutralize anti-military opposition within the government by blocking legislation aimed at meaningful reform or barring the opposition from power altogether.

In other words, civilians can serve as proxies for the military itself. It’s a tactic politically dominant militaries often use — even in non-coup situations. For example, some analysts point out that Myanmar’s military relied on a political party to advance and secure its interests even in the face of a democratic transition. However, once that party saw a crippling electoral defeat, the military re-intervened in 2021, as political scientists Megan Ryan and Darin Self explain here in TMC. 

In Sudan, pro-military civilians like NCP loyalists and their affiliates can ensure that the military’s economic enterprises and resource exploitation in the periphery — key points of contention for the pro-democracy movement — continue even if a civilian government emerges. In addition, the reintroduction of NCP loyalists into government and financial institutions puts party leaders in a powerful position against the opposition.

As the military reportedly intends to form a “Supreme Council of the Armed Forces” with unspecified powers after its exit, these developments give little indication that the coup leaders’ political role will evaporate. And the NCP and its offshoots, along with the former rebel leaders, have much to gain by continuing to support Sudan’s coup leaders. The NCP, for example, was outlawed after Bashir’s removal in 2019, and pro-democracy groups targeted its extensive patronage networks. In recent months, the military leadership has reversed many of these measures, though the party remains legally banned.

Similarly, former rebel leaders Minni Minnawi and Jibril Ibrahim faced little hope of electoral success with a democratic transition. But tying their fates to the armed forces and its affiliates may ensure them some political power regardless of electoral politics. Just as civilian support helps entrench the military’s influence, the military’s support can entrench its civilian allies.

What do Sudan’s pro-democracy groups think?
Pro-democracy civilian groups aren’t buying Burhan’s claim that he’ll step back from politics. In fact, the Forces of Freedom and Change denounced the move as “a tactical retreat and transparent maneuver” and have called for greater demonstrations for a genuine civilian government.


Some observers have noted that the announcement was also designed to divide the opposition. However, the refusal of pro-democracy groups to acquiesce could undermine the military’s gambit to divide its opponents and rely on its civilian proxies.
Since the announcement, Burhan has dismissed members of the ruling Sovereignty Council in preparation for the military’s exit from power, while anti-military protests continue to fill the streets. With the tripartite talks now canceled, it’s not clear whether these developments will prompt a further international response.
Are there takeaways here, for observers and academics — as well as policymakers? In the complicated politics of military coups, assuming a simple binary divide between “civilians” and “soldiers” obscures important details. And these assumptions may also miss the complex ways in which coup leaders retain political power — even as they claim to be stepping back.

The following was recently published at The Loop: ECPR's Political Science Blog. 

Salah Ben Hammou

When soldiers seize political power, our minds tend to conjure up assumptions about military rule. We might imagine officers in fatigues dictating legislation and the outlawing of political participation. In our vision, civilian leaders – civil society members and party leaders – might well be notably absent. But is this really what 'military rule' looks like?

Hager Ali recently called for greater analytical precision in the study of authoritarian regimes. The study of military regimes – particularly those with a significant civilian presence – is one area of research in need of such nuance. This is especially important in light of the 2021 military coups which toppled governments in Sudan, Mali, Guinea, and Myanmar. But rather than simply lumping all militarised governments together, researchers must do more to appreciate the subtle, but salient, differences.

Delineating (military) dictatorships
It's tempting to assume that all military governments share the same traits and behaviours. But this is not true. Moving beyond the archetype of ‘military rule’, we find great variation among militarised regimes. Researchers acknowledge a few of these distinctions. Most scholarship, for example, distinguishes between cases in which militaries govern through a collegial entity and those where a military officer ‘personalises’ political power.
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Examples of the latter include Chile’s General Augusto Pinochet and Uganda’s Idi Amin. The former includes Brazil’s ruling junta 1964–1985 and the Derg in Ethiopia. Studies (here, here, here, and here) reveal these differences matter for a country’s foreign policy, political instability, and prospects of democratisation. Yet, despite receiving the most attention from researchers, the difference between collegial and personalist military rule is far from the only relevant distinction.

