France

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

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Mwazulu Diyabanza, a Congolese-origin activist in France, first attracted social media attention by seeming to steal an artifact from the Quai Branly Museum in Paris to protest slavery, colonialism and the alleged French theft of Africa's cultural patrimony. The attempted theft was carefully staged for live streaming. The museum authorities stopped the theft. In July, he repeated his protest at a museum in Marseilles. It was also live-streamed. Diyabanza is now back in the news because he, along with four accomplices, will stand trial on September 30. Diyabanza and his supporters hope that the trial will put on the stand France's colonial history. Fueled by social media, the Diyabanza episode is now in the mainstream media.   France's relationship with many of its former African colonies is close. Indeed, French interests in Africa are seen by some as the basis for France's international standing as more than merely a large member state of the European Union. In 2020, against a background of domestic protests against inequality (the "gilet jaunes" demonstrations), the French version of the "Black Lives Matter" protests that focused on the history of French participation in the slave trade and colonialism, the new assertiveness of French citizens of colonial origin, and the unfocused anger at the disruptions caused by the coronavirus, the Diyabanza trial has the potential for a renewed popular focus on French holdings of African art. In 2017, French President Emmanuel Macron pledged to return to Africa the African art in French museums. He established a commission to consider how that might be done. The commission issued a report that has failed to win widespread support in France. According to U.S. media, the French government has announced the restitution of 27 objects, of which only one has been returned. (It is claimed that there are some 90,000 sub-Saharan African art objects in French museums.)   Though the media tends to be focused on the issues of race, class, and colonialism, the question of the return of art to countries of origin has many dimensions and is long standing. For example, successive Greek governments have demanded that the United Kingdom return the Parthenon fragments in the British Museum (the Elgin Marbles). On the other hand, it is argued that great works of art are part of the world's heritage and do not belong to the descendants of those that made them. Hence, so this argument runs, African-origin art no more belongs to contemporary Africa than the works of Leonardo or Michelangelo belong to modern Florentines. With some exceptions, African art housed in Western museums is carefully curated and is accessible to the public. (For example, there is a major collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York that periodically presents "block-buster" exhibits of African art.) In sub-Saharan Africa, there are few institutions that can safeguard and display art works of world importance. In what may be a partial way forward, however, France is largely funding the construction of a state-of-the-art museum in Benin that would display the 27 returned works of art, among others.

French President Emmanuel Macron, in a September 22 UN General Assembly (UNGA) speech, made continued French military involvement contingent upon Mali's restoration of civilian rule. He was blunt: "They (the junta) must put Mali on the irreversible path of returning to civilian power and organize rapid elections." And, "France [...] can only remain engaged on this condition." As he has in the past, Macron was also clear that France has a low tolerance level for popular demonstrations against France, or francophone West African states that might be tempted by anti-French rhetoric: "The second these states want us to leave or consider that they can fight terrorism on their own, we will withdraw." The same day Macron was speaking at UNGA, there was a small anti-French demonstration in Bamako. The Mali junta appears impervious to pressures from the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the African Union (AU) to restore civilian government. Pressure from France might be different. France deploys more than 5,000 well-trained, well-equipped troops against jihadist extremist groups that seek to overthrow the government and destroy the political class in Mali and in its neighboring states. The French are assisted by some EU partners, and the United States provides logistical and intelligence support. Were France to withdraw, so, too, would its EU partners, and the continued U.S. presence, small though it is, would be called into question.  The jihadist operations in the Sahel have intensified and spread. French withdrawal might well lead to their destruction of Mali and some of its neighboring states. If the Mali junta remains intransigent, would the French really withdraw? West Africa is the French equivalent of the Russian "near abroad." For many French, close ties with francophone Africa makes their country more than simply a large state in the European Union. On the other hand, there is opposition in France to unending military engagement in the Sahel: some characterize the Sahel as France's Afghanistan.  A possible, even likely, outcome will be that the junta will adopt more civilian trappings, such as a genuinely civilian head of state that is acceptable to the Macron government, even if it must hold its noose. 

