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Jean-Yves Le Drian, then France’s defence minister, declared back in March 2014, 14 months after the launch of Operation Serval (1): ‘The war of liberation in Mali is over. It has been won. Action by French forces has allowed this country to regain its sovereignty, its democratic institutions, for elections to take place and for pride in a Malian sense of belonging to be restored’ (Radio Monte-Carlo, 20 March 2014).
Seven years later, such bold statements seem surprising to say the least. Jihadist groups have extended their reach into neighbouring Niger and Burkina Faso. The Malian state has failed to re-establish an effective presence in the north, particularly in Kidal, the stronghold of the Tuareg separatists. And its so-called ‘democratic institutions’ have been suspended since the army seized power in Bamako in August 2020 and Colonel Assimi Goita dismissed the transitional government in May 2021.
President Emmanuel Macron finally admitted publicly on 10 June that standing in for failing states was an impossible task: ‘We cannot secure areas which fall apart because states decide not to shoulder their responsibility. That is impossible, or else endless’ (2). This could have been said as early as 2013. Indeed, the soldiers of Operation Barkhane, which replaced Serval, never had the financial or political means to fill the power vacuum in the remote rural areas where jihadist groups were operating.
On the contrary, they encountered numerous technical problems that revealed the obsolescence of their equipment and, at times, the deficiencies of personnel unable to cope with cultural realities on the ground. Their deployment in the Sahel, mainly to deal with terrorism, also looked like a desperate attempt to plug holes in a dam in the face of an advancing flood.
France an obstacle to peace
Worse still, France’s emphasis on security and flat-out refusal to negotiate with insurgents (described as jihadists) make it look like an obstacle to peace. The French government’s stubbornness contrasts with the flexibility of its allies: the UN secretary-general Antonio Guterres is now calling for political dialogue (3). The Malian authorities are themselves officially considering negotiations with one of the jihadist groups, Katiba Macina, in the Mopti region,: a law passed in July 2019 even provides a legal framework to amnesty the insurgents. Burkina Faso secretly concluded a ceasefire with the mujahideen of the Ansarul Islam group, in Soum province, bordering Mali (4). And Niger’s president, Mohamed Bazoum, confirmed that discussions had begun with Fula branches of Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (IS-GS) as early as May 2016.
These three countries have something in common: they each seek to negotiate with their own citizens but have no intention of engaging in talks with foreign armed terrorist groups, mainly Algerian or Sahrawi. The challenge is to identify reliable interlocutors and precisely define the political parameters of negotiations with a view to ending the violence. The discussions that have begun could lead to the public financing of mosques, madrasas and Quranic courts, as in Mauritania.
It all depends on what military pressure states in the region can put on the rebels to encourage them to soften their demands, though France has yet to specify a timetable for the withdrawal of its troops. Already active in the area before 2013, the special forces of Operation Sabre will remain in the field andcontinue to fight by drone.The question is whether the targeted elimination of jihadist leaders can be used as part of a broader strategy of conflict resolution, with a view to encouraging the insurgents to come to the negotiating table (5).
Nothing seems less certain given the Elysée’s intransigence. Macron has repeated his predecessors’ line: ‘With terrorists, there is no discussion’ (6). Negotiating with the insurgents would be tantamount to recognising the failure of France’s military approach and could give the impression of capitulating to an enemy with far fewer troops or weapons. Macron intends to withdraw Operation Barkhane’s troops to avoid the humiliating position of the Americans who, after 20 years in Afghanistan, had finally to deal with the Taliban and recognise the dead end their intervention led to. Macron prefers instead to bring forward France’s withdrawal, hoping the most striking consequences of the failure of his military strategy won’t affect his image.
In search of political prestige
For France, negotiating would also mean reversing a stance adopted since 2013 in Mali, and from the following year in neighbouring countries. At the time, Le Drian invoked the danger of Wahhabi indoctrination and general chaos in the Sahel, ultimately threatening world peace. He pushed the French government to fight insurgents who had never carried out attacks in the West, unlike Al-Qaida and ISIS (operating from Afghanistan, Syria and Iraq). Le Drian’s director of communications Sacha Mandel carefully chose his talking points to win UN approval of the French military intervention in the name of the ‘war on terror’, suggesting that the jihadists could turn Mali into a new Afghanistan and might capture Bamako.
A simple rebel movement active in northern Mali was thus used as a ‘pretext’ (in the words of political scientist Marina Henke) for the French army’s biggest foreign operation since the Algerian war (7). But plans were already in place, initially to reconquer the north of the country. Since the area was of little economic interest, France’s decision may have been based on domestic political considerations, such as the prestige of a successful operation for its organisers, then President François Hollande and Le Drian.
Internationally, Operation Barkhane made it possible to present France, the former colonising state, as a bulwark against jihadist violence, and even against migration pressures on Europe, consolidating its status as a middle power and justifying its permanent seat on the UN Security Council. The military-industrial lobby also pushed for this, as fear of the spread of Wahhabi-inspired terrorism legitimised the maintenance of the defence budget and permanent bases south of the Sahara. Meanwhile, Paris continued to provide Saudi Arabia with military training and equipment; and the Sahel made it possible for France to test its own weapons in real conditions and boast about their effectiveness. Exaggerating the magnitude of the threat may also have helped to recruit young people attracted by combat, the promise of adventure and a bonus for service abroad.
Emphasis on the global dimension of jihadism has masked the local dynamics of the Sahel crisis, where terrorism was never more than a symptom of the disintegration of the region’s states (8). Rather than addressing the root cause of the political problem, France continued with its security-led approach under the influence of Le Drian, who moved from defence (2012-17) to foreign minister. This blindness is widespread in senior political circles. In a parliamentary report last April (9), three politicians, Françoise Dumas and Sereine Mauborgne (La République en Marche) and Nathalie Serre (Les Républicains), stated that Operation Barkhane was ‘unanimously welcomed by [its] partners, both for its contribution to security … and for its actions in promoting improved governance and development in the countries of the region.’
They concluded, without batting an eyelid, ‘There is no solution today without Barkhane.’ This statement, which minimises African solutions, reflects France’s vision of itself as an indispensable presence in the Sahel. Will the end of Operation Barkhane provide an opportunity to question French interventionism in its own backyard?
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