Scholars have done little to evaluate one key distinction across military regimes: civilian participation. Some typologies, such as the Autocratic Breakdown dataset, classify certain governments as having a dominant military and political party. Yet we still lack a nuanced understanding of these types of arrangements. It is unclear, for example, how much relative power each institution wields, or how we might compare such systems to each other.
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Further, collegial military rule and military-personalist systems can experience significant involvement by civilian political parties even if they don’t meet the criteria of a ‘dominant’ institution. For example, Sudan’s Colonel Jaafar Nimeiri (in power 1969–1985) is often categorised as a personalist military dictator. Yet Nimeiri's regime initially crafted legislation and policy hand-in-hand with the Communist Party. Likewise, Turkey’s collegial military government (1980–1983) worked alongside a constellation of civilian allies who had previously demanded the armed forces’ intervention.

Bringing civilian participation into the mix
Rather than treating civilian participation as negligible, researchers can use the varieties of this feature to uncover more general trends in military rule.
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Soldiers and civilians come to govern together through a variety of avenues. As a result, each avenue comes with its own implications for a country’s civil-military relations. For example, military dictators can form their own civilian political parties. Through these, they can channel mass mobilisation, reduce their reliance on the armed forces, and discredit civilian opposition. Nimeiri’s Sudanese Socialist Union is one such example. The SUU was created in the aftermath of Nimeiri's dispute with his former civilian allies in the Communist Party. In this context, civilians lack significant autonomy from their military allies and merely serve at officers’ behest.

However, civilian parties can also have a great deal of agency. They can build a strong following within the armed forces and use their military partisans to seize power on their behalf. The Ba’ath party’s ascension via a military coup in 1968 Iraq is one such example. Though it began as a military regime, the Ba'athist government saw its officers increasingly lose influence to their civilian allies. And this, of course, paved the way for a civilian – Saddam Hussein – to consolidate political power.

Blurring the lines between 'civilian' and 'military'
In some cases, the outcome is the opposite: officers successfully subjugate their civilian partners. In Sudan, Hassan al-Turabi’s civilian National Islamic Front (NIF) initially dominated Omar al-Bashir’s military dictatorship throughout the 1990s. Indeed, Turabi is often referred to as the power behind the throne. However, al-Bashir and his associates gained full primacy in the regime. By the end of the decade, they had sacked Turabi and his associates. And this type of arrangement is still distinct from cases that emerge from armed anti-colonial resistance, blurring the lines between what it means to be a 'civilian' and a 'soldier'. Algeria's military regime is one such example.

These examples are by no means exhaustive of all the potential civil-military arrangements possible under military regimes. However, incorporating the different dynamics sheds light on processes researchers have previously ignored. Instead of erroneously assuming militaries and civilians operate in distinct spaces, we can work towards a nuanced typology that includes the varieties of relationships between civilians and soldiers, their origins, their changing features, and more.
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Why civilian participation matters beyond research
Unpacking civilian participation in military regimes extends beyond theoretical concerns.

First, if officers have civilian allies – either willing participants for post-coup governments or instigators of coups themselves – efforts to limit military intervention in politics will be futile.
Second, the international community’s recurring demand for a 'civilian' government after a coup overlooks the too-common strategy of handing power to an affiliated civilian party. Observers have raised similar concerns with the international community’s call for a civilian-led government in Sudan, pointing to the recent putschists’ move to form a government composed of civilian allies.

Ultimately, finding the language to describe situations in which civilians don fatigues and govern alongside officers clarifies what military rule can really look like. It also reminds us that civilians, too, have agency.

The following was recently published at Political Violence at a Glance. 

​Salah Ben Hammou

Monday marked three years since Sudanese officers toppled longtime dictator Omar al-Bashir in a coup d’etat.