With Washington absent and Berlin indifferent, it has fallen to Paris to deter and defuse the situation.

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The murder of George Floyd by a policeman and the ensuing protests against racism and police brutality in the United States have ignited similar protests in Europe. Large crowds, especially in the United Kingdom, France, and Belgium, are demanding public acknowledgment of the links among slavery, European colonialism, and contemporary racism. European protesters, perhaps in solidarity with Americans, have borrowed anti-police rhetoric. But, with the exception of the French, by and large, European protestors tie racial abuse in their own countries not so much to the police but to the persistence of the glorification of colonialism or, at best, a collective amnesia about its effects. In the United States, Black Lives Matter protestors are calling for the removal of statues of Confederate leaders, and many have since been removed. In Europe, protestors are calling for the removal of statues glorifying men made famous or rich by the slave trade and colonialism. In Belgium, statues of King Leopold II, whose personal, brutal rule of Congo may have caused the deaths of up to half of the territory’s population, are being defaced, and some have been removed. In the United Kingdom, protestors pulled down a statue of Edward Colston, (1636–1721), an official of the Royal Africa Company that transported an estimated 84,000 Africans to slavery in the Caribbean and the mainland British colonies, perhaps 20,000 of whom died in the notorious “Middle Passage.” His extensive, local philanthropy was built on the profits of the slave trade. A statue of Winston S. Churchill opposite the Houses of Parliament was vandalized because of his advocacy of the empire and colonialism, and his personal racism. There are calls in the United Kingdom for the erasure of Cecil Rhodes’s name from public institutions. Student-led protests, dubbed #RhodesMustFall, led to the removal of his statue in 2015 at the University of Cape Town in South Africa. However, there is probably greater public support for the removal of reminders of slavery in the United States than there is in Europe with respect to colonialism. Already in the United Kingdom, there has been a backlash against attacks on national heroes such as Winston Churchill. Though Britain, France, and the other European states abolished slavery in the nineteenth century, they nevertheless carved up much of the (non-white) world among themselves. In Europe as in America, racism often provided the intellectual justification for colonial rule and white supremacy, and accounted for their popularity among the general public. Reflecting little understanding of Charles Darwin and “natural selection,” the common presumption was that each "race," mostly defined by skin color and other obvious physical characteristics, had an objective, fundamental "character," and there was a "natural" hierarchy with whites at the top, blacks, at the bottom, and "browns" (mostly in Britain’s Indian Empire) in between. America is now attempting to come to terms with how slavery and racial segregation remains central to the Black experience today. In a similar vein, European colonialism is central to understanding African countries, almost all of which were former European colonies. American legal emancipation in 1865 and the ending of legal segregation a century later did not erase the lasting damage they caused. African independence after 1960 has not undone the consequences of colonialism. As influential Nigerian academic Peter Ekeh wrote, “Our post-colonial present has been fashioned by our colonial past.” The anti-colonial dimension in the European demonstrations ignited by George Floyd are a welcome acknowledgement of that reality.