In April 2019, the military intervened amid a wave of sustained civil disobedience. Mass demonstrations against the ruler, originally spearheaded by the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), had filled the streets since late December 2018. Due to further civilian pressure after the coup, the armed forces entered a political agreement with pro-democracy groups and political parties known as the Forces of Freedom and Change (FFC) to navigate a transition towards democratic and civilian rule.

Today’s context is unfortunately much different than what many hoped for in those early days. Sudan’s officers are violently consolidating their authority in the country. In late October 2021, General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan staged a coup against the transitional government and ended the power-sharing arrangement with the FFC. Days before the power-grab, former rebel groups and rogue members of the government organized protests in Khartoum, demanding that the military intervene and take power. Although much larger pro-civilian demonstrations followed, the armed forces answered the calls of the pro-military protestors. Now, the military is drafting a new transitional agreement with its civilian allies to entrench its power.

Despite protests preceding both events, the 2019 coup was ultimately followed by a democratic transition whereas last year’s power grab reintroduced authoritarianism. Why? The short answer is that the protests themselves were different. In 2019, mass protests emerged organically, and protesters succeeded in using the military to oust Bashir. In 2021, the military manufactured protests to prevent a civilian takeover of government and to maintain their own power.

​Coups often take place in the wake of protests and civil disobedience, particularly in Sudan. Beyond the 2019 and 2021 coups, the 1985 coup against then-strongman Jaafar Nimeiri occurred in the wake of sustained anti-government protests. More generally, researchers have dedicated significant attention to the different ways protests can spark coup attempts (some examples here, here, and here). Recent studies have also explored what happens after such events. One study, for example, finds that democratic bona fides after protest-sparked coups are more likely today, in the post-Cold War era. But Sudan’s experience within the last three years suggests that isn’t always the case.

In 2019, anti-Bashir demonstrations swelled into an organic mass movement, cutting across different societal cleavages and incorporating a wide array of political parties, labor organizations, and members of the public. Though protestors initially demanded economic and political reforms, the wide-reaching scope of the protests eventually led to calls for Bashir’s resignation. Importantly, the demonstrations remained independent of the military, with protestors only calling on the armed forces’ intervention as a final effort to remove Bashir. Activists first appealed to army conscripts and the rank-and-file to defend them against the regime’s loyal security services. Shortly after, the top brass complied with protestors’ demands and arrested Bashir. However, civilians refused to allow the coup leaders to consolidate their authority. Various sit-ins and strikes continued after the coup, with activists demanding a civilian-led government. With overwhelming domestic and international support, protestors were able to push the officers to sign a power-sharing arrangement and allow for a civilian-led transition.

In contrast, the 2021 pro-military protests were not organic or wide-reaching and served as little more than a pretext for the subsequent coup. These protests were primarily organized by the military’s newfound allies, Minni Minnawi and Gibril Ibrahim—former Darfuri rebel leaders integrated into the transitional government and FFC. Claiming that other urban parties had “monopolized” control in the FFC, the former rebels formed their own coalition with other smaller political parties, declared their support for the military, and organized protests in the capital, Khartoum. Allegedly using financial aid from Sudan’s officers—such as the powerful militia leader General Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo—the organizers had paid demonstrators driven into Khartoum, gathered in the heart of the capital, and fomented calls for the military to end the power-sharing government and formally hold power. Amid chants stating “one army, one people” and “the army will bring us bread,” observers noted the absence of security forces in quelling or containing the protests, fueling suspicions of the military’s involvement. Just a month before the protests, figures such as Dagalo and Burhan warned that they could use the public against the civilians in power amid growing civil-military disputes.

It was no surprise, then, when the military intervened only days later, using the protests as justification. The coup leaders have since worked to reinstate a dictatorship reminiscent of Bashir’s ancien régime, relying on repression to deter civilian opposition. Meanwhile, the armed forces appear to be rewarding their civilian allies with elevated positions in the new transitional government while still maintaining a monopoly over political power.

The military’s use of protests to manufacture a façade of popular support is not unique to Sudan. Observers have documented the Egyptian military’s use of the Tamarod movement and its demonstrators in 2013 to justify their intervention against President Mohammed Morsi. Funded by a constellation of business elites, opposition parties, and the military, the Tamarod movement mobilized in Tahrir Square and demanded the armed forces’ intervention to sack Morsi. These developments echo a growing body of research on civilian support and involvement in military coups.

​The differences between the events of 2019 and 2021 should help inform how policymakers and academics think about the relationship between protests and coups. Neil Ketchley once noted that “we often think of street-level mobilization as the domain of progressives and revolutionaries… [but] powerful state actors can also orchestrate…collective protest for their own ends.” While 2019’s events revealed that a genuine civilian revolution could ultimately guide a country into a democratic transition, 2021’s events show that counterrevolutionary forces can rely on similar tactics to justify their return to power.

Claiming a coup conspiracy, President Ismail Omar Guelleh of Djibouti has ordered the arrest of prominent officials. The accused, including Major General Zakariya Sheikh Ibrahim, Colonel Abdullahi Abdi Farah, a former cabinet member, and officials who had recently returned from abroad, are reportedly under house arrest. The current situation was reportedly sparked by an intercepted phone call that might also compromise the first lady. 

General Zakariya has been Djibouti's Chief of Defense Staff since the retirement of Major General Fathi Ahmed Houssein in late 2013. Colonel Abdi has served as the director of the National Police for over a decade. If the accusations are true, the two would have been very well-placed to coordinate on a conspiracy against their president.

The most remarkable aspect of Djibouti's coup history is that in a region rife with coups, it is one of the few countries that has not seen a leader succumb to one.​ Perhaps the closest was December 2000, when Guellah--still in his first term--was faced with a rebellion from the national police. Following the removal of the force's head, General Yacin Yabeh Galab, supporters of the latter revolted against the regime. Amidst a 45-minute firefight with the Army, the National Police temporarily controlled the television and radio waves but we unable to rally support for their cause. Though Yabeh managed to escaped to a French military installation, he was soon handed over to Djiboutian authorities. General Yabeh passed away in June 2002 after being handed a 15 year prison sentence.

Combined with a leader and regime that have long dominated the political scene, Djibouti could otherwise be seen as an unlikely candidate for a coup attempt. However, last April's presidential election--"won" by Guellah with 97%+ of a vote boycotted by the opposition--had seen the country jump to the top of CoupCast's list of likeliest places to see a coup. These predictions, which can vary substantially month-to-month, subsided following Guellah's victory, but might still have hinted that the potential for a coup was greater than what casual observers might have thought.

It remains unclear, however, what has actually transpired. Though the arrests could very well reflect a developing conspiracy, the recent coup epidemic in the region could just as easily help justify the elimination of anyone who could feasibly act as a threat to the incumbent.

Further reading on coup-related arrests and purges:
Jun Koga Sudduth. Strategic Logic of Elite Purges in Dictatorships. Comparative Political Studies.
Curtis Bell. Coup d'etat and Democracy. Comparative Political Studies.

The following was recently published at Political Violence at a Glance.​

Jonathan Powell & Salah Ben Hammou

Coups in Africa have reached crisis proportions. Since Niger’s failed March 2021 coup, coup attempts have progressed at a rate rivaled only by the continent’s original coup epidemic in the mid-1960s. Just last week, soldiers attempted but ultimately failed to take power in Guinea-Bissau. While West Africa—and more specifically, the Sahel—receives the most attention, coups are happening across the continent, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea.

Although coups are by nature domestic affairs, the international community plays a key role in the politics that drive them. Would-be coup plotters closely consider the potential responses of foreign actors, and observe and learn from recent precedent. A meek international response to coups could embolden would-be coupists to take power and vice versa.

Following this logic, it appears that coupists are learning to circumvent the international community’s typical demand in post-coup situations—that elections be held—to entrench themselves in power.