On June 5, France announced that its forces killed Abdelmalek Droukdel and many in his inner circle. Droukdel was the "emir" or leader of al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM). The attack took place on June 3. France also announced the capture of Mohamed Mrabat, the group commander in Mali of the Islamic State in the Greater Sahara, who was taken in May. France has said that the operations were carried out with the intelligence and surveillance support of Algeria the United States. The decapitation strike, killing many in the leadership of AQIM, is a major achievement of France and its partners, and is likely to reduce the terror group’s ability to conduct attacks for the immediate future. It may also reduce domestic criticism in France of the Macron administration about what seems to be an interminable war that resembles U.S. involvement in Afghanistan. But, "decapitation" does not mean defeat. The killing of Osama bin Laden in 2011 and Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi in 2019 has not led to the end of their respective organizations, but rather to new leadership. It should be anticipated that AQIM will similarly find new leadership, albeit after a likely bloody internal struggle, and the Islamic State will find a replacement for Mrabat.  Jihadi terrorism, whether of the Islamic State or al-Qaeda variety, has roots in a variation of the Salafist revival that seeks a purified Islam and the establishment of a polity based on Islamic law. Further, it reflects local ethnic rivalries and the popular resentment of exploitive post-colonial elites, fed partly by extreme poverty. The death of Droukdel does not mean that these drivers of terrorism are going away. Droukdel's career is emblematic of the Algerian dimension to terrorism in the western Sahel. Born in 1971, Droukdel was Algerian and well educated, with a degree in mathematics from an Algerian university. He is thought to have first fought in Afghanistan against the Soviets in the 1980s before returning to Algeria. He was an active participant in that country’s civil war, which lasted from 1991 to 2002. The war left between 150,000 and 200,000 people dead, and was noteworthy for its brutality. It resulted from an army coup following an Islamist victory in general elections. The army largely prevailed though there was a political settlement accepted by some—though not all—jihadists. Subsequent Algerian governments have pushed residual jihadi groups south into the Sahel, so that jihadi and criminal groups (they often overlap) operating in Mali, Burkina Faso, and elsewhere sometimes have Algerian roots.  Droukdel continued the fight after the civil war ended in 2002. Highly charismatic and a good speaker, he eventually merged his own group with al-Qaeda. He was sentenced to death in absentia by an Algerian court for three bomb attacks in Algiers in 2007. A munitions expert, he is likely to have introduced suicide bombing in Algeria, from whence it spread to elsewhere in West Africa. He led the 2015 assault on a hotel in Ouagadougou that left 30 dead and 150 injured. He credibly is associated with kidnapping operations in the Western Sahel. This post has been updated to add a source. 

The confluence of political, institutional, and societal breakdown, the murderous activity of militias and radical jihadist groups, the predation of criminal networks (often allied with other groups), corrupt and unresponsive government, and the coronavirus has produced a perfect storm of human misery in the small West African state of Burkina Faso. Burkina, with a population less about 20 million, is described as one of the world's poorest countries in normal times, which these are not. Burkina may be only the first of poor West African states already reeling from poverty, marginalized territories, and insurrection to be pushed over the edge into societal disintegration. Mali could be next. Jihadis are also beginning to threaten Ivory Coast and Ghana. Before the coronavirus arrived, Burkina faced growing fighting among rival jihadi terrorists that the share goal of the destruction of the state, rival political and ethnic militias, political groups associated with the business community, remnants of the networks of former dictator Blaise Compaore, deposed in 2014, and the state security services. According to the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data project (ACLED), fatalities caused by violence against civilians and in battles between armed actors has dramatically increased since 2018, and 2020 is on pace to surpass the highs set in 2019. Such violence killed over 250 people in 2018, over 2,000 in 2019, and 871 in the first four months of 2020. About 800,000 Burkinabes had fled their homes as of March 2020, according to the UN, or about 4 percent of the population. The French anti-jihadi Operation Barkhane is allied to the Ougadougou government, which commands little legitimacy in much of the country. Some from Burkina have described the breakdown of the country's social fabric as "incivisme,” and the breakdown of personal security as "insecurite." Burkina Faso reported its first two coronavirus cases on March 9; by April 16, there have been 542 total cases in the country, with 32 deaths and 226 recoveries. The health ministry and Western non-governmental organization have been advocating the standard response of social distancing and testing. But, testing materials hardly exist any more than ventilators do. For the displaced and for ordinary slum dwellers, social distancing is impossible, as is hand-washing, where water is so precious it is reserved for drinking. There is anecdotal evidence of the security services attempting to enforce social distancing by the liberal use of whips. Meanwhile, jihadi groups, seeing their moment, are moving against the government and their rivals, and criminal networks are flourishing.  The Macron government in Paris appears to remain committed to the Ouagadougou government. France seeks with some success to increase the engagement of some of its European Union partners, and has pushed back against Trump administration proposals to reduce the U.S. military presence in the Sahel. Though small in number, U.S. forces provide logistical and intelligence support to the French. However, in France, comparisons are being drawn between Burkina Faso and Afghanistan, with growing concern as to how France can extract itself. But, French withdrawal and the likely subsequent collapse of the Ouagadougou government risks the domination of the state by anti-Western jihadis that France regards as part of its "near abroad."