To be clear, the international community is rarely able to “reverse” a coup—i.e., reinstate the ousted leader. Of the dozens of successful coups in Africa since 1950, only a few have seen this outcome. For instance, French paratroopers reinstated President Léon M’ba in 1964 in Gabon. Peacekeeping forces under the Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group successfully reinstated Sierra Leone’s Ahmad Tejan Kabbah to the presidency in February 1998. South Africa upended Lesotho’s post-coup government with a unilateral intervention in 1998. São Tomé and Príncipe saw its 2003 coup leaders quickly retreat following international backlash, including the specter of a Nigerian military intervention. These kinds of interventions are usually only possible in small and militarily weak states. In fact, efforts to reinstate leaders have virtually vanished despite the fact that various leaders have ostensibly embraced an anti-coup norm, and organizations such as the African Union (AU) are heralded for curbing the practice. In the case of the AU, it would be difficult to claim a single case of success. Simply put, when leaders are removed, they “stay gone.”

Rather than seek the return of ousted leaders, international and regional actors have instead emphasized a “return to constitutional order.” For instance, following the death of Chadian President Idriss Déby in April 2021, the military assumed power and abolished the constitution, which called for the Speaker of Parliament to take power in the event of the president’s death. Several countries, including France, urged the coupists to initiate a political transition—which would require the post-coup junta to hold or allow elections—rather than designate power back to parliament. (The junta has stated its intention to tentatively hold elections within 18 months.)

Post-coup elections once meant that coupists would hand power back to civilians and depart from politics, particularly after the AU’s formation in 2002. For instance, among eleven different coups across the continent between 2003 and 2012, only two (Togo 2005, Mauritania 2008) saw a coupist retain power via election.

More recently, however, that trend has reversed. Military coups in Egypt (2013) and Zimbabwe (2017) saw coup leaders or their close associates retain power via elections. The only potential recent exception is Burkina Faso, where, following Blaise Compaoré’s 2014 ouster, elements of the armed forces took power and ushered the country toward democratic elections that were not contested by coupists.

Another pattern is at work, however. Though coups in Mauritania (2005), Egypt (2011), Mali (2012), and Burkina Faso (2014) were followed by elections free from coupist participation, these cases saw the armed forces re-intervene against the electoral victors. For instance, Egyptian President Mohamed Morsi, the victor of the 2012 post-coup elections, was deposed in 2013 by General Abdel Fattah al-Sisi, who went on to win the presidency in the 2014 election with little pushback from the international community. Mauritania’s 2008 coupist, General Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz, would go on to win the presidency in the country’s 2009 and 2014 elections but did not seek reelection in 2019. In a highly contentious case accompanied by substantial international pressure, Madagascar (2009) saw a coupist, Andry Rajoelina, reluctantly step away from contesting the election. He did, however, return to win the presidency via the next election in 2018.

What do these developments suggest? Despite the international community’s view that elections might drive coupists from politics, the armed forces and their associates are in fact entrenching themselves in power, either directly through the use of elections or in spite of them. This trend coincides with the rise of democratic backsliding and executive aggrandizement, in which incumbents use democratic institutions such as popular mandates or elections to erode checks against their political power. Paradoxically, coup leaders have increasingly cited executive aggrandizement as a key reason for their intervention into politics. For instance, Guinea’s September 2021 coup saw Colonel Mamady Doumbouya topple President Alpha Condé, citing the president’s “non-respect of democratic principles.” For context, despite the constitution’s two-term limit, Condé had won reelection for a third term in 2020, sparking mass unrest and leading to allegations of electoral fraud and democratic erosion. The question now becomes whether Guinea’s armed forces will use the country’s elections--which have still not been announced—to similarly entrench themselves or if the junta will make good on its promise to bar its members from running as candidates.

Ultimately, efforts to preserve or initiate democracy in post-coup states will require the international community to move beyond the simple demand that elections be held. Rather than issuing a yellow card that tells coupists such as Egypt’s Abdel Fattah al-Sisi to tread carefully while remaining on the pitch, the international community must unequivocally demonstrate that coupists face lifetime bans from holding power.