President Emmanuel Macron of France hosted a summit in Pau, southwestern France, with the heads of state of Burkina Faso, Chad, Mali, Mauretania, and Niger. The purpose of the summit was to improve military coordination against insurgents with a particular focus on the Islamic State in West Africa (ISWA) and al-Qaeda affiliate Jama'at Nasr al-Islam wal Muslimin (JNIM). Macron also sought, and received from the African chiefs of state, an endorsement of France’s continued presence in the region. He, in turn, pledged a small increase in the number of French soldiers to be deployed there.  The summit was at least partly prompted by demonstrations in Sahelian capitals, most recently in Mali’s capital Bamako, calling the French role “neo-colonial.” Accordng to the New York Times, many of these protests were inspired by Islamist preachers. That has not gone down well with the French; as President Macron said in advance of the summit, “I know who is dying for the citizens of Niger, Mali, and Burkina Faso. It’s French soldiers.” From an American perspective, the most interesting development was the summit’s expression of unease about a possible drawdown of the American military presence in the region. It would occur at a time when insurgent activity is increasing. The heads of state explicitly stated their “gratitude for the crucial support provided by the United States and expressed the wish for its continuity.” From its bases in Niger, the United States provides intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance to France and its African partners in the Sahel. It also provides air-to-air refueling services. A French presidency source characterized to the French media the U.S. role as “irreplaceable.”  Anxiety about an American withdrawal dates from the 2018 U.S. national defense review [PDF] that signaled a shift in U.S. priorities from the war on terrorism to great power competition. The U.S. military's presence in Africa received closer scrutiny after the deaths of four servicemen in an ambush in Tongo Tongo, Niger. In the aftermath, there has been discussion of a redeployment out of West Africa of U.S. resources devoted to the fight against terrorism. However, there have been mixed messages from U.S. sources and it is not clear if any drawdown has actually taken place yet. President Macron at Pau said, “If the Americans decided to pull out of Africa, it would be very bad news for us, absolutely. I hope that I can convince President Trump that the fight against terrorism, a fight that he is fully committed to, is at stake out in this region.” According to the chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, Secretary of Defense Mark Esper has not yet made a decision. 

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This weekend, leaders from the G-7 will convene for their annual summit, this time in Biarritz, France. French President Emmanuel Macron, who is spearheading France’s G-7 presidency this year, bills the meeting as a chance to relaunch multilateralism, promote democracy and tame globalization to ensure it works for everyone. More likely, the gathering will expose the political, economic and ideological fault lines threatening Western solidarity and international cooperation. What a difference five years makes. Back in 2014, the G-7 gained a new and unexpected lease on life after Russia seized Crimea and earned itself an ejection from what was then the G-8. The rejuvenated G-7 seemed poised to resume its onetime role as an intimate forum for policy coordination among like-minded, advanced market democracies, as distinct from the more heterogeneous and unwieldy G-20. That rosy scenario, of course, did not play out. The intervening years would bring about the calamitous Brexit referendum and its aftermath, Donald Trump’s American presidency, and surging anti-globalist and nativist sentiments across Europe. The resulting fissures and preoccupations have further reduced the diplomatic heft of a bloc that has seen its share of global GDP decline from 70 percent three decades ago to just under 50 percent today. Trump’s election proved particularly catastrophic. At his first G-7 summit in 2017, in Taormina, Sicily, the president repudiated longstanding U.S. support for liberalized trade and signaled that the United States would leave the Paris climate accord, which he orchestrated soon after. Things got worse last year, in Charlevoix, Canada. Enraged at a perceived “betrayal” by host leader Justin Trudeau, Trump went ballistic, refusing to sign the final communique, which is usually an innocuous affair. The French government is no doubt bracing for similar theatrics, while pressing on with Macron’s ambitious vision for the summit. At the heart of his program is dealing with the adverse effects of globalization. “Our priority will be combating inequality,” his government explains. “The aim is not to abandon globalization… but rather to better regulate it so that nobody is left behind.” This is an imperative Macron has learned at home, too, after months of protests by the “Yellow Vests,” or Gilets Jaunes. Macron’s team has identified five areas where G-7 members can cooperate on global inequality. These include enhancing economic opportunity, regardless of a person’s gender and origins; taking on global environmental degradation, which disproportionately affects marginalized communities; fighting insecurity, extremism and terrorism, which lock societies in cycles of violence; expanding digital empowerment and human-centered artificial intelligence; and renewing the G-7’s partnership with Africa, so that the continent can share in global prosperity. The French government has also promised to overhaul the format of the G-7, so that it will no longer be “just a behind-closed-doors meeting between Heads of State and Government.” For the past eight months, it has solicited input from women, youth, labor, businesses, academics, scientists, civil society and think tank representatives. Gender equality has been an issue of particular importance, as France has followed in the footsteps of 2018 host nation Canada in signaling its commitment to a “feminist foreign policy.”  Macron has also expanded the Biarritz guest list beyond G-7 nations, reflecting his belief that “the time when a club of rich countries could alone define the world’s balances is long gone.” He has invited four major democracies—Australia, India, South Africa and Chile, which hosts the annual U.N. climate conference in December—as well as several African partner countries: Burkina Faso, Chad, Egypt, Senegal and Rwanda. But the real summit action, as always, will reflect less the formal agenda than the underlying geopolitical, economic and domestic political pressures on the major players, often playing out on the sidelines. Expect major frictions on the following topics: Trade Wars. America’s G-7 partners will be desperate for any sign of a truce in the spiraling U.S. trade war with China, which has roiled financial markets. The dangers of a global downturn are growing, with Germany now “teetering on the edge of recession.” The Trump administration has recently taken aim at French wine exports as well, in retaliation for France’s decision to impose a 3 percent digital tax that disproportionately affects U.S. tech giants. Given the circumstances, even a tepid statement of support for reform at the World Trade Organization and new trade rules combating market distortion are tough sells. The Brexit Endgame and the EU’s Future. In a calculated snub to other G-7 leaders, Trump plans to meet with new British Prime Minister Boris Johnson en route to the summit, and to press him to proceed with a “no deal” Brexit. Their relationship is already “off to a roaring start,” as John Bolton, Trump’s national security adviser, enthused. In Biarritz, expect Macron and Merkel to push back hard against any sign of Trump’s continued, pernicious effort to encourage the EU’s dissolution. The Defense of Democracy. Macron desperately wants the G-7 to resume its role as a counterweight to authoritarian trends sweeping the world. Trump’s coziness with strongmen and thuggish temperament complicate that task immensely. Look for Macron to push for a common, bold stance against Russian disinformation operations in Western societies, as well as statements of support for democratic aspirations in Hong Kong and Russia. Expect Trump to resist on both counts. Digital Globalization. At their mid-July meeting in Chantilly, G-7 finance ministers and central bank governors scrutinized Facebook’s plans for a new cryptocurrency, Libra, which they view as a potential threat to national sovereignty and the functioning of the international monetary system. They also discussed the need for fairer taxation of multinational tech companies, which have often avoided taxes through profit-shifting. Expect little action on these issues, however, given salient U.S.-China technology competition and Trump’s sour grapes over Macron’s digital tax. Climate Action. Since Trump announced the U.S. withdrawal from the Paris climate accord in June 2017, Macron has been the agreement’s most vocal proponent, spearheading the One Planet Summit and insisting that the world unite to meet the target of no more than 1.5°C global temperature rise from the pre-industrial period. The French president will push the G-7 for firm commitments on emissions reductions, biodiversity protections and ocean conservation, leaving Trump the odd man out again. Given Trump’s frequent outlier status, next year’s G-7 summit should be even more interesting. For the first time in seven years, the meeting returns to the United States, allowing the Trump administration at last to shape the agenda. Rather than continuing to “address more and more problems,” a Trump adviser explained last month, the White House wants to get “more focused.” As to the summit’s venue, the president has floated the idea of using the Trump National Doral Resort in Miami. Hurricane season, indeed.